Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

SETH

S eth adjusted the collar of his tailored suit as he guided Hope through the narrow, dimly lit alleyway. The raincoat she wore concealed her daring outfit, but even with the coat on, the sight of her in stilettos and the way her hair was elegantly swept up had every nerve in Seth's body on high alert. He could sense her tension, though she hid it well behind a calm, poised exterior. This wasn't Baker Street—this was something much darker, a place where shadows whispered secrets and danger lurked in every corner.

The alley was nearly deserted, the rain-slicked cobblestones reflecting the dim light from the scattered streetlamps. At the end of the alley stood a single, nondescript door, nearly invisible against the brick wall. There was no sign, no indication that this was anything more than a forgotten service entrance, but Seth knew better. This was the entrance to an exclusive world, hidden deep beneath the surface of the city—a world where power, desire, and danger intertwined in ways most people could never imagine.

Seth knocked twice, the sound echoing in the silence of the night. For a moment, there was nothing but the distant hum of the city and the soft patter of rain. Then, with a faint click, the door creaked open, revealing a statuesque woman with auburn hair elegantly pinned up. She was dressed in a long, black evening gown that hugged her curves, her piercing green eyes appraising them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Good evening," the woman said, her voice smooth as silk. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. Conway. Welcome to the Citadel."

"Thank you," Seth replied, his voice steady, though his pulse quickened as he stepped inside, Hope at his side.

"I'm Gwendolyn," the woman continued, her gaze sliding to Hope with a knowing smile. "You can leave your coat with me, Mrs. Conway."

Hope hesitated for the briefest of moments, glancing at Seth.

"Take it off, sweetheart." He helped Hope remove the raincoat, revealing a stunning purple brocaded leather corset and matching thong. "Good girl. She looks exceptionally beautiful tonight, don't you think, Gwendolyn?" He handed the raincoat to Gwendolyn.

"I do, indeed," Gwendolyn answered, as her eyes gleamed with approval as she took in Hope's attire—the tight corset that accentuated her curves, the barely-there thong that left nothing to the imagination, and the impossibly high stilettos that made Hope's legs look endless. She turned back to Seth. "Do you prefer Sir or Master?"

"Master."

"You've brought quite the treasure with you tonight, Master Seth. I fear you will be the envy of all the other gentlemen in attendance tonight."

Seth's jaw tightened slightly, but he forced a smile. "She's more than a treasure," he said, his voice smooth but with an edge of possessiveness. "She's my everything."

Gwendolyn arched a brow, clearly amused by his response. "Indeed. Follow me, please."

The doorway led them into a small vestibule, and from there, a long, steep flight of stairs descended into the depths below. Seth stopped them at the top of the stairs.

"Hope, remove your shoes. I don't want you to break one of your stilettos or your ankle."

She shot him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Master," she said, handing them to Gwendolyn as though she were nothing more than the coat check lady.

The walls around them were ancient, their surfaces worn smooth by the passage of time. The narrow stairwell was dimly lit by low-wattage bulbs encased in rusted metal cages, casting flickering shadows that danced along the crumbling brick. The air grew cooler as they descended, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something darker, more primal.

They walked down the stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls, the space narrowing around them. The staircase seemed to go on forever, spiraling down into the heart of the city, and with each step, Seth could feel the weight of the world above them pressing down, the history of the place wrapping around him like a shroud.

Finally, they reached the bottom, and the space opened up before them. They were standing in what had once been an old, abandoned tube or subway tunnel, its curved walls and arched ceiling unmistakably reminiscent of the London Underground. The tunnel had been transformed into a sprawling underground club; a hidden world far removed from the surface above.

The lighting was dim, the only illumination coming from strategically placed sconces along the walls and clusters of candles that cast a warm, flickering glow over the space. The walls were lined with aged brick, their surfaces pockmarked and stained with the passage of time, and the ceiling was a vaulted expanse of wrought iron and riveted steel beams, a relic of a bygone era.

Directly across from the staircase, along the back wall, was a long bar and lounge area. The bar itself was a sleek, polished expanse of dark wood, its surface gleaming under the soft light of vintage pendant lamps. Behind the bar, rows of glass shelves held an array of bottles, each filled with amber, crimson, and emerald liquids, their labels obscured by the shadows. The bartender, a tall, muscular man with tattoos snaking up his arms, moved with practiced ease, pouring drinks for the patrons who lounged on the plush, leather-upholstered sofas with velvet floor pillows strewn close by.

