In the end, it was Kate who suggested inviting Gabe to accompany Callie to the kink club, although Callie settled into the idea like curling up on a pillow-top feather bed.

A pillow-top feather bed with live wires running along the edges. Every time Callie let her mind wander toward what she’d arranged, a hot crackle of energy lit her up, lifting the fine hairs on her forearms and sparking a bolt of electricity down her spine until she shivered.

---

“It’s your fault, you know,” she teased the other woman, running the toe of her boot up Kate’s leg under the high top bar table.

“How’s that?”

Kate had come to the bar directly from work. The smudges of dirt and peat and specks of bonemeal that clung to her denim shirt and jeans shouldn’t have been sexy, but absolutely were.

There’s something about knowing a woman digs in the dirt with her hands that’s just always going to be a turn-on. Especially since I’ve seen her naked.

Seen. Smelled. Touched and licked her way all over Kate’s body until she could have identified it in the dark. Memories of that night never failed to send a zing up Callie’s spine that tingled for hours.

“If you two hadn’t fucked me until my bones melted, I probably would’ve gone home, curled up into a ball, and not come out again for another six months,” Callie said. Probably? Definitely. That first half-year after her marriage had ended—in a bloodless divorce that more than symbolized its lack of life—had been an interminable time. With so much space in her rooms half-emptied of furniture and in the hours of her day she’d been lost.

Gabe and Kate had found her. Gabe in particular had walked her gently through a freak-out in the middle of their trio’s night together. Had sat with her and talked until she’d figured out where her panic was coming from. Understanding had brought a resolution of her old feelings for Gabe with it, then calm, and then a reawakening of desire.

Desire that she’d fulfilled with Gabe and Kate until they’d collapsed from satiation.

Or exhaustion.

She’d woken the next morning feeling at ease and happy with her determination to keep exploring her newly reborn sexuality, to go out and try new things with new people, to be settled and content, with all her lingering feelings for Gabe resolved at last.

Or so she kept telling herself.

“I will happily take the blame for the bone-melting fucking.” Kate’s grin was sly, her booted foot bumping Callie’s under the table. “You know I’m always available for a repeat encounter . . .”

Callie shook her head no, smiling. Kate had made it clear the morning after their adventure that she was interested in Callie, and not just in taking her to bed again with Gabe as her partner in crime. But Callie could feel Kate’s emotions bubbling up behind her words and that was something she wouldn’t, couldn’t let progress any further.

Emotional attachment was not on Callie’s agenda any time in the near future. She wouldn’t hurt Kate by using her for sex—even totally banging sex—when she couldn’t return her affection emotionally.

Especially when she kept waking in the middle of the night, sweaty and tangled in her sheets, her body still humming with desire, and all she could remember of her dreams was Gabe’s voice murmuring in her ears. Gabe’s hands grasping her hips hard.

Kate stirred her cocktail with its tiny green straw and looked up at Callie, smile still mischievous. “Gabe is available too, you know.”

Kate was fucking psychic.

“No, thanks.” Callie’s laugh was sharp but genuine. “The last time I tied myself up in knots over that man, I married someone who didn’t fuck me for most of a decade.”

“Yeah, that’s no good,” Kate said. She bumped her knee against Callie’s and wiggled her eyebrows. Small teeth peeked out between full nude lips when she smiled. “But you don’t have to let yourself get tangled up, you know. Just use him and abuse him.”

“I wish. God, if I could do that, I’d just fuck that man nonstop.” They exchanged a look that meant hell, yeah, we would, right? but Callie sobered up, running her fingertip down the condensation on the side of her glass almost wistfully. If only. “It used to irritate the crap out of me when I’d hear people say things like, ‘Women can’t have sex without getting emotionally attached.’ I always wanted to butt in and say, ‘Yes, we can. Guys don’t have a lock on wanting to get laid.’ But I don’t know. I don’t know if I get attached when I have sex with anyone, or if it’s just Gabe. But there’s something about that man . . .”

“Yeah, there is.” Kate sighed in unison with Callie.

“I’ve slept with him once, now, in a decade. And if I did it again, I’d end up halfway to being in love with him by the time I put my clothes back on.” Which was half truth, half lie. She was seriously worried the halfway point had been passed somewhere in the middle of the flirtatious game of Cutthroat she, Kate, and Gabe had shot at the pool hall that night. “I’d turn it off, if I could. But there’s never been a time when I haven’t wanted that man.”

The front door to the bar opened and closed around a short-haired woman heading out, pushing a gust of frigid air their way. Callie shivered at the cold and sighed, knowing it would take forever for the high-ceilinged room to warm up again. They were sitting too close to the door, but she’d wanted privacy for her conversation with Kate, and the four tables the quiet bar offered were scattered close to the entry.

“Coming home with us was dangerous, huh?” Kate teased, pulling a soft blue scarf from her coat sleeve and passing it to Callie.

“Yes. And you guys broke me!” Mostly playing, she vamped up the outrage, admitting to herself that she sort of meant it. She wrapped Kate’s scarf around her neck, which helped some but not enough. What Callie really wanted was a blanket. Or a Snuggie. She didn’t care how stupid she’d look if she could only get warm again. “Seriously. I thought I’d go out and sleep with a bunch of people. Have some adventures. Get it out of my system. But after you two . . .”

