Her expression tightens but she clearly reads just how insistent I am on this. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll ride with you.”
I’m already walking, leading her to the Audi and clicking the locks. I open the passenger door and hold it open for her, reluctantly letting go of her hand. She inhales, as if steeling herself to be trapped in a cage with me, before ducking into the vehicle and settling into her seat. I stand there for several beats, fighting the urge to pull her out of the car again, kiss her, and force her to listen to reason. But I can’t force Faith to do anything, and if I could, I doubt I’d want her so fucking much. She’s made up her mind and I have to ride the ride with her.
Still, as I shut her inside the Audi and round the rear of the vehicle, I mentally argue a case to go home instead of the club, knowing she’ll rebel, but wanting to do it anyway. I’ll take her there. I’ll tie her to the bed and I’ll make her come so many times she forgets the club ever existed.
But she won’t forget.
Fuck.
I open the driver’s side door and join Faith inside, that sweet amber and vanilla scent of hers colliding with the punch of anger filling the car, and proving to be a brutal cocktail. Wanting this over with, I crank the car in reverse, and pull us out of the space. I don’t turn on the radio. I want Faith to talk to me, to ask questions, but she doesn’t. Once we’re on the road, silence consumes us. Thick, heavy, a weight that promises to bury me, and us, alive. I want to say something to fix this, but I go back to knowing Faith. If I push her right now, she will thicken the wall she’s now thrown between us.
So, for fifteen minutes, we endure a wordless ride, until finally we pull up to the private gates of the club, a mansion that sits on the edge of an elite neighborhood. I roll down my window and key in the entrance code, making it painfully clear that I still have access to the facility. The gates open and I pull us through them and we travel the long path hugged by trees and manicured foliage. Once I turn us onto the horseshoe drive, I stop in front of the mansion, holding up my hands to both windows and valets.
I turn to her and before she knows my intent, I have cupped her neck and pulled her to me. “While we are here, I am your fucking king. You do what I say. You stay by my side. You hold my arm or hand. This, too, is non-negotiable, and I swear to fucking God, Faith, if you disobey me on this, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. Do you understand?”
She breathes out. “Yes.”
I want to kiss her, but I don’t. I hate her being here too damn much and I will not risk her reading me in any other direction. “Stay,” I order instead. “I’ll come around and get you.”
I don’t wait for her agreement. She doesn’t get a fucking opinion while we’re in this place. I exit the car and speak to the valet, a thirty-something guy named Rick, who’s been with the club for a decade. “Hold the car up front,” I tell him. “We won’t be long. Is Kurt here?”
“He is.”
“Have him meet me in the foyer if he’s not indisposed at the moment.” I palm him a large bill, and round the car, where Faith thankfully has listened and stayed inside. I grind my teeth and force myself to open her door. She slides her legs to the ground and I offer her my hand. She hesitates, damn it, she hesitates, and it kills me. It also pisses me off. I squat down, lowering my voice for her ears only. “You aren’t getting out or going anywhere without touching me,” I assure her, “so slide back in and we’ll leave or,” I offer her my hand again, “take my fucking hand.”
She presses her palm to mine and I stand, taking her with me and moving her to the curb. The car door shuts behind us and I lace my fingers with Faith’s, bending our arms at the elbows, and fitting her snug to my hip. We start the walk up the stairs leading to the entrance, each of the dozen steps a walk of doom I reject. If this goes badly, I will lose her.
I’m not losing her.
We reach the top and a doorman in a suit—everyone in the place wears suits—well trained at the kind of discretion the club requires, does not make eye contact. He simply opens the door for us. Stepping inside the foyer, the mansion instantly drips of money, from the expensive paintings on the walls, the tiles and thick, oriental rugs on every floor, to the enormous, glass chandelier above our heads. “Where do they lead?” Faith asks of the set of wooden winding stairs directly in front of us, a red and multi-colored oriental carpet up their center, while a second stairwell leads downward.
“No place you want to go,” I assure her, redirecting her attention. “To the left is a cigar and whiskey room that is just that. Nothing more. No sex. No play allowed.”
“The stairs, Nick,” she says tightly, still keenly focused on them.
“Upstairs is group play. Downstairs a dungeon and bondage area, among other things. I didn’t go to those places without you, and we won’t be going to them now.”
She faces me. “I want to go to both areas. All areas.”
“I told you, Faith. I didn’t go to those places without you. I won’t take you to them now or ever.” I glance to the left to find Kurt, looking stoic in a black suit and gray tie.
Faith follows my gaze and Kurt closes the distance between us, standing in front of us in a few moments. “Faith is my guest,” I announce. “She is not, nor will she ever be, applying for membership.” He doesn’t react, but he’s smart enough to know that she’s why he now owns the club. “Faith,” I add, moving on. “This is Kurt. The new owner of the club. Kurt. How long did I own this place?”
“Roughly a year,” he says.
“Who owned it before me?”
“I’m not at liberty to name names, but one of your clients.”
It’s a good answer, the right answer, which sets up the story I’m trying to tell right now. “And this person owned it how long?”
“He created it,” Kurt explains. “It was his from day one ten years ago.”
“And did I ever claim the ownership duties?”
“You did not.”
“Did I ever spend time in any of the places those stairs lead?”
“No, you did not,” he says.
“And why should Faith trust that you aren’t simply protecting me?”
He looks Faith in the eyes for the first time since joining us. “I protect my members, but I don’t lie. I’d decline to answer rather than lie as I did when asked about the prior ownership. This was never Nick’s place. It was mine. It’s simply official now.” He looks at me. “Room eleven is yours.”