5. Charlotte

5

CHARLOTTE

F rom the moment that Jaz taps in the passcode and we walk into the entryway of the club, I’m more nervous than I ever thought I would be in my life. A part of me just wants to go back home, change back into my pajamas, and curl up on the couch with a big glass of wine and some bad reality tv.

But I’m also excited and curious. I wait as Jaz checks in, breathing in the smoky scent that hangs in the entryway, glancing down towards the looming door at the end of the hall. There’s a basket on a table just before it, and as I crane my neck, I catch a glimpse of what looks like masks.

My pulse races a little faster, and I smooth my hands over the velvet skirt of my dress.

Jaz convinced me to wear the dress that I’d planned to wear for my anniversary night out with Nate. She said it was the best possible cherry on top of the revenge that tonight will be, letting some other man touch me for the first time in five years in the dress that I was going to wear for my cheating boyfriend. And I couldn’t argue with that. Besides, the dress was expensive, and it’s the sexiest thing I own.

I’m just not sure that I’m actually going to let anyone touch me tonight.

When Jaz is finished, it’s my turn to step up to the desk. I hand my I.D. to the gorgeous blonde with shaky fingers, and she looks at me appraisingly.

“First time?”

Is it that obvious? It must be. I nod, and she gives me a small smile, returning my I.D. after she types my name into the computer.

“Your friend has paid your entry fee. Since it’s your first time here, I need you to fill this out, so I can give you the correct bracelets.” She pushes a clipboard with a few sheets of paper on it and a fountain pen attached to it by a thin silver chain, and I stare at it blankly for a second before accepting it.

I hadn’t been expecting paperwork. I suddenly feel like I’m at the doctor’s office.

“You’re welcome to sit over there.” She gestures to where two wing chairs and a low bench are located, on the opposing wall. “Once you’re done, bring that back, and we’ll get you all squared away.”

I nod, retreating to one of the chairs. Jaz sinks down next to me, tapping away on her phone. “We’ll have to hand these over before we go in,” she tells me, gesturing to her phone, but I barely hear her. I’m too focused on the questionnaire in front of me, which is filled with things that I’ve never even considered before.

The first question is easy—am I interested in only men, only women, or both? I check the box next to men , and move onto the next. I can feel my cheeks flushing as I read it—it’s asking what types of sexual activity I’m interested in participating in. And from the start, it’s making me feel woefully inexperienced.

I’ve never had anal sex. I would say my experience with oral is pretty limited. And sure, I’ve had plenty of regular intercourse, but only in the three most basic positions.

I’m in way over my head.

I’m so tempted to give the woman back the questionnaire and head home. But while I might be boring, I’m not a quitter. And the thought of retreating back to the safety of my apartment, while Nate is getting lewd texts and pictures from the women he’s cheated on me with, feels worse than just being brave enough to try something new tonight.

But I truly don’t know how to answer these questions. I’ve never been tied up. I’ve never been spanked. I’ve never had a reason to think about whether I want to watch others have sex in public or be watched myself. The thought sends a tingle of heat through me, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet. Maybe not ever.

Biting my lip, I stand up and walk back to where the blonde woman is tapping away on her keyboard. “Excuse me,” I murmur politely, and she looks up at me.

“Oh! Are you finished?” She smiles, and I feel my cheeks heating even more.

“I—no. I just—I don’t know how to answer most of these. I’m not very experienced with this sort of thing. Maybe this isn’t the right place for me to go—” I hesitate, but her smile doesn’t falter.

“Here.” She looks at my paperwork, then slips two of the thin silicone bracelets out of the basket next to her—one dark blue and one a pale pink. “Dark blue means you’re only interested in men. The pink means you’re undecided as to your proclivities, and you want to explore.” She pauses. “This club is very exclusive, Ms. Williams. Everyone should respect your space, and accept any no you give as exactly that. But, should anyone push you and make you feel uncomfortable, go to one of the bartenders. The safe word is diamond. If you say that to one of them, they will ask who is bothering you and make sure security escorts them out, while making certain you are safe. If you feel overwhelmed at any point and need a moment of privacy, there are two doors to the left of the main floor, both with mask symbols on the fronts. Those are quiet rooms. Type in the passcode—four zeroes—and you’ll be able to go in and get some time to yourself.” She pauses. “Do you have any other questions or concerns?”

