Four Beautiful Letters (Desire Island 4)

Sophia thought about it for a second, but a second was all it took. “No,” she said staunchly. “I don’t want to go to your club without you. That would totally suck.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as she tried to corral the jumble of her feelings—deep disappointment that their reconnection was to be delayed yet again, irrational fury directed toward the poor man who had suffered a heart attack, less irrational fury at Nick for having left town in the first place, and annoyance with herself for wanting to stamp and shout and hold her breath until she turned blue unless she got her way.

“Listen,” she continued, forcing herself to speak like a calm grownup, even though she didn’t feel like one at that moment. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Maybe I’ll just shuck the leather and stay in. Make some popcorn and watch an old movie.”

“I hate to think of you doing that, especially when you’re already all dressed and ready to go,” Nick replied, urgency in his tone. “I feel really rotten this happened. I’d feel even worse if you opted for old movies on TV instead of some intense sensory deprivation or at the very least a nice hard spanking. Please, Sophia. I know you well enough to know you have needs that shouldn’t go unmet for too long.”

“I don’t know,” Sophia said, wavering. In point of fact, she had been going through BDSM-withdrawal since leaving the island. Not to mention, she was having an excellent hair day, and it would be a shame to waste such a rare opportunity to show the world.

“What about that place you were telling me about? The Den? You could go there. Just to have a nice, stress-reducing session. It would make me feel better, knowing I hadn’t completely destroyed your evening.”

“I don’t know,” she said again. She’d have to take two different subway trains to get there, and, especially dressed as she was, she wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

As if reading her mind, Nick added, “I’ll send my driver to take you. You just have to text him when you’re ready to be picked up. His name is Samir and he’ll be driving a silver Audi A8. I’ll send him your contact info and he’ll text when he’s outside your building. Okay?”

Nick sounded so hopeful and so sweet that Sophia couldn’t refuse him. Not to mention, it would be kind of fun to be driven from Brooklyn to Midtown by a driver—how fancy!

“You’ve talked me into it,” she said with a laugh. Her anger had melted away, though the disappointment remained.

“Just one thing,” Nick added.

“What?”

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Samir drove her in style in Nick’s luxurious sedan to The Den, which was housed in the basement of a swinger bar in Midtown. The walls were painted black, the space dimly lit by sconces with bulbs that wavered like candlelight. The place was dark and edgy, the players more hardcore than what you found at the typical slap-and-tickle clubs that comprised most of the NY BDSM club scene.

Sophia paid her cover and entered, stopping just inside to scope things out. A man and woman stood at attention on the small stage at the back of the room, hands behind their heads. They both were naked, save for gold body paint from the neck down. A guy dressed in black leather and a black captain’s cap moved behind them, flicking a whip over their glittering bodies.

The bondage wheel—the Den’s coolest new piece of equipment—was occupied, of course. Because of its novelty and popularity, the club had started using a signup sheet for twenty-minute slots, with a ten-minute cleanup in between. The sheet always filled up within moments of the club’s opening, and Sophia had yet to try it out.

People were scening at the other various stations set up around the room, or clustered at tables around the bar. Some couples were making out in corners. There was a guy with his pants undone, very obviously masturbating while watching one of the scenes.

For a moment, Sophia considered turning around and heading out the door. Samir was on call to take her home at the end of the evening—all she had to do was text. He probably hadn’t even made it down the street yet.

While she desperately wanted to scene, this place was such a far cry from Desire Island. Damn it—had the resort ruined her for the regular clubs?

At the same time, her body reacted to the whistle of a cane, the moan of a sub, the slap of a hand against someone’s ass. She’d come all this way. She’d stay at least a little while. It was crazy not to.

Sophia shifted the small gear bag on her shoulder as she scanned the room, looking for someone she knew. At that moment, there was a tap on her shoulder.