AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It is.
Gabriel.
Here.
Just to make sure, I hook a finger into the edge of the curtain and peel it back an inch.
His back is to me as he talks to the concierge. But I hear that deep, velvety voice and see those broad, muscled shoulders under a Tom Ford suit every day.
Fuck. Me.
Then I shake my head. I mean, I’m here, too. It’s no big deal for Gabriel to be at Club Venom. Like me, he’s probably here for a meeting of some?—
“Would you like your work or play mask tonight, Mr. Black?”
What?
“Play.”
“Of course, Mr. Black. One moment, please.”
“Thank you, Marissa.”
There’s something different about him tonight. A darker edge to his voice. A tenseness in his shoulders. An energy surrounding him that isn’t usually there. I shiver, peeking through the small gap as Marissa disappears through a curtain behind her desk and reappears holding a mask.
My breath catches.
While they’re all black and gold, everyone’s mask is unique at Venom. I asked Taylor about it when I came with her before, and apparently some members have their masks tailored to their own specifications.
My eyes land on Gabriel’s as he holds it in his hands.
It’s in the shape of a devil: leering, scary. It’s also entirely matte black except for the golden horns that curve up past his hair, and golden fangs that curve dangerously down toward his jaw.
A shiver rips up my spine as I watch him slip it on.
“Your usual wristband tonight, sir?”
“Yes, thank you, Marissa.”
Those bands are another facet of Club Venom: it being a kink club, the different colors signify different “interests”, so that like-minded members can find each other out there.
Taylor gave me a quick rundown when we were here last time. For instance, the white and gold one I just returned to Marissa signifies I’m just an observer.
But the red and black one I watch Gabriel slip onto his wrist has my breath catching and my pulse thudding in my ears. For all of our jokes about him being Mr. Roboto, my face suddenly sizzles as my eyes lock on the red and black wristband.
Red means sadomasochism. The black lines across it signify a Dom.
Something wicked pools in my core. Something dark and hungry gnaws at my insides.
Though I don’t really currently or historically have much of it, I consider myself, theoretically, a sex-positive person. Whatever consenting adults do behind closed doors is their own business. Kinks are kinks, and people should be able to explore them without shame.
Except I don’t exactly practice what I preach. Because I think maybe some kinks shouldn’t be explored.
Some desires shouldn’t see the light of day.
Like mine.
Especially given what happened to me all those years go.
