They passed an open door to one of the dungeons. Inside a young woman lay curled on the floor, her eyes rimmed with tears as she pleaded for mercy. A man twice her size grabbed her by her hair.

Lance took a step toward the door and Nora stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Whoa there, Sailor. Don’t interrupt.”

“But she’s—”

“Having the time of her life. That’s Alexis. She loves getting treated like a slave. The rougher you are with her, the more she cries, the happier she is.”

“Sorry...” Lance wrenched his gaze from the open door. “I’m sorry, Mistress. It’s hard for me to see women crying or in pain.”

“You’ve never been in a BDSM club with female submissives before?”

“Never. I know it happens. Just never seen with my own eyes.”

“It’s all good fun. Don’t worry. Her husband is one of the most thoughtful, careful Dominants I know. He takes good care of her. And I promise my dungeon is currently free of crying women. Usually it’s the men crying around me.”

“They’re married? Seriously?” Lance asked, nodding toward the door.

“Happily. Can’t you tell?” Nora asked as they reached her dungeon. At her door, Nora pulled the scarf out of Lance’s back pocket and tied it around the doorknob. She didn’t know Lance so she had no plans to lock the door. The scarf would signal that the Mistress was in session and all would do well to leave them the hell alone. Plus, when Søren had finished with Simone, he’d come out, see the scarf on the knob, and know exactly what was happening inside. And there was jack-fucking-nothing he could do about it.

As she tied the scarf on the knob, Lance removed his shoes and socks.

“Undressing already?” she asked, not displeased.

“Just the shoes and socks. This is your private dungeon, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then it deserves to be shown respect.”

“Lance, I like the way you kink.” She opened the door and stepped inside. She loathed artificial light so she lit her oil lamp. Lance set his shoes right inside the doorway. Everything he did endeared him more and more to her.

“So,” Nora said as she ushered Lance into the room, “welcome to Hell. Like it?”

He gazed around the room with unabashed appreciation. She did have nice digs, very French bordello style. Kingsley told her to decorate however she wanted. He probably regretted that once he saw the place. Bed—four-poster bed, of course—with a gold-and-red brocade bedspread, erotic artwork on the walls, a few oil lamps and candles, and condoms and handcuffs in every drawer.

“If this is Hell, I can’t wait to see Heaven.”

“Heaven’s in this room.” She snapped her fingers and waved her hand. Lance raised an eyebrow before entering the second room of her suite.

He let out an impressed whistle.

“My playroom. Isn’t it pretty? We have twenty different styles and lengths of rope.” She put her hand on her hip, doing her best Vanna White strut around the room. “Floggers of every style. Single-tails. I’m very good at whipping if you like whipping. St. Andrew’s Cross, of course. Medical bed. This little case here has the violet wand. And my cabinet...well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.”