Chapter 39
39
I f I was under any illusion that I’d managed to finally secure my footing in this world, I’ve once again been left in freefall. Right now, I’m tumbling through the ether dressed in nothing but blood-red lingerie. My body is adorned with delicate silk, lace, and encrusted with diamonds.
I’m one hundred percent certain they’re not fake, either.
This outfit—if you could call parading around in front of a room full of strangers in a skeletal mask, bra, panties, and heels such a thing—doesn’t leave me feeling exposed, however. The cut of the fabric and paneling leaves me feeling like every inch has been carefully calculated to fit my curves, almost as if this outfit has been made just for me.
Even though I know that’s a ridiculous notion, I can’t help but feel more comfortable and confident than I have any right to be.
If I’m going to take part in this ritualized fuck-fest, then I’m going to do so looking like a queen who could turn her subjects to stone with one glance.
My mask this evening is blood red to match the lingerie. As with last time, it reveals the lower half of my face, and I’ve made sure to utilize that swathe of exposed skin to my advantage. Before leaving to come here, I painted my lips in a shade of crimson that might as well be a siren call to my mouth, and I hope to all things unholy that my men appreciate the sight of my lipstick smearing over their cocks, because that’s the singular goal I’ve got in mind tonight.
Some random perverts think they can claim me? I’ll ensure they see every lust-fueled, longing glance I give the three men who I’m taking part in tonight’s orgy with.
Those unknown entities can sit on the sidelines and watch all they like. I’ll be more than enthusiastic about allowing the three men I’m here with to use my body, all the while, giving the middle finger to the Anguis. A clear sign that even if I’m locked up and whipped into submission for the rest of my life, no one else would ever deserve a fraction of the interest I show my men.
Somehow, in all of this, I’ve got to ensure the performance I put on is enough to guarantee my life—that I can demonstrate my value, ensuring that I’m considered worthwhile keeping—and to make certain that I am chosen. I’ve got to stay alive long enough to find my escape route. There are still no absolutes that I know of, and I’m no naive, starry-eyed kitten to think otherwise.
This world is brutal to its core. Oh, yes, Noire House might be a place to come and indulge in pleasures of the flesh, complete with pretty packaging, but it hides deadly secrets.
The likes of which I know lurk in the very basement of the place. Men like Grey, who walk around wearing immaculate suits in an effort to disguise the gore of the reality staining their souls.
Not that I actually believe Grey to be anything but a man who has been forced to learn how to best survive within this world, and with that inherently brings an entirely different set of rules by which the game is played. Exactly as is the case for Angel and Hawke, too.
These men are flawed to the extreme, and unfortunately for my heart, I like the creatures who prefer to inhabit the shadows a little too much.
As my mind begins to wander to thoughts of the three men who I have got to stop referring to as ‘mine,’ I cast a glance around the room. There are platforms set up throughout the ballroom, replete with heavy chandeliers and sumptuous fabrics draped over the walls and windows.
Each initiate wears a red mask the same as my own, and while they have different variations in attire, the stark contrast between the ruby tone of our masks against the bone-white of the rest of the Gathered who mill around the grand room is striking indeed.
We’re very much ornaments, objects on display, for inspection and admiration.
I suppose in my case, judgment of the deadliest kind, also.
Adjusting my gaze, I try to keep my eyes averted from the figures who gather and observe me as if I’m a painting hung in a gallery. Men and women dressed in haute couture gowns and tuxedos, who go about loudly speaking their minds on everything from my appearance to musing over my chastity, much as they would critique an inanimate object.
Being a little elevated, I can more or less glance over their heads and let my curiosity guide me across the room to look at the others who are perched on similar platforms. We each have been provided with a range of padded furniture without sides. The shapes are organic and soft-edged and proclaim loudly their purpose to enhance the act of taking part in group sex.
