4. Micah
DESPERATE LITTLE THING
Bodies.
Bodies.
And more bodies.
Everywhere.
Drenched in melanin and bathed in candlelight.
That’s all I see on the second floor of Midnight Manor.
Damn , I thought the plush conversation pit downstairs had my attention, but the scene before me has me mesmerized.
The carpeted stairs absorb my footfalls until I hit the landing and let my eyes take in everything before me.
I expected doors upon doors of private rooms. And I’m guessing the hallway to the left has that, but what catches my attention is the open area right off the staircase. My steps slow as I take it all in.
Billowy, dark curtains are draped from above, covering the ceiling and lending the open space a more intimate feel.
Leather sectionals and love seats are arranged around a common focal point—the raised platform against the only wall.
There, a large man kneels in the center of the stage, fully dressed in a light blue button up and dark navy slacks.
Hands behind his back, he’s completely bound, the bulge in his briefs the only part of him not restrained by the intricate rope.
Something I only know because his pants are unzipped but not unbuttoned, leaving his dick print standing out on full display in contrast to the belt still tight around his waist. A black half-mask shields his eyes, but the pleasure and agony is written beautifully all over the rest of his tawny, brown face.
Above him, a woman about my complexion circles him slowly in sky high heels, her hand on top of his head as he tucks his chin to his chest in submission.
Inching closer to the performance, I note the people on the couches, their masks in place but their clothes missing as they indulge in one another.
One woman has her head thrown back and her lover’s head lost between her spread legs.
Another woman is bouncing on a man’s dick, her whimpers painting the air as she fights to keep her eyes on the stage.
The man beneath her thrusts up, pounding her hard from below, sending his partner’s heavy tits bouncing from the momentum of their passionate fucking. I can’t help the way my mouth waters when I glimpse the cream she’s leaving on his dick with every deep stroke.
Shit .
I smooth a hand over my skirt, not really tugging it down to cover my legs, but mindlessly caressing myself as I watch the people around me.
My gaze returns to the stage to find the man’s dick out, cock ring in place around the base as his domme uses the toe of her shoe to tease his engorged shaft.
My, my, my.
Black and gold candelabras set up around the stage are the only source of light, but even in the dim lighting I can see the reddish—damn near purple—coloring of his sensitive, swollen dick.
Moving her hand to the back of his head, the domme works the hem of her short skirt up with her other hand and shoves her sub’s face into her cunt. Without a moment’s hesitation, the obedient sub feasts on her, his head bobbing and dick twitching as he pleases her.
Fuck, they’re both beautiful. And damn if I don’t love a submissive man.
Ignoring the pulse between my legs is a lesson in restraint as I slip onto one of the couches by another woman watching the show. Her wristband matches mine, and her plump bottom lip is trapped between her teeth as she fidgets on the leather cushion.
The pleated skirt of her cheerleader costume covers just as much as my skirt— nothing . Pressed together, her thick thighs pry my eyes from the glint of the belly ring visible from her cropped cheer top.
Moments later, she looks at me from the corner of her eye, and I don’t even pretend to not be staring.
The black lace mask fitted snuggly on her face is an exact replica of mine, pulling a smile out of me when she turns to look at me head on.
“Hey.” I sound shy, and I don’t care. Men don’t deserve my coyness, but beautiful women bring it out of me effortlessly.
She cocks her head, licking her lips. “Didn’t we dance together downstairs?”
Shit. Did we?
Vague recollections of me dancing my way through the first floor of the party filter through my mind. I can’t match a single person to the bodies I grinded on as the music strummed through my veins and sent my hips rolling.
But if the woman beside me cares that I don’t remember her, I can’t tell as she lifts her leg onto the couch so she can scoot closer to me, bringing her jasmine-scented perfume with her while the moans around us reach a crescendo.
“It’s okay, I was behind you and I left after the first song because I wanted to see… this.”
She breaks eye contact with me to return her focus to the stage.
Following her lead, I hiss at what I see.
The domme now has one of her shoes propped up on the sub’s shoulder as she stares down at the man devouring her pussy.
Hands still bound, dick still desperate for release, her sub sips from her center like it’s his life source.
Watching them amps up the lust humming in my veins and the depraved pulse thumping in my panties.
“Fuck, I love submissive men,” the woman beside me says, her voice breathy as she echoes my earlier sentiment.
I give an absent nod, letting my head fall to one side to take in the power exchange. The next time I tear my eyes away, it’s because of the heat of the woman’s gaze next to me.
“You’re new.” It’s not a question, purely an observation as she looks me up and down. Her perusing gaze stops at the points of my raised nipples and she hides a smirk by licking her lips. “You like this, don’t you?”
Her or the show on stage?
It doesn’t matter. I nod and swallow to rid my throat of the dryness trapping my words.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she praises, invading my space a little bit more.
She leans in, closing the dwindling distance and I exhale, so damn happy that she did.
The delicious sounds of fucking and the coiling current of energy between us splits my focus.
I don’t know what I expect next, but it’s not the way she nearly folds herself in half, pulling her knees to her chest before her hand disappears under the sliver of material known as her skirt.
“Ooh,” she mewls lowly. “I’m so fucking soaked.”
All I hear is the sound of her plunging two fingers inside of her slick heat before desperation claws at me and I have her face between my hands, kissing her senseless.
Letting her hand fall away from her wetness, she rises up on her knees and straddles my right thigh, refusing to break the kiss no matter how sloppy our tongues get.
She tastes like pumpkins and nutmeg. And I whimper at the way her warm tongue wraps around mine like it was made to do just that.
“I was hoping you’d do that,” she admits.
Before I can stop myself, my hands find her waist, soaking up the warmth of her exposed skin as she tongue fucks me right here in front of all these people.
The din of noises doesn’t fade away. If anything, it heightens the adrenaline pumping through me and doesn’t stop when the beauty in my lap starts grinding against my bare thigh.
This is not how I saw my night going, but damn it if I’ll ever tell her to stop.
“Mmm, I like that,” she moans when I hold her hips down to increase the friction against her clit.
I don’t know if she has on panties; she’s so wet against my skin their existence doesn’t matter.
What matters is her getting what she needs.
She can use me to chase a nut and never speak to me again. I don’t care. I just want her to finish, and something in me needs to see it.
“What’s your name?” I ask against her lips, only breaking our kiss to let her catch her breath.
“Gabriella,” she pants, still riding my thigh. “But you can call me Gabby.”
“Mm,” I hum, already sucking on her tongue again. “I’d rather call you a good girl after you come for me.”
Maybe that’s what does it—the promise of praise or the knowledge that I’m not stopping until she comes, but she winds her small arms around my neck and kisses me so deep I forget to breathe.
My hands fall away from her waist and I focus on caressing her thighs, groaning into her mouth as she rides me into a shaking orgasm.
Her forehead nudges mine and her teeth clamp down on my lip until the sting of pain turns into a surge of pleasure at my center. I’m about to tell her how much I loved that when the phone I should have left in the locker downstairs starts to buzz at my hip.
I tucked it into the waistband of my skirt at my sister’s insistence, but now I have regrets.
Especially when I see the name flashing on my screen.
In seconds, all the lust in my body is replaced by mounting annoyance.
Giving Gabby’s leg one last, longing caress, I shoot her an apologetic look and kiss the side of her mouth before lifting the phone.
She hides her disappointment well and climbs off me in the next breath.
“Go take care of that,” she murmurs. “I’ll be waiting when you get back.”