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"If we judge the people judging, are we any better?" I shrug. "It's easy to paint everyone with the same brush. But we've all got shit, Dilemma. We've all been through shit, and all been shaped by our own shit."
"Yeah," she whispers, her smile slipping slightly. "I guess we have."
I frown, not liking the way she almost draws in on herself. What has she been through? What wounded her? I don't know but I don't like it. I barely know her, but I already know she wasn't made for pain and sorrow. She was made to laugh and smile.
I don't ask, though. This isn't the time or place for those revelations. Those will come later, when she's ready to give her heart to me and not just her body. I've already decided I want both. She needs someone looking after her. I intend to be the only man for the job.
"What do you like, beautiful?"
"I'm not sure," she whispers.
"Pain?"
"Definitely not," she squeaks, making me chuckle.
"So, you don't want to see the dungeon, then?" I ask, teasing her.
Her wide eyes meet mine. "Dungeon?"
"Forget it, Dilemma," I growl. "You aren't fucking going down there." I don't care how grown she thinks she is. She isn't ready for that shit. I don't even like going down there. Sadism isn't for everyone. Hell, it isn't for most people. I don't judge, but I don't want to stand around and watch, either.
"Okay," she agrees, giving up for now. Thank God. Instead, she turns those green eyes on me. "I want to see everything. Show me your world, Bronx." She swallows. "Teach me."
Ah, fuck.
She quivers in excitement,clinging to my hand when I lead her through the doors into the first of the clothing optional rooms. I don't have to look to know what's happening inside…the same shit that goes on every night here. Naked people sitting around on expensive furniture, showing off their pets. Men and women on leashes and in collars kneel beside chairs, their eyes on the floor as their masters talk. Other couples snuggle in chairs, hands roaming as they converse.
It's the tamest of the rooms in the club, a good starting point for someone new.
Gemma inhales a soft little gasp that makes my dick throb. I glance at her to find her eyes bouncing all over the room. She doesn't stare, but she's very obviously taking it all in. And equally as obviously not turned off.
Fucking hell. She's loving this.
I had a feeling she would. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not. Part of me wants to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her far away from the things that go on here. That part wants to protect her innocence. But that's not my decision to make. I don't get to decide for her if this is the lifestyle for her or not. I don't get to decide what she enjoys.
She asked me to teach her. That's what I intend to do. I get to be the lucky motherfucker who experiences everything this place has to offer at her side, through her eyes. But I don't get to decide for her.
She's capable of doing that for herself.
"Come on," I murmur, leading her deeper into the room.
"What is this room?" she asks, looking up at me in avid curiosity. "It's smoky."
"It's one of the cigar rooms."
"Oh." She scrunches up her nose, making me smile. She doesn't care for smoke, then.
"Bronx."
Fuck my life.
I stop walking as Micah Borden pushes away from the wall where he was hiding in the shadows, striding in our direction. His penetrating gaze flickers over Gemma before coming back to me.
"Micah," I growl, tugging Gemma a little closer so it's clear she's off-limits. Micah is a friend. He's also been looking for something or someone for months. Whatever or whoever it is, he hasn't found it. He leaves alone every night. Most nights, he doesn't even make it past the bar before he dips.
If he thinks he's found it tonight, he's sorely mistaken.
"Hi, Micah." Gemma fidgets beside me, clearly uncomfortable. Is it my imagination, or is she blushing? "Um, I didn't know you were a member here."