Kate let the silence hang between them for a moment before finishing Callie’s sentence. “Everyone else seems a little . . .”

“Boring! Yes.” She covered her face with her hands and moaned at her own obnoxiousness. “Is that awful? Regular one-night-stand sex is boring! And most people aren’t any good at it.”

Another kick under the table. “You can’t really blame total strangers for not knowing what gets you off, Callie. It’s not entirely their fault if they’re bad in bed. Some of it’s just part of being new lovers.”

Callie glared through her fingers covering her face. “You weren’t bad in bed, and I’d only met you a couple hours before.”

Leaning in close, Kate pursed her mouth and whispered, “Yeah, but I had the Gabe advantage, and he definitely knows what gets you off. Or at least what worked for you ten years ago.”

“Turns out nothing much changed there,” Callie murmured, heat creeping into her face. Pulsing under her skin. The idea Kate had sparked mesmerized her. “So you two, what? Talked about me?” She squirmed in her seat just thinking about it. “Gabe talked about fucking me, described it to you in detail, and you listened? Remembered what I liked when we were all together?”

A weird kind of after-the-fact voyeurism, maybe, imagining the conversations between Gabe and Kate, but it was turning her on like whoa. The idea that Gabe still remembered what she liked in bed and had taken pleasure describing it to Kate was . . . scorching.

And that’s definitely not going to help your sexual frustration levels any, so stop.

Kate was leaning toward her. Licking her lips. “Yes. That’s exactly what we did.”

Callie caught herself, trembling on the edge of her seat, unable to resist diving psyche-deep into a reenactment of that imagined conversation. . .

Wait. You asked Kate to meet you for a reason, remember?

The air she sucked into her lungs didn’t have enough oxygen in it.

Remember. Adventure. No emotions, just sex. Satisfying your curiosity with someone who doesn’t mean anything. Who won’t get attached. To whom you won’t get attached. You’re not doing this again, the Gabe-intensity thing that just fucks you up in the end.

“Okay. We need to change the subject. Like, now.” She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, forcing herself not to rock against the pressure. Jesus. She was going to leave a wet spot on the chair when she stood up.

Kate gave her about two seconds before going in for the kill.

“How many people have you actually slept with so far?”

“Not enough,” Callie growled, then grinned at Kate’s laugh. “I met this guy at a work event who was in town visiting one of his clients. They brought him to an industry cocktail party I go to. He was fine. Gorgeous, actually. It was totally distracting, because I kept looking at his body and losing track of things. It was like doing Brad Pitt. I couldn’t stop thinking, Holy shit, this is the best-looking guy I’ve ever fucked in my life. Look at those abs. He looks like he’s photoshopped.”

“Ha.” Kate’s snort caught the bartender’s attention. The woman standing near the taps had short, two-tone, punked-out hair and muscled arms in a sleeveless T-shirt. Clearly it was warmer behind the bar than on the floor. The bartender looked from their glasses back to their faces and lifted an eyebrow.

Callie shook her head. No thanks. If she had another drink, she’d risk a dangerous lowering of her willpower and could very well find herself waking up in Kate’s bed the following morning. Or talking Kate into calling Gabe for another three-way rematch.

“Who else?” Kate asked.

“Someone I met online. Talked a good game via email. Was all hesitant and awkward in person.” Kate mock scowled at her, and Callie threw up her hands. “I know. I’m asking a lot. Setting the bar too high. Expecting people to think outside the box. Pick a cliché. I’m it.”

Kate’s answer was to slide off her chair and slip onto the one next to Callie, instead of across from her. When Kate slung an arm around her shoulders, Callie let herself be pulled close for a hug. “You’re not a cliché. Far from it. Setting the bar too high? Maybe.”

“I know. I think I need a new strategy.” But explaining that strategy was challenging her tongue all of a sudden, jerking her to a stuttering halt. Instead of pushing through it, she let herself sink into the comfort of physical contact with a woman she was surprised to find a friend, even after Callie’s gentle rejection.

The song pulsing in the background ended, a new ‘70s classic grooving its funky beat seconds later. The bar was definitely a lingering outpost from an era that time forgot.

Stayin’ alive, indeed.

“I like the new haircut by the way,” she said after quiet moments passed.

Kate sat up and rubbed her buzzed hair with a restless hand. “Thanks. I’m still getting used to it.”

“What prompted the change? May I?” She lifted a hand. Kate’s hair had been shortish ever since they’d met, but the near buzz cut was a new thing. At Kate’s nod, Callie gave in to the urge to pet her and ran a palm over the soft, bristly fuzz.

“My gaydar for lesbians sucks. And I don’t know if all the Asian gay girls are hiding or something, but it’s like being Korean just screams straight girl at the bars. I can’t get a date to save my life,” Kate said, smiling ruefully. She tilted her head, pushing her skull into the curve of Callie’s palm. “I gotta signal somehow.”

