Chapter 25
Sophia
Well, that was the easiest yes I’ve ever given.
If Ethan Kingsley wants to fall on his sword and make tonight all about me, then who am I to deny the man?
The appeal of The Playroom lies in its mystery.
Its potential. I want that roller coaster ride of fear and anticipation and thrills.
I want nameless, faceless guys—in theory, anyway—but I’d be stupid to think that many of them would have more bedroom skills than Ethan. The man is, sexually speaking, a god.
This gives me the best of both worlds: an excellent insurance policy. If the randoms in here can’t deliver the goods, I know for a fact that Ethan will finish me off with his trademark skill.
Besides, the idea of my very own Eight MCing sexy time for me is honestly very intriguing.
Clearly, the man is possessive. I could have guessed that even before he asked for exclusivity.
But I know from his threesome with Marlowe and Brendan that he’s open to sharing, and he definitely has that Alpha Daddy vibe in spades.
The idea of him commanding a scene for me next door, conducting a sexual symphony for me like a true maestro, is a scenario so spectacular even I couldn’t have dreamed it up.
He puts a hand on the bare skin at the small of my back, his touch light, and leads me towards a pair of heavy oak doors. A bloody enormous security guard looks at the drink stamps on our hands—two each—before nodding at us and swinging open one door.
And, just like that, we step over the threshold and into a different world.
Holy crap.
The Greek orgy Thad organised for my leaving party felt positively benign compared to this.
Organic, if you like. You know, lots of naked people frolicking in the great outdoors and letting things take their course.
This is far more intense. Intentional. A roomful of London’s elite stripping off and getting down and dirty?
I fucking love it.
I stand just inside the door, hyper-aware of Ethan’s cotton-covered torso skimming my bare shoulder blades, and take in the scene before me.
The air is thick with the smell of sex and the valiant efforts of masses of Diptyque Baies candles attempting to drown it out.
The beat of trance music thumps out a carnal pulse in this large, high-ceilinged space that’s dimly lit but airy, its huge white pillars and gauzy white drapes adding sensual drama.
And, all around, the beautiful people of London dance and sway and strip and touch and fuck.
I’ve observed a steady stream of partygoers making their way through over the past hour, and it looks like things are really getting going.
Take the (presumably wipe-clean) white sofa nearest me.
Two guys are spit-roasting a redhead whose back is arched in such a clear expression of pleasure, of overwhelm, that my entire pussy clenches with FOMO.
I cannot believe I’ve only just unearthed this place! Although, to be fair, I have largely been playing in the Med for the past four years.
Ethan’s hand slides over my skin and around to my waist, tugging me against his side. His voice is smooth in my ear, his breath warm. ‘Anything take your fancy? Or would you like a tour?’
‘Let’s just—um—see where the evening takes us,’ I suggest, and I take a step further into the room.
As we weave more deeply into the throng of bodies, Ethan keeps a hand around my waist, a move I’m sure is far less about protecting me and more about demonstrating to everyone that I’m with him.
He leads me over to a trio of huge St Andrew’s crosses carved from blonde wood, and I eye them with interest. There’s a woman currently trussed up on one cross and a guy on the other, but the nearest one is empty.
A hot blonde guy in a tight black t-shirt and black trousers approaches, his grin wide and flirtatious.
He has swirling Celtic tattoos weaving up both arms, while on one very firm looking pec is pinned a little black badge with the Alchemy A in gold.
He’s staff. One of the infamous Alchemy hosts. Makes sense.
‘You guys need any assistance tonight?’
I smile at him. I’m fully expecting Ethan to tell him where to go, but he pauses beside me. When I glance up at him on instinct, he seems to be studying the guy. Assessing him.
‘I think the lady could use some assistance getting up on this thing.’
I freeze, but in a really good way. Ethan’s going to tie me to a cross? For all my experience, this is one thing I’ve never done. I continue to stare at him, and he laughs. He really should laugh more. It’s so ridiculously sexy.
‘You look like I’ve just given you the doors to a sweet shop. A first for you?’
‘It is.’
He looks inordinately pleased by my answer. ‘Well, well, well. I get to corrupt the ingenue tonight, it seems.’
I snort, because clearly that’s not the case. ‘I mean, you’re welcome to try.’
He slaps the upper arm of the cross, assessing its robustness. ‘These are a good option for you. They’ll keep you nice and still for me.’ He leans in. ‘Means I can do whatever I want to you.’
Most of my sexual interactions with Ethan have been limited to what we can pull off within the confines of his office.
Our tryst this week in the suite aside, he’s made it clear that I’m there to relieve him of his stresses in the most efficient, perfunctory way possible.
Self-indulgent this man is not. So for him to suggest that he’s tying me to a cross so he can go to town on me is the best kind of revelation.
My night is looking up.
