Page 6

6

FAITH

“I t’s okay, Faith,” Maya says soothingly as DJ drives. “What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. This is, like, the textbook definition of that. It’s not like you’re stealing. You’re just… expanding your horizons a little. And your dad gets to sleep easy thinking you’re square dancing in Van Buren County. Win-win.”

“I know, I know.” I blow out a loud breath, pressing my palm against my chest.

We wind up a hill toward the entrance of what can only be described as a mansion . The gate is ten feet tall, black wrought iron, and guarded by an actual human being in a suit.

DJ rolls down the window and whispers a password I can’t hear. The gate clicks open slowly, like something out of a Bond movie.

My stomach somersaults. What in the actual hell goes on behind these walls?

“I feel like I’m about to enter a lair,” I mumble.

Maya laughs. “You are.”

“No, seriously. Daddy would have a breakdown if he knew I was headed into one of these clubs.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Maya says, stretching her legs out on the dash. “It’s sex. Every species does it. Didn’t you ever watch the Discovery Channel growing up?”

“No, I didn’t. We were one of those no-cable families.”

Maya gasps. “That explains so much.”

“Did you see how he reacted when you even said the word sexiled ? He looked like someone had just blasphemed in front of the Pope. If he knew where I was going right now, he’d disown me. He’d turn me into a cautionary tale in next week’s sermon.”

Grant leans over from the backseat, grinning. “You’re not even a little curious what goes on in there?”

“Sure,” I admit. “Somewhere in the back of my mind.”

Because the truth is… I have wondered.

Not in a real way, more in a coffee comes from beans, right? kind of way.

I’ve known sex clubs exist. But visit one? No thanks.

I’m a normal, red-blooded, hormone-carrying young woman. Of course I’m curious about sex. But a club where people just… do that stuff in masks? It sounds downright intimidating to me.

“I just—what kind of guys go to a place like this? Probably the kind who can’t get laid anywhere else.”

Alex and Maya both burst out laughing.

“You’d be surprised,” Alex says. “It’s all kinds of people. You never know who you’ll meet.”

“Wait, how do you guys even know about this place?” I ask. “It seems… oddly exclusive.”

Alex nods at DJ. “He did some training camp thing and met an NFL player who had the hookup.”

I raise my eyebrows. “And y’all just… talked about sex clubs? Casually?”

DJ grins. “What can I say? I’ve got range. I told him I had college friends who might want to go. Then Grant and Maya scoped out the Chicago one this summer and found out this was one of the best locations. Turns out the kinkiest place in Tennessee is thirty minutes from your childhood bedroom.”

I groan and cover my face. “How did I let you people drag me here?”

“Because deep down,” Maya says, turning toward me with a smirk, “you know you want to see it.”

I feel a pang in my gut that, surprisingly, tells me she’s right.

Maya reaches into her big bag and pulls out something pink and lacy.

“I love you. And here’s your mask.”

“That’s what was in that giant bag?” I stare at it like it might bite me. “I thought you brought cookies.”

“Nope. Full-face coverage. Don’t worry, no one will recognize you.”

We pull into the circle drive, and I stare up at the huge stone house glowing in soft gold light. It doesn’t look seedy or sketchy at all. In fact, it looks…expensive.

We climb out of the car, and Maya hands me the mask.

I slip it on.

“Ugh, I can’t see with this thing,” I grumble, fumbling with the straps. “It doesn’t line up with my eyes. Are they supposed to make you look like a confused bird?”

DJ chuckles. “You’ll blend in.”

April, who rode in the other car with Grant, steps over to fix it. “How’s that?”

“I feel like I’m Darth Vader breathing in here.” I pause. “But I guess that’s good. Makes me harder to recognize.”

The guys lead the way toward the massive wooden doors, and as we get closer, something cold and anxious coils in my stomach.

“You know what?” I stop abruptly. “I think I’m gonna wait in the car. Y’all go on ahead, check it out. Take your time. Seriously. I’m completely fine sitting in the dark alone.”

I freeze mid-step like a nervous puppy who smells danger.

“You’re really blowing this out of proportion,” Maya says, giving my shoulder a pat that feels like a cross between comforting and amused. “Mont du Marquette is part of a worldwide network. They’re all about sex-positivity and consent. Doms, subs, every orientation, every background—it's inclusive, respectful, and frankly? Kinda beautiful. This is your own little version of Rumspringa, babe.”

