I don’t want to turn around. Really don’t want to. But my feet move without my permission, spinning me on my heels. The ambient background music fades and a hush moves over the crowd; murmurs rise and fall like a collective heartbeat of anticipation. The overhead lights continue to dim, but a soft spotlight slowly brightens over the sunken pit.

Standing in the middle is Liam. My Liam. The easy, carefree version of him. He’s relaxed, hands in his pockets as he smiles and chats with the man beside him. Like there’s not a thing wrong in the world. Like he knows a secret—a thousand secrets about life and love and death—but he’ll never share.

His companion is built like an underwear model, all chiseled muscles and tanned skin above snug leather pants. At their feet kneels a woman. Naked. Head bowed and arms hanging limply at her sides. She has dark-blonde hair and the most perfect, creamy skin I’ve ever seen.

For a few seconds, I just stare at Liam’s smile. A pang of longing hits me as I realize how much I’ve missed it.

But what the fuck does he think he’s doing?

The Domme and her sub are gone, swallowed by the crowd as it mobilizes and moves toward the railing around the pit. When my view of Liam is obstructed, I skirt around the throngs and slip through bodies until I’m a few people back from the rail.

I can see his profile but not much else.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says a smooth female voice over the club’s speakers. “Welcome to this evening’s entertainment!”

A cheer rises, then mellows into polite applause. The voice continues, “Tonight we have a special treat. Master Liam and Master Dominic will be demonstrating proper technique for horizontal suspension…”

As she speaks, the metal latticing begins lowering smoothly toward the pit. White noise fills my ears, and I don’t hear the rest of the spiel, only the crowd clapping and whistling at its end. I sway a little, my vision dimming, and a finger taps my shoulder.

“You okay?” asks a woman.

I glance back, finding concerned eyes. “Fine, thanks. Just a little dizzy. Forgot dinner.”

She nods sagely. “Is this your first time at Crossroads?”

Since she seems normal enough—no crazy Domme vibe—I nod. “What exactly is going to happen?” I ask, nodding toward the pit.

She smiles. “You came on a great night. Master Liam is awesome. He doesn’t come around much anymore. Word is he has a new sub but doesn’t want her in the lifestyle.” She shrugs. “Anyway, he’s amazing to watch. Get ready for wet panties… if you’re wearing any.” She winks, then waves at someone nearby. Blowing me a saucy kiss, she moves away.

When I turn back around to face the pit, my palms are clammy and my breathing uneven. I watch Liam and the other man unwinding an apparatus that might as well be medieval torture—horizontal wooden bar, glistening silver chains, black cuffs. Lengths of red rope are removed from another section.

Even at a distance, I recognize the same type of rope Liam uses. Smooth and sturdy. Capable of creating beauty, enhancing pleasure, and causing pain. I shudder in remembered ecstasy, growing damp between my thighs.

I hear a whispered question behind me.

“…doing traditional or shibari?”

Someone answers, “Whatever he feels like tonight.”

The hum of the crowd increases, and I sidestep for a better view. At the same time, the person in front of me leaves and another person shifts. The pit is suddenly right in front of me, the action inside it crystal clear.

The other man—Master Dominic—speaks quietly with the woman. She’s on her feet, nodding to whatever he’s saying. Liam walks toward them, and her focus shifts. Her eyelashes flutter and her knees bend, like she can’t quite support her weight.

I’m very familiar with the look on Liam’s face right now. The fact that it’s directed at another woman makes me want to burn the world down. Starting with him.

The metal railing is cool beneath my fingers, hard against my pelvis. Liam’s broad back is just a few feet away. I don’t remember moving.

As he continues speaking softly to the woman, Master Dominic’s gaze roams the crowd. He nods to a few people in recognition. Then his gaze lands on me.

Dark, dark eyes sear into mine, full of the same power that Liam possesses. But he’s not Liam. Not safe. My knuckles go white on the railing as I fight the urge to bolt.

Dominic continues to stare at me, brows drawing together in a frown. His gaze veers to Liam. He murmurs something.

Liam’s head snaps upright.

FUCK!

I turn fast, preparing to dive through the crowd.

“Stop.”

Such a small word, spoken gently, but it’s pitched to carry. In it is more than the weight of command, though that power alone is crippling. Worse, much worse, is its encapsulation of every kiss, every touch, every perfect moment of intimacy we’ve shared.

I freeze.

“Turn around.”

His voice is closer now, nearer the railing. The people around me titter and whisper, moving away from me like I’m contagious. Maybe I am.

A second passes in which I consider refusal. Consider making a run for it. But I can’t. I just fucking can’t. Not with so many eyes on me. Not with him waiting behind me. Not with the words from the stranger ringing in my ears.

…doesn’t want her in the lifestyle…

A different type of anger builds inside me at the thought that he doesn’t want me here. Or maybe I’ve finally had enough of myself—my constant fear and worry—that I’m giving up and taking a back seat.

Whatever it is, whatever’s happening to me, the feeling squares my shoulders. My eyes on the floor, I turn around.

“I don’t know whether to whip you or kiss you.” His voice is dry and mild, at odds with the severe amount of trouble we both know I’m in.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I choke out.

“Are you?” he asks, and those nearest us chuckle. “However shall I punish my disobedient little dove?”

“Suspend her!” someone shouts.

“Paddle!”

“Put her on the cross!”

The crowd goes suddenly quiet; I risk a glance up to see Liam’s hand lifted.

“I know just the thing,” he murmurs, stepping up to the rail. The difference in floor height puts his face just below mine. A finger lifts my chin until I look into his eyes.

Although I’ve never seen this exact color in his eyes before—they’re dark, almost violet—I know what it represents.

Fury.

“You’re going to watch what I do to her. Up close and personal, gagged and bound at my feet.”

The words sink in, searing through me. I jerk with the force of the pain they cause. His expression doesn’t waver; his anger doesn’t dim.

“Say it,” he hisses.

My eyes burning with unshed tears, I say it.

My safe word.

“Clover.”