Page 49 of Breaking Free

“Right. That makes sense. It’s surprisingly well organized, like any other business.”

“You used the term lucrative, and when friends are in business together, it’s smart to be organized so those friendships endure.”

“But is there a need to be so in-depth with the screenings?”

“To provide the level of privacy and security our members expect, yes.” They’d drifted off topic a bit, and he wanted to get back to why she was here. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and spoke candidly. “Look, Piper. I get it. You’re not only a small-town girl but a preacher’s kid eager to spread her wings, but Decadence may be biting off more than you can chew.”

“That’s why I left Last Chance. There isn’t much biting off anything there.”

“Last Chance is an odd name for a town.”

“Not in Iowa,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “It’s rather telling, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally, trying to figure her out. “What you’ve seen so far hasn’t changed your mind. But you can’t sit back and watch all the time. Management frowns on that. Maybe you need an experience before deciding.”

Appearing intrigued, she remained cautious. “What kind of experience?”

“Not just observing but a sample of Decadence.”

“Not on the CBT thingy.”

Cute and sexy in one package. No wonder he couldn’t get her out of his head. He tried not to laugh as he explained, “Thatthingyis a St. Catherine’s wheel. And no, that’s more advanced than any newbie is prepared for. I had something else in mind. Do you trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate before stating, “Of course.”

Curious, he asked, “Why?”

“Because your first instinct has always been to protect me.” The becoming blush returned to her cheeks when she added, “You grumble and snap and slam doors after.”

His priority had always been protecting the vulnerable, be it civilians in war, a neighbor with the unwanted attention of a stalker, or an inexperienced girl in his club who was in over her head. He didn’t say that, however. He didn’t need to. She’d seen through his grumbling and rudeness.

Tristan slid from the booth and offered her his hand. “Ready for a sample?”

“Yes,” she said confidently, although her fingers trembled when she laid them in his.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected her.

“I keep forgetting that.”

“Another dom would have you over his knee or strapped to a bench, getting a lesson in respect.”

She gulped hard at dodging that bullet then drawled, “I suppose I should be grateful you’re not another dom, huh?”

“Don’t speak too soon. We’re going upstairs.”

Her gaze rose to the upper railing, where members gathered to watch the activities on the main floor.

“You can see everything from up there,” he explained. “Our voyeurs arrive early to get a prime spot by the rail.”

Her head swiveled toward the center of the room. “Especially the stage, I imagine. Josie said it rises thirty feet in the air.”

“She is correct.”

When she turned her head, the ends of her hair brushed his forearm. Tristan had the intense urge to run his fingers throughthe shiny strands and find out if they were as silky soft as they looked. He quickly redirected his hand to the small of her back but immediately realized his mistake. The strip of warm, velvety skin exposed between her skirt and vest was an even greater temptation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “If the St. Catherine’s wheel shocked you, some of the activities on center stage will curl your hair. It won’t be in use tonight with so many guests present.” With slight pressure from his fingers, he moved her into the flow of circuit traffic. “The stairs are against the rear wall.”

“Are we going upstairs to watch?”

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