Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Sophie
Caleb reaches past me to lift the heavy brass knocker. The harsh, striking sound echoes ominously through the night.
I glance up and notice the camera mounted near the corner of the building.
Moments later, a lock releases with a quiet snick. Then the door opens.
A man fills the entrance. He doesn’t stand in it. He fills it.
He’s enormous, easily bigger than Caleb, which until this exact moment I wouldn’t have thought possible. His black shirt stretches across shoulders that seem designed for moving refrigerators without assistance, and his expression suggests he doesn’t spend much time discussing his feelings.
“Taranis.” Lucian inclines his head.
“Hawthorne. Pierce.” Then his gaze settles on me, and I can’t resist the urge to move closer to Caleb.
“This is Sophie,” Lucian says.
Taranis continues studying me for another second before he gives me a short nod and moves aside.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the foyer doesn’t look like a warehouse.
Instead, there’s bright lighting, polished dark wood, and a row of church pews lining one wall.
I stare at them. Then I shake my head.
Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that a BDSM club only provides uncomfortable-looking seats.
Beyond, there’s another massive door, and there’s a steady thumping behind it.
Nerves ricochet through me.
A minute ago, I’d wondered how scary this could be. Now my imagination is supplying enough images to make me shake.
A woman wearing a gray suit with a bright purple bowtie is seated behind an old-fashioned desk, and she watches our approach.
She greets my men by name. And then Lucian introduces us. “Sophie Langford, meet Miss Watson.”
“Welcome to the Retreat.” She slides a sheaf of papers toward me. “These documents will require your signature.”
I skim the rules, and they’re really common sense.
Privacy is to be respected. If someone is recognized from real life, there’s no acknowledgment of the relationship unless both parties agree.
Interfering with other people’s scenes is prohibited. The club’s safe word is red. Sexual activities must be confined to private rooms, which are monitored. Equipment is required to be sanitized after use. And Dungeon Masters will be obeyed. Taranis’s word is law.
I sign at the X and add the date.
Miss Watson double checks everything before asking, “Do you have a scene name?”
I blink. “A what?”
“An alias you may use inside the club to keep your identity secret.”
“Use one,” Caleb says.
I turn my head, and he folds his arms as if his decision is final.
“You may want to keep your professional life separate from this.”
There’s no way I can argue with that logic, even though the lines aren’t meant to be crossed. “Do you use one?”
The men exchange glances.
“No.” A smile tugs at Lucian’s mouth. “Our reputations are already…well known.”
I meet his gaze. “Tarnished, you mean.”
He lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug.
“You should use one,” Caleb repeats.
I think for a second. I need something that fits me. Then I smile. “Moneypenny.”
“Bravo.” Lucian’s mouth twitches.
Miss Watson doesn’t so much as blink as her fingers move across the keyboard. The fact she didn’t react makes me wonder what other names attendees have chosen.”
Then she slides a small box toward us. “For your phones, please.”
Both men immediately surrender theirs.
That surprises me enough that I hesitate.
“Privacy is absolute inside the dungeon and in the private rooms,” Miss Watson explains. “No phones. No photographs. No recordings.”
That makes sense.
Reluctantly I add mine to the box.
All that handled, Miss Watson nods. “Welcome to the Retreat, Moneypenny.” Then she reaches beneath the desk, and a section of the paneled wall across the room slides open.
Lucian guides me toward the elevator that was hidden behind the wall.
When we reach it, he touches his thumb to the biometric scanner plate.
“Where are we going?”
“To meet the club’s owner. Altair Montgomery.”
The man Piper all-but swooned over.
Impossibly my heart rate accelerates even more.
The second floor is nothing like I imagined when I realized we were coming to the club.
This space is enormous and unexpectedly elegant, with modern art, dark leather furniture, gleaming crystal, a full bar, and a kitchen beyond it. It feels less like a dungeon and more like an extraordinarily wealthy man’s private residence crossed with a command center.
Then I notice the screens.
One massive projection screen dominates the far side of the room, divided into live feeds.
I freeze.
I recognize the foyer we entered, but…
There are images of what I imagine is the actual club.
A woman is restrained to some kind of padded bench while a man stands behind her.
Another camera shows a couple near a spanking post.
On a third screen, a woman is kneeling in front of—
I abruptly look away.
“You okay?” Caleb comes to stand beside me, but he doesn’t touch me.
Neither does Lucian. And I appreciate it.
I can’t wrap my mind around what I’m seeing. Even seeing a blockbuster movie and watching a few videos are not like this.
The thing that shocks me the most is how the people wielding the power are completely focused on the people who surrender it. As if that person is the center of their universe.
“This is what you wanted me to see.” Lucian places his fingers against the small of my back but makes no attempt to move me along.
I turn toward him, and he’s looking at me with the same interest that I just saw on the monitor.
“It’s up to you whether you want to go in the dungeon for an actual look around, see it in person for yourself.”
My mouth parts slightly. For a man who is so obnoxious and overbearing, hearing these words from him shocks me. Is he actually serious about this idea of consent?
Before I can respond, the quiet click of a cane against the floor reaches us.
I turn.
There’s an impeccably dressed man, tall, broad, with unsettling golden eyes.
I shudder. This has to be Altair Montgomery.
His golden eyes lock onto me immediately, fathomless and calculating, gleaming with an intensity that feels electric, otherworldly, nothing like the polished dominance Lucian and Caleb wear so naturally.
“Moneypenny.” Altair takes my hand and raises it to his lips.
His touch makes me grateful that Lucian and Caleb are there.
For the first time ever, I feel protected by them rather than threatened.
“A pleasure to meet the woman who has occupied so much of my friends’ attention these past years.”
Suddenly I understand the compulsion to call him Your Grace. When Piper told me, it seemed ridiculous. But now…being in his overwhelming, compelling presence? It seems natural. And so does the urge to curtsey or something. “Your Grace.”
He angles his head, acknowledging the honorific that came so easily.
“When we’re outside the dungeon, we don’t stand on ceremony. Feel free to call me Altair.”
I’m not sure I’m capable of that.
As the men talk, my gaze drifts back to the screens.
On the center feed, a woman arches in intricate ropes, her body gleaming with sweat, mouth open on a silent cry as her Dom’s fingers drive deep between her spread thighs.
The camera lingers on the helpless flutter of her inner muscles, the way her hips roll, desperately chasing more, even as tears track down her flushed cheeks.
Altair watches me observe the feeds, his golden eyes sharpening. “The dungeon awaits below whenever you are ready. But first, tell me—how does it feel to stand here, Moneypenny, between two men who have waited eight years to claim you?”
Other guests arrive on the second floor: elegantly dressed couples, a few in leather accents that leave little to the imagination.
And all of it seems…normal, which is something I can’t wrap my head around.
My men introduce me to more people than I can keep track of.
Being here makes me feel as though there’s an alternate reality that I never imagined.
When we finally have a moment where we’re alone, Lucian leans toward me. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” I face him, frowning a little.
“To go to the dungeon?”