Page 7

7

FAITH

I t’s surreal to be here, to realize what I’m watching.

This is sex.

That taboo, secret thing my parents told me not to do until marriage… is happening right here. Out in the open. Like it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

And as I watch, another thought bubbles up.

Why does Hunter Holloway keep slipping into my brain?

Why do I wonder what those big hands of his would feel like on my skin? Why does he seem like the kind of man who’d deliver a blow with confidence and a grin?

The man in the scene winds up again.

Whap.

My breath catches.

Whap.

I realize I’m holding it—waiting for her reaction.

“She’s got a terrific, curvy ass,” Maya comments, tilting her head. “I bet that helps her take the blows. Beautifully padded.”

We all nod like we’re appraising a fine sculpture.

I’m fascinated. I wouldn’t call what I’m feeling turned on exactly… but it’s something close. A slow hum under my skin. A kind of wonder.

“And… does she like this?” I ask quietly. “Like, she’s not in pain?”

April and Maya look at me and giggle.

“Luna,” April grins. “She loves it.”

Well. Looks like April’s learned a few things with her man this past year.

I bite my lip. “I’ve just never thought pain could be combined with pleasure like that.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, babe,” April says. “You need a cute guy to show you the ways of the sexual world.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Look at you. You’re with Morgan and suddenly you’re the pleasure expert?”

April beams. “Not an expert. A student . Being a student of pleasure is almost impossible to fail—if you’re having fun and exploring with someone you trust. There’s no one right way to do it. That’s the best part.”

Maya leans in. “We’re about to hit a knot-tying workshop in the quiet room. Want to come? You don’t have to do anything, just watch.”

“No thanks.” I lift my tea again. “I think I’ll stay here and be a student of pleasure. ”

They smirk and head off.

It’s not that I don’t want to be with them—I just need a moment. I’m hanging on the edge of something I don’t fully understand. And honestly? I like being a little anonymous right now.

I glance back toward the scene. The same man is still standing beside me.

Still watching.

Still saying nothing.

I nudge him gently with my elbow. “What exactly is happening here?” I whisper, angling my voice low. “Is this like… a technique? Or is he just freestyling?”

“What’s happening,” the man says, that deep voice tinged with humor, “is that they’re having a very good time.”

I swear I can hear the grin beneath his mask.

The man in the Punisher tee drops the flogger and switches to using his palms—spanking her the old-fashioned way. His blows are rhythmic, precise. He shifts angles, aiming for different parts of her now-glowing skin.

She cries out with every hit—but not in distress. There’s pleasure woven through her voice.

The other two women lean in, whispering to her, their hands soft and calming against her shoulders.

It’s strangely intimate.

I realize I want to see her face.

Who is she? Who’s this woman brave enough to kneel bare in a room full of strangers and take a spanking like that without flinching?

She doesn’t squirm. She doesn’t resist.

She just receives.

Something tightens in my core.

And without meaning to, my mind flickers again.

To Hunter.

To those eyes watching me at the restaurant.

To those forearms.

To that mouth.

I don’t know why I’m thinking of him right now.

But I am.

“So… the question,” I say, glancing over at the masked man beside me. The anonymity makes me brave. “You never answered. Have you ever done that?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Honestly? No. Never used a toy.”

“Oh. Really?” I blink. “And… no. I haven’t either.”

I was half expecting Mr. Mask to be a full-blown spanking expert. Especially with those hands and forearms. He looks like a man who’s made for impact.

“So I guess we’re both virgins, in a way.”

The way he says it—low, amused—sends a shiver down my spine.

There’s no shame in his tone. Just curiosity. Possibility. Like he’s casually floating the idea that maybe we try something together. As if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Nope. Not happening.

And then a voice cuts through me, cold and sharp:

Keith is probably hooking up with some random woman right now. And you’re the sucker.

My stomach turns. I want to leave. I want to crawl out of my skin. This place isn't for me. None of this is.

But I don’t want to seem rude. So I force a little laugh.

“Last time I got spanked I was four years old and ate all the cookies in the jar.”

He chuckles. “You’re a funny one.”

“That’s the truth, though. My family was God-fearing. We didn’t do much physical punishment. But we did pack some serious guilt trips.”

