14. Selene
CHAPTER 14
SELENE
W hat the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. Nothing about tonight has gone according to plan. The moment I saw the three of them sitting at the bar with their masks on, it was game over for me. I knew what my target was for the night, and nothing was going to stop me—not even myself, or that small voice of reason. You’d think, with my status and wealth, I’d be a bit more reserved, maybe paranoid?
That’s the uncanny beauty of this place—it’s not about thinking or managing or making decisions. It’s about surrendering. Letting go entirely or taking absolute control, depending on your craving. Here, whatever dark or forbidden desire surfaces, you follow it without hesitation. You let it control you. The memories linger like stolen postcards—souvenirs you’ll hoard for years, snapshots of indulgence you’d never risk outside these walls. Someday, when I’m old and gray, I won’t look back with regret. No shame for the things I didn’t dare to enjoy openly because of the life I was born into. At least a sliver of it came alive here.
Now, though, I’m winding through the skeletal remains of an abandoned amusement park, the shadows of rusty buildings rising like sentinels around me. I’m searching for a man who might kill me without a second thought. No one would know. He could leave my body here to rot, swallowed by the quiet, and vanish without leaving a trace. This place is a ghost town—a playground for the untamed, where secrets are currency and exposure is a fate worse than death.
Again, what the hell were you thinking?
The thrill of what’s to come is what keeps me moving, one foot in front of the other, as I push open the creaking door of what looks like a haunted gingerbread house. The once-vibrant colors have faded to a sickly orange-gray, and the candy cane columns are chipped and rotting. Inside, the air is thick with dust and the sweet scent of gingerbread long replaced by the staleness of desist.
Every shadow seems to move, every creak and groan of the old structure makes me jump with unease. The darkness is alive, playing tricks on my mind. But it’s that same darkness, that same uncertainty, that has me tingling in between my legs.
Fuck I love this feeling. I’ve learned to embrace it, giving up shame long ago and now that it’s finally here, a fantasy I’ve been dreaming about for so long potentially coming to life…I can hardly wait.
What if you hate it?
Then I’ll put a stop to it. I’m not ashamed of that either. That’s what a safe word is there for. There is no guarantee I’m going to love everything my dirty mind thinks of, and if I want to put an end to it, I will. Without hesitation. I haven’t needed to yet and I am equal parts curious and scared to find out where my limit ends.
Terrified, I round a corner into a hallway cloaked in darkness, my pulse hammering in my ears. I stretch out both arms, brushing my fingertips along the rough walls, searching blindly for a door—or worse, a dead end.
Damon seemed determined to shift the mood of the night, his mask secured tightly like armor. Without a word, he’d pulled out a handkerchief, tying it deftly around my wrists as I clung to the back of the bench. “When you free yourself,” he said, his tone calm but resolute, “come find me.”
A man with a plan, even when it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with the games tonight. Despite his aloofness, I’m glad I followed his challenge.
Searching for him feels like the right choice.
My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and if something jumps out at me right now, I’d probably scream bloody murder.
Finally I seem to encounter a wall right in front of me. Relief washes over me when my fingers find a handle that yields with a faint creak. Holding my breath, I push the door open, stepping into an empty room bathed in a dim red and green glow.
In the center sits a dusty red couch, surrounded by plastic candy canes scattered haphazardly across the floor. Unlit Christmas lights dangle from corner to corner, their wires tangled and sagging. It doesn’t have the abandoned feel of the rest of the park; there’s a lived-in quality to the space, as if it’s used often—just not by anyone I’d want to meet.
I pause, taking it all in. The amusement park is clearly more than a decaying relic. People must come here for reasons far beyond the hotel’s kinky offerings. Still, I can’t shake the discomfort creeping up my spine. Like someone’s watching me.
A door stands opposite the one I entered. Damon isn’t in this room.
Without wasting time, I run across and step into the next room, nearly identical to the first. The only difference? This one has a green couch instead of red. Déjà vu tightens around me like a noose, but I keep moving.
Rooms three, four, and five are exactly the same, and by the time I reach the sixth door, it feels like I’m trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Each room is a carbon copy of the last, draining my hope with every step.
But then, hallelujah—this one is different.
A smile spreads across my face as I step inside, greeted by a row of Christmas trees. Though I know it’s all fake, it doesn’t feel that way. The ceiling above has tiny holes, releasing a steady stream of artificial snowflakes that gently blanket the room. The snow covers the Christmas trees, turning the space into a winter wonderland tree farm.
Whoever designed this room must have wanted to create a place where you could get lost in the magic of the season, forever trapped in a holiday dream. Unlike the others, there is nothing haunting or scary about this room.
