Chapter 23
Matteo
“To Freaky Friday at the Leone Room.”
The words hit me like a fucking sledgehammer to the chest. I drop the folder I’m holding, papers scattering across the floor of my office.
Fuck.
It’s June sixth, isn’t it? The first Friday of the month. How the hell did I forget? I check my watch—almost midnight. The show’s about to begin, and my Little Thief is down there, right in the middle of it all.
Fuck
I’d planned to ease her into this side of the Leone Room, not throw her into the deep end on the most extreme night we offer. I’m already moving toward the door, my heart hammering against my ribs with an urgency I rarely feel.
“Sir, about the shipment—” the guy with me starts, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
“Not now,” I snap, yanking open the door. “Handle it.”
I take the stairs two at a time, my mind racing ahead of my feet. Freaky Friday isn’t for the uninitiated. It’s where every fantasy, every dark desire gets played out on stage and off. No limits, no judgment, no holding back.
For most people, it’s too much. For Raven? I don’t know, and that uncertainty burns like acid in my gut.
The main floor has already transformed when I reach it. All the lights have been dimmed, the usual ambient music is gone, and the crowd shifts. Those who know what’s coming press closer to the stage, and those who don’t watch with curious anticipation.
My eye scans the sea of faces, looking for my Little Thief. She stands out even in this crowd, a beacon drawing me in. She’s at the bar with Kayla, her expression bright with excitement as she watches the stage.
I push through bodies that part before me like water, some recognizing who I am, others simply sensing the danger. My need to reach her feels primal, possessive in a way that should concern me but doesn’t. Not anymore.
Raven’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide with anticipation as I reach her. She turns at my approach, and that smile—fuck, that smile could bring empires to their knees.
“Matteo!” she exclaims, grabbing my arm. “What’s happening? What’s Freaky Friday?”
“We’re leaving,” I growl, taking her wrist in my hand. Not rough, but brooking no argument. “Now.”
Her smile falters, confusion replacing excitement. “What? Why?”
“Trust me, Little Thief. You don’t want to see this.”
The stubborn tilt of her chin is all the warning I get before she plants her feet. “Actually, I do.” She pulls her wrist from my grip, those big brown eyes challenging me. “Why are you suddenly trying to drag me out of here?”
The lights drop further, leaving only the glow from the bar and the dim blue lights marking the exits. On stage, silhouettes move into position—selected for their skill and lack of inhibition.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” I tell her, leaning close so my words reach only her. “The kink show to end all kink shows. No rules, no limits. It gets…” I search for the word, “… intense.”
Instead of the shock I expect, her eyes light up with interest. “And you thought I’d what? Clutch my pearls and run screaming?”
“I thought I’d introduce you to it when you were ready.”
She laughs, the sound sharp with challenge. “I decide when I’m ready for things, Matty.” Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer until her lips brush my ear. “And I’m ready for this.”
Before I can argue, her mouth is on mine, hot and demanding. She tastes like Kayla’s too-strong cocktails and something sweeter beneath—desire, maybe. My hands find her waist automatically, pulling her against me as she opens for me, her tongue sliding against mine.
When she breaks the kiss, her lipstick is smeared, her breathing uneven. “I want the full experience,” she says, her voice husky with want. “All of it.”
A growl builds in my chest, half frustration, half arousal. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.” Her eyes never leave mine, challenging, daring. “Unless you’re scared?”
That does it. I grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd toward the stairs. “You want to see? Fine. But we do this my way.”
She follows willingly now, excitement rolling off her in waves I can practically taste. “Your way being?”
“You watch from my office. Safe distance.” I lead her up the stairs, my grip on her hand firm. “I don’t share what’s mine, Raven. You know that.”
The possessiveness in my voice should repulse her. Instead, I feel the shiver that runs through her, see the way her pupils dilate.
“I’m yours now?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
Back in my office, I close and lock the door behind us. The window overlooking the main floor is still covered by the privacy panel I’d closed earlier. With a few quick steps, I cross to the control panel and slide it open, revealing the perfect view of the stage below.
“Come here,” I order, and for once, she obeys without argument.
I position her in front of the window, my hands on her shoulders, turning her to face the glass. Standing behind her, I can see her reflection—eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling with quickened breath.
