Page 51 of Pretty Little Thing

We reach the landing and I stop. I haven’t been up here before. It’s dark, nearly pitch black save the hot pink fluorescent bulbs above each door, except for the one on the far right. It’s also silent. Dead silent, unlike the constantly moving world downstairs.

Goosebumps curl up my spine, holding me in place.

“There,” Clive says. He points to the room with no light and I start walking that way, dragging my feet a little as he gives my hand a light tug.

I stop at the door and Clive pushes it open, casually stepping to the side to let me in first. When I don’t move, he releases my hand and walks in alone.

I could leave now. He’s giving me that choice but I feel a presence in my gut, a nervous sway I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. It’s pushing me to go in and embrace a new experience.

I step forward, driven by an urge I can’t say no to.

“Close the door.”

I do as he says, taking one task at a time. Closing a door. That’s easy.

“Lock it.”

Yes! I can do that, too...

I turn the lock and the pink light above the door flickers on. I guess that means occupied.

I take a look around. It’s a small space. One room with a kitchenette and an attached bathroom. A closet in the corner.A few armchairs sit around but the main furniture is the large table set up in the center of the room.

“Was this an apartment?” I ask.

“Once upon a time,” he says. “This whole place was an apartment building before. You couldn’t tell?”

I picture the layout downstairs and nod. “It’s very obvious now,” I say, chuckling.

“All the walls were knocked out on the ground floor,” he explains. “The second floor kept the rooms but no doors. And these...”

“Rented by the hour,” I recall.

“I figured you’d want somewhere more private after what happened downstairs before,” he says, his eyes soft on me.

“That’s...” I nod, “a safe assumption. Thank you.”

“Safe, sane, and consensual. That’s the law around here.”

“Good law.”

He extends his hand. “Jacket?”

“Thank you.” I push my jacket back over my shoulders, letting it fall to my hands. When I look up again, I catch him checking out my short, red dress but he looks away quickly. “You said a nice skirt, but…”

“It’s perfect,” he says, taking my jacket toward the closet in the corner.

Clive slides his own jacket off and my gaze locks on his arms. His shirt sits tightly around his large biceps. I recall the feel of his strong, toned chest beneath my fingers. He held me up in the air as if I weighed nothing at all.

I swallow hard.

He opens the closet in the corner and reaches in for a hanger. My eyes widen at the array of leashes, floggers, and chains hanging on the back of the door. He abandons his jacket inside but keeps the door wide-open, almost as if to tempt me.

“Clive, what are we doing here?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. Not right away.

“Whatever you want,” he finally says, passively shrugging.

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