Chapter 23 #2
I turn just enough to look at his face. We don’t have to stay. Certainly we can find our way back to the lobby without Gage’s help.
But Cole’s eyes are gleaming with an intensity I haven’t seen in days. I’m suddenly aware that we just spent the past three hours in a dungeon—not his, not outfitted with his equipment, but it was still a room built for sex.
And we haven’t set foot in the basement of our own home in over a week.
I remember my reaction earlier, to the man and his three leashed women—curiosity and confusion and just a lick of desire. And I have to admit, I’m more than a little intrigued by whatever game these people are playing now.
Plus, Cole and I have the worst kind of work to do once we get home. Determining the depth of Collins’ involvement with the bratva won’t be pretty. I’m happy to put it off for a few minutes of mindless fun.
I tug on Cole’s sleeve until he lowers his ear to my lips. “My,” I whisper. “What a big crowd this is.”
His answering grin ignites the feral thing that lives inside me.
Up on the stage, Gage clearly feigns surprise as he reads a name. “Master Jonathan! You get the last spin.”
Gage gestures to the wheel and a man joins him from the crowd. Jonathan’s broad chest is covered in a thick mat of dark brown hair. His laced leather pants display a bulge that borders on horrifying. “Master Jonathan,” Gage says. “Will you introduce us to your sub tonight?”
Jonathan snaps his fingers, and a woman climbs onto the platform beside him.
She has the same heart-shaped face as Breagha and my sister’s bright blonde hair.
But Breagha wouldn’t know the first thing about strapping on a scarlet leather corset, and she’d die of embarrassment before she ever pulled on the matching thong and five-inch patent leather heels.
“Clarissa,” Jonathan says. He snaps again, pointing to his feet. The woman drops so fast I’m afraid she’s shattered her kneecaps.
Maybe I jerk back in sympathy for the woman’s aching knees. Maybe Cole edges forward in anticipation. Whichever of us moves, I’m suddenly aware of his erection, pressing against the small of my back.
Gage grins. “Master Jonathan and Clarissa. Let’s start the bidding at one thousand.”
“Fifteen hundred!” a deep voice calls from the back of the crowd.
“Two thousand,” counters a woman with an amused drawl.
“I see you’re all familiar with Master Jonathan’s handiwork,” Gage says.
“Remember—tonight’s a fifty-fifty split.
Master Jonathan and the lovely Clarissa take home half the pot if they complete their task from the wheel of chance.
The rest goes to Wounded Heroes United. Who’s willing to support my favorite charity? ”
He works the bidding up to eight grand.
“People,” Gage says. “You’re breaking my heart. This is the last bid of the night. The last spin of the wheel. Surely you can do better than eight thousand.”
Cole’s hand closes around the back of my neck, thumb and fingers finding the sensitive hollows at the back of my jaw.
“Eighty-five hundred,” the man calls from the back of the room.
“Nine thousand dollars,” the woman counters, drawing out the vowels.
“Sorry kids,” the man says with a rueful laugh. “Eighty-five’s my limit.”
Gage says, “Nine thousand, then. Going once… Going twice… Sold to Mistress Nicolette, who doubles the previous high bid for tonight. Thank you, Mistress Nicolette!”
The crowd parts, and a woman makes her way to the stage. Her sleek black dress fits as if it was sewn onto her body, leather hugging every inch of skin from the notch of her throat to the middle of her thighs. The tops of her steel-studded boots kiss her hem.
Cole changes his grip, stroking the side of my throat. As I lean into his body, I feel his breath hitch. I’m not sure if he’s responding to me or to Mistress Nicolette.
I want to know it’s me.
I reach between us and find the tab of his zipper.
Moving briskly, like I’ve ever done anything like this before—watch public sex, respond to public sex—I lower his zip.
He shifts his weight just enough to give me room to reach inside his trousers.
He shudders when I run one fingernail down the length of his cock.
“Jesus, Kate,” he breathes into my hair.
It’s me.
At the front of the room, Mistress Nicolette hands Gage a stack of dark green bills before she turns to Jonathan. “May I?” she asks the Dom.
He nods, and Mistress Nicolette twines her fingers in Clarissa’s hair. She yanks hard, pulling the sub to her feet.
Nicolette’s kiss is ravishing. With one hand, she tugs Clarissa’s blonde curls hard enough to make the sub whimper. With the other, she reaches beneath the corset, twisting her fingers around an unseen nipple. All the while she kisses the girl—hard, harder, hardest.
Cole’s hand has found its way beneath my top. His palm spreads flat across my belly, searing as he presses me back against his hard-on. A sound leaks past my lips, a whimper, a whisper, a prayer. My fingers curl around the length of his cock, squeezing hard.
When Mistress Nicolette finally sets Clarissa free, both women are breathing like they’ve just run the New York City Marathon. Nicolette steps to the wheel and spins. The marker lands on Pearl Necklace. A few people in the audience cheer.