“Well, this?” He gestures toward the scene. “This is a whole different ball game. She likes it. It’s giving her a high she’s never felt before.”

I watch the woman arch into the next strike, her mouth parting in a soundless gasp. Something stirs in me again.

“I’m Thor, by the way,” he says.

I glance over. “Is that your real name?”

He makes air quotes. “Of course not. Club policy. No real identities.”

I nod, playing along. “I’m Luna.”

I add my own sarcastic air quotes as I say it. “Fake sex club name engaged.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Luna.” I swear he’s smiling under that terrifying mask. “Glad we could lose our sex club virginity together.”

I laugh, heat rising again. I hate how easily I’m smiling around him.

“Do you know what the first rule of Mont du Marquette is?” he asks.

“What?”

“You do not talk about Mont du Marquette.”

I grin. “So you just come here to hang out? You’ve never… you know… been with anyone here?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. First time, like I said. I’ve never had sex in a club.”

“Oh.” I hesitate. Then, without warning?—

“I’ve only had sex with one man.”

Why did I say that?

“Oh.” He tilts his head. “Who was the lucky guy?”

“Just… my old boyfriend. That’s it.”

Old boyfriend. God, that felt weird to say.

“So your ex?” he asks.

I swallow. “Uh. Yeah. My ex.”

Not exactly a lie.

He’s quiet for a second.

“Wow.”

I glance over. “Wow what?”

He shrugs slightly, and I can feel the honesty in his voice when he says?—

“Just that you’re absolutely gorgeous. I’m surprised you don’t have a boyfriend.”

My heart stutters.

“I mean… how would you even know I’m gorgeous with these masks?” I ask.

He touches my forearm.

A zing travels through me.

“It’s not about your face. Or your body. It’s your aura. Although yeah,” he chuckles, “you’re easy on the eyes too—from what I can see through these ridiculous masks.”

“I’m flattered,” I say, cheeks warming. “You probably wouldn’t like my face, though. So I’m glad we’ve got the masks on. And with your taste in auras…”

“You’re hilarious, Luna. Maybe I’ve got a thing for mysterious auras. Or maybe it’s just that you’re not wearing socks with sandals. Either way, you’ve already won half the battle.”

We fall into a rhythm, talking about random things—how he’s into cooking and creating recipes, how I grew up around food and love testing new ideas in the kitchen. It’s weirdly comforting, chatting about Tex-Mex spice ratios while a girl is moaning through a spanking twenty feet away. But I’m enjoying him. Whoever he is.

After a few minutes, he nudges me. “We should probably socialize in the social room.”

“Good call.” I nod. “Benny’s rules.”

We move into the lounge and claim a small couch near the back. Still masked. Still anonymous.

“From what my friends tell me, that scene back there was pretty standard,” he says.

“How’d you end up here, anyway? Was it your idea?”

“Nah. My buddies dragged me. Said it’d get me over my ex.”

“Oh. Bad breakup?”

He hesitates. “She hooked up with my teammate. While we were still together.”

My heart pinches. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs. “It sucked. But I’m over it.”

“What kind of team?”

“Oh, just, uh…” He clears his throat. “College flag football.”

“Flag football?” I arch a brow. “For a second I thought you might be in the NFL. You’re pretty…buff.”

He laughs. “Ha! Good one. Nah. I’m not that good.”

I reach out, touch his shoulder. Solid. Warm. “Uh, yeah. You kind of are.”

We keep talking. I tell him my family owns a restaurant—though I leave out the location—and how my ideas for menu updates never go over well.

“Change is hard,” he says, sincere. “Especially when things have always worked a certain way.”

It’s surreal—sitting in a sex club, connecting with someone who makes me feel like I might want to get a beer with him outside of this place.

Eventually, our conversation shifts back to the reason we’re both here.

“So…” I ask, cautiously. “Have you tried any of this stuff before?”

He’s about to answer—when a tall woman with glowing skin and legs for days walks up.

“I’m Alexandria,” she says. “Mind if I sit?”

Before I can respond, she gestures to the space I’m sitting in. I scoot aside, and she plants herself between us.

“I’m Irish,” she offers brightly, “so I tan really easily.”