The Citadel was filled with people, a mix of elegantly dressed men and women, some in formal attire, others in various stages of undress, their clothes—or lack thereof—hinting at the activities they engaged in. There was an electric tension in the air, a current of power and desire that set Seth's nerves on edge.

The tunnel had been divided into different sections, each one offering a unique experience. To the right of the bar was the main staging area—a raised platform draped in deep red velvet, surrounded by low couches and chairs where the audience could sit and watch the scenes unfold. Various pieces of equipment were arranged around the platform—crosses, benches, and other implements designed for the more daring displays of dominance and submission.

Beyond the main area, smaller, more intimate spaces had been carved out of the tunnel's walls, their entrances hidden behind heavy doors. These alcoves offered privacy for those who wished to engage in their pleasures away from prying eyes, though the faint sounds of moans and gasps could still be heard, carried on the cool air that circulated through the tunnel.

Seth kept Hope close, his hand resting possessively on her lower back as Gwendolyn led them through the club. The further they walked, the deeper they were drawn into this underground world, where the line between fantasy and reality blurred, and the rules of society no longer applied.

They stopped in front of a familiar face—Basil Hargrove. The man was lounging on a deep red chaise, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his eyes glittering with interest as he took in their arrival. He was dressed in a black, tailored suit, his tie loosened, giving him an air of casual dominance. His smile was warm, but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes as he looked at Hope.

"Ah, Seth, Hope," Basil greeted them, rising to his feet and extending a hand to Seth. "So glad you could join us this evening. I trust Gwendolyn has taken good care of you?"

"She's been wonderful," Seth replied, shaking Basil's hand firmly. "Thank you for the invitation."

Basil's gaze shifted to Hope, lingering on her for a moment before he turned back to Seth. "You've brought a most delightful companion. I must say, Hope, you're even more stunning than I remembered."

Hope smiled politely, though Seth could feel the tension in her body spike at Basil's attention. "You're too kind, Master Basil," she replied, her voice steady.

"What a good girl. So polite," he said, his smile widening as he gestured for them to sit.

"Oh, she has her moments," said Seth.

Hawthorne nodded. "Yes, the more spirited ones do, but they're so much more fun, don't you think?"

Seth took his seat opposite Basil, tossing one of the pillows between his feet and helping Hope to take her place between his legs. The intimacy of the setting forced them to sit close together. Gwendolyn disappeared into the shadows, leaving them alone with Basil, who was clearly enjoying the power dynamic he believed he controlled.

"I must say, I've been looking forward to seeing how the two of you… interact," Basil said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "There's something quite intriguing about the chemistry between you."

Seth smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We're just two people who know what we want, Basil. And we make sure we get it."

Basil chuckled, clearly pleased with the response. "That's exactly the attitude we like to see here. In fact, I was hoping you might indulge us with a demonstration tonight. A small scene, nothing too intense, just a little… entertainment for our guests."

Seth felt Hope stiffen beside him, her hand twitching slightly in her lap. He knew what she was thinking, the uncertainty and fear that lay beneath her composed exterior. But they couldn't afford to refuse—this was their chance to solidify their place in this world, to get closer to the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface.

"We'd be honored," Seth said smoothly, his hand slipping to the nape of Hope's neck, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that was both possessive and reassuring. "Wouldn't we, darling?"

Hope looked at him, her eyes searching his, and he could see the flicker of uncertainty there. But then she nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, and turned back to Basil with a smile.

"Of course," she said, her voice steady but with an edge of determination. "We'd love to."

Basil's smile broadened, and he raised his glass in a toast. "Excellent. I'll have Gwendolyn prepare a space for you. Anything special you require?"

"I didn't bring my own kit, but if you have a violet wand and a St. Andrew's Cross, I believe we can do something interesting."

"There shouldn't be any problem in finding that for you. In the meantime, feel free to explore the club, get a feel for the atmosphere."

Seth nodded, his hand still on Hope's neck as he rose from the couch, pulling her gently to her feet. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. But she was strong, stronger than she gave herself credit for, and he knew she would do whatever was necessary to see this through.

