Chapter 13
NOVA
“For the record, you’re beautiful too,” Wes said as we walked through The Circle’s dark, dreamlike labyrinth.
I glowered at him. “A gentleman would’ve let that go.”
He guided me to a quiet alcove by a staircase that descended to… hell, probably. He grinned as he faced me. “Oh, is that what you think I am?”
My next words escaped me. A grunt and an accompanying cry of pleasure hit us from the right, the source somewhere behind a door left ajar. Neon pink light spilled out into the dim hallway.
Was this how friends spoke to each other? I couldn’t tell which was more mind-scrambling—The Circle or Wes.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I scanned my inner world. “A lot of things. Confident, yet confused. Proud, yet…” I averted my gaze. “Embarrassed.”
Wes nodded. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I meant what I said. You were perfect.”
I warmed under the light of his praise.
“I need you to understand something,” he said. “The power you had up there, it didn’t come from me. I just unlocked it. It’s all yours. All the good things you felt belong to you.”
All of them? I wondered in horror, remembering how many of those feelings revolved around him. I refocused. “Why were you so angry with Archer after I spoke—right before you squeezed my hand?”
A muscle in his jaw feathered. “They knew you were under hypnosis, easily suggestable and vulnerable,” he said, his eyes darkening.
“Archer intentionally tried to keep you from me afterward. He drew people toward me, made introductions, and then he left me with them and went straight to you. I didn’t like it.
” His muscles tensed underneath his jacket.
“And I certainly didn’t like that he touched you. ”
My body surged with heat, responding to Wes’s intensity. “Because I was still hypnotized.”
Wes nodded. He was being protective. As my friend. My buddy. My comrade-in-arms in our cult investigations.
“Yeah, they were both coming on a bit strong. Classic love bombing,” I affirmed. “Do you think Archer and Jayne are dangerous? Or are they just out-of-touch swingers? I mean, we just listened to an entire class about safety and consent.”
Wes blew out a breath, shaking his head. “I don’t think we’re anywhere near the innermost layer of this place. Archer and Jayne are the tip of the iceberg.”
I thought about the room of masked men. How close were they to the inner circle?
“They’re only the faces of the cult,” I echoed.
“Yeah,” Wes said. “I think so.” He hesitated for a beat, seeming to struggle for the right words. “I worry about you in this place, especially after your speech. You know there are safer venues in the city to experiment with kink, right?”
I straightened my spine. “This wasn’t—isn’t—about kink.
” When I heard approaching footsteps, I lowered my voice.
“I may have been vulnerable when I was under the influence of your helpful mind control, but I’m not weak.
I’m immune to cult tactics after what I went through in Tennessee, trust me.
This is about finding my friend. If this place is as dangerous as you keep alluding to, then she’s the one in the most danger right now, not me. ”
I quickly recapped Lorelei’s PicWave stories and connected it to the pregnant women and Jayne’s fixation on a return to the primal.
I didn’t know who Lorelei’s mystery man was, but he was clearly responsible for bringing her into The Circle.
And Lorelei was not herself, in the most concerning of ways.
Wes listened; he didn’t poke holes in my worries or tell me to let Lorelei make her own choices like Hudson. He just listened.
“I don’t think you’re weak,” he said finally. “I think it’s admirable what you’re willing to do for your friend.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he was still struggling to find the right words. “I need to know. What you shared in the nave… was it real?”
My heart picked up a few beats. I couldn’t escape Wes’s thoughtful, all-seeing eyes—the eyes that often seemed to see straight through me, right to my very core.
“Yes,” I whispered, cheeks burning. “It was real.”
His brows drew close, and he didn’t immediately respond. He looked conflicted, pained even—but I couldn’t understand why. Did he wish I’d said it was all fake?
We heard a loud slap followed by a screaming moan and the words yes, Daddy in a high-pitched, porn-like voice.
I reacted like an evolved, sex-positive adult: I burst into giggles. Wes’s eyes locked on my lips, and he smiled softly.
He sighed like he’d just lost some unspoken battle. “Do you want to do some rope?”
Wes led me to a room in the cellar of the church, where he scanned the space like I’d seen him do many times before.
“Are you looking for someone?” I asked.
He immediately stopped his scan with a small shake of his head.
He didn’t answer me, just guided me to an empty spot in a room of people tying each other up.
We sat together as I continued to observe the space.