I shake my head. I can’t think of anything. I roll the bracelets onto my wrist, feeling nervous, but I don’t want to turn back now. Everything she’s said has given me a reason to feel better about the night, but it’s still all so unknown. I have no idea how I’m going to feel about all of this.

“If you’re ready, please hand over your electronics, and select and put on a mask before going through the door. And most of all, enjoy your night at Masquerade.” The woman smiles. “This club is meant for pleasure, Ms. Williams. You should enjoy yourself. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here.”

I know she can see the blush staining my cheeks. It’s not even that I’m ashamed—it’s that I don’t know what I want. I’ve never let myself think about it for all that long. It’s always felt like a pointless exercise, like allowing myself to want things that are impossible. I’m not the kind of person to fantasize about what I can’t have, much less what I thought didn’t exist.

But now I’m being told that I can have it—at least some of it. Something like it. And I don’t know what’s behind that door.

Jaz grabs my hand as we walk to the basket of masks, squeezing it. “Relax,” she whispers. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But I think you’re going to like it here.”

“What have you done?” I whisper, taking a black velvet domino mask out of the basket.

“A lot of things.” Jaz grins wickedly, selecting a matching mask.

“Private or in public?”

“Both.” She laughs at my shocked expression. “It’s amazing what a little anonymity will do for your inhibitions, Charlotte. No one here knows who you are. No one cares. And no one will ever know who you are outside of this place. In here, you’re free to want whatever you desire. You’re free to be yourself. No one will judge you.” She fastens the mask, pinning it into her hair as she fluffs it over the string. “You can do nothing. You can do everything. It’s all up to you.”

I feel a rush of adrenaline as she steps forward, pushing the door open. I hear a steady beat, music flooding the room as we walk in. The volume is high enough that it gives the place a club-like atmosphere, but not so loud that I don’t imagine that I’d be able to hear the sounds of pleasure if anyone started enjoying themselves out in the open. But it doesn’t look like anyone has started that kind of show yet.

Yet being the operative word. On the right side of the main floor, I can see a variety of things that I don’t quite know what they’re going to be used for—but my imagination is already running wild. Padded benches with leather cuffs hanging at the front and back. A long padded table that looks to be about waist-high. Two lacquered X’s, bigger than a person, against the back wall, with more leather cuffs hanging where wrists and ankles would line up. A long, lacquered cupboard next to them. I can only imagine what’s inside.

The club itself is beautifully decorated. The lighting shifts from a soft pink to red to a hazy glow, and the floor is marble tile. The walls are hung in heavy velvet drapes with thick gold cords, giving the entire main floor the feeling of being a modern bordello—fitting, with the masquerade theme. The half-moon bar that’s to the right, separating the areas for dancing and mingling from the section that looks to be for “play,” is black lacquer with a marble top, matching the cupboards on the right. The seating to the left is leather and velvet, in black and red, with marble-topped tables. The dance floor is black lacquered tiles, standing out in the sea of marble flooring, with the DJ booth in the far corner, half-hidden behind more velvet drapes. And I see the doors that the blonde woman told me about, with the gemstone-shaped cutouts on the front—the quiet rooms.

A winding staircase leads up to the second floor, with a railing that circles all the way around. When I look up, I see doors along that level, and I realize those must be private rooms. My pulse kicks up a notch, thinking about what might happen behind those doors.

Or what might happen in the alcoves that I see on the right side of the room, hidden behind more velvet drapes. An in-between of public and private, close enough to where the play will be happening to still be a partial voyeur, but without the absolute exposure of whatever will happen on those benches eventually.

I swallow hard, suddenly imagining myself splayed over one of them. I don’t know if the hitch in my breath, the sudden spike in my pulse, is out of fear or want.

“You okay?” Jaz asks, leaning in and I nod, my mouth dry.

“I need a drink.” I start to walk towards the bar, Jaz staying right next to me, just as she promised. The bartender comes over immediately—it’s not all that busy yet; it’s still relatively early for a Friday night. He’s a handsome man with dark hair—or at least, handsome so far as I can tell. A white theatre mask covers one half of his face, Phantom of the Opera style, leaving the other half bare. One blue eye twinkles at me cheerfully, and the half of his mouth that I can see curves upwards in a smile.

