Page 65 of Repluse

He stares at me over the top of his glass before saying, “You know I love you, right? I’m just notinlove with you, and I don’t want that to become a problem between you and Mila, because fuck me, she’s got me falling fast.”

“I’m a big boy. It won’t ever be a problem. Just means I’ll give what you don’t want to her.” It’s a half truth. Loving Sam has become as natural as breathing. It’s unconditional. It’d be nice—fucking fantastic—if it was reciprocated, but I’m happy to shower Mila with what he doesn’t feel he needs yet. It doesn’t mean I won’t stop showing him the way I feel because, despite what he says, I just know he feels more than he’s ready to admit right now.

“That works,” he says with a nod.

We leave the conversation there.

Luther ends, and Taylor Dane takes over. Mila continues to dance eighties disco diva style. Sammie and I continue to watch her, grinning like idiots, until I get a text telling me our car service has arrived.

Despite the fully stocked bar inthe car, Sam cuts Mila off and makes her drink a bottle of water on the drive over to the club. We have two entryways. One at the front, straight off the street for the exhibitionists, and a discreet doorway inside an underground carpark you can only gain entry to with a code. Thesecond is the one we always use, unless there’s an event at the club that we want publicity for. Then we’ll make a big deal of arriving front and centre. Tonight isnotone of those nights.

Mila’s knee has bounced all the way here, and when she’s not been chugging down water, her hand has gripped either mine, Sam’s, or both. Her excitement and nervousness is giving me a buzz, and I can’t fucking wait to see her reaction to all that goes on here. I know Sam’s worried it’s too soon and that she’ll be freaked out and go running for the hills, but I have faith our girl is open minded enough to handle it.

I step out of the car first, and by the time I help Mila out, Sam has rounded the car and joined us.

The two tux-wearing members of our security team greet us as I tap in the code to open the doors, and we enter. Mila is in the middle of Sam and me, her arm hooked through each of ours. A long, wide hallway leads to a round reception area where we have a number of staff to greet our clients. Three doors lead off this area: one to the locker rooms and showers, one to the main bar, one to our offices. We decided in the car we’d head to the main bar first, have a drink, chat to a few clients, then head up to the restaurant for our reservation.

I can feel Mila’s tension through the grip she has on my arm as heads turn our way. After a few nods and a few chin lifts, we make our way through to the bar.

“You doing okay?” I lean in and ask against her ear.

“I think so. Why are they all staring?”

“One, because you’re stunning. Two, because you’re with us.”

“You think they’re staring now, you’d better brace for the main bar,” I hear Sam tell her.

He’s not wrong. Not only do they stare, despite the two hundred or so other people inside, but the place falls relatively silent. This bar is like a pre-drinks area. It’s where our members come to leave the day behind. This is where we want to give theclients who need it a chance to mingle, to slip into their alter egos—yeah, it really is a thing—and prepare for what the night may bring.

This is the only area where no sexually explicit acts are allowed. The music is low key background noise so conversations can be carried out.

A violin rendition of a Taylor Swift song I don’t know the name of plays over the sound system. Mila’s steps falter slightly, and I’m not sure if Sam presses in tighter, forcing Mila into me, or if we all move in sync when we feel eyes hit us.

Every state of undress stands around in the room, and I wonder what Mila might be thinking as she takes it all in.

As we move towards the bar, Maurice, one of our regulars, moves aside. He’s wearing nothing but fishnet stockings and black patent leather heels. He has Colin and Trevor, his ‘pups’, with him. They’re naked, on all fours, with butt plugs up their arses, collars around their necks, and diamanté leashes attached, which Maurice holds onto and leads them around by.

There are clients wearing the black robes we provide, naked men and women, women wearing outfits similar to Mila’s, and men wearing outfits similar to mine and Sam’s. Gimp masks, no masks, masks and nothing else. There’s a lot.

“You want to stand at the bar or get a booth?” I ask both of them.

“Booth,” Sam says.

“I’ll stand,” Mila adds at the same time.

My eyes cut to Sam, who gives me a shrug, so we move towards the bar.

“Evening, Sam, Frankie. Who’s your friend?” Shonna, another regular, steps forward and asks.

Shonna’s husband likes to whip beautiful women while getting pegged by his wife. I find the pair of them aggressivelypredatory, but they’ve never broken any club rules, so we’ve had no reason to revoke their membership… yet.

“This is Grace, and she’s off limits,” Sam jumps in and says.

We completely forgot to ask Mila if she wanted to use an alias, but Grace works, and it’ll be easy to remember.

“Shame,” Shonna says as she rubs the tips of her fingers together as if fighting the urge to touch Mila. “Henry and I are looking for a new toy.”

“Well, she ain’t it,” I inform her. “Have a great night.” Stepping around her and reaching the bar, I realise Mila is gripping Sam’s hand while her arm with the broken wrist is still hooked through mine.

---