Chapter Twenty-Five
“L ’appel du vide,” I muttered. It was like I was staring into the abyss.
“Quite true.” Greyson was directly behind me.
I was doing this on purpose, beckoning chaos, experiencing an impulse to do something dangerous. It was impossible to resist the magnetic pull toward the perilous because I kept my face pressed against the wall and my eye on the scene.
“Okay, Alice, you’ve seen enough,” he joked, as though I was about to be sucked into Wonderland.
I glanced back at him. “It’s about uncovering what’s been kept from us.”
“Us?”
“The public.”
“Good luck with that.”
Now this was the story—Jewel Hadley was into extreme kink and all the nefarious stuff that went along with it.
Getting into Pendulum was just the start. Getting to see Jewel in her natural habitat was the win. If Greyson wanted me to play along, I could do that, or maybe this was him trying to scare me away from this place.
As the scene on the other side of the wall continued to unfold, the woman who rode that man became frenzied, rising and falling on top of him like he was her savior.
Sensing Greyson closer now, I didn’t move, didn’t flinch…because I liked it, craved it, this devastating vulnerability.
If I was to understand what was happening here, experiencing it was essential—this was a kind of lie wrapped in layers of truth.
Greyson’s cologne was seeping into my senses, his uneven breathing hinting that he, too, was aroused.
Meanwhile, my doppelganger was taking the erotic hit while I remained safe in the presence of this man. His touch was everywhere all at once—but only in my imagination.
There was no physical contact between us, and yet Greyson emanated an addictive pull.
He was part of this debauchery and approved of it. What did that make him? What did that make me for wanting to be with him?
In the center of the grand chamber, female figures danced in a circle, their passions feverish, their chests heaving, their eyes bright with lust behind their masks as the darkness of the room dimmed.
The spectators now became fucking lovers, the space alive with moving bodies, a feast of temptation as flesh writhed with flesh, swarms of naked nubile ladies joining the fray. This was an orgy, elaborate and orchestrated and too compelling to look away from.
My heart thundered at the voyeuristic thrill.
I was in the presence of something exotically foreign, a lifestyle I’d heard whispers about, but until now had never envisioned. I kept watching secretly, unable to tear my gaze away, seeing pieces of a complex puzzle that refused to fall into place, an intoxicating mystery that dragged me under, a tantalizing show that caught me in its thrall.
“I need this,” I whispered.
But I couldn’t express how this experience was making me crazy, firing me up to do something obscene.
“Greyson,” I pleaded for relief.
“Touch yourself.”
It was an enticing order—one I couldn’t ignore.
Reaching low, my fingers found my wetness between my thighs, and I shuddered with relief.
“Good girl,” he cooed. “Play with yourself, nice and slow.”
I felt a surge of exhilaration at the way he spoke to me—like no one ever had before. Being a Cole carried privileges, a level of respect. He was talking to me as though I was his, and I liked it.
Inside the ballroom was a brilliant symphony, music so loud it drowned out the moans.
In here, the man behind me became a maestro himself, guiding me masterfully, showing me how to touch myself. Following his commands, my talented fingers strummed my clit with perfect rhythm. As the symphony unfolded, my fingers gracefully played along.
“Play your clit like a cello’s strings, Willa, each movement fluid and deliberate.”
“Oh, God.”
“That is correct,” he said. “I am your God. And you will obey.”
My fingers glided effortlessly, drawing rich, resonant tones of pleasure from me—because I was pretending it was his hand.
I felt a heady mix of triumphant emotions as we shared this moment, as if I’d traversed an expansive sensual event, journeying from confusion to enlightenment, emerging with a clarity that ignited a deep passion for this lifestyle, this experience, creating a renewed sense of wonder in me and a profound appreciation for the boundless depths of sexual exploration.
I felt an addictive hunger to know more about this beautiful complex man.
With each stroke, my fingers were weaving blissful intricate melodies on that small nub.
“Willa, tweak your left nipple,” he said, as though it was profoundly important.
His order demanded serious consideration. It was an imperative impossible to ignore, leaving no room for refusal.
I obeyed, knowing there was no other choice.
“Flick,” he added.
It was as if it was his hand that left a fingerprint on me, and I had given him the right to touch me, creating a brilliant vibration, echoing the passion of a promised climax—even though there was distance between us.
“You don’t belong,” he whispered. “But this moment can still be yours.”
The music surrounded me, haunting and dissonant—seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
It weaved through the space, entwining itself with the incense, saturating the air with an unsettling mixture of beauty and menace. The figures fucking elegantly, swaying and controlling each other.
The sounds of my moaning, and others finding release, blended with the music as though this was choreographed and not a random event.
Their fucking wasn’t frenzied, nor was it slow. It was something that slipped between the lines of a quiet rhythm, like a perfect dance, each step, each spin, was deliberate, and yet it felt like they weren’t moving at all, just existing in a mirage where time didn’t work the same way.
My pleasure was theirs, even if they didn’t know about the girl concealed in the shadows, stealing her pleasure from them.
My double was being taken by several men—and I could tell she loved it, the way she hungered after them, gave herself over to them—as would have been expected of me.
I felt anticipation for the blinding pleasure to come, as I watched all those bodies melding into each other, demanding more, unsatisfied as they each chased after that which they clearly needed.
Greyson’s palm crashed over my mouth, timing it perfectly, catching my scream in his hand as I ground out my pleasure, my bliss, the orgasm snatching away my breath.
I was swept away, everything erased—my past, my sense of self. In this euphoria, I let go completely, no longer holding on to who I thought I was. Only the present existed, only he existed with me—our bond raw and real as I surrendered to it, felt consumed by it, by him.
Leaning against the wall, sated and breathless, I was unsure about turning around to face him. This was what passion felt like, and the revelation was startling.
“Willa.” His voice beckoned me to turn around.
He took my hand in his and walked me over to a door that led to a bathroom. It was in there that he took care of me, wiping away any evidence of my arousal.
He cleansed me, his touch gentle yet purposeful—tender and strong—like a man who understood exactly what I needed to endure the secrets of this moment.
He said nothing, but his gaze was full of understanding. There was a calm about him, a certainty that he could handle everything now—take care of it all.
He was getting me out of here, taking me to safety, returning me to the world I knew. But even as I leaned against his tall, solid frame, I understood that I was forever changed. After this, there would be no pretending it hadn’t happened, no erasing the reality of what I had seen and felt.
More than this, we had crossed over an intimate line, and the thought of never experiencing it with him again might just destroy me.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, but not of this place, but for what I’d done to our friendship, which had ended before it had even begun.
Deep down I knew my innocence, fragile and untarnished, made me an outsider in a place I could never belong.
The more I sensed this, the heavier my heart became—a painful realization that I would always be something he would never want to claim.
“Why didn’t you fuck me?” I had to know.
“Your fingers belonged to me in that moment, each strum of your touch, every movement, was for me. Your pleasure was mine, and mine alone.”
“Can we be more?”
He didn’t answer, and instead, picked me up into his arms and carried me out, heading towards the elevator.
We rode down in the elevator with me still in his arms, his strong grip keeping me close as though he feared I might wriggle free and try to escape.
Shuddering, I nestled my head into the crook of his neck. “I left my coat at the entrance.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“I’ll come back for it.”
“I can come back.”
He let out a growl and then whispered, “Keep your eyes closed until we’re out.”
But I had already seen so much there was no turning back. Now that my eyes had been opened, there was no way to unsee what had been burned into my retinas.
His secret world has been laid bare.