My eyes pause on each of the other figures on platforms similar to my own. Some wear similar lingerie in various colors and styles. Some are cloaked in robes. Then, there are a couple of particularly notable sights. One being a girl who looks much, much younger than me, who is naked and already cuffed by her wrists and ankles to a large wooden X-shaped device. I can see another bare figure across the room, except this woman wears a thick golden collar affixed to a chain, and at the other end of the row of stainless steel links is a stake set into the base of her platform.
She smiles serenely, seemingly more than happy to be chained up and on display. I have to swallow thickly because I realize each of these platforms contains the people whose names I had to read out loud for Hawke while he spun me out of my goddamn mind and into another planet entirely.
I spent most of today alone, until Grey and Angel came to collect me for this evening’s occasion. All that time to myself gave me endless hours to spend lost in a daydream state, replaying Hawke’s kiss on a loop. If my feelings about that man were complex before that moment, they’re now warped and strained to the point when they might shatter into a thousand fragments of stained glass.
While I was already more than a little messed up after being bent over his desk and treated to that forceful, dominant side of him, I’m evidently a complete lost cause when it comes to Hawke Calliano being the version of the man I encountered yesterday. That visceral attraction I’ve had to his energy has been there right from the moment I first collided with him—quite literally when I stumbled into his broad frame my first night arriving here at Noire House, unknowing how my life was about to flip on its head—and try as I might to ignore that he makes me feel a certain way, all that comes up each time is the realization I can’t deny.
I liked being obedient. For him.
I greedily soaked up every moment of tenderness he showered me with after leaving my body shaking and convulsing on his desk.
I want so many more of those experiences, exactly like that, where his firm hand grounds me and drops me out of my head, and all I need to do is curl up at his boots and lay my cheek on his thigh while he strokes my hair.
Does that make me fucking weak? Does it make me pathetic that I enjoy being used and then praised for being so good… just for his satisfaction?
What I do know is that Hawke Calliano knows how to make me forget my own damn name, and I would gladly crawl for him without question in order to hear that man call me princess in that husky voice after he’s spilled inside me.
On the surface of it, a night like tonight should, by all rights, seem abhorrent, surely? I should be appalled by the blatant objectification of men and women being put on display in all manner of sexually performative roles. Yet, an ease settles in my veins about all of this, assured and grounded in the knowledge anything I might do is with three men with whom I feel the kind of connection that strays beyond words.
They’re no longer strangers. These are men I find myself drawn to in their own individual ways, with all of their faults and intricacies that weave together and meet me perfectly at my own ragged edges.
Each of them makes me feel less incomplete, less hollow. My life before them, and before knowing anything of this place, was the truly meaningless existence I’d been floating along on… just waiting for something .
Now, it would seem, I’ve found a hint of what that might be, here amongst the glow of glittering chandeliers and sparkling diamonds tumbling across my cleavage like seductive, bejeweled snowflakes.
If it wasn’t for the unknown of who might have laid claim to me, and decided to force me into this world—if the circumstances between us all were different—I can’t deny that this place entices me. It sets my blood alight in a way that might be considered shameful by some, but I’m enjoying every second of being on display, knowing that I’m theirs to show off.
There’s a hidden power in that, and my heart patters in quick circles when I catch a glimpse of their broad shoulders across the other side of the room.
“What a sweet little thing.” A female voice catches the edges of my awareness, even though I’m intent on averting my eyes from the crowds milling beneath me.
“It’s a shame we’re not allowed to touch.” Another voice, one that sounds very much like they’re considering doing the exact opposite, comes next.
That’s reinforced by a gasp and laughter. “No. You need to keep your hands to yourself. You’ll get us all removed as members if you go around petting all the sluts on show.”
My back stiffens. They really are talking about me as if I’m encased within a glass box and can’t hear them.
“I like the look of this one, honey.” A different woman’s voice comes from the other side of me as the other group chatter among themselves, and I lose track of their conversation in amongst the bustle of the room.
“Mmm. She looks like your type.” Beside her, a deep voice muses over my appearance. “Those thighs are fleshy enough, just how you like them, nice and ripe for taking a riding crop or a flogger.”
God. He makes me sound like a piece of fruit ready to be plucked from a bowl.
