Chapter 20
Leeva
The main room of Hedon is just as decadent as the other night. The only difference is that not everyone is masked.
I try not to openly stare at those without a mask.
I might have been gone for years, but I recognize a few faces around the room.
There’s a powerful businessman who was always on TV, getting his ass paddled by a domme, and I recognize a movie star who’s getting spit-roasted by two men, out in the open for all to see.
I fully appreciate the no phones or electronic devices policy.
This is a place where people can be themselves freely, enjoying what they desire, uninhibited.
The thought and understanding sends a thrill through me.
Feeling like I’ve found my people in the unholy motherland, I bite back a smile and head to the bar.
“What can I get you, sweetie?” the bartender, a woman tonight, asks while she pours a glass of red wine.
“Scotch, single malt.”
I freeze as the words leave my mouth. I haven’t touched scotch in years. It had been something I loved with Hayes, and it might be stupid, but drinking it without him feels like a betrayal.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Red wine is fine.”
Plus, I don’t need to be thinking about him tonight. He’s my former best friend—the one who instantly, and embarrassingly, friend-zoned me years ago; the one who put me on a pedestal of innocence and purity.
I hold up my wrist for the bartender to scan it to track how many drinks I’ve had, then accept the glass of wine from her, resisting the urge to chug it as my nerves hum.
What if my masked wolf isn’t here?
What if he is?
What if he’s here but isn’t wearing his mask? How will I tell it’s him?
What if he’s here but isn’t wearing his mask, and he recognizes me in mine but doesn’t approach me?
This was such a mistake. What am I doing here?
My nerves rattle, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself as I survey the room.
Like the first night I was here, the main room is full of people, and the absolutely hedonistic activities happening live up to the club’s name.
Some people are completely naked, while others are in various states of dress.
Many people are openly touching, kissing, and having sex, while many others, like me, watch them.
My core pulses as I observe the abandonment of people seeking and finding their pleasure. I never thought I’d be so turned on by watching others this way, but the wetness between my legs tells me I like it very much.
My nerves ease while I people-watch and sip my wine, trying to determine if any of the people engaging in the sexual acts could be my masked wolf.
I don’t see his mask on any of the members here tonight, nor do I see his tattoos on any of the men who have exposed torsos.
None of the dressed men have that exact strong but lean build, nor do they move with the stealth of a wild animal.
I relax a bit more at the fact that he isn’t one of the ones having sex in the main room. But what if he doesn’t come tonight?
Or what if he’s having sex in one of the private rooms or in one of the many kink rooms?
Yeah, thanks, brain. You can take a hike, thank you very much.
“Aren’t you a beautiful vision?” a man’s voice says into my ear.
But it’s not my wolf. And this man is standing way too close, breathing on the bare skin of my shoulder.
I turn to face him, taking a step back to put some space between us, hoping he’ll get the hint to back off without me having to be too assertive.
He doesn’t get the hint, though, and steps closer. “You don’t remember me.”
Like everyone at Masked Night, his face and identity were hidden, but his is revealed tonight. When I look down, I recognize his wedding ring. This was the aggressive asshole who ignored me when I politely turned down his advances.
Without his mask, his gaze is even more leering. His shirt is unbuttoned beneath his suit jacket, revealing a large amount of his chest.
“I recall your wedding ring, and like I said the other night, I’m not interested.” I lace my words with a German accent so there’s no way this man could figure out I’m Leeva Malone. I lightly touch my mask, making sure that it’s firmly in place.
He steps closer to me and smiles when I back up to keep space between us. “My wife doesn’t care that I’m here.”
“Either way, I’m not interested.”
“You realize you’re in a sex club, here to get fucked, right?” He reaches out to drag his finger down my arm, and I push his hand away, very done with the polite way of doing things.
“And I have a choice for who I do that with,” I say sharply.
He chuckles, as if my consent isn’t an issue.
But Riveria stressed that each member is in control of what they do or don’t do in this club, and that consent is king, even in consensual-non-consent situations.
She also stressed that if anyone tried to imply otherwise, I was to alert a staff member immediately.
“Why the mask, beautiful? Let me see who I’ll be fucking tonight.”