“What can I get you ladies?” he asks, his voice deep and rich, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“I—gin and tonic. Two limes.” I fall back on my usual bar order when I want something other than wine, needing something familiar in this place. Something I can count on, that I’ll be sure to like. And I definitely need something stronger than wine right now.

“A Gold Rush for me,” Jaz says, sliding onto the barstool to my right.

“What’s that?” I look at her curiously, as she leans forward, her elbows on the marble bar top.

“Whiskey, honey, and lemon syrup.” She brushes a lock of hair out of her face. “A little smoky, a little sweet.”

“I should try that,” I say without much conviction—I’ve never tried whiskey before.

Jaz chuckles, taking her drink from the bartender as he brings them over, nudging mine towards me. “That man is looking at you,” she says softly as she raises her glass to her lips. “In the half-mask, with the gloves. He hasn’t stopped watching you since we walked in.”

“How do you know that?” I hiss, taking a large sip of my drink. “He’s wearing a mask.”

“I can still see his eyes. And they’ve been on you since we stepped through that door.”

Almost guiltily, I let my gaze slide over to the man Jaz is talking about. I spot him immediately—it’s impossible not to. Even masked, he has the kind of presence that immediately demands attention. He’s tall, with dark blond hair. I can’t see his eye color from here, but I can see his build, fit and strong underneath the black button-down and suit trousers that he’s wearing. He shifts slightly, and I can see the flex of his muscles in his arms and chest, tugging at the shirt.

And Jaz is right. He’s staring right at me.

“Go talk to him,” Jaz hisses.

“I—” I take another swallow of my drink. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Just try. If he puts you off, I’ll be right here. But he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you.” Her voice drops. “And if you want him to, I bet he will.”

A fearful thrill rushes through me at that. It sounds preposterous—the idea that he could do such a thing like that, here, when I don’t even know his name yet. But he could . He could do it in front of everyone, or in one of those alcoves, or in a private room. He could do it without ever telling me his name, or me telling him mine. If we both wanted it, I could take that kind of pleasure from him, with no strings. No repercussions. Without ever seeing him again.

There is a strange kind of freedom in that. A kind of excitement.

Licking my lips nervously, I slide off my barstool, stepping towards him. There’s an instant shift in his energy as I approach him. A moment ago, he was watching me patiently, observing, but he straightens a little as I approach, perking up like a hunter watching his prey. It sends a shiver down my spine, heat pooling in my stomach as I stop just in front of him, my hand clutching my drink for dear life.

“Hi,” I manage. It sounds woefully inadequate for the situation, but I don’t know what, exactly, is the opener for meeting a stranger in a sex club. There should have been a briefing, I think, swallowing back laughter. A pamphlet, maybe .

“Hello.” His accent is British, crisp and formal, but there’s a roughness to it, a sexiness that makes that shiver tingle down my spine again.

“I’m—” I start to say my name, forgetting the anonymity part of all of this for the habitual politeness that’s intrinsically a part of me, when his finger suddenly touches my lips.

I forgot about the gloves that I noticed, when I first looked over and saw him. The leather is cool against my lips, and something about the strangeness of it sends that heat fluttering through me, warming me from the inside out. His finger drags down, the leather-covered tip pressing against my lower lip.

“No names. I take my privacy here seriously. This is all anonymous. You will never know my name, and I’ll never know yours.” His full lips curve in a sinful, promising smile. “That’s part of the fun.”

Another shiver washes over me. His hand drops, and I suddenly miss the contact. The feel of the leather against my skin. I bite my lip, my teeth catching where his finger was a moment ago, and I see his eyes drop to my mouth.

“Can I buy you a drink?” His gaze flicks to my wrist, looking for the bracelets. “Undecided. You’re new here?”

“Do you come here often?” My cheeks flush as soon as the words leave my mouth. “Oh god, that was the stupidest line. I meant?—”

“I know what you meant.” His smile broadens, amusement written all over the part of his face that I can see, but it’s not directed at me. He’s not making fun of me. He seems to be genuinely enjoying my company—so far. “A drink?”

I nod. “I—yes. Thank you.”

“Anything in particular, or should I choose for you?”