“Wouldn’t they stripe up nicely? I can just see the way they’d welt in perfect lines.” On the periphery of my vision, I see a slender hand gesturing, mimicking the act of doing exactly that.
Keeping my chin lifted, I’m actively looking to catch the eye of my men now. These people are sounding far too keen, far too curious, and the thought strikes me like their plans for caning my ass, that these could well be the very individuals who intend to own me.
“What do you say? Can we convince you to join us later after all of this meaningless fluff is over? We don’t mind if you’ve already been thoroughly used.” The man comes to stand in front of me now, intentionally placing himself in my line of sight. It’s a position that ensures the only way I can continue to avoid his question is to outright ignore him.
With one last, lingering look in the direction of my men in an attempt to silently convey to them that I’d very much appreciate their closeness right now, I’m left deflated when they don’t turn around.
Looks like I’m going to have to fight my own battles this evening.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Cocking my head to one side, I swirl my forefinger in a gesture at the noise of the room.
He takes it as an invitation to step right up to the edge of the platform, then goes as far as placing one foot flat on the raised edge and leans forward onto his knee. As he sets his polished brogue across the threshold that I’m entirely certain no one is supposed to cross except for the men I am here to perform with tonight, I’m left fighting the urge to recoil.
He’s broad-shouldered, with a thick neck rising from the white tuxedo jacket he wears to match the mask covering half of his face. The army-style buzz cut of blond hair matches his abrasive energy.
Sliding up beside him are two women who look like a pair of gilded swans. Their straw-colored tresses are piled high, and rubies drip from every possible inch of their forms, coating their necks, ears, and wrists in a glittering showcase of wealth.
Their masks might partially conceal their identities, but these people have made bold choices with how they’re dressed. They certainly do not wish to blend into the crowd, of that much I can be certain .
“Come on, pet. We would have so much fun.” One of the women pouts at me, while the other lets her eyes run across every inch of my bare flesh without any hesitation. She might as well don a napkin around her neck and pull out a carving knife and double-pronged meat fork.
“A shy one.” The man’s lip curls. “They’re always the freaks. Come on, girlie, stand up and do a pretty little twirl for us.”
My stomach drops. What am I supposed to do? No one else seems to notice the way he’s encroaching on my space, or if they do, they certainly aren’t caring. Also, I know we’re on display, and when my eyes dart to some of the other platforms, my chest tightens when I catch sight of some of them doing exactly what he’s demanding me to.
“That’s it. No need to be bashful.” The woman who has already carved my flesh up with her eyes mutters. “We’re all going to see that hole getting used, anyway.”
Inwardly, I cringe at the crass description. Because she’s absolutely correct. They will look their fill once this night gets underway, and while I don’t give a shit, these are the type of people who so easily take something and pervert it, twisting everything to their own wants.
“There we go.” Thick-neck remains far too comfortable in his position, with one foot resting only a few short paces from where I awkwardly turn on the spot, mirroring the actions of the other performers here tonight.
“Get the fuck away from her.” A dangerous snarl whips across the space between me and my unwanted audience. Grey sounds every bit the ruthless predator I know he can be, and I almost stumble off balance with relief that he’s here.
Except when I turn back to face the sight before me, I’m caught even more off guard.
The two men stand almost chest to chest, and while the older man has an entirely different body shape, there’s no mistaking that they are related in some way. Grey’s features are reflected in the cut of the man’s jaw, exposed below his mask. Those eyes peering through his skull disguise hold a similar hazel tone, but seem yellowed and sallow in comparison.
Where Grey is so beautiful it aches, this other man who puffs his chest out like the damn bully he clearly is, looks like a poor imitation. A knockoff attempt you’d find in some backstreet alley. An ugly fraud. He’s no better than one of those distorted mirrors, where only a grotesque reflection appears.
“What are you going to do? Make me, Oliver?”
Grey snarls again. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
“So ashamed of our proud family name. You’re a goddamn disgrace.”