In the car on the way over, my friends had dubbed this trip the Summer of Faith .

I twist the ring on my finger.

They don’t get it. I still feel loyal to Keith—even if he’s halfway across the country not talking to me while he "explores his options."

“I just…I don’t know if I want to go in there.”

Maya pulls me a little further aside, her voice dropping.

“I’m not saying you need to be in a relationship. Or hook up. Or even flirt. But Faith, you’ve lived your whole life trying to be the version of yourself that makes everyone else comfortable. What about you? This is about exploring. Expanding. Learning what you want. There’s no pressure. Just curiosity. Just see what it’s like.”

I cross my arms. It’s what small-town me does when the world feels too big.

“I know you and Grant are, like, the advanced-placement couple,” I mutter, “but just because you’re swinging from the rafters doesn’t mean the rest of us can dive in without blinking.”

Maya purses her lips, clearly hearing the defensiveness behind my joke.

“You know what,” she says, soft now, “I feel bad. We shouldn’t have pressured you to come. I just wanted you to see what else is out there. But if you want to leave, we’ll go. We can just hit a bar.”

I pause.

Something flares in my chest—pulse quickening, intrigue blooming.

And then I think: What would Aunt Misty do?

I grin. “No. We came this far. Let’s go in.”

April whoops. “That’s the spirit! Wait—what’s your club name?”

“My what ?”

“Your alter ego,” Maya says, perking up. “We used fake names at the club in Chicago. I’m Kitten. Grant’s Shaman.”

“I’m Sasha,” Alex adds with a wink.

I laugh despite myself. “Okay, okay…” I tilt my head back, searching for inspiration. My eyes land on the full moon above us.

“I’ve got it. Luna.”

“Love it.” April nods. “Okay, rules: no asking personal details. Sometimes people here are famous. Don’t pry. Keep your mask on. Keep convo light. And?—”

Her eyes flick to my hand.

“What?” I ask, bracing.

“Are you gonna keep that on?”

I glance down at my engagement ring. “Take it off?” I hesitate. “I mean, I didn’t even think about that.”

My chest tightens.

“Faith,” Maya says gently, “you’re on a break. He’s off doing who-knows-what in D.C. and not even responding to your texts.”

Maya, Alex, April—all of them nod.

They’re right. I know they’re right.

But I still feel like I’m crossing a bridge I can’t uncross.

“I’ll take it off. But I’m keeping it on at home—I don’t feel like explaining all this to my dad.”

Everyone looks at me like I’ve just grown horns.

“We are getting married,” I continue, trying to sound confident. “This is just a break. I know it is.”

Still, their faces don’t budge.

Also, someone could easily recognize the ring— God forbid at church tomorrow. I slide it off and tuck it deep into the inner pouch of my purse, zipping it shut with a finality that sends a little tremor through my chest.

I take a deep breath and say it out loud.

“We’re on a break.”

I try to mean it.

In the window of a nearby car, I catch my reflection: black Keds, cut-off jean shorts, and a striped long-sleeve tee. I look more like I’m going to a barn dance than, well, this .

“That’s the spirit,” April says with a wink. “Luna.”

“This whole ‘taking a break’ thing is just a new concept , that’s all.”

We head up the wide stone steps together, and a short, round man with a mask, glasses, and a name tag that reads Benny greets us warmly.

“Welcome to Mont du Marquette,” he says brightly. “Since it’s your first time, would y’all like a tour?”

We nod, and follow him in.

“There are three areas,” Benny explains as we walk. “The loud pleasure area, the quiet pleasure area—more of a guideline than a rule—and the social lounge, which features a bar and a variety of complimentary non-alcoholic drinks.”

“Rad,” Grant says, looking around. “This place is even bigger than the one in Chicago.”

“We’re lucky to have more space out here,” Benny replies. “Perks of not being in a city. Now—socializing in the lounge only, pleasure in the pleasure zones. Pretty simple.”

He pauses, pointing toward a wall of sleek black boxes. “And no phones. Please lock them in the safes in the coat closet.”

I nod along, barely hearing him—my attention has already drifted toward the quiet pleasure room.

Inside, a woman hangs suspended midair by ropes, her body serene, eyes closed. A masked man in shorts and a T-shirt—nothing flashy—runs his hand gently over her bare stomach.

