I swallow, but the truth is that the idea of a leash is reassuring. No matter what, I know that Riley will be right there to keep me safe. So I draw a deep breath, then lift my chin as he clamps the leash to the copper loop. He holds one end, and we enter the first area of The Firehouse. Matthew had explained that while there are some even more exclusive clubs that allow drinks, the no alcohol policy at The Firehouse helps ensure that everything that goes on inside these walls is consensual.

That’s fine and dandy, but right now I’m really wishing I’d finished off that bottle of Chardonnay.

“There’s no guarantee he’ll be here tonight,” I whisper as we pause at the next set of doors before entering the main play area.

He strokes my cheek, then trails his fingertip over my lips, making me tremble. “Then we’ll have to come back,” he says, the words firing my senses and my imagination more than I’d like to admit. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s show you off.”

He pushes the thick oak door, once again holding it open for me. For a moment, I’m in front of him, and trepidation cuts through me. Then I feel the pressure at my neck and remember the leash. Riley.

He’s with me even though I can’t see him, and the awareness of that constant connection strengthens my resolve.

I take another step and walk all the way into the playroom. I suppose the regulars at the club would call it a dungeon, since there are chains and manacles on the wall and other implements for binding and torture, but it’s so clear to me that what is going on here is pleasure and not pain—or, at least not unwanted pain—that I can’t think of it as a place meant to subdue and punish.

“You’re intrigued,” Riley says, and I jump. I hadn’t realized he’d come up beside me. “Which scene catches your attention the most?”

I tell myself that I should avoid the question and just let him lead me. Answering would reveal too much. And yet I can’t deny that my senses—and my imagination—are on fire.

“There,” I say, nodding toward a woman whose arms and legs are strapped to a padded, wooden X. She’s naked, and the man standing in front of her is teasing her skin with something that looks almost like an old-fashioned mop, only in leather.

“A flogger,” Riley explains when I ask. “And a vibrator,” he adds, when I tremble as the man uses what appears to be a Magic Wand on her sex, obviously taking her close to orgasm, but not letting her go all the way.