Page 7 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

“What the hell am I doing?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but the words slip out anyway.

“You meeting someone?” the cab driver asks.

“Uh, just an event.”

He nods as if he’s heard that before. Maybe he’s dropped people off at places like this before, watched them climb out in fancy clothes and return later looking different.

The cab pulls up to the curb. The street is eerily quiet for a Friday night, tucked between a high-end boutique and a sushi place with floor-to-ceiling windows and no customers.

“Here you go,” the driver says, and I look up at the building.

There’s no sign, no music, no flashing lights. Just a discreet black door tucked into a recessed alcove beneath a single red bulb.

If I didn’t know exactly what I was searching for, I would have walked right past it.

I pay the fare and step out, my heels clicking on the pavement as the cab pulls away behind me.

It’s 8:58.

Two minutes.

The breeze catches my coat, and I pull it tighter, standing outside like I’m casing the place for a robbery.

Just as I approach, the light above the door blinks once. With a soft click, the lock disengages.

No knock, no buzzer, no doorman.

Just an unlocked door and a silent, eerie welcome.

I swear, if this turns out to be organ harvesting, I’m going to be so pissed.

When I step inside, the entrance resembles any upscale corporate lobby with walls the color of espresso, brushed metal trim, and a faint scent of something warm and luxurious. Sandalwood, perhaps, or amber, or whatever cologne smells like sex and money.

A woman stands behind a curved reception desk, with perfect posture, dressed in a black tailored suit and deep red lipstick.

“Good evening, Ms. Morgan.” There’s a calmness to her voice that makes me feel instantly inferior. “Welcome.”

Welcome? Welcome to what?

I’m beginning to think this place doesn’t have a name and is only recognized by what people choose to call it.

“Thank you?” I stammer, trying to untangle my tongue in my mouth.

“You received everything we sent you? ”

I nod, but my thoughts lag a step behind.

Yesterday evening, an email landed in my inbox. No subject line, just a logoless address and a short message:

Please review the attached document before tomorrow evening. If you do not agree with the terms outlined, we kindly ask that you refrain from attending.

Attached was a single PDF—a non-disclosure agreement. I read every word twice. The NDA said you could discuss your experience here, but you couldn’t disclose names or locations.

You could confess the sin; you just couldn’t name the sinners.

I swallow hard and nod again.

She slides a clipboard with a printed copy of the NDA over to me.

“You’ll need to sign here, and I’ll also need your phone.”

My fingers tremble as I sign my name and hand over my phone before I can talk myself out of it.

Looking around isn’t illegal. I can see what all the fuss is about and leave.

Simple, Celeste. Keep it simple.

She retrieves the clipboard and nods, then reaches for a black velvet tray behind her. “Would you like to wear a mask?”

My first choice of the evening.

She lifts one between her manicured fingers. It’s black lace and elegant, designed to cover only around your eyes.

Reaching for it with trembling hands, I press it to my face and tie it behind my head as the young woman takes my coat.

“One last thing,” she says. “No sex in the main lounge. ”

I nearly choke.

“There are rooms and designated areas for specific tastes,” she continues smoothly. “All are catered for. You’re free to leave anytime. No pressure, no expectations. You set your boundaries. You’re in control tonight.”

I exhale a breath of pent-up nerves lodged in my lungs.

“This way, Ms. Morgan.”

She guides me down a dim hallway to a heavy steel door. With practiced ease, she types a code into a small keypad.

The door clicks open, and my breath catches.

The first thing I notice is the warm, golden lighting with shadows flickering in every corner.

The second thing is the music. It’s loud and hypnotic, with slow drumbeats and a sultry piano. The kind of music you’d play if you wanted to seduce someone with just eye contact and three inches of space.

The third thing is the people. They’re everywhere. Some are wearing masks. Some not. Some in suits and gowns. Others pressed against walls while hands and mouths explore each other.

I freeze just inside the doorway, letting everything sink in.

I’m walking into a sex club, or, more accurately, a lounge that could be mistaken for an upscale cocktail bar if not for the way people are touching each other.

I move slowly toward the bar, pressing my fingers against my mask to make sure it’s still in place, and order something with vodka. I don’t care about the mixer. I just need something to calm my nerves.

The bartender slides it across the bar a moment later.

I sip.

Vodka cranberry.

That should do it.

I’m halfway through when a woman sits on a stool next to mine, her emerald dress catching the dim light. She’s smiling like a cat who’s just spotted an unsuspecting mouse.

Dropping her clutch on the bar, she spins to look at me. “You’re new.”

It’s not a question.

I swallow and avert my gaze. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to people who’ve done this before.”

I offer a wobbly smile in response and admit, “First time.”

“I could tell,” she says, crossing her legs. Her heels glitter in the low light, dangerously high and sharp at the toe.

“What gave it away?”

“It’s all in the body language,” she says, and I’m suddenly aware of every stiff inch of mine.

I take another sip of my drink. “I guess I’m trying to figure out what I’ve walked into.”

The woman leans her elbow on the bar, her hair draping over one shoulder. “What you’ve walked into is a place where everyone here has a desire they’re curious enough to explore. That’s all.”

“What about you?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Why do you come?”

“Sometimes to watch. Sometimes to play. Sometimes just to feel like I’m not the only freak in a room.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“I mean that in the best way. Everyone’s got something. Some people want to give up control. Others want to take it. Some want to be watched. Some want to be invisible. Some are here because they’re trying to feel something again. There’s no single reason. Just choice.”

