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Jaden glances at me, a flicker of something indecipherable in his eyes. "You might be surprised at what you discover about yourself," he says softly, almost a whisper. "And about us."
Us. The word lingers between us, heavy with unspoken promise and potential. We’re playing a dangerous game, a dance on the edge of a precipice, and I'm not sure who's leading anymore. But one thing is clear: the tension between us is a living, breathing entity that consumes the space, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both.
19
JADEN
Jaden,
You’ll be staying in the Eros' Haven suite. Security has set up your biometric scan. We’ll have Rayne set up as part of her induction. Included is your Ticket to Temptation. Keep this on you at all times. There will come a time very soon when Rayne will need what appears to be medical attention. Do not take her to a hospital. There’s a Druid temple in a forest in New Jersey. This ticket and your power will guide you there. Ignore the call at your and Rayne’s peril.
Aleah
That cryptic note, with its strange message and a carved wooden card etched with intricate symbols, are the contents of the envelope Aleah handed me. They come with the room number and WiFi for the secure suite Rayne and I will be sharing. There's a certain relief in this neutral ground, yet a part of me aches for the solitude of my sanctuary. But my newfound power, seemingly with its own consciousness, jolts me, calling out my self-deception. It's not just solitude I miss. It's Rayne's intriguing presence, her unguarded curiosity that seeps through our bond, stirring something in me.
I sense her fumbling with the connection, a curious blend of resistance and exploration. She prods and pokes, like a child with a new toy, all while maintaining a seemingly effortless conversation. It's an odd dance, and though I should be figuring out how to shield my thoughts, I find myself ensnared by her, this little dragon entrusted to my care.
Then, like a fool, I use the word "us," and her eyes spark to life, a clear interest kindling in their depths. My power and desire surge in unison, urging me on, while my rational mind screams for restraint. But tonight, the usual shadows that haunt me are drowned out by the buzz of the Stoli and the allure of Rayne's presence. For this moment, I'm allowing myself a reprieve from the usual self-imposed exile, as much as I'm capable of.
“You might be surprised at what you discover about yourself. And about us."
The simmering desire in Rayne, a whisper through our bond, surges as I speak. Despite the alcohol dulling my senses, her presence resonates with me, her tension interlaced with an unmistakable yearning. She eats with a restraint that’s uncharacteristic, a faint smile playing on her lips, her posture stiff. It’s clear she’s grappling with more than just the electrifying atmosphere between us. My own desire for her, undeniable and growing, pulses within me.
I trace the path of my finger along her arm, eliciting a shiver from her, a thrill of anticipation echoing back to me. There's an art in drawing out a woman's response, a game I've mastered. But with Rayne, it's an entirely different game. Her guarded history, her complexity, challenges me to delve deeper, to discover the passionate, sensual being lurking beneath her cautious exterior.
“We’re in the club right now.” I gesture around the luxuriously appointed suite. Its design melds comfort with subtle eroticism. The high beams, the furniture—each piece functional yet designed for sexual activity, far from the garish displays in other clubs. This understated elegance, where pleasure intertwines with refinement, is what draws me in.
Rayne halts, her attention shifting from her meal to survey the room. “So, is this like a 'Fifty Shades' thing? Where’s all the sex stuff?”
Laughter, genuine and rare, escapes me. “Each suite has a private playroom. The main events are in the penthouse. We have time,” I say, hoping my words encourage her to relax and eat.
Her mention of 'Fifty Shades' grates on me. That narrative, with its flawed portrayal, trivializes the complexities of sexual dynamics. To me, sex is a profound exploration, a dance of power and vulnerability. It's not a frivolous game but a journey into the depths of desire and control. My experiences have shown that only music and the intensity of a scene can hold back the shroud of darkness that looms over me. Yet, the paradox remains—a scene is, in essence, a form of roleplay, a game that holds the potential for deep, meaningful connections.
And even as the thought forms, I can't escape the irony of it. The shroud, my ever-present nemesis, begins its encroachment, a suffocating tide of darkness. It provokes a reaction, stirs my power that lies dormant within. It's an insatiable need to release, a force that builds when I battle the darkness. The choice is stark—succumb to the shroud or find release in fucking or killing. The war within me, a tempest of conflicting desires, pushes me away from my safe havens—both the literal fortress Rayne mockingly calls my Batcave and the mental sanctuary I've built. Here I am, venturing down a path fraught with potential pain and rejection for reasons that elude even my rational mind. A surge of irrational annoyance wells up within me.
“First off, I haven’t read that book. Can’t believe you bought into that shit. “Fifty Shades” gets BDSM dangerously wrong. You’re too intelligent for that.” My words are tinged with frustration, a hint of irritation seeping into my tone. If Rayne and I are to coexist, she must accept me as I am, in all my fucked-up glory.
I catch a fleeting glimpse of something in Rayne’s eyes, a spark I can't quite define before she exhales a sigh and pushes her plate away. Our bond, while revealing, offers no clarity here.
“Yes, I bought into it. I’m stupid that way. Why didn’t you read it?” Her gaze pierces me with its intensity, her mental shields rising. I brace myself; she's gearing up for a confrontation. Is this really her takeaway from my words? We want her. My power and libido are unconcerned with the future implications of our entanglement with Rayne. They crave the immediate, the here and now. And right now, they yearn for this woman who stands apart from anyone I’ve chosen to engage with before.
“Stop selling yourself short. I never implied you were unintelligent.” My voice carries a rising tone of righteous indignation, my dominant nature surfacing in defense.
“Yes, you did. You said, and I quote, ‘you’re too smart to buy into that.’ Implying if I did buy into it, I’m not smart. Just like everyone believes. So, yes, me and millions who read the books and watched the movies are idiots, right?” Rayne’s retort comes in a rapid torrent. Before I can formulate a response, she’s taken another swig of her drink. Our bond signals a shift in her mood a mere moment before she challenges, “So what’s so dangerously wrong with it? Enlighten me.”
I let out a long sigh, a performance of patience, while internally acknowledging my own asshole tendencies. But I justify it as a necessity—Rayne needs to understand this side of me if we're going to spend any significant time together. “First of all, that Grey guy is abusive. There's a zero-tolerance policy for abuse in the kink world, especially at the Masquerade Club. Connor and Kat ensure that what happens here is always pleasurable and consensual. But my real beef with it is the misrepresentation of BDSM. Like the absurd idea that nobody uses a safe word.” I take a swig of my drink, letting the sharpness of the alcohol match my tone. “And Grey is definitely not a Dom, that much is clear even without reading the books.”
“How do you know all this if you haven’t read the books?” Rayne’s curiosity pokes through her defiance.
“I listen, observe, and form my own opinions.” My response is clipped, a contrast to the swirling emotions inside.
The intensity between us crackles, almost tangible. “You don’t strike me as someone who lets others shape your views.”
She shifts gears, maybe sensing the heat of our exchange getting too intense. “What’d Aleah give you?” Rayne's question offers a momentary respite from our verbal sparring.
I hesitate, weighing how much to disclose. Aleah's selective sharing of information irks me. Another tick against those in power. Reluctantly, I retrieve the wooden tablet from my pocket and place it on the table. Its surface is adorned with detailed scrollwork and an explicit carving of a man and a woman, each embodying raw sexual power. “Ticket to Temptation” is inscribed on one side and “A Chosen One” on the other, words that hold more meaning than they let on.
Rayne picks up the tablet, examining it closely. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice laced with wonder.
