Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Laurel
“So you’re telling me he straight-up invited you to a sex club?”
I nod, picking at a stray pepperoni crust. “Yeah. He says it’s exclusive. New opening. He got an invite and wants to take me.”
I’m sitting cross-legged on Tasha’s living room floor, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and a half-drunk bottle of rosé. The TV is on mute, some rom-com flickering in the background, but neither of us is watching. We’re too busy dissecting my life like it’s the juiciest episode of the night.
She lets out a low whistle, eyes sparkling. “Okay, first of all, iconic. Second of all, go.”
I laugh. “Tasha, I’m still not…”
“What?” She sits up straighter, gesturing at me with the glass. “Babe, this is the plot twist we’ve been waiting for. You have to go.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “One minute I’m stressing about getting caught by the school board, and the next I’m supposed to walk into some high-end kink den on his arm? Who even am I anymore?”
Tasha grins. “You’re the girl finally having the best time of her life. Stop trying to play by the rules for five seconds. Live a little. Be on the edge. I’m so happy Leonid came into your life, he’s literally dragging you out of that shell you’ve been hiding in since Jasper.”
I bite my lip. “What if I don’t like it? What if it’s too much, or I freak out, or—”
She shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Then you tell him. From everything you’ve said about the man, he listens to you. He respects your boundaries. If it’s too much, you walk out. Simple.”
I stare at the carpet for a long moment. She’s right. He does listen.
Tasha yawns dramatically. “Okay, I have to crash. Early shift tomorrow. But promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I will.”
She stands, stretches, then pulls me into a quick hug. “Love you. Go be a little reckless. You deserve it.”
“Love you too.”
After she disappears into her bedroom, I sit on the floor a while longer, phone in my hand. My thumb hovers over Leonid’s name.
Then I type.
Me: Okay. I’ll go with you to the club tomorrow night.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Leonid: Good girl. I’ll send details in the morning.
I exhale, set the phone down, and crawl into Tasha’s guest bed.
Saturday morning, after I get back to my apartment, I get a knock on the door.
I open it to find a delivery guy holding a large matte-black garment box tied with a red satin ribbon. I sign for it, carry it inside, and set it on the couch.
When I lift the lid, black tissue paper parts to reveal the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen: deep crimson silk, floor-length but slit high on one thigh, the bodice structured with a plunging neckline that dips almost to the navel, held together by delicate crisscross straps across the sternum.
The back is open, completely open, down to the dimples above my ass. It’s elegant, and definitely designed to be worn with nothing underneath.
Tucked beside it is a pair of black strappy heels.
A small card rests on top, in Leonid’s bold handwriting: Wear this tonight. I’ll pick you up at 10. —L
Later that night, the knock on my door comes right on time. My heart jumps into my throat, but a smile curls my lips anyway.
I smooth my hands down the front of the red dress one last time.
The silk clings to every curve like it was poured over me.
I curled my hair into loose waves, shaved every inch of my body, did my makeup soft but smoky, and slipped into the black strappy heels he sent. I look… powerful, and sexy too.
I open the door.
The second he sees me, his face changes, eyes darkening, jaw tightening, that slow, predatory smile spreading across his mouth.
He’s in a black tux, obviously bespoke, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and narrow waist, no tie, top button undone.
His dark hair is slicked back, accentuating the sharp lines of his face. He looks devastating.
“Laurel,” he breathes, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. His gaze rakes over me, hungry, reverent, like he’s seeing me for the first time all over again.
He closes the distance in two strides, cups my face with both hands, and kisses my cheek. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin.
The sweetness of the gesture catches me off guard. For a moment, I forget how nervous I am about tonight.
“You look great, too,” I say softly, fingers brushing the lapel of his tux. “Like sin in a suit.”
He chuckles, then steps back, offering his arm. “We have to go.”
Downstairs, the black SUV waits at the curb. Leonid opens the door for me, helps me in, then slides in beside me. The moment the door closes, he tells the driver, “Go,” and hits the button for the privacy screen.
