Chapter 1
The address was correct. She’d checked it twice.
The building looked like a renovated warehouse.
There was no name on it, but the Members’ Entrance sign on the door and a camera mounted above it hinted she had found the right place.
A hulking form stood in the shadow of a single light.
Julia should have hit the gas and kept driving. Instead, she parked.
Eight weeks ago, she’d stood beneath a sky filled with fireworks in Leland Hale’s arms, believing she’d found something real. Then nothing. He’d said no strings. No expectations. But she couldn’t believe it had meant so little.
At Alec and Emily’s wedding, he’d looked her in the eye and told her the opposite: what they shared meant too much. Apparently caring about her but still walking away made perfect sense in Leland’s world. She was still trying to figure out how both things could be true.
It left her with a dilemma: how to move on. Remaining at Devil’s Pointe, seeing him every night, and watching him with other submissives wasn’t an option.
Julia looked through her windshield at the entrance to The Underground, the club that kept popping up in her online searches.
Not one club but three locations: North Miami, Miami Beach, and another downtown.
All public clubs. Different themes and clientele.
It had received mixed reviews, ranging from hidden gem to enter at your own risk.
None of it inspired confidence. Still, if she was serious about moving forward, she had to start somewhere.
The Underground North was closest to home, so, here she was.
She stepped out of her car, smoothed down her dress and her hair—returning to her natural blonde hadn’t changed anything, humidity still made it big—took a deep breath and headed for the entrance.
The man straightened as she approached. He took her ID, angled it toward the light, and handed it back. With no greeting and barely a grunt, he pushed the door open for her and returned to watching the parking lot.
Inside, a woman with purple hair and black lipstick sat behind a counter. She handed her a clipboard without looking up. “Read and sign.”
Julia scanned three pages of legalese shielding the owner from liability. Only one paragraph covered consent and safewords, and she saw nothing about privacy and confidentiality.
Alarm bells went off in her head, but not enough to bolt. She signed and returned the clipboard.
“Forty-dollar cover,” the woman muttered while scrolling on her phone.
“That’s kind of steep for a weeknight,” Julia commented as she sifted through her wristlet wallet.
That made the receptionist look up from the screen, only her eyes moving. “Doms pay double. Subs are half price on Wednesday, if you want to try then.”
Not likely, she thought, and passed her two twenties.
At the entrance to the main room, Julia paused, slipping into an old habit she’d learned at twenty-three, when she first entered the lifestyle: identify the exits, scan for immediate red flags, and get a feel for the room before committing to it.
The club tried to create atmosphere with dim lighting, but it couldn’t quite disguise what the building had once been.
Exposed ductwork ran overhead. Concrete floors stretched beneath mismatched furniture.
Dark paint covered the walls, but years of wear still showed through in places.
The music blared too loudly for the space, the bass rattling the bottles behind the bar.
She noticed people coming and going through a hallway at the back of the room. Not the restrooms. They were by the bar. Julia studied it for a moment. If the main room felt rough around the edges, a mysterious, shadowy hallway seemed even sketchier. Hard pass.
Her attention returned to the main floor.
Equipment was scattered around: a St. Andrew’s cross, two spanking benches, and some suspension rigging, all placed without intention. It looked clean, but the wood was scratched and the leather worn from use.
What served as a cleaning station—a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels—sat on a wall-mounted shelf. The sign beneath it reminded patrons to wipe down the equipment after use. Disinfecting on the honor system, like a gym. She knew what that meant—haphazard at best.
What she didn’t see was just as telling. No water, no blankets, nowhere set aside to come down from a scene. At Devil’s Pointe, aftercare wasn’t an afterthought. It was intentional with comfortable, well-stocked spaces everywhere.
Across the room, a submissive hung suspended by her wrists, balanced on her toes to ease the stress on her shoulders. After a moment, she shifted uncomfortably.
“Yellow,” she said.
“What is it?” the dom asked, a little too sharply.
“My fingers are falling asleep, sir.”
He glanced at her hands, slightly purple in the dim light, and loosened the restraints a fraction.
