The Red room 1

Cassy’s POV

“I’m not so sure about this,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I glance up at the massive black doors in front of us, my fingers twitching with nerves.

Lily rolls her eyes and loops her arm through mine, her grin as mischievous as ever. “Cassy, relax. It’s not like we’re about to skydive naked—although that’s next on my list for your twenty-first. This… this is just a club. A gift. And you need to stop being so stiff.”

I take a deep breath and try to laugh, but it catches in my throat. A BDSM club. Me. Inside one.

I’ve read about them in the darkest corners of my romance novels, imagined what it might feel like to surrender, to give in to something wild and primal—but now I’m standing on the threshold of that fantasy, and I feel like my entire body is about to short-circuit.

Still, I follow her in. I signed up for this, didn’t I?

A sharply dressed man with a golden tan and piercing eyes steps forward. “Welcome to The Red Room,” he says smoothly, pushing open the heavy French doors.

The moment we step inside, the lights dim, and the air shifts. My breath catches as the atmosphere engulfs me—thick with the scent of sex, leather, and aged wine. A red strobe light pulses slowly, painting everything in sinful crimson.

And then I see it.

Naked women kneeling, moaning. Collars glinting around soft throats. Some are led by their hair, others crawling obediently behind men in tailored suits or leather harnesses. Bodies tangled. Pleasure raw and uninhibited. The room is alive with heat, groans, submission.

I freeze.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Lily drop to her knees beside the man who welcomed us, completely bare, save for the black leather collar now secured around her neck. My best friend… willingly surrendering.

Shock doesn’t begin to cover what I feel.

I want to run—but I can’t move.

I fidget, playing with my fingers, until I feel him.

A stare. Heated. Possessive.

I turn slowly and lock eyes with a man wearing a silver swirled mask—so intricate, it looks hand-forged by the devil himself. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But I can feel him undressing me with those eyes alone.

My breath stutters.

He steps forward. His body is tall, sculpted like sin—hard muscles under smooth golden skin, a black tattoo disappearing under the waistband of tight leather pants that hug him in all the right places.

“Do you have a Dom?” he asks, voice smooth like molten chocolate and just as intoxicating.

The sound rolls over my skin, curling around every nerve. My thighs clench on instinct.

I open my mouth, but only a small gasp escapes.

He steps closer. His hand is suddenly on the small of my back—firm, possessive. My chest presses against his, and the contact sends shockwaves through me.

“I said,” he murmurs, voice darkening, “do you have a Dom?”

“N-no…” I squeak, feeling every inch of my body light up like a match.

“You do now.”

He takes my hand and leads me through a side hallway, past velvet curtains and muffled cries of pleasure. The room he brings me into is glass-walled, completely transparent—an exhibition of power and surrender. The walls are lined with floggers, ropes, paddles, restraints… tools I’ve only imagined in the privacy of my darkest fantasies.

I swallow hard.

“This is it, Cassy,” I whisper to myself. No going back now.

“Sign,” he commands, handing me a sleek black folder with a contract inside.

I don’t read it. I don’t need to. I sign.

“Pick a safeword.”

His voice is darker now, dangerous.

“Red,” I breathe.

Before the word fully leaves my lips, his hand is in my hair, yanking me down to my knees with delicious authority. My breath whooshes out, and I tremble as pain mixes with unexpected pleasure.

“Strip,” he commands. “But keep the heels.”

He lets go. I fall to the ground with a thud, knees throbbing, breath shaky. But I obey.

My dress slides off my shoulders and pools at my ankles. I am bare. Exposed. My heart hammers in my chest as I kneel, trembling, breasts rising and falling with every sharp inhale.

He steps closer and pulls something from his pocket—a piece of black lace.

He wraps it slowly around my eyes, his fingers brushing my cheek, my jaw, my lips.

Darkness swallows me.

“You’re mine now, pet,” he whispers, voice dripping with sinful promise. “And I will do as I please.”

I moan softly. I can’t help it. The word “pet” on his tongue makes me melt.

“You will call me Master,” he says, kneeling before me, his voice low and possessive.

“Yes, Master,” I breathe, the words strange but thrilling on my tongue.

“Good girl.”

He fastens a collar around my throat—thick, black, and buckled tight. The weight of it is shocking. Final.

And yet… I’ve never felt more alive.