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The necklace underscored that vulnerability; it reflected her betrayal, her giving her body and thoughts and desire to someone else. It reflected a fact she could no longer ignore: Jonathan was no longer enough of a stranger.
At Octavia’s, no one could tell what she needed simply by looking at her, by touching her, by knowing her, although wasn’t knowing impossible after such a short time? But still, somehow, he did.
That’s why, when Octavia had called with an invitation to join the club, she accepted and became an official member. Because sensation, sometimes pain, at the club for her they had little to do with sex or exposure, intimacy or betrayal. Here, in the safety of Octavia’s, unlike with Jonathan, her need was low risk.
She had come back to Octavia’s several times since her last night with him, each time meeting other members as they hung their everyday, outside-world things in individual wardrobes in the changing areas.
Out on the main floor, she would drift among the singles, couples, and groups, awkwardly introducing herself and attempting small talk until the others wandered off with their playmates. But as soon as she would start to feel lost, Octavia seemed to find her, and they would head to one of the unoccupied alcoves.
Octavia would massage her upper back with oil first, then slowly drip the wax, starting just under the narrow fabric band at the neck of the backless dress she had dug out of the back of her closet.
Sometimes Octavia would alternate the wax with lashes from a flogger, a rhythm that enveloped her, spun her until she was drifting and lost.
Tonight, the warm wax and the whoosh of the suede tails unleashed a heat that radiated throughout her body. She listened closely for the faintest hiss as drops from the candle fell to her skin.
This, the club, was a new world to her, one she wanted to spend more time in. She didn’t understand it yet—its myriad kinks and fetishes, or her own desires.
But she did understand acceptance, and she felt that here in spades. Her need didn’t require explanation. Octavia’s club had become a refuge; it offered relief. Her senses were heightened here, eclipsing the thoughts, the emotions, the guilt.
As Octavia continued with the wax and the flogger, Quinn melted into the warmth, imagined it spiriting her body away.
The heat and sting stopped suddenly. Her head felt heavy as she lifted it and craned her neck to see why. In a brief, beautiful moment of silence before the storm, she could actually hear the wax crack as she moved.
* * *
“Octavia, we have a situation—”someone yelled from the front of the club. Alex? His voice grew louder. “Stop. You can’t just go in . . .”
“Five minutes,” a man growled.
Thatvoice she knew. She dropped her forehead onto the table. Fucking hell.
Octavia bent closer to her ear. “You know him, I take it? Should I call for help?”
“No, it’s okay. Can you”—she tugged at the restraints—“undo me?”
Jonathan came to a stop by the alcove’s archway. Alex caught up to him. “Hey man, you can’t do this. There’s a process, and we need ID.”
Alex’s hand closed around Jonathan’s upper arm, and he shrugged it away.
“I said I need five minutes.”
“I know him,” Quinn said, “and he won’t even be five minutes.” She climbed off the table and adjusted her dress as she went toward him, embarrassment heating her face.
The last thing she wanted was a public spectacle like this. She had heard it over and over the past couple of weeks, how important it was not to disrupt other members’ scenes.
Jonathan stared at her, then pulled one of her shoulders forward to peek around at her back. She pictured the crisscrossed lines of wax and avoided his face so she wouldn’t see his reaction.
“What are youdoing?” he demanded.
Her jaw clenched; her hands balled into fists. “Let’s go outside.”
She slunk past Octavia. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.”
Alex was shaking his head as she led Jonathan toward the door. “Not cool, man. It’s members only and there’s a procedure to follow. So not cool.”
The dreamy music inside gave way to the sounds of the street outside—taxis honking, blurred conversations as people hurried by, sirens wailing in the distance, their sound making her heart race and her stomach turn.
They stood facing each other in the June heat.