“Thank you,” she sighed. “That’s better.”
As their scene resumed, Julia glanced at the two security staff lounging near the bar.
Neither looked up. Their T-shirts said DM on one arm, but they seemed more like bouncers, waiting for trouble rather than observing the scenes and being proactive.
At Devil’s Pointe, a dungeon monitor would have recognized the sub’s distress and intervened before she thought of using a safeword.
Apparently, her forty-dollar cover charge bought her a fend-for-yourself experience.
With more alarm bells ringing and her Yelp stars dropping by the minute, she made her way to the bar and ordered a bottle of water, fully aware of the eyes on her.
The scrutiny made her feel like a fresh cut of steak in the meat case at Winn-Dixie.
Being overdressed didn’t help. The other women wore harnesses, corsets, and skirts so short, they barely qualified as such.
Her black dress with its mid-thigh hem marked her as a newcomer.
Within minutes, she was approached. The first dom launched into a detailed description of what he wanted to do to her before he’d even asked her name or once looked her in the eye, which was why she stopped listening ten seconds in.
“No, thank you.”
Surprise crossed his face, followed by irritation, but he moved on.
The second was a woman in her mid-forties, red leather bodysuit, grapefruit-sized silver hoops in her ears. Her interest seemed genuine, not someone looking for a quick, meaningless scene. But something felt off, not with the domme so much as with herself.
“I’m flattered, ma’am,” Julia said. “But I’m still taking everything in. I haven’t decided to play tonight.”
The woman gave her a slow perusal but accepted with a nod and walked away.
Julia set her unopened water on the bar and wiped her damp palms on her dress. She shifted uneasily as she glanced around. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Or if she still even wanted to. She’d convinced herself it was time to leave when the third dom approached.
Mid-thirties, medium build, no swagger, he stopped at a comfortable distance.
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
Not a line, simply a statement. And he actually met her eyes instead of staring at her body. That alone set him apart.
“I’m Daniel,” he said. “Not here to pitch anything. You looked like you might want to talk.”
She liked that and offered her hand. “I’m Julia.”
He took the stool next to her, and they chatted, nothing deep or world-changing, mostly pleasantries.
“Are you interested in playing?” he asked during a lull.
“I might be,” she replied, neither a yes nor a refusal.
He asked the right questions—about her experience level and preferences—talking through her limits rather than demanding a list.
“The safeword here is red,” he said. “Pretty standard.”
She’d seen it on the waiver. Still, his reminder reassured her that he knew the basics, and she relaxed a little.
“If I can convince you to change that might be into a yes, I have a bench reserved,” he said. “Presence, control, a light flogging. Nothing extreme.”
She glanced toward the benches, a pang tightening in her chest. Not for the amenities, or lack thereof, but for the things that were missing.
The things that actually mattered: caring, warmth, and a sense of belonging.
She’d always thought Devil’s Pointe was special.
It hit harder now, realizing she might not find another like it.
That was on her, though. Leland had ended it, but she’d walked away. Before him, she’d been submissive. After him, that hadn’t changed. She had a choice: walk out the door or give Daniel a chance.
Minutes later, she knelt on the padded bench.
As negotiated, her uncuffed hands were braced in front of her.
Her dress pulled tight across her hips, the short hem baring almost all of her thighs.
He circled her once then paused at his bag to retrieve the flogger.
After testing it with a few practice slaps against his palm, he stepped behind her.
The first strokes were measured and light, a mere warm-up. Her skin prickled a bit, and she tried to relax into the rhythm. It was only fine. Nothing more.
He must have noticed.
“Are you ready to step it up a little?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He waited before correcting her, “Yes, sir.”
She repeated the words easily, but they held no weight tonight.
Daniel resumed. The flogger’s falls, leather now instead of soft suede, landed evenly: shoulders, back, ass, thighs, and repeating.
Her body responded as bodies do—nerve endings awakening, skin flushing where the flogger landed, warmth spreading over her shoulders and down her thighs. Reflexive. Biological. Nothing more.
