YOURS TO CONTROL

PASSION DEN

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CAUTION

ELOISE GREEN

“Your ID,” the bouncers requested as soon as I reached the entrance.

Normal precaution—every club had to make sure nobody under twenty-one slipped inside.

I handed it over, and they scanned it before asking me to take off my coat. Standard policy—to make sure I was dressed appropriately for the club.

One of the bouncers gave my outfit a single glance. Without a word, without so much as a twitch of expression, he stepped aside to let me pass. Clearly, they’d seen it all before. Women walked through these doors every night.

But the moment I took two steps inside, I felt it.

A whole new world.

Passion Den was more than a club. The name itself didn’t even do it justice.

“Your phone, ma’am,” a man dressed like a butler approached me.

“Sorry, what?”

“Your phone, ma’am. Standard procedure. No pictures, no videos. Most of our clients are high-profile celebrities,” he explained politely.

Of course. Of course there’d be celebrities here. This was Passion Den—the most exclusive, most dangerous, most breathtaking club in the state.

I handed him my phone. He passed me a ledger, and I scribbled down my name and device details before giving it back.

He walked away, and I found myself staring after him. A phone collector? Really?

Shaking my head, I dragged my eyes across the room—and froze at the sight of the bar.

Different brands of tequila lined up in high stacks, glimmering under soft golden light.

Tequila.

My weakness. My salvation. My companion on the nights when grief threatened to drown me after Mum and Dad died.

A near-moan escaped me. God, I loved tequila. Maybe too much.

My gaze drifted from the bar—where the bartender was dressed sharp as a model—to the lounge. People mingled, drank, laughed… and made out.

Yes. Made out.

I’d seen people kiss at clubs before—even at Don—but here, it was raw, blatant. Two women pressed together against the wall. A man’s hand sliding up a stranger’s thigh in full view.

I tore my eyes away, cheeks heating. Good God.

And then I saw it.

The b**m stage.

It rose in the center of the club, elevated and lit like a throne. Chains, cuffs, whips, ropes, gags, belts, vibrators, toys lined in dazzling, terrifying variety.

My jaw dropped.

A couple performed on stage, reveling in the attention.

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t into b**m—at least, not yet. Williams would never even consider it. He was far too boring. But a small, secret part of me wondered what it would be like…

To surrender control.

To feel both pleasure and pain.

To be tied, gagged, used.

I shook my head. Not the time for one of my crazy thought-trains.

But then my gaze shifted left, and my blood froze.

A woman, maybe in her late twenties, was being gangbanged right there in the open. One man in her mouth, another in her ass, a third buried inside her, and a fourth stroking himself while teasing her breasts—waiting his turn.

I froze.

Did people like this?

Apparently. The crowd around them was watching hungrily, as if waiting for a chance to step in.

Crazy thoughts tangled in my brain. Were the men gay? Did they touch each other in the act?

Her moans grew louder, vibrating through the air, seeping into me in ways I didn’t want to admit. My thighs pressed together involuntarily.

My cheeks burned. I forced myself to look away, but the sounds made it impossible to ignore.

“You’re new here.”

I turned.

A woman in a tight red skirt and impossible eight-inch heels stood before me. The first two buttons of her blouse were undone, her cleavage on full display.

She was… breathtaking. If I were into women, I’d have kissed her right there.

I swallowed hard. “Sorry. You’re just… beautiful.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You’re very pretty yourself.”

I knew it was just courtesy. Compared to her—an underwear model, a porn star in the flesh—I was nothing.

Still, I forced a polite smile.

“I’m new here,” I admitted, finally answering her question.

“Great. Welcome to Passion Den. There’s a bit of paperwork and some documents to submit before we can show you our membership programs,” she said.

Membership programs. Right. How had I forgotten that?

“But before the boring stuff,” she leaned closer, “would you like a tour?”

My heart leapt. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Holy hell. A tour of Passion Den. Who would’ve thought?

“My name’s Ava,” she introduced. “You don’t have to give me yours—I understand if you want confidentiality.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m Eloise. Eloise Green.”

“Great to meet you, Eloise.” She smiled and motioned for me to follow.

Passion Den was… everything. My eyes darted everywhere, drinking it all in. If I could somehow convince Williams to come here, maybe s*x wouldn’t be such a chore.

“We cater to almost every desire,” Ava explained. “If something isn’t here, we can arrange it. Secluded rooms, private rooms, main stages—whatever you prefer. Consent is mandatory. Everyone must agree on limits, and every scene requires a safe word. Especially at the b**m stage.”

I nodded.

“As for rooms,” she continued, “they’re color-coded. Blue, red, brown, and yellow are open to everyone. Green is for gay men, pink for lesbians. Purple and black require a platinum card. Then there are the gold rooms…”

Her voice dropped.

“You won’t see those. They’re off-limits.”

I raised a brow. “What are they for? Some kind of diabolical fetish?”

Ava smiled knowingly. “The gold rooms belong to the Marcellos.”

“The… Marcellos?”

“Yes. Niccolò, Enzo, and Fabio. Brothers. They own Passion Den. It’s their family business.”

I nodded slowly, my curiosity biting at me.

“Would you like to see more?” she asked.

“No, thank you. Let’s move on to the paperwork.”

She led me back to the hall and handed me forms.

“Just basic info. Then a blood and urine test. We have an in-house doctor.”

I groaned inside but filled out the papers, signed where she pointed, and handed them back. She gave me another sheet.

“Choose a membership program. After payment, you’ll proceed to the testing room.”

I forced a smile, but the second my eyes hit the paper, I nearly choked.

What the actual f**k.

Their cheapest package cost more than my yearly rent.

What was I thinking?

I should’ve just asked if they were hiring dancers instead of wasting time on this stupid tour.

Stuffing the paper in my coat, I bolted for the door.

Leaving wasn’t easy. Security made me wait ten minutes before handing back my phone.

Clutching it, I muttered to myself, “What a waste of heels and makeup.”

And then I collided with a wall.

No—not a wall. A chest.

I stumbled on my heels, silently praying they wouldn’t snap, but strong arms caught me, pulling me flush against him.

His scent hit me first. Forest rain. Wood smoke. Something earthy and grounding that wrapped around me in the most dangerous way.

I looked up—straight into a pair of molten brown eyes.

And froze.

Handsome wasn’t enough of a word. He was sculpted, tailored, sin in a suit. Tall—at least 6’3. Muscles defined beneath his jacket. His jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

My breath hitched. I was still clinging to him, staring like a lost puppy.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, pulling away.

He smirked, watching me shamelessly drink him in.

God. Even my inner voice was squealing.

Then a voice cut through the moment.

“Mr. Marcello.”

I turned and saw Ava.

Fuck.

Mr. Marcello.

Of course.

I forced myself to step back, my heart hammering.

I couldn’t afford this place. Not even his suit incase I ruined it.

Never again, I swore as I finally made it out of Passion Den.

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Author’s Note

Hi babies 🌼

I’m sorry for updating so late, but I’m here now!

So… what do you think? 🤔

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