Page 135 of Sugar

We were at Gilded.

Unease mixed with the thrill of excitement—like I was racing up the tracks of a steep roller coaster and waiting for the inevitable drop. “Why are we here?”

Easton didn’t answer as he climbed out and offered his hand. His gaze was locked on where my dress had ridden up to expose my panties.

I wonder if he can see how soaked they are.

I adjusted the fabric back into place before accepting his hand and carefully climbing from the car. He kept a tight grip on me while he punched in the code to access the secret entrance that led to the spiral staircase.

Once we were in the lobby, a good-looking man looked at us from behind the podium. His smile was friendly, and if he thought we were overdressed, he gave no indication of it. “Welcome.”

Easton’s voice was just as strained as his mood when he gave his name to access the club.

At least the man didn’t recognize him automatically from his countless secret visits…

My stomach clenched at the thought.

Easton clearly isn’t the only one with a jealous streak.

The entrance unlocked, and Easton steered us into the packed room.

Even though I’d only ever been there on two other Fridays, both times had been much earlier in the night. There’d been a crowd, but it hadn’t been a big one. The auction had been busy, but it was also a more structured evening. At least, from what I’d seen before we’d left.

But right then?

It was a wholly different place.

Sex and nudity might not have been allowed in the main room, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty on display. Leather. Lace. Costumes. Leashes and collars. Whips, crops, and other implements rested on tables or on laps.

People rested on—or stretched across—laps, too.

I thought Easton would steer us toward the busy bar, but he didn’t. Rounding the room, we went down a hallway.

Not the darkened one that was guarded by security and led to offices.

The other one.

The one that led to the real reason people visited Gilded.

The long hall almost looked like a hotel. It was warm and inviting, decorated in lovely colors with hung art. Except when I glanced at the framed pictures, they weren’t bland, generic images. They were artsy boudoir photos that were sensual and sexy.

The first couple doors were closed, but when we reached an open one, Easton paused us outside of it. Again, like a hotel, a bed was in the middle of the room. Unlike a typical one, though, there were bindings attached to the four posts. More hung from the ceiling. An intricate shelving unit—that would make a lovely bookshelf—was instead stocked with bottles of lube and tools.

Ones for punishment and ones for pleasure.

The next open room was dark—and not just thanks to the mood lighting. A dark wooden X was against one wall, with cuffs on each end to secure a partner. Heavy chains hung from the center of the ceiling, connecting to a lattice of leather.

Either that’s the world’s most uncomfortable hammock or…

More instruments lined the wall like an erotic medieval dungeon.

The third room was almost a mix of the two. There was a bed, but also some leather padded equipment right out of a gymnastics studio.

Every so often, we passed a security guard—either stoically patrolling or stationed at a specific spot. There was also a man meticulously sanitizing an oddly plain room.

I hesitated as I craned my neck to see into the space. I scanned for a hidden fetish theme. Some hooks, ropes, toys. Something that explained why it belonged in the erotic playground.

Easton released my hand but only so he could move behind me. “Not every kink needs extra gear.” Wrapping an arm around me, he angled it down to cup my breast over my delicate dress. “Sometimes, all someone needs is what belongs to them.”

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