“Feels good?” That head tilt was a dead giveaway.

“You have no idea,” Kate said, closing her eyes and damn near purring under Callie’s hand. Then her eyes blinked open. “If only you were available. I’d totally do you. Date you, I mean. Damn it, this ‘explore my sexuality without making it about casual sex’ crap is a fucking challenge. Why did I think it was a good idea to figure out whether or not I could fall for a woman?”

And here Callie was, doing her level best to make her explorations nothing but casual sex. Funny how that worked out.

Falling in love had never been Callie’s problem. Falling out of it, with Gabe, specifically?

A much bigger challenge.

“Because you need to spend some time deep in your own psyche. And I . . . I have to get out of mine.” Stop thinking about Gabe. But saying it out loud would give the words too much reality, so she swallowed them with another sip of her drink. The truth of the matter was, she needed something out of the ordinary. Something to satisfy her own curiosity, and without the weird hesitancy of explaining her kinks to someone from an online dating website who might think sex on the third date was the bee’s knees. Callie reminded herself there was very little she could say that would shock the woman she’d gone down on while Gabe had been deep inside her own pussy. “I’m thinking of going to a BDSM club. Wanna go with me?”

Kate sputtered into her drink, eyes growing round. “What? You’re what?’

“Going to a BDSM club. I’m curious.” Curious. Desperate for distraction. Same diff. Callie wasn’t sure if it was possible to beg someone with a look, but she gave it her best damn shot. “And they’ve got a newcomers’ night coming up next Tuesday.”

“Newbie night at the sex club,” Kate drawled, leaning back. “And here I thought Gabe and I taking you home with us was going to be the most unusual thing I ever did on a Tuesday.”

“So you’ll come?” Relief oozed through her. She’d been pretty sure, but pretty sure wasn’t anywhere near the same thing as certain. And Callie was in dire need of something big enough to focus her thoughts. Her stupid, unrestrainable, wildly imaginative thoughts that always insisted on circling back around to Gabe eventually.

“Do they have lesbians?” Kate asked. “I’m not in the market for cock at the moment. You may have heard.”

Callie was nothing if not good at market research, and she’d known she was going to have to lure Kate in with the promise of queer women. She had her answer prepped and ready. “There are LGBTQ newbies too.”

“Then hell yeah. Count. Me. In.” Kate rubbed her arms briskly. “Cool. An adventure. If we have to participate in something, I totally volunteer to be tied up and have you beat my ass.”

Letting her lip curl in a smirk, Callie leaned in close enough to smell Kate’s perfume. Musky and dark. Memories of Kate’s lean body laid out before her like a feast burned deep. She nosed her way up the curve of Kate’s ear. If Kate’s feelings for her didn’t lean toward the crush end of the scale, Callie would have been happy to turn that kind of joke into a reality. Teasing was safe though.

“You should be so lucky.”

---

Kate’s text on the night they’d dubbed Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down was a pure disappointment.

Picture me hacking up a lung all over your potential kinky sex partners. Sick as a dog here and half as pretty. This sucks. :(

Callie frowned at her phone. This sucked, indeed. For poor Kate, who would be twice as miserable at letting down a friend, and for herself too. She’d done more than her fair share of masturbating in the past week to fantasies about what they might see, or even do, at the BDSM club that night. Delicious fantasies, which kept all her more-stressful thoughts at bay.

And kept her stupid, stupid brain from thinking about anyone else in particular at the wrong moments. E.g., when she had her fingers . . . occupied.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

You could ask Gabe to go with you. You know he would.

Callie’s jaw clenched.

Talk about stressful thoughts she was trying desperately to hold at bay.

She tapped out a reply.

Think I’ll fly solo tonight.

She definitely wasn’t giving up on her plans for the evening. Yes, it would be slightly odd to walk into a BDSM club by herself as opposed to with a friend who could point out if she were acting like an idiot. On the other hand, there would be no one who knew her to witness it if she behaved like an idiot. A pro to match the con of flying solo.

Her phone buzzed.

Text me all the good stuff when you get home. Or just text me that you GET home. I’ll be picturing you strung up from a ceiling by a hook otherwise.

Callie’s eyebrows flew up.

Easy there, Conspiracy Kate. It’ll no doubt be an entirely innocent evening, no more exciting than hanging out at the pool hall.

Her finger hit Send even as her brain was yelling out Abort! Abort!

Kate’s sarcastic reply popped up before Callie could correct her own innuendo.

Last time we hung out at a pool hall, I tied you up like a Christmas present after fingerfucking you in the back of a taxi. If that’s your idea of entirely innocent, we need to have a talk. ;)

Shut. Up., Callie sent back.

I’d say ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but that would give you entirely too much leeway. ;) Have fun!

Callie pulled her shoulders back and sat up straight. Fun. Right. Yes. That was the plan. The advance reading she’d done had certainly been all kinds of enjoyable.

She smiled to herself. Keep your expectations low, girl. Books and movies romanticized all kinds of things.

