Chapter 1 Prologue/Chapter 1
Prologue
~Marlowe~
“You're staring at me again,” I accused, folding my arms beneath my breasts as I watched Torin standing beside the closed door.
He didn't bother pretending otherwise, his gaze traveling over me before returning to my face. “Hard not to, sweetheart,” he answered, his voice carrying that rough edge I remembered entirely too well.
“Then try harder,” I suggested, shifting onto one hip.
His mouth curved slightly. “Been trying for weeks, Marlowe. Hasn't done me a damn bit of good.”
Well, fuck. That wasn't an answer I needed, especially when my self-control had been hanging by a thread since I'd agreed to follow him upstairs.
Noir was impressive. Torin had taken an established BDSM club and begun turning it into something that reflected parts of himself I'd only recently discovered existed. Everything downstairs emphasized privacy, consent, and boundaries.
The irony hadn't escaped me. Torin understood those things perfectly when they concerned strangers. When it came to me, however, he'd apparently operated under an entirely different set of rules.
“Most people would consider staring rude,” I informed him, glancing around before meeting his eyes.
Torin pushed away from the door. “Most people aren't looking at their wife.”
“Separated wife,” I corrected.
“I'm aware of that, Marlowe,” he answered quietly. There was no argument, no reminder that we were still married. He simply accepted the correction, which irritated me more than it should have.
I knew how to fight with Torin. Hell, I'd had enough practice to qualify for a championship. This version of him, the one who listened instead of immediately trying to change my mind, was harder to handle.
“Are you planning to stand there all night?” I asked, dropping my arms.
He glanced at the distance between us. “Figured I'd let you decide whether you wanted me closer.”
I stared at him. “You're getting awfully good at this considerate husband routine,” I muttered.
Torin rubbed his jaw. “Wish I'd figured it out before I gave you a reason to leave.”
That shut me up, and for several seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched until I became aware of the faint music drifting upstairs. I hadn't come here intending to forgive him, there were things between us that couldn't be fixed with an apology, and a few weeks of improved behavior didn't erase the damage. Unfortunately, knowing that didn't make me want him any less.
“I didn't come up here to fight,” I admitted, looking down at my hands.
“Then what did you come for, baby?” he asked.
“I wanted to see you,” I answered, forcing myself to meet his eyes.
His chest expanded with a slow breath, and I watched his composure begin to slip. “You've been seeing me for twenty minutes,” he pointed out.
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean, Torin.”
“Yeah, Marlowe,” he murmured, taking a step toward me. “Think I do.”
He stopped again, leaving several feet between us, and I nearly screamed. The man had spent years driving me insane by refusing to give me space. Now he was accomplishing the same thing by giving me entirely too much. “Are you afraid of me?” I asked.
Torin shook his head. “Not afraid of you, Marlowe…afraid of getting this wrong again.”
I could have made a joke. Several were sitting on the tip of my tongue, but looking at the man I'd loved since I was a teenager, I couldn't bring myself to use them. “You could come closer,” I suggested.
Chapter 1
JESS'S BAR
FOUR WEEKS AFTER GINGER'S PARTY
“He bought a what?” I gasped, nearly dropping my glass on the sticky floor beneath my feet.
Tannin rubbed at her ear, her expression suggesting she'd already regretted telling me. “A BDSM club,” she repeated, keeping her voice low enough that the customers at the other end of the bar wouldn't get a free show.
Behind the counter, Jess stopped polishing his glass. He looked at Tannin, then at me, and finally set the glass down with a sharp click.
“Torin?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Tannin nodded, pressing her lips together as if she were trying not to laugh.
“Your Torin?” Jess pressed, leaning his forearms against the bar.
“Yeah, my Torin,” I answered.
“Your husband Torin?” he clarified, his eyebrows climbing higher.
“I feel like you two are enjoying this far too much,” I accused, narrowing my eyes.
“I know I absolutely am,” Tannin admitted, a grin spreading across her face as she lifted her drink.
Jess snorted, and I turned on him so quickly that he lifted both hands in surrender.
“Okay, first of all, why the hell did Torin buy a BDSM club?” I demanded, gripping my glass before it could suffer the same fate as my dignity.
“Because he signed the paperwork?” Tannin suggested, swirling the ice in her drink.
“That isn't an answer,” I protested, shooting her a flat look.
“It's technically an answer,” she countered, tipping her glass toward me.
“It's technically the sort of answer that makes me want to throw something at you,” I warned her, tightening my fingers around my glass.
Jess reached for a bowl of lemons, looking entirely too comfortable with the direction this conversation had taken. “Maybe he always wanted one,” he offered.
I turned my head toward him with agonizing slowness. “Jess,” I said, fixing him with a warning stare.
“What?” he asked, pausing with a lemon in his hand.
“Please don't help,” I told him, pointing a finger in his direction.
“I wasn't trying to,” he replied, setting the lemon down.
“That's the problem,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Tannin laughed, and I glared at her until she managed to regain enough control of herself to take a drink.
“How do you even know about this?” I asked, refusing to let the conversation wander into whatever deeply unpleasant direction Jess was already imagining.
“Rook knows someone who knows someone who was tracking the commercial sale,” she explained, lowering her glass to the bar. “Torin finalized the deed about ten days ago.”
Ten days. I'd spent those ten days going to work, coming home, and pretending the distance between Torin and me was a sensible, healthy boundary instead of a physical ache that sometimes caught me off guard while I was doing something as stupidly ordinary as folding laundry. Meanwhile, Torin had apparently been buying a sex club.
A fucking sex club.
