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I’d only taken in the barest glance of the room as we’d walked in at first and headed straight for the bar, but now as I look at it more clearly, my heart starts to race. The various apparatus around the room—padded tables, benches like the one Connor had mentioned last night, an X-shaped structure, a metal frame with cuffs hanging from it, something that looks startlingly like a medieval stock, are scattered around the edges of the room—are spaced out in intervals between the curtained alcoves. Most of them are empty, but as the growing number of patrons in the club start to filter out away from the bar, I see couples begin to move towards them, some pairing off from the bar and heading towards the structures or the alcoves.
Connor raises an eyebrow, holding out a hand. “Want a closer look, Saoirse?”
I swallow hard, gulping down the last of my drink. “We should give them some space—privacy—shouldn’t we?”
He laughs. “Saoirse, what did I just say? If they wanted to play in private, they would go into the alcoves or rent a private room upstairs. Theywantto be seen. So?”
His hand is still outstretched, and I know it’s another dare. I know the game we’re playing, and as my gaze flicks nervously towards the perimeter of the room, I know that I have two choices.
I can accept defeat, admit this is too much for me and my “uptight” sensibilities, and tell Connor I want to leave. He’ll take me back to the hotel; I have absolutely no doubt that he would. He’d probably take as much pleasure in my capitulation to his insistence that I couldn’t ever satisfy these desires he has as he would my actually staying or even participating in them. He won’t force me to do anything.
Or—I can stay and have an entirely new world opened up to me. I can see how far Connor is going to push this, and choose where I draw the line—but not draw it quite yet. I can see how much it will take to make me cry uncle.
“What are you afraid of, princess?” Connor’s bright gaze meets mine, and my heart thumps again in my chest.
WhatamI afraid of? Nudity? Seeing people engaging in sexual acts in front of me? Surely I’m not that much of a prude—
And then it hits me, as my pulse races in my throat, and I consider, very seriously, telling Connor that I’m tapping out.
I’m afraid that I’m going toenjoyit. Worse still, I’m afraid that I’m going towantit.
Worst of all, that Iwillwant to satisfy these desires that Connor has, and for him to satisfy them in me as well, and that he’ll reject me anyway.
That, in the end, it won’t really come down to him wanting partners who will engage in kinky things I’m not willing to do, but him just wanting to fuck other women. That no matter what I do, or want, or am, I’ll never be enough for him, just as I wasn’t enough for Liam.
That I’ll never be enough for anyone.
If I run away, I won’t have to face that. I can tell myself, for the rest of my life, that my husband strays from my bed because I’m too good for the disgusting things he wants.
Or, I can find out if I want them too.
I look up at him, tilting my chin up defiantly, and take his hand.
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
Connor grins, his eyes darkening with wicked mischief. “That’s what I was hoping you would say.” He tugs me forward, his fingers entwining with mine as he leads me away from the bar. “Your education begins now, then, princess.”
He leads me towards the outer edge of the perimeter, where I can see a tall iron cabinet, the doors opened to display a variety of implements. “This is where you can choose your toys for the night, for use on this floor,” Connor says quietly, leaning so that his breath skims against my ear, sending another shiver through me. “There’s crops, canes, paddles—some with holes, see, for more pain. Floggers, feathers, vibrators, all sorts of sensory toys—” his hand brushes against the small of my back as he drops my hand, urging me closer.
“Isn’t that unsanitary?” I manage, and Connor laughs.
“I assure you, they’re well-sanitized between patrons.” He turns me away from the half-empty cabinet toward the couples in various states of play. At the far wall, he points to a tall, thick-necked man locking a pretty, petite woman in the stocks, bent over and still fully dressed, except for her short skirt that’s flung up over her ass so that her swollen pussy is visible.
I blanch, stepping back. “She’s—I can see—”
“Everyone can,” Connor says with a smirk.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “She likes being exposed, clearly, and her master likes exposing her. I imagine—ah, yes. See?” He gestures towards a tall, elegantly dressed woman walking towards her, a flogger in hand. “She’s there for the pleasure of anyone who wants to use her. I imagine before too long, some man who her master approves of will be fucking her.”
“Here?” I hiss. “In the open?”
“Like I said—”
“I heard you. For exhibition.” My heart is racing so fast that I feel like I can’t think, the room a swirl of sensory overload. I’m appalled at the man who would lock up his partner and expose her for anyone’s use—but at the same time, the thought of it makes me feel flushed and odd…not turned on, exactly, but not disgusted, either. “You’re sure she likes it?”
Connor shrugs. “Look at her. You can get closer if you want.”