Repeating low expectations, low expectations to herself was her mantra as she rode the El home, showered, scrubbed, and polished herself (because you never knew), then put on the slightly enticing but mostly reserved outfit she’d settled on for her first visit. Dark skinny jeans. The same black top she’d worn to meet Gabe and Kate that night, with its deep, narrow vee. The dark gray bra that made her tits look stellar. Black boots with a chunky heel.

She let her long hair air-dry so it was loose and slightly wavy. Overdid the eyeliner and smoky shadow because it felt like armor. Used the cinnamon lip gloss that stung her lips for a minute when she applied it and left them pink and warm afterward.

Her winter coat was black too, long and heavy and not at all sexy, but there were only so many concessions to seduction she was willing to make during a Chicago winter. In her car, she didn’t bother turning on the heat. Her body was a furnace with the flames cranked up high, her hands moving restlessly on the steering wheel.

Street parking was easy to find, a miracle in the club’s neighborhood. A miracle that left her standing with a hand on the glass door faster than she anticipated. The street address was picked out above the frame in gold letters. She’d thought there’d be plenty of time to calm her nerves while she circled the blocks, looking for a parking place.

That’s what you get for rushing.

Now she was here and breathing too hard and kind of wishing she’d stayed home and waited until Kate felt better to come with her on some other night.

Don’t be a chickenshit. Get your ass upstairs.

She pulled on the handle.

The door swung open and she entered.

---

Huh. Classier than I expected.

The two flights of stairs up to the dungeon reminded her of her first Chicago apartment after college. Dim light bulbs that flickered and threatened to go out but never did. Old carpet nearly worn through on the edges of the stairs. Twenty-seven layers of paint on the walls, the edges of ancient, faded colors visible wherever the top layer had chipped away.

She readjusted her expectations to set the bar even lower before she pulled open the door and stepped inside the BDSM club, only to be surprised by the pleasantly classy setting.

Calling ahead to ask questions had been the right thing to do. Since it was a monthly night open to first-time visitors, the staff were probably used to people who looked a little lost and confused. But it was still nice to give her name to the girl at the front desk—who looked like a child, but had to be at least twenty-one, Callie assumed—and get a smile of recognition.

“Hi, Callie. I have your name on the list right here. If I could see your ID, please? And here’s some paperwork for you to fill out.”

It was like going to a new doctor’s office for the first time. Callie hid her smile and stepped aside with the clipboard, the elaborate release, and the privacy agreement, diligently reading the entire document even though she’d already gone through it closely on the club’s website. She returned her paperwork with the cover charge. Visitors were allowed to pay a cover twice before they were required to sign up for the monthly dues of a club member.

So you only have two chances to check this place out before you have to decide whether or not to fork over the membership fee. Make the most of it, lady.

“Thanks!” the young woman chirped and handed Callie a bright green dance club-like wristband that identified her as a newcomer.

Oh yay.

No doubt it was a good idea, signaling newcomer here! to the regular club members. But it grated a little, having her status called out to everyone so visibly. Callie was used to adapting swiftly to any given situation, flying under the radar until she’d figured out the lay of the land. Kind of hard to do that with a grass-green wristband that damn near radiated against her dark clothes and pale skin.

Never imagined I’d wish I were wearing a floral sundress, but it sure would make the newbie band less obvious.

A quick glance around the room as she hung her coat in a curtained alcove and returned to the main room corrected that thought.

Floral sundresses would not do anything to make one less obvious in a BDSM club. At least not this one. Maybe there was some Betsey Johnson kinky sex club somewhere, with crowds of people wearing brightly colored sheaths or flared skirts splashed with giant peonies.

Maybe.

Only a few of the people she could see were dressed in what she thought of as BDSM leather or bondage gear, but the majority of the crowd leaned heavily toward black in the wardrobe department. There was one woman in a long, filmy, white dress, but something about her loosely braided hair and unmade-up face read as role-playing a virgin to Callie.

There’s no way to know for sure, of course. I’m certainly not going to walk up to her and ask. Although, while she watched, a short, pale-skinned man with a shaved head did just that, introducing himself and shaking the play-acting virgin’s hand. The man smiled and talked, and then took a step back when the woman gestured across the room. A tall, muscular Asian man with a roughly carved face joined her, resting a hand on the woman’s shoulder as she dropped her face and fell silent. The two men talked for a bit, and then the trio exited through one of two archways facing each other on opposite walls, heading into a darker room.

Interesting. So that was how it worked. Not that she had any idea what she’d just observed. For all she knew, that entire exchange had been someone asking where the bathrooms were.

The bar beckoned. Strongly.

Or rather, the “bar.” No alcohol allowed at this dungeon, she’d learned online, although the soft drinks were free. For the first time since college, she’d actually considered pre-gaming at home with a glass of wine—or a couple of shots of whiskey, which might have been more useful, frankly—just to make sure she wasn’t too tense.

Damn it, Kate. This would be so much fun with you here to talk to.

She hadn’t trusted herself to remember not to pull out her phone—ingrained habits were damn hard to break, but cell phone use of any kind was absolutely forbidden in the club—so she’d left it tucked into an inner pocket of her coat in the curtained closet. Still, the urge to reach into her purse, looking for a way to message her friend, swept over her.