He turns to me, one arm stretched along the back of the seat, fingers brushing my bare shoulder. “So… what made you change your mind?”
I glance out the window at the passing city lights, then back at him. “The curious part of me won. I’ve never been to a sex club. I’m… curious.”
He smiles, trailing a single finger along the side of my neck. Goosebumps rise instantly. “You can’t fool me, solnyshko. I know you’re nervous.”
His touch is light, calming the frantic beat of my heart. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he adds quietly. “One word and we turn around.”
I shake my head. “I want to do this.”
He nods once, thumb stroking the hollow of my throat. “If you feel uncomfortable at any point, say the word. We leave. Understand?”
“Okay.”
The car glides through the city. He studies me for a moment, then asks, “Have you had dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess…” His lips twitch. “Pizza?”
I roll my eyes. “What do you have against pizza?”
“Nothing. Except it’s not real food, and you consume it like it is.”
I laugh. “Are you worried I’m going to get fat and you won’t be attracted to me anymore?”
His gaze drops, tracing the plunge of my neckline, the curve of my breasts. Hunger flares in his eyes.
“I would never not be attracted to you. I’m just worried about your health.”
The compliment does something to my insides. I try to play it off. “Aww, you’re so sweet.”
He catches my hand when I reach to touch his face, brings it to his lips, and kisses my knuckles. “I’m anything but sweet.”
I smile. “If you say so… sir.”
The sound he makes in his throat is pure animal. His grip tightens on my hand.
“I would advise you to desist from calling me that,” he says, voice dangerously low, “if you don’t want to get into trouble.”
I open my mouth to poke him again, just to see what happens, but then I remember the driver on the other side of the partition. I doubt it’s soundproof enough to hide the moans I know he could pull from me right now.
So I bite my lip instead. Hard.
We hold each other’s stare for what feels like forever. Just then, the driver’s voice comes through the intercom. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
Leonid reaches forward and lowers the privacy partition. “The box.”
The driver passes back a small, matte-black case. Leonid takes it, then turns to me.
I glance at the box, then up at him. “What’s in it?”
He gives me that look, the one he always gives when I ask instead of just opening it.
I roll my eyes but smile as I flip the lid. Inside are two masks.
The first is red, deep crimson to match my dress.
Intricate black lace overlaying velvet, with delicate gold filigree curling along the edges like vines.
The eye holes are shaped like teardrops, the mask sweeping up at the temples into subtle, dramatic points.
It’s elegant, seductive, and unmistakably expensive.
The second is black, simple matte velvet with subtle silver threading.
“They’re beautiful,” I breathe, fingers tracing the red one.
He takes it from the box without a word, leans in, and gently fits the red mask over my eyes. His fingers brush my temples as he secures the thin black ribbon tie. Then he fastens his own mask in place.
“Ready?” he asks, voice low.
I nod.
He steps out first, then offers his hand. I take it, letting him help me from the car. The night air is cool against my bare back, but his palm is warm.
We’re parked in front of massive iron gates, tall, ornate, straight out of a Victorian gothic novel. Two bouncers in black suits and matching black masks stand sentinel on either side.
Leonid pulls a slim black card from his tuxedo pocket. One of the men scans it with a handheld device, nods once, and the gates swing open.
We walk through.
No cars are parked in the long gravel drive ahead. The place is eerily quiet, no thumping bass, no chatter, no laughter drifting from inside. Just the crunch of our shoes on stone and the distant call of a night bird. Are we early?
We walk a few steps, and the building comes into view, a grand, three-story Victorian mansion, all dark stone, arched windows, and wrought-iron balconies. Gas lamps shaped like torches flicker along the path.
Two more masked men stand at the wide double doors. They nod at Leonid and push the doors open as we approach.
The moment we step inside, the quiet shatters. We’re welcomed with low, pulsing, sensual music. Then the moans. Soft and breathy. The foyer is dimly lit, all deep burgundy walls and black marble floors. Two women in formal black gowns and masks step forward to greet us.