Gage, in his role as auctioneer, defers to Nicolette. “Any special requests?”
Nicolette shakes her head before she answers. “I just want my money’s worth,” she says to Jonathan.
The Dom suggests the barest hint of a bow before he turns back to his sub. He takes his time unlacing his pants. The leather clings to his arse as he frees his cock. I wonder which of his parents was a horse.
Clarissa’s eyes start to water before she’s swallowed half of him. He slows his pace when she starts to gag, easing in and out, training her to manage his size.
Cole’s hand leaves my belly, and I have to bite back a cry.
I feel the stutter of his chuckle against my drenched back.
Before I can call him a motherfucking shitehawk tease, he slips his thumb into my mouth.
I groan as he matches Jonathan’s pace, filling me and setting me free, filling me and resting.
My own hand is moving in the same rhythm, clutching his cock and releasing. He’s rock hard, his trousers stretched so tight I scarcely have room to maneuver. I can’t stroke him, can’t reach his tip. I can only squeeze and let him go.
The crowd is loving every minute of the spectacle on stage. Some are shouting words of encouragement to Clarissa. Others holler suggestions to Jonathan. Mistress Nicolette watches from one corner of the platform, her intensity pulling more from the audience.
Cole’s teeth close over my earlobe, hard enough to sting. I have to concentrate to hear his words, barely breathed against my cheek. “Would you like that, my dear? In front of all these people? Do you want to be up on that stage?”
The answer is yes; he’s driving me wild. The answer is no; I’m repulsed by the very idea. I’ve never imagined fucking in public. What Cole does to me in our dungeon at home—it destroys me. It strips me to my bones. I can’t imagine revealing myself like that to strangers.
Jonathan must be getting close now. His breath sounds like a blacksmith’s bellows. His knuckles are white against Clarissa’s hair.
He pulls out from her lips with an audible pop. She rocks back on her heels, gasping for a full breath. His fist closes over that massive cock, slick with Clarissa’s spit, and he strokes himself, grunting with each short, sharp tug.
Cole’s thumb leaves my mouth the same instant Jonathan’s cock springs free. He presses the heel of his hand against my belly, easing his fingers under the waistband of my trousers. He slips past my lace knickers, swiping the length of his soaked thumb against my clit.
My body jackknifes at the searing sensation. My knees flex, giving him more of my weight. My thighs grip his hand, and I don’t know if I want him to hold me there forever or tear me apart this instant.
On stage, Jonathan reaches his limit. Thick ropes of cum spurt across Clarissa’s lips before he paints her chest. The scarlet of her corset gleams against the pearls.
The audience goes wild. Jonathan pulls Clarissa to her feet with glistening fingers. Much to the crowd’s amusement, Gage makes a show of putting half the cash in Jonathan’s dry hand.
My fingers tighten around Cole; he’s still rock hard against my palm. Pulling me back against his chest, he presses so hard against my clit that I see stars. “Tell me you want it,” he growls. “You want them to see every inch of you.”
I shake my head, but I clench my knees to hold his hand in place. I won’t be able to bear it if he stops now.
Black shadows flirt at the edge of my vision. Thunder roars deep in my ears. I don’t remember ever being this excited, suspended on the edge of coming for so long.
From the stage, Gage is wrapping up the show. “Thank you,” he says, holding up a fistful of bills. “I hope every one of you goes home with—”
“One more spin.”
The order comes from the far end of the room, from a cluster of tables that fan against the back wall. The words are as thick as concrete.
Cole pulls his hand from my trousers so quickly I almost fall. Both of us recognize the heavy, flat vowels of a Russian accent. My mouth goes dry.
Gage shields his eyes to look out at the crowd. “Master Jonathan was our last contestant for tonight. Next month—”
“Not next month. Tonight,” the voice says. “I will pay. Ten thousand dollars.”
Surprise ripples through the audience. Cole grips my shoulder.
“That’s not the game,” Gage says, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Besides, there are no more Doms on the list.”
“Is new game,” the voice says. The crowd parts, and a man lumbers to the foot of the stage. His hair looks like the matted pelt of a bear. His flat nose has been broken at least twice before. His lips are the color of raw liver, and he licks them as he shoves a stack of bills into Gage’s hand.
The Russian isn’t part of the Tarasov bratva—at least, I’ve never seen him before. But he carries himself like a man used to speaking with a Markov in his hand. There isn’t a shred of doubt in my brain that he’s an enforcer, responsible for collecting his pakhan’s debts.
He says, “I name players.”
The crowd is so still they could be molded plastic toys. Gage finally rallies. “You aren’t allowed to—”
“Cole Wolf,” the man interrupts. When he turns toward Cole and me, a circle clears around us, as if everyone else in the room is afraid our bad luck might rub off. “And little Katie Lynch.”