My feet crunch on the fake snow as I walk in between the trees, smelling the sweet scent of pine. Catching movement in the corner of my eye, I turn around, feeling my skin crawl with an uneasy sensation.
He’s definitely here and the brat inside me wants to join the party.
“You like playing games, Damon? Get hard on being in total control?”
Silence. Except for the loud thumping in my chest.
Thump.
Thump.
A sudden rustling startles me, and I whip around, heart pounding—but there’s no one there. My breaths come shallow and quick. My skin prickles, every nerve ending alive, desperate for contact—grab me, pull me, anything. I step backward, eyes darting wildly, scanning every shadow and gap between the trees. Damon has to be out here somewhere, waiting.
Watching.
I grit my teeth, steadying myself.
I’ll be ready when he decides to strike.
Needles scratch against my back, and I flinch with a sharp yelp, spinning around only to find myself tangled in a pine tree. “God damn it,” I mutter under my breath, brushing off the branches.
Then, faintly, I hear it—a low, hushed laugh drifting through the cold air behind me. My pulse quickens.
For a guy his size, he’s frustratingly good at staying hidden.
“Do you do this to her too? Stalk her like this? Always watching but never close enough to touch her.”
Talking back when I’m in such a vulnerable position is so foolish but it makes my insides twist with so much pleasure. I love being a cunning bitch. Knowing I can get inside someone’s head with little to no effort is exhilarating. That’s what I love about being a switch the most, the power exchange.
The room plunges into darkness as the lights shuts off, leaving only the hum of the snowflake machine as the final sound to disrupt the silence.
Oh, fuck.
Here we go.
How am I supposed to do this in complete darkness?
Just as that thought crosses my mind, a few twinkling lights flicker on in the trees. The snowflake machine was shut off with the over head lights but this mood lighting is beautiful. In any other circumstances I’d think this was a romantic gesture but not tonight. I have a feeling this cute backdrop is going to witness my ass getting severely punished.
I weave through the trees, trying to make my way to the back of this very long room and hopefully find Damon by the power box.
He’s making this more difficult than it needs to be.
Seeing the wall, I duck behind another row of trees when I feel a hand wrap around my throat, pulling me back against a hard chest.
“You’re terrible at hunting.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out, my stomach twisting with pleasure.
He lets out a row rumble. “So aggressive for someone who was willing to beg for this earlier.”
“Are you going to bore me with your words?”
His hand tightens around my throat. “You think I care what a fuck toy has to say? You can’t get in my head.”
I grab his wrist, my nails digging into his flesh as I turn to face him. “I’m already in your head.”
His imposing dark figure, with the mask looking down on me is a sight I’ll never forget. He doesn’t say anything so I keep talking.
“I think you care entirely too much.” I smile up at him.
In the blink of an eye, I’m sprawled on the floor, gasping for air as Damon looms over me. His knees rest on either side of my shoulders, and with one hand, he firmly holds both of my wrists above my head. He starts unbuckling his belt with his other hand.
“We’re done talking,” he growls and I can’t help but laugh. Feeling overly satisfied with myself for getting him worked up so quickly.
“You’re just like everyone else.”
Damon stops then, his mask staring straight at me as he leans closer.
I love this moment right here, when we’re swaying on the edge of control. Often times I win, but once in a while someone daring surprises me.
I haven’t figured out which way Damon is going to go.
“I can’t wait to hear you beg,” he whispers, lifting his mask to reveal his lips. “One last thing before we get started.”
I blink up at the elongated black holes. “You wanna kiss me?”
He shakes his head. “You remember your safe word?”
Not going to pretend that rejection didn’t hurt, but I guess it’s to be expected since he’s clearly in love with someone else.
I nod silently. Damon leans down and kisses my ear lobe right as I hear the sharp crack of his belt slicing through the air. He yanks my arms down, pinning them at my sides with his knee pressed firmly on top, making it impossible to move. He’s too strong; any attempt to pull away only makes my wrists ache. So I stop resisting and watch as he wraps one end of the belt around my throat and threads the other end down to bind my wrists. Before I know it, I’m trapped—if I try to move my arms, the belt tightens around my neck, choking me.
How did he even manage that so quickly?
Before I have a chance to protest, he’s pulling me up by his belt, restricting my airway for a few seconds as I scramble to get to my feet.
Fuck.
I struggle against the restraint, but it’s pointless—the leather is already biting painfully into my skin. He drags me along like an animal, and I nearly trip over my own feet as we reach what I assume is the end of the hallway or room, whatever this winter wonderland is that we’re trapped inside. Well, I’m trapped. For now, at least, until I figure out how to get out of this bind.
But maybe you don’t. Maybe you ride this out and let the fantasy unfold, just like you’ve always dreamed of.
Maybe I like that plan better.
Time will tell.