Chapter 10
Calvin smiles, slow and teasing. “Would it scare you if I said yes?”
I shake my head, though my voice catches. “No. I think… it actually explains a lot.”
His eyes search mine before he reaches for my hand. “Come here.”
He leads me to the couch facing the massive window, offering an unobstructed view of the scene unfolding below.
His voice is reassuring but still laced with that steady authority that makes my breath hitch.
“Tonight, we’re just watching. Unless you want more.
Just relax and enjoy the show. If it’s too much, you tell me, and we’ll leave.
No pressure. I want you to be comfortable. ”
He eases down onto the plush couch, spreading his arms along the back as if he owns the room, hell, the entire club, and I follow, my legs weak as I settle beside him.
I don’t think I feel uncomfortable, exactly. More like… overstimulated.
Because just a few hours ago, all of this…leather, leashes, rules, and surrender was safely locked in the pages of my darkest romance novels. Yet here I am, with heat blooming low in my belly, my thighs pressed tightly together as reality edges into the territory of want.
Not to mention, he’s still my sister’s fiancé.
“Calvin… what about—”
He cuts me off gently but firmly. “Do me a favor,” he says, almost coaxing. “For the next few hours… don’t mention your sister. Or the wedding. Or anything else outside this room. Just be here with me. Right now. Enjoy it.”
He pours a glass of champagne with a deliberate elegance and offers it to me, the golden bubbles catching the red light.
I hesitate, the weight of his request pressing against my conscience. “That’s kind of hard to do.”
But his gaze holds me, unwavering, and something in it softens the edge of my doubt.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I take the glass and raise it to my mouth, letting the crisp warmth of the champagne melt over my tongue.
“I’ll try,” I whisper.
I sip the champagne, letting the bubbles burn a little at the back of my throat. The hum of activity below us becomes background noise, like the soundtrack to a film I’m not sure I should be watching.
Calvin doesn’t speak, he just watches the room through the glass, jaw tight, posture relaxed but alert, like he’s both a part of this world and somehow above it. I glance at him sideways.
“So, do you come here often?” I ask, casually enough that it might pass for curiosity.
His expression doesn’t shift. “Now and then.”
I nod slowly, running a fingertip along the rim of my glass. “It’s… different.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.” I tilt my head. “I just never imagined I’d end up somewhere like this.”
He doesn’t answer, but I feel him watching me. Not in a heavy way. Just… observant. Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m really thinking and maybe waiting to see if I’ll say it out loud.
I won’t.
Instead, I focus on the scene below. The people. The way they move. So uninhibited. So completely detached from judgment. It’s freeing, in a way. And terrifying.
“I used to think places like this only existed in books or movies,” I say, almost to myself. “I mean, I know the BDSM community exists, I guess I just never…”
Calvin’s voice slides in. “Never thought you’d be up and personal with it?”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “Something like that. It’s different when it’s not wrapped in a neat little plot with a guaranteed happy ending.”
There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment on that.
Instead, he leans back a little, voice casual. “So… what kind of books were those happy endings in?”
I smirk, sipping the champagne again. “A lady never reveals what’s on her Kindle.”
He laughs softly, a deep, knowing sound that tightens something low in my stomach like a pulled string. “Okay, Peach,” he says smugly.
That’s the second time he’s called me that.
I frown. “Why peach?”
Calvin’s smile curves wolfishly. He tilts his head, like he’s deciding just how much to give me. But then he shrugs simply. “You don’t seem to realize this, but…”
He leans in slightly, his voice dipping to a rough whisper that curls around my spine. “You flush pink every time I so much as look at you. That pretty little color climbs up your throat like a secret you can’t hide.”
My breath catches… no, it’s been stolen from my lungs. But he’s not done.
“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes darkening, “it’s because of the way you smell. Like peaches. Soft, ripe, sun-warmed and sweet… like trouble in the middle of summer. Sticky-sweet and made to be bitten.”
My mouth goes dry. My clit throbs so hard I’m half-convinced he can hear it.
His arm stays stretched across the back of the couch, fingers brushing the cushion beside me, not touching, but close enough to burn. I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
God, I do.
The room feels smaller now. More intimate, or maybe just more dangerous. My skin prickles, heat gathering in places I can’t control, pooling where I need him most.
He is your sister’s fiancé.
I shift, placing the champagne glass on the table as I cross my legs the other way and tug my hem down, though the silky dress defies me, sliding right back up my thigh like modesty was never part of the plan tonight.
“Right on cue,” he murmurs, eyes locked on my flushed cheeks.
I slap a hand to my face, already knowing I’m proving him right.
His grin turns feral. “Makes me want to say the filthiest things I can think of just to see how deep I can make you blush.”
“Calvin, I…” I start, but the words fall apart in my throat, because what do I even say to that?
Nothing. There’s nothing I can say. Not when he’s looking at me like he already knows every dirty thought I’m trying to bury.
Thankfully the lights in the room dim before I can say anything, casting a sultry glow around us. When I look back at the window, I notice that a crowd has gathered. People are seated, some standing, as if waiting for some kind of show.
A man steps into the center of the room, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of unbuttoned jeans that hang low on his hips, his chest rising and falling with calm control. The mood in the club shifts and attention narrows.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice carries easily, calm and assertive, “I’d like to introduce you to my pet. Come here, pet.”