My heart leaps into my throat as they go toe-to-toe, looking like they’re about two seconds from descending into a knife fight. I see the way Grey’s fingers clench and unclench at his side, clearly fighting the urge to reach for whatever weapon he will no doubt have concealed on his body.
“You might be permitted to enter this mansion, but you’ll stay the fuck away from her.” Grey steps closer, and I feel frozen in the spot. Where are Hawke and Angel, and what the hell am I supposed to do if this descends into something violent right here, surrounded by the glitz and glamor of a roomful of curious onlookers who have started to crane their necks at the sound of their raised voices.
“No son of mine would dare act this way. Your brother would never—”
Grey laughs, cutting him off, but it’s hollow. “Fuck right off. You want to go about your evening in one piece, then I suggest you keep moving.”
“What a disgrace.” One of the women sneers. “Generations have proudly borne that name, and you spit on it so openly.”
“Why would I want to have any connection to you?” Grey keeps his eyes firmly set on the man, who I can only presume must be his father .
“You were raised in this world. Raised within the ranks of the Noire Household. Show some goddamn respect.” The other woman sniffs, keeping her voice hushed.
“That’s bullshit. You people didn’t raise me.” He jerks his chin at the other man. “The best you did was donate some polluted goddamn Y chromosomes that I’d gladly carve out if I could.”
Turning to me now, the older man takes a long look up and down my body, clearly trying to goad Grey into making a move. “Taught the boy everything he knows, and this is the welcome I get?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Should have taught the runt how to stick that knife in his own neck and saved us all a whole lot of hassle instead.”
Oh my god. I’m about ready to launch at this dickhead myself and slam his skull into the floor until his brains explode.
“Still the Noire House bitch, I see. Walking around on his leash like a good little pup instead of doing anything useful.” One of the women simpers.
Grey has stopped speaking and I can only imagine the self-control it’s taking for him not to react in the way this man so obviously wants him to. As this horrible man continues to spout his poison, I’m silently urging Grey to hold it together, just to cling to his sanity because I don’t even want to know what the punishment might be for murdering another Household member.
I doubt the Anguis would show mercy.
“The only reason Hawke Calliano keeps him here is because of the lessons I taught him.” His father puffs that chest out even further.
“And what might those have been?” I snap.
“Showed the boy how to use a knife, didn’t I? For all the good it did. He never damn well learned.” His superiority rolls down his nose, and any final fragments of similarities these two men might have in terms of looks are eradicated by the ugliness of his personality.
Cold fingers of dread wrap themselves around my throat. Is this man saying that he inflicted those wounds on Grey? The scars littered all over his torso?
I can only see Grey’s body language, and there’s something deadly, a vibration running through him that feels like static in the air. The kind of explosive charge that, when it combusts, might take everyone and everything within its reach down in a fiery inferno.
Without thinking, or damn well caring what order of events this evening is supposed to happen in, I reach for Grey’s hand. As my palm slips into his, the flinch that rockets through his entire body makes me want to savage his father with claws unsheathed.
Except, my only focus is on the way I’m gently guiding him back, pulling him into me. As I lace our fingers together on one hand, I slide the other up his shoulder and find the back of his neck. In this position, my raised platform puts me at the perfect height so that Grey is nestled against my front while I curl my fingertips to stroke the side of his throat, all while staring down these vile people.
The three of them glare back, and I bend at the hips so that my lips meet Grey’s ear. That’s right, he belongs to me.
“Come and let me sit in your lap, baby.” With venom in my eyes and sweetness on my tongue, I keep my gaze on them. “I’m bored of these people.”
His head turns my way as if I’ve finally managed to pull him from the depths of whatever hellish place these people tried to force him to within his own mind. I’ve never seen this man without the kind of self-assured words he always seems to have at his disposal, and I’m barely curtailing my own need to take off one of these spindly heels and stab those prune-faced bitches in the side of their leathery necks .