A jolt of heat runs through me.

That. I want to be touched like that.

“That’s Marvin,” Benny says casually. “One of our best shibari artists. And don’t worry—those suspension logs? You could hoist two full-grown steers with them and they’d be just fine.”

“Good to know,” I mumble. Is that really good to know? Why is that in my brain now?

Everything feels surreal. Erotic. Unfamiliar. And yet no one here seems fazed by any of it. Just me.

My friends head off, eager to explore the quiet room. “Be right back,” Maya says over her shoulder.

I linger. A little overwhelmed, very out of my depth.

I drift to the nonalcoholic bar in the lounge and order a hot tea. Something simple. Something grounding.

As the cup is set down in front of me, a sharp female yelp carries out from the loud room.

I freeze.

A yelp? What was that?

I should ignore it. I should sit here, drink my tea, stay in my lane.

But something in me won’t let it go.

I pick up my tea, stand slowly, and start walking toward the sound. Toward the unknown.

My skin prickles the moment I step inside.

I hover along the wall, trying to get my bearings. The lighting is low and warm—everything amber and shadow. A handful of couples are engaged in various stages of, well, sex. Missionary. Oral. Doggy style.

Deep breaths, Faith.

I spot one scene that pulls me in more than the others.

There are four people total, but I’m trying to figure out who’s actually participating and who’s just...watching.

A woman kneels on a padded stool, her bottom raised, forearms resting in front of her like she’s planking. Another brunette woman stands nearby, fully nude, observing. A third woman in a red leather skirt and black top hovers behind them.

In the center of it all is a tall man—salt-and-pepper hair, glasses, blue T-shirt—holding a black leather implement. He’s not bad-looking, but he’s no romance hero. Still, the way he moves is deliberate.

He raises the tool and strikes the kneeling woman’s bottom softly, crossing each stroke like an “X.”

I join a small cluster of onlookers near the edge of the room. Just voyeurs. Like we’re standing around a campfire, watching the flames.

My body starts heating from the inside. Each of her moans echoes deep in my stomach.

“That technique’s called the helicopter, in case you were wondering,” a voice says beside me.

I turn my head.

That voice. Deep. Gravelly. Masculine as hell.

It sounds familiar. Too familiar. But no—no one I know would be here. I’m imagining things.

“And what’s that thing he’s using to, you know...strike her bottom?”

“ Strike her bottom ?” he repeats with a low laugh. “Well, aren’t you the most delicate person ever to set foot in a sex club.”

It’s a good laugh. Confident, unbothered. There’s a slight drawl, but I can’t place it. Local maybe. Or not. But he still seems... familiar.

He stands beside me, arms crossed. I can’t see his eyes, thanks to the full-face hood. But I can see that chin—square, dimpled, strong. His arms are insane. Like, marble-statue insane.

“It’s called a flogger,” he finally says.

“Oh.” I flush. “I’m just curious. First time at one of these places.”

He turns his head toward me—maybe checking me out?

“Well,” he says, voice smooth and low, “happy to witness your sex club cherry being popped.”

Oh my God.

I can’t even respond. My brain short-circuits.

Before I can pivot the conversation, April and Maya appear, sliding between us like they felt my awkwardness from across the room.

“Isn’t this place wild?” Maya says, eyes wide.

“Yeah, just... very open,” I mutter. I’m trying to play it cool, but I’m so far from cool. I’m in a whole different time zone from cool.

Still, I can’t stop watching the woman in the center of the room.

Her skin is creamy pale, and every strike brings a fresh flush of red to her cheeks. She grips the stool tightly, but her body arches with each impact.

The man lifts his arm again. This time, he winds up , like a baseball swing.

Whap.

“Oh my gosh!”

Her moan vibrates through me.

That had to hurt.

But also… maybe it didn’t?

Another wind-up.

Whap.

I clutch my tea tighter. My cheeks are burning. Adrenaline buzzes through me like I’ve had three espresso shots.

I set the cup down on a nearby ledge. I’m too warm. Too flushed.

How does it feel to be spanked like that?

“Have you ever done... that?” the masked man asks, voice quiet, teasing.

I snap back to him. My heart stutters.

I blush. “Uhhh... I don’t know, have you ?”

But he doesn’t answer.

He just watches me.