I swallowed. “I want to go. But…” The words snagged. It wasn’t fear—at least, not the kind I could name. I wasn’t scared of what I’d see. I was scared of how I’d react to it.
“You don’t want to watch me with someone else,” he said. Not a question.
I turned toward the window, the city lights smearing gold across the glass. “That’s none of my business. You don’t owe me anything,” I muttered.
“No,” Luka said softly. “But it bothers you anyway.” He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Since we’re being honest…I don’t want to see you get fucked by another man.” He didn’t look at me, but his jaw flexed as he braked for a red light, veins rising along his forearm. “That shithole boss of yours today. Touching you.” His lips drew thin. “I saw red. I wanted to break his fucking hand.”
I let the words ricochet around in the dark, letting myself taste the dangerous, guilty pleasure in them. “Richard is harmless,” I said, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to me.
Luka cut his eyes to the mirror, then back to the road. “No. He’s not.” He exhaled, the sound rough. “But that’s not the point. The point is…if you want to go to the club, I’ll take you. Tomorrow.” Another pause. “But you’ll be mine for the night. No questions. No testing me just to see if I’ll hold you down.”
He slowed at an intersection, eyes fixed ahead. Every line of his body was coiled, as if he were holding himself back from something—maybe from me, maybe from whatever violence edged his voice.
“I don’t know what you’ve seen in films or read in books,” Luka said. “But this isn’t a sweet little club with safeguards. Those exist too, but this isn’t that sort of place. No safe words. No color systems. It’s dark. Expression without limits. You’ll see things you can’t unsee.”
The light stayed red. The city hummed around us.
“Walking inside means you consent to everything,” he continued. “Can you handle that?”
I waited, counted three full breaths. “I can handle it. I want to.”
“And there’s no privacy. People will watch.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” I asked. “I told you, I’m in. As long as I’m only yours. And you’re only mine.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t look back. He just nodded, as if I’d signed something.
“Then you’ll need the proper attire.”
He pulled up in front of my hotel, hazard lights strobing in the mist. He turned in his seat to face me.
“I’ll text you the name of a shop in Soho. Go tomorrow. The shopkeeper will be expecting you and will get you everything you need.”
“Is it…safe?”
His gaze sharpened. “Do you really think I’d send you somewhere unsafe?” He reached back and settled his hand on my knee. “If you need anything, call me. Day or night.” The words were brisk, but something else threaded through them—concern, maybe, or a flavor of protectiveness. “Eat, rest, hydrate,” he said. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at nine.”
I glanced at the hotel façade—stone and glass glowing gold against the wet pavement—then back at him. “You’re not coming upstairs?”
He held my gaze, blue and measuring. Then he smiled, all wolf. “If I came up, you wouldn’t sleep.” He caught my wrist and brushed his teeth along my knuckles. “And you need all the rest you can get.”
chapter
eleven
“Do you know where you are?”
The woman behind the reception desk looked at me like she wanted to eat me alive—or spit me out if I disappointed her. She wore a black halter dress that looked painted on, her pale arms sleeved in elaborate ink. Her voice was clipped, polished London—expensive and bored.
“Yes…” I answered, though it came out more like a question.
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what happens here?”
Heat prickled the back of my neck. The lobby was all obsidian tile and animal print, the air saturated with pheromonal musk and the low throb of a house track I couldn’t name. I swallowed. “I do.”
Her gaze slid past me to Luka—black leather, tactical trousers, heavy boots, predatory stillness. Forearms ridged with tendon and vein. Power, carved into human shape.
“You never bring guests.”