When I return to the bar after changing into a thong and robe, Nate and Liam are already setting up. The lattice above the Epicenter is lowered. Liam is busy tying ropes, his hands moving swiftly as he creates some complex rigging system. Nate is testing lighting, using a remote to adjust the overhead spotlight. The rest of the club is still shadowed and empty, but we only have an hour before people start arriving for the early evening shift.

“Ready?” calls Nate when he spots me walking toward him.

“As I’ll ever be.”

If my parents could see me now…

…they’d be thrilled.

The thought twitches my lips, a welcome reprieve from lingering echoes of my conversation with Liam. I have questions for him, but they’ll have to wait. At least I know he’s not going to kill me or deliver me back to Ivan. I can’t explain it, but I trust him.

“Okay, London, come on down.” Liam’s voice is brisk and professional. “As this is your first experience with bondage, I’ll walk you through each step. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, please tell me.”

Stepping down the short flight of stairs into the sunken area, I begin to pull off my robe. “Is it going to hurt?”

Liam laughs. “Not unless you want it to.”

“What the fuck?” bellows a voice behind me.

I gasp, clutching the lapels of my robe over my bare chest. Nate almost drops his camera as he jumps out of the pit and starts babbling at the tall, dark figure just outside the spotlight’s glow.

“Hi! What, uh, are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming in until later. This is nothing. Nothing’s happening. Just, um—”

“Shut up, Nathan,” snarls Cross.

My wide eyes veer to Liam, who doesn’t look alarmed in the least. Quite the opposite—he looks downright giddy.

“Dominic!” he says with a jaunty wave. “Good timing. Want to help?”

Silence reigns for three seconds. Then, “London, come here.”

Cross’s voice is liquid-smooth and utterly controlled. My legs vibrate with the need to obey even as my mind rebels. The pieces of me stretch apart, bound by brittle glue. When those bridges snap, I’m either going to scream, cry, or fall down dead.

Liam murmurs, “Just give in to it. Embrace it.”

My feet obey before my mind can catch up. I walk up the stairs, past a shocked Nate, toward the looming darkness of Dominic Cross. I don’t look up—can’t seem to lift my gaze past his belt buckle. But my mind is quiet. Oddly peaceful.

“Follow me, please.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before striding across the club. I follow, my bare feet silent, my body relaxed and muscles loose.

Cross doesn’t stop at the door leading to his office but continues on to another door at the far rear of the club. I’ve seen workers come through it with deliveries before but have never been inside. Cooler air skates over my exposed legs as I follow him down a short hallway. At the end is a roll-up metal door, currently down and locked. There’s only one other feature in the hallway—a black door with gold lettering proclaiming Private.

Cross produces a key and unlocks the door, opening it on a narrow stairwell of rich wood and white walls.

“Up you go.”

My skin prickles with mingled anxiety and anticipation. Questions ricochet in my head, but my tongue stays glued to the roof of my mouth. Clutching the short, silk robe over my chest, I step past him and up. At the top, I pause in surprise.

Cross moves past me, his black dress shirt whispering against my robe. His scent lingers, tendrils of it curling around my body. I watch him stride across the lavish loft to a galley kitchen.

Without turning, he says, “I’m going to pour myself a drink. Please make yourself comfortable on the couch. To answer your question, yes, I live here. No, I don’t publicize the knowledge, and yes, I’m livid right now so you’re making the right choice by treading lightly.”

He doesn’t know what I’m feeling. This sweet surrender, this relief. What I want from him. What I need.

Hell, I don’t have a clue what I need. But for the first time in so, so long, I’m 100 percent in the present moment. And until Cross tells me otherwise, I’m staying right here, right now.

I make it five steps across the loft before my knees weaken. Give in, Liam said. So I do, allowing gravity to carry me to the ground. I sit back on my heels. Bowing my head, I close my eyes and rest my hands in my lap. As I mimic the way I’ve seen submissives present to their Doms, I’m surprised by how natural it feels. How freeing.

Silence looms against the backdrop of muted street noise, the hum of a refrigerator, and a soft tick-tick of a wall clock. Not until my knees begin to hurt on the hardwood, until my calm begins to buckle, until every breath I take becomes overly loud, does Cross move.

Slow, measured footsteps approach me. Circle around me. My skin comes alive at the phantom pressure of his gaze. By the time he stops directly before me, I’m trembling.

“Open your eyes, kitten.”

I obey, blinking several times before he comes into focus. Or rather, his crotch comes into focus. One broad hand sits on the outside of his zipper, cradling the bulge beneath it. Before I can react, before I can even consider what this means, his nimble fingers reach for the zipper.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he says mildly. “When I come, you’ll swallow every drop.”

“Wha—wait,” I gasp, jerking back and falling on my ass. My robe falls open, but I’m too stunned to grab it. With humiliation rising like a tidal wave inside me, I stare up at him.

The smile on his face is cruelty personified. Condescending, yes, but more, too… worse. It’s pitying.

His head tilts appraisingly, dark eyes gleaming like twinned black holes. “Don’t want it after all, do you? That’s too bad. I’ve thought about that pretty mouth choking on my dick.” He sighs and turns away. “Get off my floor, London, and cover your tits. We need to talk.”

Fueled by adrenaline and rage, I scramble to my feet. Since it’s likely I’m about to be fired, I throw caution out the same window my pride plummeted through seconds ago.

“Fuck you, Dominic! Who do you think you are? Is that how you treat your subs? No wonder you can’t find a steady one!”

Between one breath and the next, he’s in front of me, towering over me with a sucking storm in his eyes. “That little tirade just proved my point. You’re not cut out for this life. If you were, I’d be sliding down your throat right now.”

The words add salt to my open wound—horrifyingly, tears burn in my eyes. My voice emerges thin and shaking. “You didn’t give me any warning. Aren’t people supposed to discuss everything beforehand? I’ve never done this before!”

“And you never will,” he snarls, then spins away with fingers clenched in his hair. “Goddammit, London. Just get out.”

“Why?” I yell at his back. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He pivots on a heel, facing me. The look on his face makes me take a swift step back. Lethal comes to mind. He blinks, and the momentary monster is gone, replaced by a tired man.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he asks, voice raw and threadbare. “I’m not like Liam—like a lot of other Doms—who get off on submission and a little discomfort. I’m a sadist, London.”

The word hits my ears, then my mind, fitting like a key into a lock. “You like giving pain,” I whisper.

He nods curtly, gaze dropping to my mouth before flickering back up. “To be perfectly honest, if I thought you could handle it, I would’ve bruised you by now. You’re exactly my type.”

“Bruise me,” I echo dumbly. “Whip me?”

He nods. “Among other things. I prefer flogging.”

“Burn me?”

“Possibly. But I’m careful to not leave scars.”

I swallow. “Cut me?”

He pauses. “Bloodletting isn’t my favorite, but I’ve done it.”

That elusive feeling of earlier is back, threading like mist through my mind and body. “Can you orgasm without inflicting pain?”

He draws a swift breath, then coughs out a surprised laugh. “Yes, London. Being a sadist doesn’t necessarily mean I have sexual dysfunction. Is Twenty Questions over yet?” His voice is dry.

“Almost. I have one more question.”

“What’s that?”

Here goes nothing.

“Will you hurt me?”