Page 30 of Burn for Her

Blink. Blink, blink. Blink.

The car stopped in front of a large home and her door swung open. The driver leaned down with a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and touched her neck. “Just… nervous.”

He tossed her a killer smile and held his hand out. “The heat doesn’t help.”

“Neither does two bags of beignets and three po’boys in one day.”

He whistled, impressed. “A woman with an appetite is enough to make a man fall to his knees.” He kissed the back of her hand. He nodded towards the big house. “You know what you’re getting into there, sugar?” He genuinely looked worried for her.

“It’s a kink club.”

The driver cocked his eyebrow, a slight smile slithering across his face. “You better be careful in there.”

Lena tensed. “Why?”

“This city? This place? Once they sink their teeth in, they don’t let go.”

Lena’s body melted at the thought. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He rocked back and clutched his heart. “You’re gonna be a dangerous one.”

She winked at him and headed towards the estate, aka, her potential salvation.

After smoothing her dress one last time, Lena gripped the tips of the wrought iron gate, molded into an elaborate French door style, and noticed white dust scattered across the threshold and lawn. Weird. Pushing the iron gate open, she sauntered up the walkway, climbed six wide concrete steps, and stopped under a gas lit chandelier. Lena raised her hand to ring the bell, but the door opened before she had the chance.

“Welcome to The Wicked Garden.”

The man talking to her had fangs. Actual fangs. Were they clip-ons? Veneers? Did it even matter?

“Your name, please?”

Lena swallowed through the tightness in her throat and gawked at the doorman. Dressed in head-to-toe black, he was something out of a dark fantasy—sharp jaw line, brown eyes, dark skin, broad shoulders. He tipped his head to the side. “Name, please.”

Oh whoops. “Cherry,” she said in a heavily sexual voice. Rules were, no one used real names here, so she went with her favorite fruit. So dumb right? But it didn’t feel dumb when he flashed her a killer smile and said, “Right this way, Cherry.” It felt decadent and sinful.

She’d been to sex clubs before but hadn’t stayed long enough to participate. None of them hit the mark. And none of them looked like this.

“This is the mingling area. We encourage our guests to relax but getting intoxicated is forbidden. As is drug use of any kind. We pride ourselves in hosting parties where our guests always remain clear-headed, for consensual purposes. If, at any time, you are feeling uncomfortable with another guest here, just gesture like this,” the man swiftly tapped the tip of his nose, “and one of our staff will escort you to a safe area and deal with the one offending or threatening you.”

“Good to know.”

“The safety of our guests is of utmost importance to us.”

Lena’s gaze sailed around the first room—a parlor decked in creams and golds. A large painting of a woman was mounted on a heavy frame, positioned between two massive windows adorned with heavy drapes. There was an intimate sitting area by the fireplace. Several extra chairs with high backs and cream cushions sat along the perimeter of the room, and there was a large piece of furniture that looked like three settees smashed with their backs together in the center. Off to the side sat a round table with seating for eight.

“Voyeurism and exhibitionism are both welcomed, as long as all parties are in agreement,” the man said. “Through these doors is a dancefloor.” He took her into the cleared room that only boasted hardwood floors and a few paintings. It was… boring. “However,” he continued, “this space requires clothing. Rooms with windows for an audience can be reserved upstairs, and chairs can be placed in the room as well, to make all parties comfortable. Just ask a staff member to fetch whatever you require, even if you decide halfway through the evening to change things.”

“What if… you don’t have a room reservation?”

The guy smiled and his brown eyes twinkled, “Then you can go to our pool.” He swept his arm in the direction of the back door, but first, they passed six more large rooms—a musical room set with grand piano and string instruments. A painting room, with canvases on easels, and four other sitting rooms.

“No kitchen?”

“Meals are not offered, only drinks.” His full lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “The kitchen was pulled out and replaced with a bar.”

“That doesn’t serve alcohol,” she confirmed.

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