My teeth catch on my lip again. “What are you drinking?”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you’d like it. Vodka, straight up, with a twist of lime.”

I can’t help making a face. I’ve never tried vodka, but I’ve smelled it before, and it smells like rubbing alcohol to me. Not anything I’d want to drink.

“You choose,” I tell him bravely. “But not vodka.”

That smile deepens. “Are you going to let me choose everything tonight?” There’s that rasp in his voice again, promising something darker than his cultured British accent lets on. That heat blossoms through me again, but it’s mixed with apprehension.

“I—”

“Don’t worry.” His voice is smooth again, soothing. “I’m only teasing you a little. Flirting. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He motions to the bartender. “Another vodka for me. And a gin and tonic for my new friend here. Two limes.”

My mouth drops open as I look at him. “You knew what I was drinking?”

“I’m very perceptive.” He smiles. “And gin has a very particular smell.”

He shifts forward, moving towards me so that there’s even less space between us now, less than a hand’s breadth between him and me. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, smell the woodsy smoke of his cologne. “A very particular taste, too,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth once more. “I’d like to find out what it tastes like on you.”

“I—I don’t know if I want to kiss.” I’d thought about that earlier. Kissing feels sweet to me. Intimate. Something that you don’t do with a stranger, only being used for sex. Did Nate kiss any of his other women? I wonder as I look up at the masked man in front of me. I’d imagine he did. I don’t think men—especially a man like Nate—put that kind of weight on kissing.

I take a step back, putting a little more space between me and this stranger. My head is spinning, and I’ve only had one drink. This all feels so strange.

The things this man is saying to me sound good. Too good. They’re the kind of thing I imagine someone saying after a date. Several dates. After wine and dinners and nights out. The sort of thing you warm up to. But he’s saying them to me without ever even knowing my name—seconds after meeting me. He’s introducing himself to me with seduction.

But that’s what I’m here for. Isn’t it ?

I swallow hard as the bartender brings our second round of drinks. Those are also the kinds of things that no one has ever said to me. No one has ever said they wanted to taste me before.

The kind of men I date, men like Nate, men who wear polo shirts on the weekends and have investment accounts, don’t say things like that.

“Is this too much for you?” The man tilts his head slightly, and I try to read what I can in his eyes through the barrier of the mask. His eyes are dark blue, I see, now that he’s this close.

It doesn’t look like he’s judging me. It looks like he’s being cautious. Making sure that this is what I want. That thought makes me feel more comfortable.

“I don’t know what I want,” I admit. “This is my first time in a place like this.”

“I can tell.” Once again, there’s no judgment in his voice. It’s just an observation. “We can just talk, if you like.”

That startles me. This isn’t the kind of club where people come to talk ; I know that much. But he gestures towards one of the leather couches to the right of the room, far from the play area, where I can see a few couples starting to drift over. “We can sit down. Get to know one another. Anonymously, of course.” His eyes glitter with mischief, as if he knows exactly how ridiculous that statement is. The entire purpose of this place is to not know each other. But I appreciate that he’s trying to make me feel comfortable.

I glance back at Jaz, who makes an eager shooing motion with her hand. I bite my lip, stifling a laugh, and nod. “Okay,” I tell him, and he stands up easily, with all the grace of a predatory cat, as his gloved hand wraps around mine.

“Come with me, then.”

The feeling of the leather against my bare palm feels strangely erotic. I’m fully clothed, but he’s somehow even more so, and that tingle runs down my spine again, trapping itself between my thighs. My breath catches in my throat as he leads me over to one of the couches, sinking down onto it as he drapes one arm over the back and looks at me expectantly.

I sink down next to him, crossing my legs at the ankle as I take a nervous sip of my drink. “You can’t possibly have come here just to talk,” I say softly. “I’m sure there’s plenty of women here who would do anything you like right now. Without the need for all of this—foreplay.” I bite my lip, and he smiles.

“You’re already relaxing. Look at that—an innuendo.” His smile reaches his eyes, and I look at his full mouth, that heat spreading through me again. He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you up. Jaz’s voice echoes through my head, and I clench my hands around my glass, the nervous butterflies fluttering through me again.

“I’m sitting here next to you because I want to be,” he continues. “I’d rather be sitting here talking to you, than doing anything else, with anyone else, in this club right now.”