The light from the chandelier above was bright enough for people to see their work clearly, after their eyes adjusted, but still dim enough to preserve the mood.
To my left, a woman dangled from the ceiling.
Rope had been secured around a circular loop fastened to a hard point, as well as in various knots around her limbs and torso.
But no one was around her. She was in her underwear with big headphones over her ears, curves accentuated by the cinch of the bondage as she twirled in a slow circle.
“Did she do that herself?” I asked Wes, eyes wide.
He glanced up at the woman. “Looks like it. It’s called self-suspension. Incredible skill to behold.”
“And that’s, like, a hobby for people?”
Wes nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Shibari is as much an artform as it is erotic, maybe even more so for many.”
I felt comfortable in this room, as there was very little overtly sexual or intense play happening.
The energy was still sensual, but not so heavy.
Someone I assumed was an instructor gave pointers to a man tying another man on the floor to our left, discussing nerve damage risk and proper placement away from joints.
“You know what you’re doing?” I asked Wes. “I need my wrists for writing. They’re kind of crucial.”
Wes unwound the rope provided on our black mat with a smirk. “Your wrists are safe with me.” He glanced up at me through those dark lashes, and my heart fluttered. “May I read your books?”
I steadied myself with a breath. “After the alarming text messages I received from you this week, I’m wondering if the real question is, can you read my books?”
Wes chuckled, his grin devilish as he stopped what he was doing with the rope to focus on me. “I can tell that really stressed you out. My sincerest apologies.”
“Thank you. It was deeply troubling, and I appreciate you holding space for that.”
Wes shook his head, still grinning. I wanted to hear him laugh again.
“They’re romance novels,” I said, as if warning him. I was on display, paranoid about what Wes might uncover about my psyche the deeper he pried.
“I’m aware.”
“Well… okay, sure. You can read them if you want to,” I said, comforted by the knowledge it was unlikely to happen.
“I do.”
My eyes darted from Wes to the rope. I sensed attention from the room periodically drifting to us, probably because of my sermon. Or maybe because Wes and I were new.
“We can do a simple bind on your arms or legs. Or a chest harness. Or we can just sit here and talk,” Wes said.
I shook my head. “We have to do something. It’s expected of us.”
“Who cares about their expectations? If you don’t want to—”
“I do,” I said, even as I winced. I was tired of my own excuses, my own denial and fear. Maybe the act of speaking to a room of strangers had shifted something inside me, or maybe I was still a little hypnotized, but I’d grown sick of my own bullshit. Bored of it, even.
I wanted to keep chasing this feeling of being alive.
“What’s a chest harness?” I asked.
“May I touch you?” Wes asked, softer now. His hesitation sharply contrasted with his lethal form.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Wes moved closer. When his cool, tattooed hand brushed the top of my chest, just below my collarbone, I couldn’t help my involuntary shiver.
“Rope would go here,” he said. He traced up my shoulders, then back down.
I went perfectly still, tingles spreading from everywhere he touched. He traced around each of my breasts. As fingers made a circle around my ribcage, I was overwhelmed by his scent—the clean smell of wood, pine, leather, and subtle, crisp cologne.
“You’re wearing a dress,” he said, his voice gravelly. He inhaled and retracted his touch. “So as long as you’re comfortable with me tying over it.”
“It was like twenty dollars,” I breathed.
Wes smiled. He waited for my verdict. Something about the care in his eyes, the patience—the recognition that all of this was difficult and frightening for me—it made it easier to let go with him.
Even bringing me down here, away from the loudest, most violent displays of debauchery…
it felt like Wes paid attention. Like he knew what I needed.
“Chest harness,” I said with a braver nod than what I felt.
“I won’t touch you anywhere except where is necessary for tying. I won’t go too tight, not enough to affect airflow. Alert me if you’re ever uncomfortable. Are there any other limits or concerns you want to voice?”
I shook my head.
There was nothing to overthink. I was about to be topped by my pal Wes. This was nice. Normal, even.
With a loop of rope in one hand, Wes made a twirl of his fingers. “Turn around for me.”
Something about him shifted, and my body recognized it on an unconscious level. I turned, keeping my back straight and legs folded to the side.
Wes snaked the rope around my upper ribs, his chest to my back. I was aware of every rise and fall of my chest, Wes’s hands so close to the nipples that were slowly hardening against my will.