Below us, the stage lights up in blood red. Two women enter from opposite sides, their bodies adorned with nothing but strategic leather straps and gleaming silver chains. One has flame-red hair cascading down her back; the other’s head is shaved smooth, her scalp tattooed with intricate patterns.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask one last time, my mouth against her ear, hands sliding down her arms to rest at her waist. “Last chance to walk away, Little Thief.”
Her answer is to press back against me, the curve of her ass fitting perfectly against my hardening cock. “I’m not going anywhere.”
On stage, the women meet in the center. Their kiss is violent, all teeth and tongue, hands grabbing and pulling at each other with a ferocity that blurs the line between pleasure and pain.
Raven’s breath catches as I slide one hand up her side to cup her breast, feeling her nipple harden beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
“Watch them,” I murmur, my voice rough with want. “See how she takes what she wants? How she marks what’s hers?”
As if on cue, the tattooed woman sinks her teeth into the redhead’s shoulder, drawing a cry that’s amplified through hidden speakers. The crowd below surges forward, bodies pressing together, hands beginning to wander as the show ignites something primal in them all.
Four more performers join the first two—two men holding hands, a curvy woman, and another man whose lean frame belies the strength in his hands as he grabs the woman and bends her over a chair.
“Oh my God,” Raven whispers, her voice barely audible over the music and cries from below.
My hand slides higher, fingers wrapping around her throat in a hold that’s firm. “This is what happens in my den of sin, Little Thief,” I tell her, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse jump beneath my palm. “This is what you wanted to see.”
Her hips roll back against me, a wordless plea for more contact. “Yes,” she admits, her voice throaty with need. “Show me everything.”
Her body trembles against mine, caught between my hard chest and the window glass. I keep my hand on her throat, feeling every swallow, every gasp as she watches the performers below.
My other hand slides between her thighs, finding the heat of her through damp silk. She’s already soaked, her body honest even when her mouth tries to lie.
I slip my fingers beneath the thin fabric, stroking through her slick folds, and her hips jerk forward, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“Look at you,” I growl against her ear. “So fucking wet just from watching. Were you this wet at the bar? Sitting there getting soaked while you wondered what Freaky Friday was all about?”
She moans as I circle her clit, her head falling back against my shoulder. “Maybe,” she admits, voice strained as I increase the pressure. “Or maybe it’s you. The way you grabbed me. The way you’re touching me now.”
I slide one finger inside her, then another, feeling her clench around me. So fucking tight, so perfect. She gasps, her body arching, and I tighten my grip on her throat just enough to make her pulse race beneath my palm.
“Don’t take your eyes off them,” I command when her lids flutter. “Watch what they’re doing while I make you come.”
Below us, the show intensifies. The tattooed woman now has the redhead bent over a leather bench, spanking her ass with a studded paddle that leaves red marks in its wake. Each strike draws a scream that sounds more like pleasure than pain.
Nearby, one of the male performers has the curvy woman on her knees, her mouth stretched wide around his cock while another man fucks her from behind.
Raven’s breathing quickens as she watches, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around my fingers. I curl them inside her, finding the spot that makes her shake, and her whole body jerks.
“Oh fuck, Matteo,” she moans, grinding against my hand. “That feels so good.”
“Feel how hard you make me,” I rasp, guiding her hand behind her to press against my erection straining against my pants. “This is what watching you does to me.”
Her fingers trace the outline of my cock, squeezing experimentally through the fabric. Even that light touch makes me throb with need.
“I want this inside me,” she says, her voice taking on that demanding edge I’ve come to crave. “Not your fingers. Your dick. Fuck me, Matteo. Fuck me hard.”
On stage, things escalate further. A new couple joins—a slender man in a leather harness leading a woman on all fours by a chain attached to a collar around her neck. He positions her in the center of the stage, then signals to the wings.
Another woman appears with a basin, kneeling beside the collared woman.
“What are they—” Raven starts, then gasps as understanding dawns. The standing man begins to piss on the collared woman, the liquid glistening under the lights as it runs down her back and breasts.
The woman with the basin catches what drips off, occasionally leaning forward to lick droplets from the kneeling woman’s skin.