Chapter 10
chapter
ten
“Ican’t believe you’re still making me sit in the backseat.”
Luka glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “It’s safer.”
I bundled deeper into the puffer jacket he’d bought me—bulky but surprisingly light, an effective shield against the chilled night air. My work clothes felt wrong on my body again. The day felt distant, like I’d lived three lifetimes since I’d left the office that afternoon.
Luka drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. He stole glances at me in the mirror but let the silence sit.
Exhaustion finally caught up—my body sated, my mind running on backup power, the hum of the engine lulling me toward sleep.
I shook off the fog and cleared my throat, still tasting apple. “That club you mentioned. The…not-dance one. Is that a real thing?”
“Yes.”
“Those actually exist? Here in London?”
His smile ticked sideways. “They do,” he said, precise and unhurried, as if the question barely touched him.
“Sorry, I just—” I tried to picture it. “I thought…sex clubs”—I forced the words—“only existed in movies. And dark romance books. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia—the American Deep South. If we have them, nobody admits it.”
He barked a laugh, sharp and unexpected. “The US is the largest producer of pornography in the world and still so sexually repressed,” he said. “A remarkable contradiction.”
“I didn’t say I was repressed. Just…uninitiated.” The word felt like a dare, so I let it hang. “What’s it actually like? The club, I mean.”
“They’re all different.”
“The one you go to.”
He took a slow turn, city lights ghosting over his hands on the wheel. “Private,” he said finally. “Invitation only. No phones. No real names. Masks mandatory. Collars if you belong to someone for the night. Waivers at the door. You consent to the risk before you walk in.”
“That’s…intense.”
“It’s not for everyone.”
“But you like it.”
He narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together. “Yes. Because it’s honest. No pretense, no lies, no bullshit games.”
“Would you take me?” The question slipped out before I could swallow it down. I picked at a cuticle—anything to avoid looking at him—as heat bloomed in my cheeks.
He didn’t answer right away—just drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Why?”
“Because you said it’s honest,” I said. “And maybe I want to see what that actually looks like.” I gave a weak laugh. “Worst case, I’ll have something to talk about in therapy.”
“Do you want to go, mila, or are you just trying to provoke me?”
I swallowed. “I want to go. But…” The words snagged. It wasn’t fear—at least, not the kind I could name. I wasn’t scared of what I’d see. I was scared of how I’d react to it.
“You don’t want to watch me with someone else,” he said. Not a question.
I turned toward the window, the city lights smearing gold across the glass. “That’s none of my business. You don’t owe me anything,” I muttered.
“No,” Luka said softly. “But it bothers you anyway.” He tightened his grip on the wheel.
“Since we’re being honest…I don’t want to see you get fucked by another man.
” He didn’t look at me, but his jaw flexed as he braked for a red light, veins rising along his forearm.
“That shithole boss of yours today. Touching you.” His lips drew thin.
“I saw red. I wanted to break his fucking hand.”
I let the words ricochet around in the dark, letting myself taste the dangerous, guilty pleasure in them. “Richard is harmless,” I said, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to me.
Luka cut his eyes to the mirror, then back to the road.
“No. He’s not.” He exhaled, the sound rough.
“But that’s not the point. The point is…
if you want to go to the club, I’ll take you.
Tomorrow.” Another pause. “But you’ll be mine for the night.
No questions. No testing me just to see if I’ll hold you down. ”
He slowed at an intersection, eyes fixed ahead. Every line of his body was coiled, as if he were holding himself back from something—maybe from me, maybe from whatever violence edged his voice.
“I don’t know what you’ve seen in films or read in books,” Luka said. “But this isn’t a sweet little club with safeguards. Those exist too, but this isn’t that sort of place. No safe words. No color systems. It’s dark. Expression without limits. You’ll see things you can’t unsee.”
The light stayed red. The city hummed around us.
“Walking inside means you consent to everything,” he continued. “Can you handle that?”
I waited, counted three full breaths. “I can handle it. I want to.”
“And there’s no privacy. People will watch.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” I asked. “I told you, I’m in. As long as I’m only yours. And you’re only mine.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t look back. He just nodded, as if I’d signed something.
“Then you’ll need the proper attire.”
He pulled up in front of my hotel, hazard lights strobing in the mist. He turned in his seat to face me.
“I’ll text you the name of a shop in Soho. Go tomorrow. The shopkeeper will be expecting you and will get you everything you need.”
“Is it…safe?”
His gaze sharpened. “Do you really think I’d send you somewhere unsafe?
” He reached back and settled his hand on my knee.
“If you need anything, call me. Day or night.” The words were brisk, but something else threaded through them—concern, maybe, or a flavor of protectiveness.
“Eat, rest, hydrate,” he said. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at nine. ”
I glanced at the hotel facade—stone and glass glowing gold against the wet pavement—then back at him. “You’re not coming upstairs?”
He held my gaze, blue and measuring. Then he smiled, all wolf. “If I came up, you wouldn’t sleep.” He caught my wrist and brushed his teeth along my knuckles. “And you need all the rest you can get.”