Chapter 4: The Ally

The club’s bar gleamed like a polished secret, its mirrored shelves catching the jazz trio’s soft wail, bottles glinting behind black leather stools where Elise perched, a cocktail sharp on her tongue—citrus and bite. The air buzzed—gin, cedar, murmured desire—and she felt it, thirty-four and teetering, sweater soft against skin still warm from the loft’s scars and kisses. Rowan sat beside her, shirt open at the collar, green eyes steady as he sipped bourbon, his thigh brushing hers—a tether steadying her pulse.

They’d bared their wounds—his scar, her stretch marks—and found a fragile fire. But tonight was new. A step beyond the mirror. Her stomach knotted. Curiosity tangled with nerves.

What’s next? she’d asked.

His answer—boundaries, trust—lingered like breath.

“We could try more,” she said, voice a thread. She stirred her drink. Ice clinked—a quiet dare.

His fingers tightened around his glass. His gaze found hers—sharp, searching. A hunter’s pause.

“Like what?” he asked. Voice gravel-low. He leaned in. His breath grazed her cheek.

Warmth coiled low. Heat stirred beneath her skirt.

She swallowed. Words snagging—ropes, maybe—when a shadow fell. A woman stepped into their orbit.

Corset like a midnight curve. Early forties. Confidence worn like scent.

“Lena,” Rowan said, straightening. Wariness flickered across his face—a crack in calm she clocked.

“Elise,” he said, “this is Lena. She’s ... skilled.”

There was trust in his voice. But guarded.

Lena smiled. Lips red. Eyes dark.

“I’ve seen you,” she said. Smooth. A purr brushing skin. “Watching the ropes.”

Her gaze lingered. Knowing.

Elise flushed. Heat rose in her throat. Caught. Exposed.

Her gaze snagged on Lena’s corset, the ease with which she moved, how she owned the room without asking.

Jealousy? No—maybe awe. Elise had never looked like that. Never felt that unafraid.

For a moment, her sweater felt small.

But Rowan’s touch anchored her. Warm. Steady.

Not comparison. Courage.

“Shibari,” Lena said. Smile sharpening. She traced a finger along her glass. “Ropes kissing skin. Holding you safe. I could show you.”

The words landed—soft, electric. Elise’s pulse quickened. Her bud stirred.

She glanced at Rowan. His gaze narrowed. A spark flared—desire, maybe. Or caution.

His hand brushed her wrist. Grounded her.

“With your consent,” Lena added, nodding to him. Her calm a blade.

Elise felt it then—power tilting. Not just Rowan’s. Hers.

Her throat tightened. Share him? Trust her?

Her mother’s hiss—indecent—flickered.

Ash now.

Rowan’s fingers lingered. Warm. Firm. His gaze held hers.

Trust. A vow unspoken.

He nodded. Slow. Deliberate.

“If you want,” he said. Voice low. A rumble that thrummed through her.

Her flush deepened. Heat rising.

Lena smiled—sharp. Pleased.

“Yes,” Elise whispered. Her voice held.

A rebellion against doubt.

The jazz curled around them. A rhythm to ride.

This ally. This risk. This step—with him.

The rope room was stark. A circle of shadow and sinew. Padded floor a mute stage beneath coils hung like veins—red and black. A spotlight sliced the dark.

Rowan stood at the edge. Thirty-eight. Taut.

His shirt open. Air thick with hemp and musk.

Grounding.

Elise stepped forward.

Blouse loose. Skirt brushing thighs he’d kissed.

Her yes had lit a fuse.

Curiosity. Trust. A dare allowed.

Lena moved. Corset gleaming. Her calm, a blade. Rowan’s scar itched—Leo’s ghost.

But Elise’s gaze held his. Gold. Fierce.

Stronger than doubt.

“Arms up,” Lena said. Smooth. A purr. Elise obeyed.

Blouse stretched over her breasts. A faint flush rose.

Rowan’s pulse thudded. Ache tightening.

Respect. And want.

Lena looped red rope around Elise’s wrists.

Her fingers deft. The harness climbed.

“Feel the tension,” she murmured. A coil tightened.

Elise shivered. Shoulders trembled. Lips parted. A soft catch of breath.

The ropes kissed her skin. A lattice of surrender.