Chapter Seven
Sutton
Squeezing my clutch to keep my hands from trembling, I follow Mo up the long walkway that leads from the circular driveway to the looming front door of this Hollywood Hills mansion.
Before we reach the final step, I turn around, a last-ditch act of desperation, but the Lyft that brought us here has nearly reached the gate at the bottom of the hill.
I’m trapped.
“Sutton,” Mo whispers, slipping her hand into mine and easing the clenched fingers of my right hand away from the poor beaded clutch. “Easy on the goods, girl. That’s a McQueen.”
I suck in a breath and try to relax my fingers. “I’m sorry, I just…” I swallow hard.
“You really don’t have to be afraid, Sutty. This is completely legit.”
I give her a tightlipped smile and pray it looks convincing.
The problem isn’t that I’m afraid…
It’s that I’m not.
And that actually scares the shit out of me.
I spent some time doing a little research of my own last night, surprised and, originally, a little alarmed by how intrigued I became the more I looked into this event.
From the private club putting it on and the detailed accounts of what goes on behind closed doors, the more I read, the deeper I fell into the rabbit hole.
Both literally and figuratively.
The Rabbit Hole is a chain of upscale and highly exclusive underground kink clubs, each of them attached to a sister establishment called White Rabbit.
To passerby, White Rabbit sells expensive, luxury lingerie, but for those in the know, a secret passageway somewhere within the store leads to a membership-only space.
I’d heard of White Rabbit before, but as I’m not someone who can afford that kind of high-end underthings, I didn’t know much about the company or its female founder.
But once I began my research, I stayed up nearly all night long, completely locked in.
The forum I found was likely breaking rules of some sort, anonymous users sharing firsthand accounts of what they experienced within the walls of The Rabbit Hole, but I’m forever grateful for their rebellion—and their honesty.
I devoured that forum like every word was meant for me.
The stories they told of kinks and fantasies coming to life, of primal desires and taboo secrets.
Ideas, suggestions… things I’d never heard of and probably wouldn’t have even considered had me on the edge of my seat.
Even when I finally logged off and forced myself to go to bed, my sleep was restless, my dreams overcome by the things I’d read about.
Things I now wanted for myself.
Women in this forum described the kind of fantasies I’d never dared to entertain—and definitely never allowed to fully form within my wildest imaginings.
Like being chased through the woods by a man I trust, or reprimanded and punished, then worshipped beyond comprehension.
I didn’t know I was allowed to want these things in real life, to entertain these ideas outside of BookTok and Facebook reader groups.
“Come on,” Mo says as we approach the pillared portico. “I’ll be by your side the whole time, okay? You don’t have to worry.”
I want to tell her I’m not worried, want to confide in my best friend that though this may have been her idea, I’m excited, exhilarated even, but I can’t find the words. They’re lodged like a lump of cement in my throat, and my hands won’t let up on this poor beaded clutch.
I’m a bundle of nerves and energy, a livewire waiting to blow.
Two masked men guard the entrance of the home.
As we reach the top step, one of them steps forward.
His bald head is shiny, reflecting the light from the lantern hanging high above us.
The top half of his face is covered, his eyes hidden behind a black mesh mask.
I’ve no doubt he can see us, but making out any of his features is impossible.
My heart pounds as my mind conjures images of what it might be like to be chased by this man.
What does he look like beneath that mask?
“Identification and invitations,” he says, voice deep and gruff.
Mo releases my hand to retrieve the invitation and her driver’s license from her purse.
My heart works overtime as I wait with bated breath for these men to decide we aren’t invited after all and rip this night from my grasp before I’ve even had a chance to glimpse what secrets lie waiting for me just beyond the door.
The man looks briefly at her proffered documents and nods. As he hands everything back to her, he turns toward me.
Below the bottom edge of the mask, his thin lips are pressed into a fine line, and a scar runs from the corner of his mouth down his chin to his Adam’s apple.
I swallow hard as I focus on that Adam’s apple, then Mo squeezes my arm. “Sutty,” she whispers, “you have to show your ID now.”