At the bar, a slim young man with long, white-blond hair and a bare torso under his tapestry vest smiled at her as she slipped onto a stool. She asked for a 7-Up.

Caffeine. Not necessary.

Tipping, however, was. Even if she wasn’t sure it was expected. Old habits.

The bartender took another drink order from a young—so young—man who walked up to the bar next to her.

“So, what are you into?” the bartender asked the boy next to her after sliding a cup of water across the counter.

Aaaaand that’s my cue to move on.

Awkward interview questions from strangers? Not on her agenda for the evening. She’d just . . . stroll around.

The sounds spilling from the two dimly lit rooms through the archways were enough to lure her out of the main room. Loud cracks, sharp cries, low moans. Too many sounds for there not to be things worth seeing. And voyeurism was allowed.

Allowed? Encouraged? She wasn’t sure where the lines were drawn, but hoped politeness would carry her through. The website had presented her with a list of unacceptable behaviors, absolutely none of which she could picture herself exhibiting.

The last thing she saw as she walked through the archway to the right was a small table with a decoratively arranged plate of Fig Newtons and napkins. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her giggling snort.

Everyone likes snacks at an orgy.

She stopped her perambulations on the edge of an open floor space under some kind of winch that hung from the ceiling. A pretty young woman with pear-shaped hips and light brown hair that fell in her face was being tied up by an equally pretty, tall young man with a short blond ponytail. The girl was naked except for pale pink lace boy shorts, her breasts framed by the white rope the young man was knotting and tying. Both of them were barefoot.

Shibari. A sharp thrill fluttered in Callie’s stomach. She had done her research and knew the Japanese of art of rope bondage was popular with some and had pored over the pictures on different websites for quite some time. She wondered if this was an official example of it. Or who she might ask. People stood alone or in small groups around the couple, mostly silent, with occasional whispers.

She looks happy. The realization surprised her. The girl’s muscles were slack as she stood, and she turned easily when nudged this way or that by the young man who laced the lengths of rope over and under and around her limbs. He tied knots with what looked like abandon but was producing precise, decorative columns against her pale skin.

She’d expected to see lots of things at the BDSM club that made her curious.

She hadn’t expected to feel so much envy of the very first sub she watched in a scene. But the trust radiating from the young woman was unmistakable. Callie wanted that security, suddenly craved the support of a partner in crime she trusted with a strength that rocked her.

People moved in and out of the small huddle surrounding the couple. Someone wearing too much perfume stood behind Callie for a while, then thankfully moved on. The entire time, the girl’s focus never wavered, her eyes always on the young man with the rope or waiting for him to return to her field of vision when he passed behind her.

Callie was fascinated. And absolutely turned on. Despite clutching a bev nap with the crumbs of a Fig Newton balled up inside it. Her skin was hot, and she licked her lips when the man’s fingers brushed accidentally against his sub’s nipples and the woman shivered with irrepressible pleasure.

Yes. That.

She wanted to see more. Time to stroll around the dungeon.

In another corner, a dark-haired man with a goatee, barefoot under a priest’s collared cassock was beating the shit out of a sobbing black-haired woman bent over a bench. Mascara ran in streaks down her face when she turned to look over her shoulder and plead with her Dom. The crack of a wide strap against the woman’s ass made Callie flinch each time he wielded it. The crowd surrounding these two was dense, humming with anticipation almost. While she watched, the man pushed the woman off the bench and onto the floor, opened the front of his robe, and forced her open mouth down over his erect cock until she choked and gagged.

Callie watched for a moment, the muscles of her hand tightening around her plastic cup until she worried she might crush it. She’d read all of the materials on the website before coming to the club. Knew that not only were these two acting out a scene to which they’d both agreed beforehand, but that there were also staff nearby—dungeon monitors, a phrase which made her swallow a giggle when she thought it—should there be any need. It was safe, sane, and consensual, but she felt uncomfortable and unsure of herself, wishing again that she weren’t alone, dealing with her reactions to all of this.

I wish Gabe were here.

The thought caught her off guard. She’d meant to think about Kate, to compose a chatty text message to her friend in her head, offloading some of her conflicting feelings of yearning and discomfort. But when the words had floated to the surface of her mind, Gabe was the one Callie wanted standing next to her. So many of her sexual firsts had happened with Gabe. The calm permission he’d given her to explore her desires and the safe space he’d made within their relationship for her to do it had given her so much freedom and security. She wanted that now.

Well, you can’t have it, or him, because that would be a terrible idea. So stop it.

She stepped back from the priest scene and let people from the surrounding crowd move forward into the spot she’d occupied.

Nope. Not for me.

Making her way back to the bar in the social room, she took a deep breath and attempted to recapture her earlier good feelings. No scenes were allowed in the main room, although there were plenty of semi-naked people standing in small groups, chatting, or spread out on the couches near the fireplace.

Scanning the room was a habit she fell into almost immediately upon entering, conscious of it, but unable to stop. The desire to avoid being caught staring at anyone if it was inappropriate to do so here mixed with a need to have a general sense of who was around her and what they were doing, keeping her eyes in motion.

