Hell (Black Heart Romance)

“Did I have a choice?”

The corner of his mouth slides upward. “No. You didn’t.” He gestures with his hand, waving me on without saying another word.

We walk more slowly this time, so I can get a better look at the main floor. “This is really beautiful.” And it is. I’m not just saying that to kiss up to him or convince him to take it easier on me. This isn’t what I would’ve imagined a sex club looking like. It’s very sleek, luxurious, and I guess it should be considering how much people probably pay to live out their fantasies here.

I wonder how much that sadistic bastard from last night pays. Definitely enough to help afford the top-shelf liquor at the bar.

If Lucian heard me compliment his establishment, he chooses not to respond. So is this the game we’re playing? That’s fine. I can play the quiet game.

We come to the stairs. One set leads up, one leads down.

Now fear starts to trace a cold line up my spine. Are we going to Heaven or to Hell? Did I sign up for more of what I’ve already gone through? Please, please, go upstairs. Go upstairs.

I practically have to lean against the wall for support when Lucian does, thank god, go up the stairs. If it’s happening in Heaven, I can handle it. Or so I want to believe, anyway.

“This way.” He takes me past the hall on our right, the one leading to his office, and leads me deeper down the main hall extending in front of us and cutting down the center of the floor. Some of the rooms are open, without even any doors, so people passing by can look inside and watch the festivities. I hear soft moaning coming from one of the rooms, and curiosity makes me sneak a look from the corner of my eye.

“Do you like that?” I realize Lucian fell in step beside me rather than walking ahead of me, and he’s been watching my reaction.

“I didn’t really get a good look,” I confess, and I’m glad the few sconces on the walls don’t give off much light. So he can’t see the heated flush on my cheeks.

“By all means. They wouldn’t perform in the open if they didn’t want to be watched.” He gestures toward the doorway, and I get the feeling I shouldn’t say no.

There are three people in there: a man lying on his back across a leather-covered bench, dressed in a shiny rubber suit from head to toe. A leather-clad woman is playing with his dick, smacking it around while he moans from behind his mask. A second man watches from the corner, stroking himself while instructing the woman to be rougher.

“Do you like what you see?” Lucian’s breath is hot on the back of my neck, yet it makes me shiver. I can’t say I do, but I nod anyway. I’ve never understood shaming or hurting somebody to get off, but I know there are people who want nothing more than to be abused.

Maybe that’s his kink. Or maybe he likes to watch and identifies with the guy in the corner. I could handle that. Is that why he wanted me to stop here, to watch for a minute? Is he introducing me to what he wants for tonight?

No, as it turns out. “This way.” He continues down the hall and opens the door to one of the other rooms.

I can’t stop shaking. I walk with my arms wrapped around myself, afraid of what I’ll find. Another table with restraints? Something worse than that?

All I find is what looks like any ordinary bedroom: a double bed with lots of pillows, soft lighting from lamps on either side. Off to the left is another room, its door open—just a bathroom, plain and simple. I keep waiting for something or somebody to jump out at me. But it doesn’t happen. Lucian closes the door, sealing off any noise traveling from those open rooms.

I can hear my heart pounding as I turned to him. “What do you want from me?”

He looks just as impeccable as he did last night, but there’s something different about him, just the same. A light in his eyes, the tensing of his jaw as he looks me up and down. The slight flaring of his nostrils. I got very good at reading body language, thanks to Eric.

And everything about Lucian tells me something is simmering below the surface.

“Tonight, you’re all mine.” He begins unbuttoning his suit jacket, his eyes on me as he slides it from his shoulders. The tie comes next, and I wonder if he will use it as a blindfold or a restraint. “I want you to fight me.”

For one brief, insane moment, I imagine us sparring with gloves. But, something tells me that’s not what he means. “Fight you?” I whisper.