Page 39 of Bloom in Darkness

“He’s already in the room.” Sabine reaches out and adjusts one strap at my shoulder without asking, smoothing it back into place. “Do try not to ruin this. He paid enough for me to forgive you disappearing for a while.”

I bite back what wants to come out of my mouth. “Which room?”

“Seven.”

Of course it’s seven. One of the nicer ones. I grab my robe and head down the private corridor, my stomach knotting tighter with every step. It’s Caelan, I tell myself. Then: you’re an idiot, because you never actually asked for a name. By the time I reach the door, my palms are damp.

I open the door to find Caelan sitting on the edge of the low leather sofa, jacket folded beside him and his black shirt pushed up his forearms. The grin hits before I can stop it, his expression changing the second he sees mine.

“Well, hello.”

I shut the door, cross the room, and kiss him. Caelan laughs against my mouth before he catches my face in both hands and kisses me back. Without thinking about it I climb between his knees, my hands settling on his shoulders while his mouth moves slowly against mine—no urgency, no demand, just warmth. When I finally pull back far enough to breathe, I’m still grinning at him.

“You. Thank fuck.”

“Disappointed?”

“Relieved.” I kiss him again before settling beside him.

His thumbs brush my cheeks. “I probably should’ve told you I was the high roller.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you knew.”

“I knew until someone said high roller and suddenly remembered there are a lot of rich assholes in this city.”

“That is unfortunately true.”

I shift on the sofa, settling beside him instead of staying between his knees. For a while, we just talk. His voice is a low hum against the quiet of the room. “How was the set?”

“Lio almost had an aneurysm over how much scent I’m wearing.”

Caelan laughs softly. “Bryn’s been unbearable since you left. Pacing around the Forge like he’s wearing tracks in the floor, pretending he isn’t watching the clock.” He pauses, a smile playing at his mouth. “Checked the time three times in ten minutes.”

Somewhere between that and the steady warmth of his thigh pressed against mine, it really sinks in. He meant what he said earlier. He paid for this room, for this hour, and he seems perfectly content to spend it just like this—listening to me complain about work.

“That makes me happy,” I tell him, then think about Bryn before I left the Forge. “He looked completely feral.”

Caelan’s smile widens. “He does that well.”

I laugh and lean more heavily into his side. “He really does.”

We fall quiet. The room is nothing special, despite whatever obscene amount Sabine charges for it: a leather sofa that’s seen better days, a low table with a water stain on one corner, dim lighting meant to make everything look more expensive than it is. There’s a narrow open space near the wall, probably meant for private dances. My eyes drift toward it, my body already calculating angles, the choreography coming back automatically.

“I could give you a show.”

Caelan tilts his head, his gaze tracking mine. “Are you asking to give me a lap dance? Sweetheart, I won’t say no, but do you really want to do that?”

My first instinct is yes because I could do it. I’m good at it. He paid for the hour, and there’s a whole empty stretch of floor waiting for me to do what I always do.

I shake my head slowly. “No. I like that I don’t have to perform with you and Bryn.”

His expression gentles, and he pulls me back against his chest. I end up curled in his lap, one leg tucked under me. Needing to do something with my hands, I fish a worn sketchpad and a pencil from my bag

A low, steady purr starts up in Caelan’s chest, vibrating through my back where I lean against him. My hand starts moving across the paper: the shape of his hand where it rests on my thigh, then the clean line of his wrist, the rolled cuff of his shirt sleeve.

He glances down, and his purr hitches for a second when he sees what I’m doing. “Astra,” he says, voice low with surprise. “You’re really fucking good.”