The ripped blonde guy grins. ‘You going to strip her first?’
Ethan turns back to me. ‘Ready to get stripped?’
The guy on the next cross along moans as another guy on his knees sucks his dick.
With his shoulder-length dark hair, he really does look like Jesus.
Weird. In front of us, a couple is gyrating, her back to his front.
Her dress is hitched up around her waist, and I’m pretty sure they’re having vertical sex.
I’m so ready to join the merriment. I hold out my arms. ‘Have at me, sir.’
‘That’s my girl.’ His face is soft with approval as he steps closer, and there’s already a promising bulge in his trousers.
He slides his fingers around the stretchy halter neck of my silk jersey dress and pulls it so he can weave it through all my hair and bring it up and over my head.
When he lets it fall from his fingers, it pools around my hips, leaving me topless.
Ethan’s gaze drops to my boobs, his gaze rapt. My nipples are already hard, which will surprise precisely no one, and he goes straight for them, palming me hard, his skin warm against mine.
‘Nice,’ Host Guy says appreciatively. Ethan ignores him, sliding his hands down my body so he can push my dress the rest of the way down. It falls to pool around my ankles with a soft, slinky whoosh.
‘No panties,’ Ethan muses, eyeing up my bare body. ‘You really did come ready to play, didn’t you?’
‘You know I did.’
‘Let’s get her cuffed,’ the blonde guy says. ‘Heels on or off?’
‘The heels stay on,’ Ethan says in a tone that brooks no argument.
He’s the boss. I shrug and daintily step out of my gorgeous Halston, kicking it to one side.
It’s one of my favourite vintage pieces, sourced for my friend Lotta’s legendary Studio 54 party a few years back.
I hope it doesn’t go AWOL. With his hands firmly bracketing my hips, he marches me backwards until I’m up against the cross.
The wood hits my bare skin, smooth and cool, the point where the cross, um, crosses solid against my bottom. I realise that my four-inch heels will provide me some much-needed height here.
‘Secure her,’ Ethan says, standing in front of me and rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt. His feet are planted wide, and I defy any woman in this place to find a hotter guy to service her tonight. He looks every inch the alpha Dom, no matter how much he swears blind that he’s not that kinky.
The host makes quick work of my ankles while Ethan watches me, appraising me.
I raise my arms so the host can fold the soft leather cuffs around my wrists and fasten them.
As he does, Bree and Talia pass by behind Ethan.
They’re still dressed, but, judging by the carnal looks on the faces of the four guys they’re with, that state of affairs won’t last long.
They wave maniacally at me and mouth OMG!
I giggle, and Ethan twists around to look at them.
When he looks back at me, there isn’t a jot of interest on his face.
Talia is definitely dead to him. Instead, he steps forward, somehow making it feel menacing.
He brushes the sensitive skin of my stomach with his knuckles.
‘Every man in this room is going to wish they were me,’ he says without inflection. ‘They’re going to be fucking begging me. But no one touches you tonight except me.’
What the actual fuck?
‘I thought you said tonight was all about what I want,’ I say with a pout. Trust Ethan to pull a bait-and-switch stunt in a sex club.
‘It is. I know you, sweetheart. You’re an attention whore. Trust me, you’ll get plenty of attention while I’m making you come. You know how pretty you are when you’re having an orgasm. They won’t be able to stay away.’
My blood thrums hotly in my veins at his filthy promises, rising to the surface of my face. Okay, so maybe he knows me better than I’m giving him credit for. I can roll with this. I am, after all, an epic attention whore. But I have to object on principle.
‘You literally just told me you wouldn’t cockblock me.’
‘That was before I got you like this,’ he says. ‘You have zero leverage now, except your safeword. Besides, I don’t want to share you.’
‘You shared Marlowe,’ I hiss. ‘With Brendan.’
His face goes all stern and sexy. ‘Marlowe isn’t you.’
Oh, Jesus. For a woman who outright rejected his plea for exclusivity, even transactionally based exclusivity, my body has a funny way of reacting when he gets territorial. What an effective way for him to shut down the discussion.
I’m fully restrained now. I can twist my wrists inside their cuffs, but there’s no way I can pull my hands out.
Looks like our tattooed helper here is a bit of a Boy Scout.
The delicious reality of my position starts to sink in.
My legs are spread wide enough for me to feel cool air on my pussy.
My body is completely naked, completely exposed to everyone in the club like this.
My nipples are tingling, my pussy is already throbbing in anticipation, and Ethan is looking at me like he doesn’t know where to begin.
He takes a few steps back and rubs his hand along his jaw as he surveys me.
He’s barely touched me, aside from that featherlight graze along my stomach and his very quick grope of my breasts, and already my entire body is alight.
Ethan turns to our host.
‘Get me a feather, would you?’