I blink, snapping out of it, then open up the borrowed purse and dig around for my driver’s license. My clear lip gloss falls out, clanking onto the smooth travertine at my feet. I bend quickly and the bouncer does the same—
Our heads smack together and I gasp, pulling back quickly. “Shit. Sorry.” I rub my head, wincing as pain blooms in the center of my forehead. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” A startling laugh slips out of me, then my pulse cranks into overdrive.
My nervous laughter morphs quickly into shallow intakes of air.
No matter how many breaths I take, they’re too damn quick. No air seems to reach my lungs.
Oh god, what’s happening?
I drop the clutch and reach for Mo, clasping her arm with a death grip as I struggle to make sense of what’s happening. I can hear people murmuring around us, gawking at the show as they wait their turn to go inside. I’m causing a scene but I can’t make it stop.
I can’t breathe.
The other bouncer steps forward out of the shadows, stopping immediately in front of me and eclipsing all else.
I gasp, shoulders rising and falling on quick intakes of breath that never seem to draw in enough oxygen.
I’ve never had a panic attack. Is this a panic attack?
“Shh.” Softly gripping my chin between his fingers, he tilts my head up.
“Eyes on me.” When I lift my eyes to meet his, they’re hidden behind the same black mesh as his partner’s mask.
“Put your hands on my chest. We’re going to breathe together.
” His voice is firm and demanding, but somehow soothing. Calm.
I obey, pressing my palms against his broad chest and trying to focus on where I think his eyes might be behind the mask.
“Breathe with me.” He takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting as he inhales, and I do the same. “Again,” he commands, his voice soft but the word firm. He pulls off his mask and I’m immediately locked in an icy blue gaze, intense and demanding. “Again.”
We continue to breathe together, shoulders rising and falling in unison, and everything else falls away as his thumb rubs soothing patterns in that soft space beneath the corner of my lips, and his eyes hold mine.
My breathing slows, eventually matching his deep, full breaths.
I’m left with a dull ache in my forehead and the telltale dampness of sweat coating the length of my spine.
After a few moments, he whispers, “You good?”
I nod.
“How’s your head? Any pain?” His eyes drift up to scan my hairline.
I consider the question for a moment, assessing myself, but nothing feels unbearable or overly concerning, so I shake my head.
“Take another big, deep breath for me.”
I do, chest expanding as I fill my lungs with beautiful, glorious air.
“Good girl.” He releases my chin and steps backward, pulling his mask back into place as he disappears into the shadows near the front entry.
Mo links her arm with mine. “I already showed him your ID.” She settles the clutch into my hand. “We’re good to go in if you’re up to it.”
I nod, dazed from both the panic attack, and from whatever trance that man put me in to help me come back.
Was that hypnosis?
The bouncer I headbutted a few moments ago steps aside, motioning for us to go on in. I offer him an apologetic smile. “I really am sorry; I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“I’m fine,” he says, then raps his knuckles against his skull. “I’m as hard-headed as they come.”
I laugh awkwardly, but it must not be a very convincing sound because he frowns.
“Hey, you’re safe here. Don’t forget that. Just observe until you feel comfortable getting involved, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, exhaling a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“And if you never feel comfortable,” he continues, “you don’t have to participate. That’s not what tonight is about. Understand?”
Nodding, I allow Mo to lead me forward through the front entry. As we pass the other bouncer, he inclines his head and my stomach flutters nervously in response.
The foyer is lit by soft-glowing candles on multiple surfaces, and the lighting above, though on, is turned low to illuminate the space just enough to allow us to enter the house without incident.
There’s a low, rhythmic beat coming from speakers hidden within the walls, and as we move deeper into the house, the music doesn’t seem to get any louder, but the bass kicks up and begins to vibrate through my body.
Once we’re out of earshot of the two men guarding the entrance, Mo squeezes my arm. “Holy shit, Slutty, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Jeezusssss. I think I’m in love.”
“I think I’m pregnant,” I whisper, and we both break into nervous laughter.