Page 28 of Dirty Little Secrets
I press it.
A pops open: hard limits, soft limits, likes, dislikes, safe words. But one question stands out:Would you like your identity hidden from your partner? Would you like your partner blindfolded?
My thumb hovers.
Yes. I select both.
I fill out the rest with trembling fingers, Kristina watching me with curious eyes.
When I finish, she claps. “We need to celebrate.”
“Why not?” I smile, the nerves fading into anticipation.
We head to a club not far from her apartment. It’s more underground than mainstream, tucked away like a secret. We pass the line without issue—Kristina knows people. She always knows people.
The bass pulses through my ribs before we even enter. Inside, the air is thick with sweat, smoke, and neon lights. Fog machines billow above us, casting everything in a haze. The place is made to look like a warehouse with raw metal, exposed, industrial. Bars stretch along both sides of the massive space. A DJ spins at the back, bodies grinding on the dance floor under strobe lights. In the shadows, some people are making out against the walls. Others lounge in velvet VIP booths.
Women in latex, chains, and dark makeup move unapologetic to the beat. They look wild, beautiful, and utterly free.
Kristina leans in. “Isn’t this place amazing? Met a guy at a coffee shop who knows the bouncer.”
“Yeah,” I say, absorbing everything.
She stops at the bar and flags down the bartender. “Rum and Coke,” she shouts. “And a water.”
I try to hand her my card, but she waves it off. “It’s on me.”
We start dancing. The music snakes through my body, every beat loosening something tight inside me. My red spandex dress clings to my skin, the one Kristina found in the back of her closet. I hadn’t planned to wear it, but it matches the club’s energy. Dangerous and alive. My mind drifts when a guy passes by wearing a leather jacket. I could smell the Whiskey off his skin. Brent’s hand always smelled the same when if forced my chin up.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “You’ll ruin it.”
I hate that smell. The way my knees trembled when he pushed my leather skirt up, spread me open. Brent never let me wear panties when I was with him. It was an unspoken rule but gave in because I had no choice. My pussy had to be available at all times. Especially when I turned eighteen and he finally took me in front of the others. It was customary. A claim in the club.A way to mark me as his as tears slid down my cheeks hating the moment. Knowing I would never forget.
“You cry like a virgin,” he joked to the others.
They laughed. I hated that they didn’t care. In their eyes, I was just another girl too dumb to know better with no one who would give a shit.
But I knew.
And I stayed because it was the only way I could that shitty town in Seattle.
My phone buzzes bringing back to the present. I fish it out from between my breasts.
I frown, wondering who would text me at this hour. Unlocking the screen, I catch Kristina’s curious glance. Then, roll my eyes as I read the name.
Asshole Boss:My driver will be downstairs in fifteen minutes. Pack light. We’re catching a red-eye flight in forty-five minutes.
I blink. He has to be joking.
“What’s wrong?” Kristina yells.
“It’s Drazen.”
“What the fuck does he want?”
“Apparently work. Because weekends don’t exist for him.”
I show her the screen.