Tugging Grey behind me—turning my back on whatever might be happening down on the floor—I pull him to the soft padded bench and push his shoulders until he’s seated before me. Standing between his knees, I slide both arms to hook around his nape. Right now, all I want is to have Grey’s hazel eyes on mine, for him to know that I don’t need to know the reasons or to know the details of his past trauma to be certain that I’d defend him with every breath.
I need him to understand, and somehow, I have to scale those impenetrable walls to find a way to reach the tower he’s locked himself inside.
“Are they watching?” I murmur, as my fingers explore the short hairs at his nape and stroke over the warmth radiating along that stretch of skin above his collar.
His eyes stay fixed on mine, but he nods.
Tilting my head to one side, appreciatively taking in the sight of him, I bite down on my bottom lip and then roam my palms across his shoulders. Tracing along those strong arms, I keep going until my search ends with his tattooed hands. Grabbing hold, I lift their heavy weight and place them to settle on my waist, which leaves me shivering slightly when those inked fingers sink into the soft swell of my bare stomach. Grey toys ever so slightly with the satin band that sits high on the curve of my hips, and I feel my pussy flutter in response to his closeness, his strength, his goddamn murderous energy that shouldn’t turn me on, but here I am.
Every inch a perfect slut for this man.
Bringing one knee up, followed by the other, I slip into his lap so that I can straddle him.
“Still watching?” My voice is soft. Words that are only for him are a little breathy with the headiness, the sheer insanity, of what I’m about to attempt to do.
Another dip of his chin, and his hazel eyes behind that mask—that ghostly skull flecked with copper that has been so prominent in my awareness ever since the moment we first met—the fierceness of his gaze glows at me like honey and fire.
Leaning forward, I let my mouth hover over his ear in the same way he’s done to me countless times. “I don’t care how many people watch us tonight. But I need you to feel how wet I am… for you.”
Grey makes a ragged noise in the back of his throat, and I use that moment to strike. Pushing his mask back on his head, I shift my weight and seal my mouth to his.
I let my body sink forward, with my pulse thundering, fueled only by a desperate hope that he’ll give me this. That he’ll let me have this moment with him. Right here in front of a ballroom full of onlookers, I wrap my arms around the back of his neck and angle our lips together.
He tastes like a hint of bourbon and the crispness of the moonlit night air outside, and it only takes a second before his tongue slides against mine. Those strong hands grip me with a breathtaking force as he pins my weight over his lap and holds me tight, keeping our lips locked together.
Grey swoops in and seizes command like I hoped he would, and I’m soaring, flying somewhere far overhead at the intimacy of having him kiss me back.
My little sighs of pleasure quickly turn into faint moans as his tongue takes over. Not only that, but he steals my breath and swallows down all my whimpers with the kind of fiercely possessive owning of my mouth that tells me he’s not going to break this connection any time soon.
I get lost in him. Lost in how assured he is with each lick and nibble against my lips. Every moment when he sucks on my tongue, drives my yearning for him into overdrive. The longer we’re entangled like this, the more my heart flutters and skips, and I know the trouble I’ve willingly surrendered to.
Right at this moment, nothing matters except him.
Just when I think neither of us are going to come up for air, the lights of the ballroom dim in dramatic fashion, and we’re plunged into near darkness.
Pulling back a fraction, Grey uses that opportunity to undo me further. His teeth catch my bottom lip and he tugs forcefully with a growl vibrating between us.
“Fuck, little flower. You’ve started something I don’t know we’re gonna survive.”
“Let’s fucking burn then,” I whisper back, wondering if he can see the glittering hearts in my eyes, or whether my secrets are safely hidden by the shadows of this room.
“You sure you wanna agree to that? With the likes of me? Us?”
I nod, and we sit there for a moment, shrouded in the darkness that has enveloped every corner of this space. No doubt signaling that the next portion of the evening is about to begin.
But I need to check after what just happened. “Are you ok?” I ask.
Grey lets out a grunt. “I’d skin that man alive and feed him his own flesh without a second thought.”
As a spotlight illuminates the platform we’re seated upon, I lower my mouth to hover over his.
“Good… I’ll hand you the knife.”