From across the room, a woman crawls forward on all fours, completely nude.
Her movements are fluid, practiced, like submission is muscle memory.
Her body is bare and unapologetically on display, breasts swaying, back arched, the soft curve of her hips and thighs leading to the glistening heat between her legs.
Every inch of her is exposed, but not vulnerable; she exudes strength.
I don’t remember walking back to the window, but I’m there, barely breathing.
“Good girl,” the man praises, circling her slowly, his hand trailing along her back with calculated affection. “Now, I want nothing more than to take you and fuck you until you forget your own name. Is that going to happen tonight?”
“No, Master,” she answers, her voice low, almost reverent.
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve been a bad girl,” she replies without hesitation, remaining motionless, awaiting his judgment.
He stops behind her, looming like a shadow. “And what happens to bad girls?”
“They get punished.”
I swallow hard, heat flooding my cheeks, my pulse pounding.
Calvin’s presence presses in behind me, his chest flush with my back, his hand sliding up to cradle the nape of my neck.
His other hand rests low on my waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of my dress.
I feel his arousal, hard, insistent, through the layers between us.
In the playroom below, the man guides the woman toward a Saint Andrew’s Cross, fastening her wrists and ankles with practiced ease. The room is hushed except for the soft clink of leather straps and the rhythmic sound of her breath.
Calvin’s fingers gently press the base of my neck, grounding me even as my body threatens to float away in sensory overload.
“Calvin,” I whisper, unsure what I’m asking for. I shift, trying to turn toward him, but his grip tightens slightly.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my skin. “Let me feel your pulse.”
I freeze, allowing it. He’s not just talking about my heartbeat. He’s reading every unspoken reaction, the quickened breath, the tension in my thighs, the way I lean back into him without meaning to.
Down below, the man holds up a leather flogger. “She disobeyed me three times today,” he says to the audience. “So, she will receive five lashes for each offense.”
The first strike is loud, sharp, but what follows isn’t a scream. It’s a raw, guttural moan. A sound of surrender. She’s not broken by it. She’s claimed.
I bite my lip, trying to process the fire licking at the edges of my restraint. I shouldn’t be here. Not with him. Not like this. But I don’t move.
Calvin’s grip loosens slightly, and I take it as permission to turn. He’s so close I can taste him, heat radiating from his body, his sheer size eclipsing mine completely.
“On a scale from zero to ten,” he murmurs, breath teasing my lips, “with zero being not at all… how much is this turning you on?”
My lips part, trembling. “Twenty,” I whisper, breath shaky, thighs clenching as the words fall from my lips like a confession.
He growls low, a sound that vibrates between us. “Good girl.”
Then his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss claims rather than asks. It pulls a whimper from deep in my throat, his lips working over mine with a hunger that borders on desperation. I’d begged, prayed, that if this ever happened, it would be a letdown. But no, it’s everything.
His hand fists my hair with a suddenness that makes me moan. The other grips my waist, dragging me into the thick press of his cock, hard and unrelenting against my belly. My breath catches, and my knees threaten to give, but he holds me up like he already owns me.
I open for him when he licks at my bottom lip, and his tongue invades with ruthless precision. It’s like he’s tasting something he’s craved for far too long.
The moment our tongues slide together, he groans, a deep, primal sound that punches straight to my core. My panties are soaked. I can feel it, sticky against my thighs.
My body is on fire. My mind blank.
All I want is more.
More.
More.
More.
More of his mouth, more of his hands, more of the brutal friction between our bodies.
I’m melting into him, into a place I know I’m not supposed to be.
And then, I see her face. My sister.
My entire body stiffens.
No.
No, no, no.
It hits like ice water down my spine.
I break the kiss, stumbling back. “Oh my God,” I gasp, voice cracking. “Oh my God. What did I just do?”
I try to move, to put distance between us, but he holds me still.
“Let me go,” I cry, the guilt flooding in so fast I can’t catch my breath. “No, no, no, Calvin, we have to stop.”
“Blair,” he says firmly, gripping my arms. “Breathe. Look at me.”
“I can’t,” I choke out. “I can’t. This is wrong. You’re my sister’s fiancé. You’re supposed to marry her, not…” I stop, the words stuck in my throat, shame burning hot.
He reaches for me again, and I slap a hand against his chest, pushing. “Please. Let me go.”
“I will. Just calm down.”
“Calm down?” I shout, pacing in tight circles like I’m being hunted by my own conscience. “You’re marrying her in three months, and I just let you fuck me with your mouth. What is wrong with me?”
I shove him again. This time, he lets me.
But he doesn’t move far.
“What are we doing?” I whisper, clutching my chest like I’m holding my heart in place. “We need to leave. Now. Please.”
Tears sting my eyes. I want to scream. I want to rewind the clock. I want to do it again.
He steps toward me, careful, his hands raised like I’m something wild. “Blair, breathe.”
I don’t stop him. God help me, I want him to touch me.
So, when he pulls me into his arms, I don’t resist.
I fold into him. Into the arms of the man I can’t have.
The one place I ache to be, with the one person I shouldn’t.
“Shh, I got you, Peach,” he whispers, as he cradles me like I’m something fragile. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I believe him. And maybe that’s my first real mistake.