Now, after her visit to the first dungeon room, Callie found herself checking out everyone’s feet, to see who else was barefoot. She didn’t know if it meant anything other than some people preferred to take their shoes off.

In the main part of the social room, filling the space anchored by the fireplace and surrounded by leather couches, a large and rowdy game of Cards Against Humanity was going on. A heavy-set, bearded young man—young again, everyone was so young, except for several old men wearing leather and carrying neatly wound hanks of rope over their shoulders as they wandered—was running the game. She watched for a minute from the edge of the crowd, seeing people enter and leave the game in between rounds. Clearly no one was actually keeping score, and the goal was to use the filthiest cards possible with each round. When someone left, they simply passed their cards to a new player or returned them to the bottom of the draw pile.

So, anyone could play. Good to know. She thought about walking through the second dungeon room but spotted a bookcase in the corner and wandered over to check it out. The first book she saw was Fifty Shades of Gray, which was strange, because she’d read that a lot of BDSM people thought that book wasn’t a good representation of the scene. Maybe it was there as an inside joke. The volume was pressed between the Mammoth Book of Erotica and the Big Book of Bondage, which were more along the lines of what she’d been expecting.

Seriously? You’re at a dungeon. Stop looking at the books.

She might have overwhelmed herself just a smidge, though, because instead of venturing into the room on her right, she headed back to the bar. The line of two-liter pop bottles across the back shelf struck her as funny every time she saw it.

Nodding to the bartender that, yes, she would indeed like another drink—tipping got you remembered at the dungeon, same as it did anywhere else—she rolled her balled-up napkin onto the counter, leaned her elbow against the bar, and dropped her head into her hand, staring blankly at the room.

She didn’t know what to do next. Wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Heading back into one of the play rooms was the obvious choice, but her brain was feeling slightly overwhelmed already.

She really, really missed . . . Kate. You miss Kate. Not anyone else.

“Let me guess. Not sure if it’s your scene?” The baritone voice with the slight accent belonged to a stupidly attractive man with golden brown skin, dark hair, and black eyes who stood just outside of her personal dance space at the corner of the bar. Taller than her, broader too, he managed not to loom over her while at the same time edging close enough for her to feel the heat of his body radiating off of him.

More formally dressed than most people she’d seen in the club, he wore tailored pants and shirt, both dark, both form-fitting.

Callie resisted the temptation to run a speculative eye over those closely cut pants.

“Not exactly, no.” I don’t even know if that’s true. The shibari scene she’d observed had absolutely intrigued her, the trust and submission calling to something in her that wanted to move past curiosity and into experimentation. Everything about this night was supposed to help her move deeper into exploring what she wanted, but the second scene had pressed pause on her desires.

She lifted her glass of cranberry and club soda, closing her mouth around the straw and wondering if it was her imagination, the feeling that the beautiful man was watching her lips with speculative interest.

Wondering what they would look like wrapped around his cock, maybe. That’s what I imagine a Dom would think.

She smiled at herself.

That’s what you would think if you were a Dom, you mean, Projection Girl.

“I’d love to know what that smile is about,” he said, head tilted a little to the side, not taking the obvious opening of sitting next to her, but standing near enough that she could smell some kind of scent coming off him. Like the candle she had at home that said Amber, Mandarin, and Musk on the glass jar. The scent of Dubai, according to the candle company.

She shook her head no, declining to share her thoughts, but she left her body turned toward him, open to more. Determined not to let her confusion suppress her boldness, she gave his body a blatant up and down look. This was a man who wouldn’t be surprised at his effect on people, not with the slick skim of fabric over his broad chest, emphasizing his lean, muscled torso. “So what are you, like, the teaser item on Black Friday, here to lure us all in on newbie night?”

She could see the appeal, truly, because damn.

The man laughed, mouth wide, head thrown back. Genuine good humor glowed in his face. “Ha. Not hardly. Just a goodwill ambassador. And a non-threatening tour guide, if you like.”

“Oh, I think you could be plenty threatening,” she said, full-on flirting now. She glanced down at his feet. Perfectly ordinary brown, lace-up shoes. Really nice shoes, actually. Not running a scene tonight then. Or maybe that wasn’t an across-the-board rule. She didn’t know.

“Let me guess. You wanted to try something new?”

She rolled her eyes a little at him. But only a little, because his presence was such that it already felt like teasing her boss, or someone else with whom she could get in trouble. In some very delicious ways. Teasing was a little dangerous, a tiny risk that was worth it, though. “Like that’s hard to guess. You can say that to any of us on newbie night and get a yes.” She raised her banded wrist and shook it in the air. “Especially those of us sporting these.”

“You’d be surprised. For some people, it’s not new. They’re here because they’re new to Chicago, but familiar with the scene wherever they came from. And for others…”

She couldn’t resist asking and knew that he was already gently manipulating her, encouraging her to ask him questions. “For others?”

“It’s not a want. It’s a need.” When he smiled, his white teeth were visible between dark pink lips. Imagining those teeth closing on her nape made her shiver. “They might not know how to go about it or exactly what part of the scene is calling to them, but they know that it’s something they need. Without it, they’re not complete.”