A rush of emotion washes over me, tightening in my chest. He has no idea what that simple statement, said so blandly, means to me right now. The thought that anyone would rather be with me instead of another woman makes me feel breathless, and overly emotional for where we are—especially considering the fact that I’ll never see this man again. I’m giving those words far more weight than I should. But I can’t help it.

I came here because I wanted to feel desired. And he’s doing that right now. He’s giving me everything I need, already, with a simple statement.

Maybe Jaz was right. Maybe this place is exactly what I need right now.

I suck in a breath, gathering my courage as I take another sip of my drink. A part of me is still nervous and uncertain, wanting to run home to where things are familiar and safe. But my home is partially tainted now, full of memories of Nate, of all the times together that I thought meant more than they obviously did. If I go back right now, if I leave, it feels like admitting that he was right. That he needed to do those things with other women because I would never have done them with him.

I want to prove to myself that he was wrong. That he’s entirely the asshole in this situation. And he is , because whether or not I ever would have done those things, he should have left me before he cheated on me.

It honestly would have hurt less.

That thought replaces my nerves with the anger I’ve been feeling off and on since I saw those texts. I’m hurt, sad, and unsure of the future—but I’m also furious. I’m furious that he did things like this with other women—that he probably went to clubs like this, that he played out filthy fantasies with them, that he never, ever even hinted to me that he might want me to try to satisfy him in some other way than what we already did. That he lied to me, and he never even gave me a chance.

I want to get back at him for hurting me like that. I want revenge.

This is a good start.

I take another sip of my drink, and turn to look at the man next to me. “What if I did want to do more than talk?” I whisper, the nerves fluttering through me with every word. “What then?”

He smiles, a lazy, lustful smile that’s full of promise. His eyes drop to my mouth, then my breasts, my waist, sliding lower until his gaze has raked all the way down to my red-painted toes in my high-heeled sandals, and then back up again to my eyes.

“Then,” he says slowly, his voice deep and rasping again, “Then I would do whatever you like, little dove.”

Something jolts through me at the pet name. It sounds like an endearment on his tongue. And it sounds so much better than babe, or baby , the things Nate used to call me.

“What if I don’t know what I like?” I take the last sip of my drink, my heart beating hard in my chest.

“Then we’ll go slow, and find out what that is.” His voice is full of promise, dark and rich, and I swallow hard.

“Can we go somewhere private?” I look up at the railing surrounding the second floor, and he nods, standing up with that same catlike grace as he holds out a gloved hand to me.

“Of course.”

I catch Jaz’s eye as the man leads me to the spiral staircase. Her eyes widen, and she gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up, mouthing I’ll be right here , as she taps her now-full drink. I feel a flutter of guilt, knowing she’s not hooking up with anyone because she wants to make sure she’s there if I need her. I’m going to have to make sure I do something nice for her, I think as I follow the man up the stairs. Jaz is a good friend. The best kind of friend. And I’m lucky to have her in my life.

We stop in front of one of the doors. I notice that the one next to it has a golden tassel hanging from the knob, and I realize why when the man unlocks the door in front of us and takes a similar tassel off of a hook just inside the moment we step in. He hangs it off of the handle, and closes the door firmly, turning to face me.

“Well, you have me alone.” He smiles that same slow, wicked smile. “I’m at your service.”

Oh. A flutter of heat ripples through me at that thought. At the idea of having a man so blatantly sexual, so attractive, at my service.

I’ve always felt, in every sexual situation I’ve ever been in, that my own pleasure comes second. That anything I might ask for, any foreplay, any lead-up to the main event, is something that the men I’ve slept with have tolerated as a means to an end. What they have to do in order to get me aroused enough to have what they want.

This man seems to be treating my desires, my pleasure, as the main event. And I’m suddenly seized with a desire to push that as far as I can.

The problem is that I don’t know how to vocalize what I want. I don’t know what to ask for. I’ve never been in a situation before where I’ve felt that I can .

He seems to see my hesitation. He walks towards me, stopping a hand’s length away once again as he looks down at me, his dark blue eyes unreadable behind the mask. “What’s wrong, little dove?” he murmurs, and I swallow hard, wishing for another drink.