Being bound to the St. Andrew's Cross and using a violet wand on her should help. He should be able to send her to subspace or have her orgasm. Being bound would help hold her in place, and he knew from Royce that she had a love/hate relationship with the wand.

They moved through the club; the soft glow of candlelight and electric sconces cast flickering shadows on the walls. Seth kept Hope close, his hand never leaving her as they navigated the crowd. They passed various pieces of equipment—crosses, padded benches, and intricate suspension rigs, all designed for the more daring and adventurous participants. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of leather, perfume, and desire.

Seth guided Hope toward the bar, where they could take a moment to gather their thoughts before the scene.

"Anything I can get you?" the bartender asked, his voice low, his demeanor professional.

"Whiskey for me," Seth replied, glancing at Hope.

"Just water, please," she said, her voice steady, though Seth could sense the underlying tension.

The bartender poured their drinks with practiced ease, sliding them across the polished surface of the bar. Seth took his whiskey and sipped it slowly, the burn of the alcohol grounding him, helping him focus on the task ahead.

He turned to Hope, his hand brushing against her lower back. "We'll keep it simple," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for her. "Just follow my lead."

Hope nodded, her gaze meeting his, the flicker of uncertainty replaced by resolve. "I trust you," she said softly, her words carrying a weight that went beyond the scene they were about to perform.

Seth felt a surge of something warm and powerful in his chest at her words, a connection between them that went deeper than the roles they were playing. He knew she was putting her trust in him, and he was determined not to let her down.

Gwendolyn appeared beside them; her expression composed as always. "The stage with a cross and a violet wand is ready."

"I'll need a bottle of room temperature water, as well as a warmed blanket and somewhere I can take Hope for aftercare.

"If you'll follow me," Gwendolyn said in her smooth, dulcet tone.

Seth nodded, taking Hope's hand and leading her after Gwendolyn. The hostess led them down a long hallway, the air growing heavier with each step they took. Finally, they reached a door at the end of the hall, and Gwendolyn pushed it open, revealing a large, dimly lit room.

The space was dominated by a raised platform in the center with a St. Andrew's Cross mounted in the middle. It was surrounded by low couches and chairs, all positioned to give the audience a clear view of the scene that would take place.

A few male guests were already seated, some with submissives kneeling at their feet. Their eyes gleamed with anticipation as they watched Seth and Hope enter the room. Basil was among them, his gaze focused intently on Hope, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"This will be your stage," Gwendolyn said, gesturing to the platform. "Take your time. There's no rush."

Seth thanked her, his hand tightening around Hope's as they approached the platform. He could feel her tension, the way her pulse quickened under his touch, but she kept her expression calm and controlled.

They stepped onto the platform, the polished surface smooth under their feet, the audience watching their every move. Seth turned to Hope, his eyes locking onto hers, his hand moving to the back of her neck, drawing her closer.

"Trust me," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for her.

She nodded, her breath hitching slightly as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a brief, gentle kiss. Then he stepped back, his hands moving to the ties of her corset, unfastening them with practiced ease.

The tension in the room grew as the corset fell away, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her torso, the thong the only barrier between her and the eyes of the audience. Seth's hands moved to her hips and peeled the thong down, helping her to step out of it, his touch firm but gentle, his movements deliberate.

Seth guided Hope to the padded St. Andrew's Cross. He could feel the eyes of the audience on them, could sense the anticipation in the air as they watched the scene unfold. But all that mattered in that moment was Hope—the way her body responded to his touch, the way she looked up at him with a mixture of trust and fear, the way she was willing to give herself over to him, even if only for the sake of the mission.

Seth reached for the restraints, securing her wrists and ankles in the soft leather cuffs, his touch careful, controlled. He could feel her pulse racing under his fingers, could see the slight tremor in her hands, but she didn't pull away, didn't resist.

He stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers as he surveyed the scene, the room, the audience. This was the moment—this was where they proved they belonged, where they convinced everyone watching that they were exactly who they claimed to be.

Seth took a deep breath, his hand brushing against the nape of Hope's neck, a silent reminder that he was there, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

And then, with the eyes of the audience on them, he began.