“I don’t think that’s me. The need.” Although she had been drawn, strongly, to the rope scene and was now fantasizing about pulling this man’s clothes off with her teeth.

He shrugged and smiled again. “Maybe not. Curiosity and wanting to have fun are also good reasons to be here. That’s why we invite people to visit, so you can find out. I’d be happy to walk you around, give you a proper tour.”

“Maybe some other time.” Maybe you should just take me in the back and fuck me was what her body was saying, beating on the bars caging her mouth that kept her from spewing out embarrassing shit when she wasn’t looking. But the echoes of her feelings of envy from before, wanting the trust and maybe even the submission of the woman in the ropes, kept her cautious. As appealing as he was, she didn’t know this man, and she wasn’t here with anyone she trusted. She felt off-balance. She wasn’t ready.

“Whenever you want to try something new, maybe.”

“Maybe.” She smiled again, and this time let him in on the thought that had passed through her mind. “I have a friend who runs. She’s talked me into training with her for a race. She’s finding it entertaining that this is the other new thing I’m trying.”

“Oh, yeah? What race are you training for?” he asked, tilting his head toward her.

“The Hot Chocolate one.”

“That’s a fun one. Plus, chocolate.” Their smile was mutual.

“My feelings exactly,” she said, laughing.

“Maybe I’ll see you at the starting line.”

She tilted her head noncommittally.

“I’m Ale, by the way.” He held out a hand. “Short for Alejandro.”

She loved the way he said his name, like a musical whisper with the aspirated j in the middle. Ahlay-HAN-dro. Ahlay. Like a cheek brushing against her hair as a kiss was pressed to her face.

Shaking her head, she held onto her grip on reality, where Ale stood in front of her, waiting. Patient.

Yes, this man had all the patience in the world, she imagined.

Until he didn’t.

The picture of what might happen next when he ran out of that gentle patience made the muscles of her ass clench. Not visibly, she hoped.

Her own hand felt swallowed up in his larger one when she placed her palm against his. “Callie.”

“Your friend who’s all about trying new things didn’t want to come with you tonight?”

She thought of Kate, who had backed away from Gabe after the night of their threesome. Not out of unhappiness, but because the younger woman had found herself more interested in figuring out how deep her emotional attraction to women might possibly run, as opposed to the physical attraction she’d assumed was her only interest. (No need to mention the hacking lungs part. So not sexy, kink club conversation.) “She’s got her own new things to explore. This doesn’t particularly appeal to her.”

Which was the truth. Kate had agreed to come with her, but only because she was kind and up for new experiences, not because Kate had any particular burning desire of her own to experiment with kink beyond the play she already knew she enjoyed in bed.

For Callie, the experiment wasn’t quite that casual. She needed this, needed something to push her boundaries that didn’t involve fucking her ex-boyfriend and falling back in love with him again, setting herself up for the same heartache she’d collapsed under once before.

“But it does to you.” Ale sounded unreasonably sure of himself.

“I don’t know yet,” she said stubbornly, ignoring her own instincts as Ale reached out to her with one hand. She didn’t have enough information to make that judgment call. “That’s why I’m here.”

“May I?” His hand stopped inches from her arm.

She nodded. Held her breath.

One finger.

That’s all it took. One fingertip, dragged slowly from shoulder to elbow, his eyes on his own touch, as if he didn’t want to miss it: the shiver she gave at the end of that fingertip’s slow journey along her arm, leaving a tingling trail behind it that made her want to reach around with her left hand and rub her palm briskly over the tight sleeve of her shirt to scrub the tingles away.

“Right. Okay. Yes.” Hello, information. Whoa. She laid her hand flat on the bar in a vain effort to hide its trembling. “It appeals.”

Jesus Christ. He hadn’t even done anything to her.

Ale leaned in close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. When he stood up, she could still smell him. Taste the scent of him in her mouth.

“Callie, come and play with me. Or I’ll come to you. Any time. We could even just talk.” He smiled and tilted his head toward the front of the room, where an older man had joined the young woman at the desk near the door, greeting people as they arrived. “You can ask Tom for me. Or about me. Either way.”

He paused and held her hand, fingers hard and warm around hers. She needed to blink, eyes watering as she resisted, absolutely certain somehow that blinking would break the spell, slash a knife through the tension that built between them like a slowly tightening thread connecting her belly to his. Lightheaded, she realized she was holding her breath.

Dizzy, she nodded, then tried to exhale quietly as Ale squeezed her hand before letting it go and walking away. She watched, to see if this was a thing he did, approaching lone women who sat at the bar by themselves on newbie night.

When he didn’t, Callie knew she was fucked.

Metaphorically speaking.

Every now and then, Ale would look up and catch her glance, acknowledging her observation with a small smile. Each time, his name floated through her mind on a low murmur.

Ah-lay.

The Dom—there was no way he wasn’t a Dom, that much she was sure of—slipped smoothly in and out of conversation with almost everyone in the social area, greeting what were clearly good friends with hugs and affectionate touches. Holding himself slightly apart from people she assumed were newer acquaintances.