He was competent, his technique solid. He did exactly what he said he would, but none of it reached her.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, sir,” she lied.
It lacked everything. The catch in her breath, the involuntary softening, the sense of the room narrowing to a single point of focus.
She was present in the most technical sense, kneeling, answering when spoken to, but merely going through the motions.
The same as the disinterested bouncers and the woman at the door.
He slid a hand along her spine, adjusting her posture.
“How are you?”
“I’m good, sir,” she replied, forcing a soft, agreeable tone but feeling the opposite at another check-in.
He wasn’t wrong to ask. He was a responsible, attentive dom doing what he should with someone new. Any submissive here would have been lucky to end up with someone like him.
But Julia didn’t want careful. She didn’t want proficient, predictable, and, if she were honest, boring. She wanted… Leland.
From the beginning, he’d known when to push, when to pause, and when silence affected her more than words ever could.
With the next stroke, a sound of longing escaped—almost a sob.
Daniel stopped immediately. “I thought I was going easy.”
“You were, sir.” She swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“You went somewhere.”
Julia blinked, refocusing. “I’m right here.”
He stepped closer, crouching slightly, so she could see him. “We can slow down,” he offered.
Any slower and she might fall asleep.
“I’m good, sir. Really. Please, continue.”
He hesitated but returned to his spot behind and slightly beside her then resumed at the same careful pace. But excitement and the warmth of desire didn’t build. The steady thwap of leather on her skin wasn’t doing anything for her but stinging.
She couldn’t do this. Adequate wasn’t enough. Not after she’d had Leland—her ideal.
Julia exhaled, saying firm and final, “Red.”
Daniel stopped immediately. “Okay. We’re done.” He became even more attentive. “What do you need? Water? Space?”
She straightened, hoping she looked steadier than she felt. “It wasn’t anything you did. I shouldn’t have come tonight. It was too soon.”
He stilled, concern turning to relief. “A bad breakup?”
You can’t break from something that never really was. Which didn’t stop her from being absolutely wrecked by it.
But she nodded, offering him a small smile as she smoothed down her dress. “Something like that.”
His frown returned as she rose from the bench. “I’m sorry it didn’t go as planned. No hard feelings?”
“I should be asking you that.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “You don’t seem like you belong here.”
He chuckled softly. “Noticed that, huh? I’m new to the area. This is only my second time here. Probably my last.” His amusement faded. “Are you okay? And I mean that genuinely, not as a formality.”
“I’m fine. It wasn’t you.”
“I know,” he said simply. “Bad timing. Someone else.” He shrugged, like a man filing something away rather than dwelling on it.
She almost smiled. “You’re a nice man, Daniel.”
“High praise in a place like this.”
“If you’re looking for something better, there’s a community in Deerfield Beach. They have a monthly munch and can get you out of, well…” She waved her hand. “This.”
“I’ll check it out. But if you don’t mind my asking, if it’s so great, why aren’t you there?”
“That’s a long story.”
“Right,” he said slowly.
Clearly, an astute man too. He recognized dismissal when he heard it. She was ready to go home.
“What about aftercare? Are you sure—”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“That’s what I figured but still wanted to ask.” He picked up his bag, pausing as a shadow of something crossed his face—rueful, a little amused, mostly good-natured about the whole absurd thing. “For what it’s worth, whoever he is—I think he has missed out on something special.”
She didn’t answer, not even to agree with him.
“Be careful going home, Julia,” he said, and walked away.
Alone again, the club felt more confining, louder. She quickly headed for the door.
Outside, the heat and humidity wrapped around her. Traffic moved. Music drifted from somewhere down the block. The world hadn’t paused because hers felt off-kilter.
When she got behind the wheel, she locked the doors and sat there, hands in her lap, engine still silent.
“What now?” she asked, aloud.
She could try one of the other locations.
On another night, with another man, another negotiation.
The prospect wasn’t appealing. What she wanted wasn’t something she could scene her way into.
It wasn’t in careful hands or well-meaning questions.
It was in confidence, precision, and the devastating certainty of a man who wanted her but refused to claim her.