“That’s your usual? Last time, you were bare chested.”
“Last time, my favorite black shirt was in Boston. I brought it this time.”
“Oh. I see.”
“We left quickly in the middle of the night last time,” he says.
“I know. And you didn’t think…”
“Right. I wasn’t sure you were ready for the club. Whether you’d ever be ready for it, actually. As I told you then, I didn’t plan to introduce you to that part of my lifestyle quite yet.”
Yes, he said all of that then. But the club… It awakened something in me. Something that seems almost as necessary as air.
I clear my throat. “Some of the men wear leather gear.”
“They do. I don’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t find it comfortable.”
Is the answer truly that simple?
He continues, “The club isn’t a place to play dress up for me.”
“Is that what it is for some people?”
He nods. “Dressing in leather with pierced nipples is a fetish for some. It’s part of exhibitionism for others. Not for me.”
I smile. “Yet you like to dress me up.”
His lips curve upward on the left side of his mouth. “Yes, but that’s for my pleasure. Not for anyone else’s. Not even yours.”
“It pleases me to look good for you.”
“Then I guess it’s for your pleasure as well.” Braden dons a black button-down, leaving the top two open.
I suck in a breath. God, he’s magnificent.
“Are you ready?” he asks, handing me my trench coat.
I nod, squirming against the tickle between my legs.
I’m so fucking ready.
We head to the elevator.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the club.
Black Rose Underground.
“Did you name the club?” I ask.
“Of course. It’s my club.”
“Where did the name come from?”
“It just sounded good to me.”
I nod. I’m not sure he’s telling me the whole truth, but I’m so enamored by the club that I let it go.
“Do I have to sign the NDA again?” I ask.
“No. You’re good for a year.”
Braden signs us in and we enter. It’s a little more crowded this evening, maybe because it’s Sunday instead of Monday night. Braden leads me to the bar, where he orders two Wild Turkeys. The bartender, a different one this time but still topless, slides the bourbons to us, and Braden hands one to me.
“What would you like to do tonight?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate. “I want you to bind me again.”
“That would please me, but there’s a lot here you haven’t seen. I can show you so much more.”
“That would be nice,” I say, “but maybe another time. I’d like to see the bondage room again. Then I want to go to your suite.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “As you wish, Skye.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I never showed you this.”
I take his phone, and my mouth drops open.
It’s a photo of me the last time we were here. I’m bound with the dark-red rope and lying on my side in the semi-fetal position, my eyes closed.
I’m stunned.
And turned on.
“You said I could take photos of you. Cameras aren’t allowed in here, but since I own the place, I bend the rules a little. Besides, I have no intention of posting this photo anywhere.”
I gaze at my own image, bound and satisfied.
The knot work is simple but beautiful, and the color of the rope against my white skin is lovely in its contrast.
My hair is slightly disheveled, and all I’m wearing are the black stilettos.
And Braden’s collar.
But it’s the look on my profile that truly draws my gaze.
I look…
Content?
Yes, but more.
Serene?
Yes, but more.
Almost…drunk.
But I’m not drunk. I had one drink that night. Only one, and I don’t let myself get too drunk ever.
Then it hits me—the perfect word to describe the look on my face.
Enthralled.
For that’s what I truly am.
Enthralled by Braden. In thrall to him. In bondage to him. Captive to him and captivated by him.
“What do you think?” he asks.
He’s asking what I think of the photo, as a professional. I know this, yet I respond to a different question entirely.
“I see a lot in this photo,” I say, “but most of all, I see me.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
I don’t take the time to ponder my own thought, though its meaning seems clear enough. I’ve been wondering who I am lately, given all the changes in my life.
Yet in Braden’s photo, I see me.
Is he pleased with my response? He’s as stoic as ever, so I’m not sure.
His words from yesterday ring in my mind. You seem to be after something more than just sexual gratification. Am I?
Again, I don’t take a lot of time to ponder the question, because only one thing is truly on my mind.
“Take me to the bondage room,” I say. “Please.”
He finishes his drink, sets the glass on the bar, stands, and offers me his hand. “Come with me.”
We walk through the same door, into the hall of rooms, and then to the bondage room.