That word hangs in the air.

Choice.

I’ve spent so much of my adult life being careful. I’ve never done anything like this.

She rises from her stool and beckons me with a tilt of her chin. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

My grip tightens around my glass. “Now?”

“Unless you’d rather stay here until your vodka wears off and your courage runs out.”

Okay, well, I can’t argue with that.

I down the rest of my drink and set the glass on the bar. “Lead the way.”

She smirks as if she didn’t expect me to agree, but is clearly pleased I did. “I’m Cam, by the way.”

“Celeste.”

“Nice to meet you, Celeste.”

Then she leads me through lounges draped in velvet, curtained alcoves, and hallways lined with closed doors. She points out private rooms, themed spaces for every preference imaginable, and even something about sensory deprivation.

It’s a lot.

“And this,” she says, stopping before a tall archway, “is the Elysium Rooms. There’s another entrance by the lounge, depending on what you choose.”

“Choose?” I straighten up and try to fight off the shiver racing down my spine .

“Curious?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a blindfolded experience. One person is led in. They don’t see the other. They don’t touch unless invited. It’s about trust and anticipation and giving up control.”

I gaze at the curtains, but I can’t see through them.

“And the other person?” I ask.

Cam’s eyes glitter. “They guide. They call it The Seeing and The Unseeing.”

My pulse kicks like a drumline in my chest.

She must recognize the intrigue on my face because when she turns to face me, her expression suddenly softens. “You don’t have to go in tonight, but if you do, go in knowing you’re allowed to stop and walk out at any time.”

I nod, unsure if I’m agreeing or just trying not to faint.

Reaching out, she tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. It’s both gentle and unexpected, and a tingle shoots down my spine. “You don’t strike me as someone who does things like this often.”

I laugh, too tightly. “I don’t.”

“Then let me give you the best advice I can.” Her voice lowers. “You don’t have to be the boldest person in the room. You just have to be the one who shows up for herself.”

I blink away something that feels suspiciously like emotion before she moves away, leaving only a wiggle of her fingers. “Enjoy your night, Celeste.”

∞∞∞

I’m just going to walk.

That’s what I tell myself.

One hallway, one foot in front of the other .

At some point, a server hands me another vodka cranberry. I don’t question it. Honestly, if anyone knows what I need right now, it’s probably the bartender at an exclusive sex club.

My hand touches the wall, steadying myself as I continue walking.

That’s when I hear a soft moan followed by a ripple of laughter, and then a hum of approval.

I round the corner and stop dead.

A crowd has gathered near a wide archway, pressed close but leaving enough space to be spectators, not participants. I pause at the edge and plaster myself against the wall.

My brain screams at me to turn around and run, but my feet are traitors that are cemented to the floor, and worse yet, inching closer.

In the center of the room, illuminated by soft amber lighting, is a woman straddling a bench. She’s bare, bound, and completely captivating.

Her knees are hooked over padded stirrups, her arms restrained behind her back, and her head is thrown back in complete abandon. Her mouth opens in a moan I can’t hear but can feel in every bone in my body.

She’s not alone.

A man kneels between her thighs, his mouth working her with slow precision that makes my own knees wobble. It’s like witnessing a masterclass in seduction, and I’m pretty sure I missed the registration deadline.

It feels wrong to watch, but clearly, I’m the only one with reservations. Around me, couples touch subtly, whispering heated words into each other’s skin.

I’m a wreck, trembling like a leaf in shoes I might have taken from Emmy’s closet.

I should leave. I should definitely leave.

But then the woman on the bench gasps louder, and the man looks up just enough to grin wickedly before diving back in like he’s savoring a five-star meal.

This woman is wild and greedy, and the crowd isn’t judging her. They’re practically worshipping her.

My mask burns against my cheeks. Every inch of my skin feels tight, stretched too thin from the intensity.

The woman on the bench cries out even louder as her body shakes from head to toe.

It’s not just an orgasm. It’s a goddamn exorcism.

I feel it ripple through me, stealing my breath and leaving me suddenly aching.

The room hums in the aftermath, a low thrum of whispers and shuffling feet. No one dares speak too loud, like breaking the silence would undo what they just witnessed.

My body still hums, caught somewhere between shame and awe.

The woman is untied and wrapped in a robe with care and gentle kisses.

Eventually, I move too because if I don’t breathe soon, I might pass out.

Stumbling back into the busy lounge, I sink onto a velvet sofa with my heart racing faster than my thoughts.

What the hell just happened?

I stare at the flickering candle in front of me, feeling like I wandered into an entirely different version of myself.

My eyes settle on the velvet-curtained archway.

The one I’ve been avoiding since Cam told me what goes on in there.

The Elysium Rooms.

Oh, good.

Another temptation.

Because tonight hasn’t nearly shattered my sanity enough.

It’s decision time.

Do I run screaming into the night, or dive deeper into a rabbit hole that’s both thrilling and terrifying?

This is what I came here for, isn’t it? To step outside the box I’ve built for myself. To try—just once—for me. My pulse kicks harder at the thought.

“Okay, Celeste,” I whisper to myself. “This is it. Time to find out if your bravery has an expiration date.”

I rise on shaky legs, adjust my mask, and head toward the curtain, determined to find out.