Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Breakfast ends too quickly, with nothing to show for my detective skills. Darien is immune to my prying, ready to deflect or derail at every turn. I find myself squirming in my chair more often than not. Apparently, I agreed to break my fast with Captain Innuendo, not Darien.
By the time our server clears away the dishes, I’m aching down under at the promise I see in his eyes. And then Zed shows up. I feel crushing disappointment when he informs me the Spice Room is not on the agenda. That emotion is quickly replaced by shock and annoyance.
“Human foosball? What the fuck is that?” My hands go on my hips because I mean business.
Darien leans back in his chair, amusement plastered on his face. The arousal I felt moments ago vanishes like water in a desert as I glare at him. “Did you put me up for this?”
“Me?” Darien puts his hands up. “Never. I know how much you hate physical activity. Well, the sportish kind, at least.” He winks, and I want to kick him .
Instead, I turn my ire on Zed. “I’m not about to make an ass of myself chasing a ball around a field naked!”
My squire cocks his head. “Participation in island activities isn’t optional. Besides, there will be no chasing of balls around a field. It’s foosball, not soccer.”
The last thing I want is my squire dragging me to the field like a child in a full tantrum. I sniff and lift my chin, turning my back on Darien, though I can hear him snickering and feel him staring lustily at the dimples on my ass. There’s no choice but to follow Zed to my quarters for a quick bathroom break and to swap out my shoes.
Fun Fact: Wearing sneakers when naked is even more obnoxious than sandals.
Most Novices are present and strapped in when we arrive at the field. Like the table game, players’ arms are fixed around a long pole, wrists cuffed and attached to a belt at their waists, allowing the pole to slide through the bend of their elbows. The pole is anchored to posts, keeping players from moving forward or backward. It’s ingenious, really. It also fucking sucks.
There are eleven players per team, each identified by a red or blue pointed hat with a chin strap to keep it in place. It’s like a kinked-up party theme—All we need is a clown strolling through with a flogger to complete the picture.
Zed directs me to an open midfielder spot as a drone hovers overhead. Great, I’m back on Candid Camera. It could be worse. At least I’m not in Brad’s position as a goalie.
I catch his eye, and he smiles. “Hey, Eden!”
“Hi, Brad. Glad they made you goalie instead of me.” God, it’s hard to avoid looking at his dick. I thought I was getting numb to so much penis. Apparently not. Maybe it’s the whole ‘I met him when clothing wasn’t optional’ thing.
“Oh, I asked for it. I’m the foosball master! Nothing’s getting by me.”
“I wish I could say I’ll keep the ball out of your territory, but that’d be a lie. I’ll be lucky if I make contact with it.”
“No worries. If it gets by my feet, I’ll just use my third leg.”
For fuck’s sake. “Haha.”
Zed grabs my attention and straps me in, so to speak. A belt goes around my waist with a ring on the back for my bound wrists to attach to. The pole is cold against my back, but at least it’s smooth. I grumble at the fact my boobs are thrusting in front of me completely unprotected. My squire assures me the ball is lightweight and won’t hurt. We’ll see.
I crane my neck and see Piper and Jolene on the opposite team at midfield. Piper looks just as enthused as me. Jolene, on the other hand, must’ve had a double shot of espresso before arriving because she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, which makes other parts bounce. I try not to bob my head.
Nick is placed as a defender on my team. He lifts his chin to Brad in lieu of a high five. All of us newbies are part of the game, leaving the remaining spots to other Novices who’ve been on the island for a bit. The forward spot in front of me is open until Marcus fills it. His squire secures him to the pole at his back, and I try to keep my eyes from wandering to his crotch, but all I can think is how that thing’s going to start flopping around once the game begins .
“Hey,” Marcus says, leaning his head down and forward to grab my attention. “Eden, right?”
“In the flesh.”
He laughs. “I’m Marcus.”
“I know.” Keep your eyes on his face. Keep your eyes on his face. “I, um, sort of met you at the Garden of Punishments.”
“That’s right.” He grins and shakes his head. “I’m a frequent flyer.”
“What’d you do? To end up there, I mean.”
He shrugs. “This and that.”
A shrill whistle ends our conversation. From the sidelines, a ball that looks like it belongs at elementary school recess is rolled onto the field at the backs of the forwards. They have to twist their bodies and swing their legs out to get ahold of it. Eventually, it breaks through the line straight to my line of midfielders.
I try to avoid it, but in times like this, reactions happen. When it ends up at my feet, I whack it with a solid kick, sending it toward the crowd and into the arms of Scarlett. The brunette catches it like a pro and saunters to the attendant acting as referee.
Tossing it up to him, she stands with her hands on her hips and waits for Zed to join her. They speak quietly, and I see him dip into his ever-present satchel and pull out a small leather paddle. What the fuck?
Marcus illuminates me. “Punishments are meted for breaking the rules.” At my look of confusion, he adds, “You kicked the ball out of bounds.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? It was an accident!”
Zed approaches, and it’s all I can do to keep from kicking him as hard as I kicked that stupid ball. Slipping behind me, he delivers a series of whacks that humiliate more than they sting. Scarlett claps. I glare at her, wishing the ball had smashed into her laughing face.
I manage to get through the rest of the game without another incident, and that’s only because Marcus intervenes when I send it sailing again, head-butting it back into play. When the whistle announcing the end of the game cuts through the air, sweat is covering my body, and my boobs ache. God, I hate sports.
My squire collects me from the field. I wave goodbye to Marcus and the others, looking for Darien as we pass the crowds. I see Scarlett instead and want to punch her in the head.
A shower and pampering by Oliver and his staff have me feeling right as rain. After a small lunch, Zed announces a reprieve per Darien’s request. I can nap, stroll the grounds off-limits to viewers, or lounge in a hammock under one of the many shade trees.
“What did I do to earn that?” I ask Zed, thinking back on the paddling I received for kicking the ball out of play.
“I don’t believe earning has anything to do with it. Masters give their submissives a great variety of things for the sole reason that it pleases them to do it.”
Hm. I like that.
“You will have until six this evening to yourself, at which time you’ll eat a light dinner and then spend the remainder of the evening with Darien.”
My stomach swirls with butterflies of anticipation. “In the Spice Room?”
Zed chuckles. “I do love how you come up with a name for everything. Yes, the Spice Room. ”
He drops me off at my quarters. Sitting on the bed is a stack of books, all romance themes. There’s medieval, regency, contemporary, and dark. On top is a handwritten note.
What is a Book Dragon without its hoard? Let these be the start of your treasure.
~D
Damn, he’s good. Now I definitely want to fuck him.