Thor smiles. “I’m part Italian, part Polish. I get my hand gestures from the Italian side, but I tan like I’m Polish.”

I introduce myself, but Alexandria only half-registers it. She’s clearly interested in him.

“So,” she leans in, “are you both subs or doms? Watching everything tonight, do you feel pulled one way or the other?”

“Coming here made me realize I’m definitely more of a dom,” Thor says. “My ex and I tried it all. I gave being a sub a shot—wasn’t for me. She loved being a sub. I like being in control. And I like taking care of my partner. Making sure she feels good. Safe. Seen.”

His openness is… hot. There’s zero shame in it. Just confidence and clarity.

“You tried being a sub?” I laugh, surprised.

“I’ll try anything once,” he says easily. “But yeah. I like to lead.”

“That’s good self-awareness,” Alexandria says approvingly. Then her eyes land on me. “What about you, Luna?”

I freeze. “I’m… not sure.”

“Oh, come on,” she nudges. “This is a safe space.”

My heart pounds. God , this isn’t exactly dinner conversation in my world.

“What’s the one where the guy’s in charge?” I ask, trying to sound breezy.

“Sub,” Alexandria says.

“I like that,” I admit. “I think. I mean, I’ve never tried.”

“You think ?” she presses, playful.

“I’ve just… never been in this world. It’s all so much. Kind of a sensory overload.”

“Same,” Thor says. “It’s sexy in theory, but seeing it live is a lot.”

We glance at each other. Hold eye contact a second too long.

Well, technically not eye contact. Mask contact.

Alexandria gets up to grab tea.

“Luna,” Thor says, quieter now. “I’d love to get to know you. Outside of here. Maybe grab a beer. Just see who we are without the masks.”

My stomach flutters. “I might be open to that.”

“Cool. I like your vibe.”

I feel my cheeks heat again. “I like yours too, Thor.”

He grins. “Okay, lightning round. Favorite color—on three. One, two, three?—”

“Turquoise!”

“Teal!” he blurts at the same time.

We laugh.

“Teal and turquoise. Practically twins.”

“Yes, but teal leans more green,” he says seriously.

“Why teal?” I ask

He shrugs. “Always had this dumb fantasy. A hot tub makeout with a gorgeous girl in a teal bikini. Don’t ask me why.”

I swallow, a little breathless. “That’s crazy. I have a turquoise bikini. Well, it’s between teal and turquoise.”

“Oh?” He turns slightly toward me. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

There might not be a drop of alcohol in this place, but I swear, I’m buzzing.

“What about you?” he asks. “You got any fun fantasies? Or weird ones? Tell me, Luna.”

I pause, playing with the edge of my sleeve. “Hmm. I don’t know if mine are that weird. But I do have this one—being kissed in the rain, then, like, full-on ravished in the backseat of a truck. Windows fogged. Total cliché.”

He groans, like I’ve said something unreasonably hot. “That’s not weird. That’s classic. Makes me want to run out and buy a truck.”

I grin. “Okay, your turn again. Weirdest turn-on. Go.”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking. “Okay. I once dated a girl who made me fill out a literal questionnaire before we hooked up.”

“What?” I laugh. “Like, a spreadsheet?”

“Yep. Google Form. Multiple choice. I took it very seriously. And one of the questions was—‘do you want to be praised for size, technique, or creativity?’”

My jaw drops. “That’s…actually kind of brilliant.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t even hesitate. I clicked ‘size.’”

“Oh my God,” I laugh. “Okay, bragging alert. ”

“Hey, when you’re packing an eight and a half inch situation, you don’t need to be humble.”

I nearly choke on my tea. “Wait, what? Did you just drop an eight and a halfer in casual conversation?”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Some people are good at spreadsheets. Some people are good at…other things.”

I shake my head, half mortified, half fascinated. “That’s…oddly specific.”

“Only because I’ve been asked before,” he says with a grin in his voice. “But I promise, Luna—I’m not just a number. I’m also very creative.”

“Uh-huh.” I raise an eyebrow, even though he can’t see it. “You sound very proud of yourself, Thor.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

I sip my tea, trying to play it cool. “I mean, I am intrigued. Strictly from an academic standpoint, of course.”

“Of course,” he says. “Purely educational.”