She presses her palm to mine and I stand, taking her with me and moving her to the curb. The car door shuts behind us and I lace my fingers with Faith’s, bending our arms at the elbows, and fitting her snug to my hip. We start the walk up the stairs leading to the entrance, each of the dozen steps a walk of doom I reject. If this goes badly, I will lose her.
I’m not losing her.
We reach the top and a doorman in a suit—everyone in the place wears suits—well trained at the kind of discretion the club requires, does not make eye contact. He simply opens the door for us. Stepping inside the foyer, the mansion instantly drips of money, from the expensive paintings on the walls, the tiles and thick, oriental rugs on every floor, to the enormous, glass chandelier above our heads. “Where do they lead?” Faith asks of the set of wooden winding stairs directly in front of us, a red and multi-colored oriental carpet up their center, while a second stairwell leads downward.
“No place you want to go,” I assure her, redirecting her attention. “To the left is a cigar and whiskey room that is just that. Nothing more. No sex. No play allowed.”
“The stairs, Nick,” she says tightly, still keenly focused on them.
“Upstairs is group play. Downstairs a dungeon and bondage area, among other things. I didn’t go to those places without you, and we won’t be going to them now.”
She faces me. “I want to go to both areas. All areas.”
“I told you, Faith. I didn’t go to those places without you. I won’t take you to them now or ever.” I glance to the left to find Kurt, looking stoic in a black suit and gray tie.
Faith follows my gaze and Kurt closes the distance between us, standing in front of us in a few moments. “Faith is my guest,” I announce. “She is not, nor will she ever be, applying for membership.” He doesn’t react, but he’s smart enough to know that she’s why he now owns the club. “Faith,” I add, moving on. “This is Kurt. The new owner of the club. Kurt. How long did I own this place?”
“Roughly a year,” he says.
“Who owned it before me?”
“I’m not at liberty to name names, but one of your clients.”
It’s a good answer, the right answer, which sets up the story I’m trying to tell right now. “And this person owned it how long?”
“He created it,” Kurt explains. “It was his from day one ten years ago.”
“And did I ever claim the ownership duties?”
“You did not.”
“Did I ever spend time in any of the places those stairs lead?”
“No, you did not,” he says.
“And why should Faith trust that you aren’t simply protecting me?”
He looks Faith in the eyes for the first time since joining us. “I protect my members, but I don’t lie. I’d decline to answer rather than lie as I did when asked about the prior ownership. This was never Nick’s place. It was mine. It’s simply official now.” He looks at me. “Room eleven is yours.”
I nod and he gives Faith another look, but says nothing more. He simply turns and walks away. I don’t speak to Faith. I lead her down the hallway and I don’t stop until we’re at room eleven. I open the door, and allow Faith to enter what amounts to a giant bedroom with a wall of sex toys on the left. A massive canopy bed is on the right. A bondage stand is in a half-moon space at the back wall that is covered by a curtain. Beyond that curtain are seats, should you decide to invite viewers, which I never did.
I’ve barely shut and locked the door before Faith is already moving deeper into the room, walking up to the wall of toys. She pauses and grabs a black silk face mask, and then walks toward the bondage stand. She steps inside it, her back to me, as she starts undressing. I move to a spot a foot back, watching her, waiting, telling myself I’m about to show her that we are still us here, and anywhere. That I am still me. Once she’s naked, standing there, her perfect, heart-shaped ass on display, she puts on the mask and then turns to face me. Her arms are at her sides, hands gripping the bars on either side of her. Her breasts are high, full, nipples tight pink nubs. And yeah. My cock is hard. Hard as sin city is to beat on a good day for a casino, which is every fucking day. This is Faith. She can smile and my cock sees it as an invitation.
“Tie me up,” she demands, her voice quavering, and I don’t miss the way her knees tremble, and that jolts me with realization. She’s trying to be that person she was in the club with Macom. But she’s not that person. And I’m damn sure not Macom.
I walk to her and I grab the bars above her hands, but I don’t touch her. I lean in, my lips near her ear. “You will never learn how to fuck me and still be alone because you will never be alone again, Faith. And I won’t touch you in this place.” I remove her mask. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“No. Nick.” She grabs my lapels, her naked body pressing to mine. “I need—”
“To put your fucking clothes on,” I say. “And let me be clear, Faith. If you don’t get dressed, I will dress you and that’s going to be awkward for us both. I’ll be in the hallway.” I turn and walk to the door, opening it and stepping outside, running a hand over my face, adrenaline I didn’t know I’d triggered pumping through me.
I lean against the wall, inhaling and willing my body to calm the fuck down. I am always calm. Until now apparently. The door opens and Faith exits the room, thankfully fully dressed, and I don’t look at her, nor do either of us speak. I take her hand and lead her down the hallway, getting us the hell out of here. We exit the mansion, and start down the stairs. By the time we’re at the bottom, the car is pulled directly in our path, and I open the door to allow Faith to enter. A minute later, we’re in the car and are back where we started. Her scent and her anger is a powerful cocktail and I turn to look at her.
“That anger of yours can burn me alive, sweetheart, but I’m still going to be here and I’m still not going to let you go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Nick