“I—” I think desperately of how to explain, of how much I should say, and I wish more than anything I were the kind of person who could fling herself headlong into this, without so much hesitation. I’m being offered everything that I thought couldn’t possibly be real, and my own anxieties are on the verge of ruining it for me.

I don’t want to let that happen.

He tilts his head slightly, studying me from behind the mask. I’m suddenly very grateful for my own—I feel less exposed, less vulnerable with it on. It keeps him from reading every emotion on my face, just as I can’t entirely read him.

“You’ve come here for a reason,” he says calmly. “I don’t think it’s just for pleasure, or you would have told me what you want from me already.”

“What do you want?” It’s the boldest question I’ve asked all night, but he just chuckles.

“I want your pleasure.” He lifts his hand again, tracing my lower lip with just the tip of one gloved finger, that same motion that sends a tingling shiver down my spine again. “I want to find out what you taste like, little dove. Your mouth—or lower, if you don’t want me to kiss you. I want to find out the sound of your moans when you come. I?—”

“I don’t come.” I blurt it out, and he frowns. “Not usually, I mean,” I amend. There have been a few times with Nate. But it’s been rare. Rare enough that I could count on one hand. “Usually just—when I’m alone.”

Something heats in his gaze at the mention of me touching myself. “I’d like to see that,” he murmurs. “The way you make yourself come. But I’d rather teach you what it feels like for a man who knows what he’s doing to give you an orgasm. Or more than one,” he adds, that wicked smile on his lips again, and I stare at him.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Oh, it is.” His voice is full of confidence as he takes another step towards me, and I back up, my pulse suddenly racing. “I could make you come more than once, little dove—I promise you that.”

“I—” I lick my lips, and his eyes are instantly fixed on my mouth again.

“So you’re here because you’ve been neglected.” That smile turns into something more like a smirk. “Am I closer to the truth now?”

“I’m here because my ex cheated on me.”

The moment it slips out, my face heats. I hadn’t expected to say that. I hadn’t meant to just blurt it out, but the man in front of me goes very still, his smile faltering.

“Someone cheated on you ?” He says it with utter disbelief, as if it’s such an impossible thing to imagine.

“I don’t think it’s that hard to believe,” I murmur awkwardly. “I’m not that exciting.”

He takes another step forward, his dark eyes fixed on mine so intently that I feel frozen to the spot. His gloved fingers capture my chin, his thumb touching my lower lip. He’s not touching me anywhere else, but I feel that heat pooling in my stomach slide lower. I’m wet, just from him touching my lip. Aching, from the slide of leather against my skin.

“I don’t know you well enough to know if that’s true,” he murmurs. “But I can see that you are beautiful. Sweet. Innocent. And no one should ever hurt you like that.”

I look up at him, transfixed by the heat in his dark blue eyes, by the way he’s looking at me from behind the mask. No one has ever looked at me like that before. No one has ever made me feel this desired with nothing but a look and a simple touch.

It’s intoxicating.

“He never told me what he wanted,” I whisper. “And then he did those things with other women. He said he respected me too much to ask for them.”

That wicked smile tilts the corners of the man’s mouth again. “That’s bullshit,” he murmurs softly. “But I can tell you one thing, little dove.”

“What?” I whisper, fighting the urge to flick my tongue out, against the tip of his thumb that’s still resting on my lower lip.

“In that case, I’d like nothing more than to disrespect you tonight.”

That smile turns into a knowing smirk as he says it, and I have the vague feeling that the woman I am outside of this place—the one who never wears heels higher than two inches because they make her feet hurt and has a whole closet of basically-matching shirts—should be offended.

But whoever I am for tonight—I’m not offended. I’m curious. Intrigued. And I don’t want him to stop.

“You deserve a man who will focus on your pleasure, and not on his own,” he continues, his voice smooth and rich as that gloved fingertip brushes over my lip, his hand moving to cup my jaw. It’s as if he doesn’t want to give me even a chance to look away from him, as if he wants to keep my attention, so that I don’t have the opportunity to get frightened and fly away like the bird that he keeps referring to me as.

“I—” I bite my lip. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.”

The cool leather of his glove is warming against my skin. His thumb sweeps over my cheekbone, his gaze darkening with some secret knowledge of what comes next.

“If you want to find out,” he murmurs, in that same husky, rich voice, “then go and lie down on the bed, little dove.”