He spent twenty minutes on the couch nearest the fireplace with a tired woman’s head resting in his lap, rubbing her back over the blanket she’d wrapped around her naked body, conversing over the woman’s dreamy smile with two other men and one woman. All of them ignored the naked woman in the blanket, except to look down fondly at her from time to time or touch her shoulder or hip gently.

When the woman finally stood up, she kissed Ale on the mouth and whispered in his ear before folding her blanket, laying it over the back of the couch, and heading toward the bathroom.

Ale caught Callie’s eye yet again. This time, he didn’t look away. His mouth moved, and when he stood up and walked over to her, she knew he’d excused himself from his friends.

“You’re still here,” he said when he arrived at her side at the bar.

Was it her imagination, or was he standing closer to her this time than he had during their first conversation?

“Indeed I am.” The first—second? Tenth?—admission, each one an accretion of information about her she had no doubt could be used to bring her to her knees.

A thought that seemed melodramatic when Ale’s interactions with her were so . . . not.

“Any questions?” he asked, and the prosaic nature of his inquiry provoked her to answer with stupid honesty.

“I’m trying to picture a scenario where I’m comfortable arranging for a stranger to come to my apartment and fuck me,” she admitted, which pretty much confirmed—for both of them—that she’d already made her mind up to do just that. They both ignored her phrasing that made it all about sex, when what the club and Ale clearly offered was something that might be sexual but was something . . . more. The public nature of the club fascinated her almost as much as the parts of submission she’d seen that plucked strings in her belly, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to push that particular boundary. On the other hand, inviting a Dom to come home with her was somehow so much more intimidating than bringing home a man from a date. “Not sure I can quite get there.”

“Are you friends with any police officers?” Ale asked, sliding onto the barstool next to her and resting his elbow on the counter.

Curious, she answered, head tilted. “Not really. Why?”

“If I were arranging a scene with you, I would take a picture of my ID for you to send to a law enforcement friend, if you had one. Then you would arrange a safe call with that person.” She was pretty sure she knew what that meant, but raised an eyebrow anyway. “You pick a time by which you have to call your friend, or else they ring the alarm, as it were. They don’t need to know any more details than that.”

“But I don’t have any cop friends.”

“It works with regular friends too.” Ale leaned his head on his fist and slid a card from his back pocket, dropping it on the counter in front of her. His smile was flirtatious, but restrained. The ball was clearly in her lap. Court. Whatever. “Or you can always arrange to play here at the club.”

Callie pocketed the card without looking at it.

“I’ll think about it.” She definitely needed to make this decision when her head was clearer. Right now, all she could think about was how swollen and wet she would feel if Ale slid his hands up her skirt and between her legs. How slick and slippery she would be if he dragged and fingertip back and forth along the seam of her pussy, slipping easy, so easy, inside.

Callie shook her head, tangled in a fog of lust and heat.

“I’ll definitely think about it.” She repeated as she straightened her spine, which had sunk into a slack curve, and prepared to stand.

Ale was on his feet, hand at the ready. She let him pull her to her feet and stood still when he let her go, mere inches between them.

“You have my number.”

“I’m more likely to email.”

She had no idea why she’d said that. Email was Gabe’s thing, not hers. Callie liked texting best, but somehow sex and planning had gotten strung together in her head with email, like charms on a bracelet. Flashbacks to days long gone.

Gabe’s fault. Definitely.

“You have that too,” Ale said. He’d made sure to give her different ways to get in touch with him. She’d enjoyed the feeling that he particularly hoped to hear from her. That she wasn’t merely some random woman he’d like to fuck up against the wall in a sex club, but someone he was genuinely attracted to.

And she had to admit, the force of his presence in Dom mode was one helluva turn on.

In the coat closet, he held her long, black coat for her, carefully lifting her hair out of the collar after she slid her arms into the sleeves. The brush of his fingertips on the back of her neck made her shiver.

“Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

She shook her head. She’d parked on the same block as the club, a relatively busy commercial street, and wasn’t worried.

In the narrow room, Ale’s height made her feel tiny. She was hyperaware of his larger body next to hers.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you.” She turned her head and touched her lips to his cheek. Scratchy, as if he hadn’t shaved since early that morning. Her treacherous brain imagined the scrape of that cheek against her inner thigh while someone held her down, and she shivered visibly. The urge to press herself against him caught fire in her belly.

His eyes darkened and his chest lifted as he inhaled sharply.

“Goodnight,” she said, and left the coat closet, left the club, left the building, feeling the thread tying her to Ale stretch and tug until she reached the cold bite of the winter air on the street and the connection snapped.

In her car, she locked the doors and leaned her head against the steering wheel for a moment before starting the engine.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

No question in her mind, she wanted to find out what it would be like to kneel for that man. But she wasn’t quite into the idea of an audience full of strangers at the club, and she didn’t want to be stupid about her safety.

She started the engine, checked the street, and pulled away from the curb. All the way home, leaving the heat off in the car because she didn’t need to be any more warmed up than this, the words kept repeating in her head.

I can figure this out. I think I have to.