I panic when he reaches for it, and I bat his hand away. “Apple,” I say, the club’s standard safe word to stop everything, very loudly and very clearly.
It doesn’t faze him. “I need to know who you are.”
Before I can turn to find one of the security team, the aggressive man is pinned against the bar, bent painfully backward over it, and there’s a hand gripping his throat.
I follow that hand up the strong arm, in an expensive, well-tailored suit jacket, all the way up to the thick shoulder, and to the mask that covers his entire head.
It’s him. My wolf.
He leans down to speak in my offender’s ear.
Whatever he says makes the man pale instantly, and fear washes over his face as he nods profusely and mumbles ‘sorry’ repeatedly.
When my wolf releases his throat, the man scrambles to stand upright, then hurries toward the door without looking back at me.
I can only stare at my wolf, my savior. And the look in his eyes—the only part of his face visible through the mask—is wild and hungry.
He’s larger than I remember. More intense. More…potent.
He traces the line of my jaw with his knuckle. “Are you okay, siren?”
It feels like he’s looking straight into my soul. As if the mask I’m wearing means nothing, and he knows exactly who’s hiding behind it.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Thank you.”
I step toward him because I can’t help it. The attraction between us is off the charts. I felt it that first night, but somehow, this feels different. Like something has shifted. Like some cosmic balance in the universe has adjusted, leaving me off-balance.
His hands settle on my waist, pulling me closer, but stopping before our bodies touch. He stares down at me, and a sense of calm and familiarity settles over me. Like I know this man.
Inwardly, I shake my head at myself. I slept with a man who rocked my world—correction, my entire universe—with mind-blowing orgasms, and I get all weird and psycho.
But I can’t let myself get drawn in too deep; he’s a member of the Havoc Guardians. There’s no future with him in it. I came here to lay my ghosts to rest, reclaim the part of me that has been withering and fading, and then walk away.
This is just sex.
Primal and carnal, mind-blowing sex. He offered to be my guide into this unknown territory and help me discover what brought me that toe-curling pleasure.
“Do you always wear a mask?” I ask.
He tilts his head before he answers, “It helps prevent complications.”
I’m curious to know more, but it’s not my place to ask, especially since I don’t want him to ask my reasoning for wearing a mask.
And because talking is the very last reason why you came here. Get on it, girl.
It’s like Ursula’s voice is in my head, and I fight a smile.
One of his hands comes around my nape, cupping it while his other stays on my waist. “What now, siren?”
I wet my lips. “You’re letting me decide?”
I can tell he smiles under his mask.
“My perfect little submissive.” His hand tightens on my neck. “But it’s you who has all the control. You who dictates the boundaries that I’ll push you to while we explore this world of pleasure.”
“Okay.” The word is breathy, almost a moan.
I need to get a grip, or I’m going to start humping his leg right here and now.
I’m pretty sure that exhibitionism is not on my list of kinks—for me to be played with or to be fucked in front of an audience. However, as I scan the room, taking in the uninhibited scene and feeling wetness pool between my legs, I’m reminded that voyeurism definitely is.
A woman cries out in pleasure while she straddles a man.
Bliss and ecstasy are painted on her features as her head falls back.
She’s beautiful. Not only in appearance, but in the way that she owns and claims her sensuality.
Her hips undulate as she rides him, and he stares up at her, his hands roaming all over her like he’s worshipping her.
I blush, realizing I’m staring, and glance away.
A strong hand cups my chin and turns my face back to the scene. “Watch them, siren,” my wolf says low and gruff in my ear.
Then he positions himself to stand behind me and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his body and holding me in place.
I watch the couple while I get increasingly turned on by the intoxicating man holding me against him, with his iron-hard length pressing into me.
Without looking back at him, I can tell he’s watching me rather than the scene or any of the other sexual acts happening around the room.
Which makes this all the hotter…makes me all the hotter.
When the woman orgasms, the man buries his fingers in her hair and thrusts madly up into her. The sounds of his grunts reach me, and as he comes, I’m shifting and squirming, needing touch and friction.
My wolf is stubbornly only holding me with his strong arm banded around my waist while his free hand continues to caress my jaw. Frustratingly, he’s not touching me how I want or how I need.