Page 7 of The Masquerade: Room 2

“Lighten up. And I say that as one of the most serious men in this club. I’m a Dom in here and out in the real world. Surgery is high stakes. I mess up, and someone dies. I’m about as tightly wound as they come, and you’re stressing me out right now. When was the last time you got laid?”

“Two days ago. Trust me, getting laid isn’t an issue.”

“Maybe it’s not as fulfilling as it could be. It’s natural to be curious when you see kink from the outside. I promise you won’t burst into flames if you dip your toe in the water.”

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable thinking about his obvious interest. “You’ve got me all wrong. I’m vanilla, and it works for me.”

“That’s what they all say.” I sling back the rest of my drink and drop a twenty on the bar as a tip. “If you ever have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. Sex… kink… don’t knock it till you try it.”

I leave him to think about what I said. He has submissive written all over him. Genevieve would eat the poor guy alive, but he’d love every second of it.

Entering my private room, I get to work setting up for the arrival of my current trainee. I’m intrigued by Flex’s ideas to expand and create a sizable training floor. I already have thoughts on equipment, toys, and a stage for group training. With the number of new members increasing, we have to make sure that patrons engage safely and within the parameters of their contracts. The potential is endless.

Chapter 2

FREYA

My hands are shaking, and the rise and fall of my chest are shallow as we pull up outside what looks like a regular office building.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

I’ve been researching BDSM for a while now, so when I met Celest and found out she’s a submissive, I started asking questions, probing her for information. She’s not secretive about the lifestyle, but when it comes to her club, she’s been tight-lipped about it.

Tonight is a rare occurrence, and I jumped at the chance when she invited me to their first masquerade ball—complete anonymity to explore with no expectation to hook up.

“I can take you home if you’re not ready. There’s no pressure here, Freya. No one will do anything without your permission. It’s just a party.”

My stomach churns with excitement, butterflies swarming my chest cavity as I steel my nerves. “I don’t want to go home. I’ve wanted this for a while. I’m just being silly.”

“Girl, you look amazing, and no one will know who you are or what you do for a living. Relax,” she says, resting her hand on my knee. “I’ll be with you.”

“Thanks, Celest.”

I opted for a lavender floor-length gown tonight, hugging me in all the right places and complimenting my olive complexion. My mask is elaborate and elegant, shielding the top half of my face, the jewels highlighting my chocolate-brown eyes.

Celest leans over, sweeping my hair over my shoulder, its soft curls cascading down my back. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” From my fingertips to the tips of my toes, excitement radiates through every cell in my body, vibrating as I step out of the cab, clenching my clutch bag.

“Do you have the invite I gave you?” Celest asks as we step into the lobby. I’m not prepared for how ordinary it looks, and I’m a little crestfallen.

I reach inside my bag, pulling out the sleek black invitation with the time, date, and a golden ‘V’ embossed on it. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Good evening.” The security guard takes the invite before handing us small tags and ushering us to an elevator.

“Are you okay?” Celest asks as the door slides closed.

“It’s not what I expected.”

“Just wait…” Within seconds, the doors ping open, and my jaw drops. A dark, sumptuous vestibule comes into view. It oozes luxury and a promise of wickedness. She takes my hand, pulling me out of the elevator. “You’re going to love it.”

As she leads me into the bar, I’m awestruck by the opulence surrounding me—grand chandeliers and a gorgeous dark wood bar that looks to be stocked with anything you could ever wish for. There are tables, booths, and barstools filled with a multitude of people, all with one thing in common—masks obscure their faces.

There are men in tuxedos—obviously tailored—with simple black masks, their lips the only feature unveiled. Some of them have women draped over them, wearing ballgowns that would make a queen look like a serf by comparison. And their masks—intricate and bejeweled in breathtaking colors to match their gowns. Suddenly, I feel completely underdressed, even though this is the most expensive dress I’ve ever bought.

My pulse is racing, thrumming in my ears as we make our way to the bar.

“What can I get for you ladies?” Even the bartenders are dressed to kill tonight. I wonder if that’s normal for a place like this.

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