Chapter 15
DAMIEN
The vibe of the party changes an hour later.
The string quartet that was playing cheerful Christmas tunes has been replaced by thrumming electronic music. The lights go low. It’s not long before the air reeks of sweat, perfume, and sex. In dark corners, dresses drop, baring thighs and breasts.
Cassandra stands next to me, arm in mine, back straight, chin up.
Her tailored dress hugs her curves, the red ribbon flashing at her wrist. She’s perfect—her work, her body—making my dick throb.
Men stare at her ass, her breasts, thinking she’s there to be claimed.
She’s not. She’s mine, and she knows it. She’s turned on, and I know it.
A drunk with flashy veneers leers, his voice slurred. “Kozlov, that plump ass is too fine to keep all to yourself. Come on, share her with us.”
I wrap my arm around her waist, making my position clear, my glare lethal. “She’s mine,” I growl. “Look again, and I’ll rip those teeth out.”
He stumbles back, silenced, spilling his drink as he goes. Cassandra’s breath catches, her body pressing into me, arousal flushing her skin.
My hand settles at the small of her back. “With me.”
We leave the main floor.
She leans close. “Possessive looks good on you.”
“Precision looks better,” I say.
“Not jealousy?”
“Jealousy is loud. I’m not.”
“Except when you’re threatening to rip people’s teeth out. You introduced me as your girlfriend, not your property.”
“Both can be true,” I tell her, a small smile testing my lips. “You’re not here for the taking. You’re here for me.”
We stop in a shadowed alcove by the stairs. I step into her space, my knee slotting between her thighs just enough to make her balance on me.
“Eyes,” I say.
She lifts them right away. Her perfect obedience pleases me.
My thumb brushes the red bow at her wrist. “Normally,” I say at her ear, “I’d take an assistant where everyone can see. You’re not my assistant tonight.”
“So I don’t get the public show?” she whispers.
“You get privacy. I don’t waste attention.”
She smirks. “Maybe I wanted applause.”
I press two fingers to her lips, silencing her. She freezes, a faint smile curving under my touch. I shift, sliding my thigh deeper between her legs, popping it up until it rubs against her pussy through her dress.
“Grind on me,” I command, voice rough. “Show me how bad you want it.”
She obeys, hips rocking slow, her slick pussy grinding against me, the damp lace of her thong rubbing with each desperate roll. Soft moans spill from her lips, raw and needy, her eyes locked on mine.
The heat of her arousal sears through the fabric. Her breaths become ragged, her breasts straining against her dress, nipples hard under the tight bodice.
“Please, sir,” she whispers, voice trembling, begging without permission, testing me.
“Only when I say,” I respond, pressing my thigh harder against her slit, forcing a whimper. “Show me how much you want it.”
Her hips buck faster, slickness coating my slacks, the musky scent of her desire mixing with the alcove’s cool air. My cock throbs, straining against my trousers, but this is about her submission.
“Come for me,” I snarl, grinding my thigh up, pinning her clit. “Now.”
Her body trembles as the orgasm crashes over her, a muffled cry breaking free. Her thighs quake, slickness soaking through, her submission a fire that’s all mine. I grip her waist, steadying her as she gasps, chest heaving as she catches her breath.
“Good,” I say.
She smiles, and I reward her with a slow kiss.
I take her hand. “Now, come with me.”
We walk past two doors to a third that blends into the wall. I pull out a key and turn the lock.
“A private room? Should I be flattered or relieved?” she asks.
“You should be ready,” I say.
I open the panel and nod her in. She hesitates for half a heartbeat, then steps through. I follow and close the door.
The room is red, with low lighting, heavy drapes, and mirrors. An exclusive private room with a large, two-way mirror that looks out over the ballroom. Through it, I can see the orgy taking shape, men and women on their knees in front of one another, bodies grinding, hands gripping.
“The rules are always to be followed. Privacy. Precision. Truth.” I take a step closer.
“Understood,” she says. The ribbon catches the light.
I circle her once, impressed by the alterations to the dress. She’s damn good at what she does.
My knuckles skim the seam at her waistline. Her cheeks flush, her pupils widen. Good. I can set the pace from that.
“You’re thinking about something.”
“I’m present,” she says. “And curious.”
“Curiosity is useful.” I lift my hand near her cheek. She doesn’t lean into it. She waits.
Music thumps faintly through the wall. Her head turns. I step back into her focus and take her face in my hands.
“Eyes.”
She gives them to me.
“You want the floor to watch?” I ask, gesturing to a small switch near the two-way window. “I can control whether or not people can see in.”
“No.” She swallows. “Yes.” Another breath. “I don’t know.”
I grin. “No. I want you all to myself.”
Her deep breath lifts the beaded bodice. She catches me looking and hides a smile.
“Say it,” I tell her.
“What?”
“Tell me what you want.”
She hesitates, pride fighting need. “You took me out of that room. Now I want you to decide what happens to me in this one.”
Clear. Exact. I like it.
“Good girl.”
I slide the ribbon between my fingers, letting it fall. I touch the warm skin on her back, feeling the shiver that runs down her spine. Her body is a novel, and I plan to read all of it.
“When I’m finished,” I say, “you won’t be thinking of any man but me. But I suspect that’s already the case.”
She gives a small nervous laugh. “Confident.”
“Accurate.” I step back. “Hands.”
She laces them at the small of her back. She’s learning. She meets my eyes and holds them. We stand there, our breaths mingling.