mzrylan

Eric’s face still stung from the second slap when her hand arced up for a third. This time, he caught her wrist cleanly.  “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low. 

Selena knelt on the padded mat beside four other girls and two guys, each wearing the yellow-striped wristband of a primal submissive. The thrum of anticipation ran through her limbs like a low-voltage current. 

Yellow Wristband- october. Eric is falling in deep, and Selena has been asked to show him around club shale.