“Sir,” the taller one says to Leonid. “Your private room is prepared. This way, please.”
She glances at me with polite curiosity but doesn’t ask questions. We follow the taller woman down a wide hallway. The music grows louder. The moans grow clearer. My pulse races.
She opens a heavy door.
And I gasp.
The main room opens before us like a forbidden dream. High ceilings draped in black velvet and crimson silk. Crystal chandeliers dimmed to a sultry glow. A long bar of polished ebony runs along one wall, manned by a bartender in a half-mask pouring drinks.
Scattered around the space are low velvet couches, chaise lounges, and curtained alcoves, some open, some half-hidden.
People move through the room. Women and men in lingerie, corsets, leather harnesses, or nothing at all.
A tall man in a tailored suit holds a leash attached to a collar around a kneeling woman’s throat; she crawls beside him, naked except for thigh-high stockings, her pussy glistening under the low lights.
Across the room, a woman in a black lace bodysuit leads a man by a similar leash; he’s on all fours, blindfolded, muscles flexing as he follows her every tug.
A couple fucks slowly on a chaise lounge near the bar, her legs wrapped around his waist, his face buried in her neck. Another woman is bent over a padded bench, wrists cuffed behind her back, while a man takes her from behind, and another fucks her mouth.
The air is thick with perfume, sweat, sex, and something darker. My heart hammers so hard I fear it’s going to rip out of my chest. Leonid’s hand tightens on my lower back, grounding me.
“Still with me?” he murmurs against my ear.
I nod, swallowing hard.
The woman leads us past the throng of people toward a wide, curving staircase at the far end of the room.
I’m grateful for Leonid’s hand steady on my lower back; without it, I’m not sure my legs would hold. The stairs are black marble veined with gold, lit by low sconces that cast long shadows.
At the top, she stops in front of a heavy door and unlocks it with a small key from her belt. She pushes it open, steps aside with a polite nod, and disappears back down the stairs without a word.
The room is smaller than I expected, intimate, almost cocoon-like. Deep burgundy walls absorb the light from a single crystal chandelier overhead. A low, wide bed dominates the center, covered in black silk sheets.
A black leather settee sits against one wall, a small table beside it holding a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket and two flutes. The air smells faintly of sandalwood.
One entire wall is covered by heavy black velvet curtains, floor to ceiling.
I turn, realizing the door is now shut. Leonid steps closer. His fingers brush my cheek, tilting my chin up so I have to meet his eyes.
“Anything you saw out there scare you enough to want to leave yet?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Surprise flickers across his face, but it’s gone in an instant. He studies me for another beat, then nods toward the settee.
“Sit.”
I do. The leather is cool against the backs of my thighs. The music from downstairs is still audible, low bass thumping through the floor, punctuated by breathy cries.
My mind spins back to the videos I watched after he first mentioned the club: couples swapping partners, groups tangled together, moans overlapping until it is impossible to tell who is coming from whom.
We never talked about rules.
I swallow. “Leonid… I don’t want to have sex with another man.” The words rush out. “Or woman. I don’t want to share you, and I don’t want to be shared.”
He goes still. Then his expression shifts to something fierce, possessive, almost feral. He closes the distance between us in one step, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me up to meet his mouth.
“I’d never share what’s mine,” he says against my lips, voice low and rough. “And you’re mine.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
“I don’t want to share you either,” I whisper.
He kisses me again, deeper this time. “I have no interest in any other woman, Laurel. Or man. Just you.”
I exhale shakily.
He releases me, steps to the small table, and pours champagne into both flutes. He hands me one, takes a sip from his own, eyes never leaving mine.
I glance at the curtained wall. “What’s behind there?”
He picks up a small remote from the table and presses a button.
The velvet curtains slide open, revealing what’s on the other side, and a gasp leaves my lips: “God!”