Page 206 of Yearn

Then I blew him a kiss and gestured that I'd be with my girls.

He nodded, understanding and returning his attention to the movie. But not before his gaze dropped briefly to my stomach with a possessive look.

I closed the door softly and turned to find Ro and Cadence watching me with matching smirks.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," Ro sang. "Just watching you look at your husband like he hung the moon."

"He kind of did," I admitted.

We continued down the hall, and I stopped in front of a large painting—a reproduction of Klimt'sThe Kissin a heavy gilded frame.

"This is it?" Cadence asked.

"This is it." I punched in the code—my birthday—and the painting swung open like something from a movie.

Behind it was a door.

Behind the door was. . .well.

"Holy shit," Ro breathed.

The room was decadence incarnate—dark, gleaming, and impossibly beautiful.

The walls were draped in deep burgundy silk that shimmered like spilled wine under low amber lighting. Gold sconces shaped like climbing vines cast a honeyed glow over the polished black floor.

The leather swing was suspended from hand-forged beams in the center.

There was a mirrored ceiling.

A marble pedestal held a sculptural chaise upholstered in cream velvet. It was the kind of piece one would expect in a Parisian museum, not hidden behind a secret door.

A glass cabinet stood nearby, its contents gleaming like a private art collection. Inside were polished gold restraints resting beside silk ropes.

Crystal plugs and leather paddles.

Jeweled nipple clamps and silver dildos.

"This is not a sex room," Cadence whispered. "This is a sex palace."

I cleared my throat. "Dominic takes his hobbies seriously."

Ro walked in and stopped in front of the swing. "Girl. If you're not using this thing twice a week, you're wasting it."

I blushed. "We've been very. . .thorough in our usage."

"Nasty asses!" Ro cackled.

Cadence stepped closer to the wall near the chaise. “You know what this side needs?”

“What?” Ro arched an eyebrow. “More sex toys? Maybe a stripper pole that descends from the ceiling?”

“No way.” Cadence pointed. “This wall needs a bookshelf.”

“A bookshelf?” I repeated, laughing.

She nodded, deadly serious. “Not just any bookshelf—a dark wood built-in, maybe ebony or walnut, with soft blue backlighting. Filled with vintage erotica and classic literary smut.Anaïs Nin, Colette, D.H. Lawrence,the good stuff. None of that cheesy mass-market nonsense.”