Page 85 of Take Me Under

The weekend was now completely ours, and I intended to make full use of it. A slow smile tugged at my lips as an idea began to take shape. I recalled the night outside of Club O when Serena admitted to wanting to be the woman in the flames. So far, our sex had been vanilla—conventional, yet still hot as hell. I hadn’t attempted to pull her into my world or test her limits.

It was time to change that.

Opening a different browser page, I typed in a new search. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for.

Florence, you don’t disappoint.

I shifted slightly, turning to face her. “Change of plans. I found a restaurant down the street from the hotel we can eat at. What we do after that all depends on you.”

She arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I want to take you out to a club,” I said, deliberately vague.

Her expression turned wary. “A club?”

“It’s upscale. Exclusive. Do you have anything suitable to wear?”

She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Possibly. Why?”

“Because if you didn’t, I’d want to make time for you to shop.”

“I have a black dress that should work,” she mused. “But I’ll be honest. I’m not sure what girls wear to night clubs these days. I haven’t been clubbing since undergrad. Aren’t we too old for this sort of thing?”

The corners of my mouth turned up, thinking about the patrons at Club O. They came in all shapes and ages, and the dress attire was never the same. In some rooms, clothing was optional. But I wasn’t about to suggest that to Serena—yet. Tonight was a test. I needed to know if my time with her could extend beyond these thirty days. A part of me already knew Serena was going to fuck up my life plan, but Club O was part of my very identity. I would never give it up. I just wasn’t sure how receptive she would be to this sort of lifestyle.

Leaning in, I whispered, “Trustfall, princess. I’m taking the lead. Tonight, I want you to truly let go and be the woman in the flames.”

Her eyes widened, and she angled her head curiously. Surprisingly, she didn’t press for more details.

“Alright. You’re the boss,” she said, shifting to rest her head on my shoulder.

I wrapped my arm around her, pleased she was being so agreeable. Although she didn’t know about my club in New York, I had standards, and the club I found in Florence seemed to check all the boxes. However, information online could be deceiving. While Serena and I ate dinner, I would send Zeke ahead to make sure it was up to snuff.

The night airin Florence carried an odd mix of car exhaust, garlic, and fresh bread as Serena and I walked down the narrowstreet toward Rosso Fiore, the restaurant I had chosen. The city was alive, buzzing with conversation. Laughter spilled from cafes and wine bars, but my focus was solely on the woman beside me.

When she’d stepped out of the bathroom at the hotel, I’d nearly told her dinner was canceled. I’d always thought Serena had an effortless kind of sex appeal, but tonight, she looked every bit the seductive princess who had haunted my dreams for weeks.

Her dress was a sleek black number that clung to her curves like it had been sewn onto her body—and it was fucking lethal. The plunging neckline teased just enough to make me want more, and the slit at her thigh made me hard on the spot. Her dark, espresso-brown hair cascaded in glossy waves down her back, catching the light with hints of warm chestnut. Silken and thick, it framed her face with effortless sophistication.

She’d opted to wear the ruby necklace I’d bought for her, too. She’d paired it with strappy red heels that accentuated the graceful lines of her legs. Later, I planned to bury my cock in her while she wore nothing but the necklace and those matching fuck-me shoes.

While the outfit was undeniably sexy, it was still on the conservative side for where I planned to take her after dinner. But all things considered, it might be for the best. The club was a world apart from anything she was used to.

I slid a hand to the small of her back, turning her down the street that would take us to the restaurant. This area was quieter than the main drag and there was little to illuminate our path. The only light came from a single streetlamp, casting long shadows against the buildings.

We passed a dark alleyway a few blocks from the restaurant. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. A woman was on her knees before a man. Her hands gripped his belt, her shoulders tight.

And beside them, a boy.

Instantly, I tensed. He looked to be around six, maybe seven. Small. Thin. His arms wrapped tightly around himself as he stood a few feet away, his body angled just enough so that he didn’t have to watch. His face was partially hidden in the shadows, but his gaze lifted, and he looked straight at me.

Our eyes locked and my breath seemed to freeze in my lungs.

I knew that look—the kind of quiet acceptance that came from knowing the world wouldn’t save you from cruelty. He was surviving, and survival meant looking away. Pretending not to hear. Not to see.

Looking at the boy was like looking into a mirror at a child version of myself. A coldness settled in my bones, the air around me suddenly too thick. I turned before Serena could notice—before she could see what I had seen. Before she could ask questions that I wasn’t willing to answer.

“The restaurant is across the street. Let’s cross here,” I murmured quietly, ensuring my voice didn’t betray the storm of emotion churning inside me.

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