Chapter 18 #2
My pulse speeds up and heat flares across my skin as if someone lit a match. His perfect control… the latent threat… his utter focus.
This is only pretend, this is only pretend…
Why do I wish it wasn’t? I’m all for “don’t yuck my yum” and all that, and I’ve had my fair share of kinky exchanges, but I’ve never experienced anything like this before.
And until now, I had no idea I wanted to.
When I catch his gaze, he quickly shifts his eyes to the corner of the room where a few different people are congregating on comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs and sofas. Ahh. From my position, I can see a different angle.
“No,” he says sharply. I look back at him to see his eyes move again to a doorway behind where everyone sits.
Two men stand sentry on either side, hands tucked behind their backs. Bodyguards? A man dressed in black leading a woman on a chain walks past them. Fabien gives me a subtle nod.
I believe we’ve found our talisman owner.
In one swift move, he yanks me to my feet.
“But where’s he going?” I whisper in his ear.
Fabien curses. “He’s going to the free room.”
I don’t remember paying to get in here. What does it mean? Sometimes things get lost in translation. Literally.
“Did we pay to get in?” Thankfully it’s loud enough in here no one can hear my whisper.
He nods. “Yes, I took care of it. But that’s not what free means in this context.”
My heart beats faster. What’s he talking about?
“Oh?”
“It means that people who enter are free to anyone else who wants them. Singles. Swingers. You know. No couples go there.”
A sick feeling of dread washes over me, but I will myself to do what I have to. I forbid myself from backing down now.
This is a job. Just a job.
Fabien gives the doorway a hostile glare as if willing it to burst into flames in front of him.
We’ll have to pretend to be okay with this if we’re going to get the talisman. If we’re going to rescue his brother. If we’re going to do what we came here to do.
If I’m going to earn my money, I remind myself, a vague echo that has lost its appeal.
This was not part of the plan.
I get an idea.
Next to us, a threesome enters, and those all around us erupt with greetings. Someone popular, then. I use the opportunity to talk to Fabien again.
“We could go and bring the dupe,” I whisper to him. “We could pretend that was the real talisman and get your brother back.”
“We can’t.” He looks pained. “It’s only meant as a temporary replacement. Fuck. It will only do as a stand-in from a distance. Anyone who inspects it closely will know.”
Damn it.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper. I open my mouth to tell him it’s okay. We’re not really together anyway, so what’s a little pretend? But something in the way he’s still glaring at the door tells me this is probably not a good idea.
Does he really want me, then? I feel like I’m picking petals off a flower. He wants me, he wants me not.
“We’ll stick to what we planned,” he says in a hushed whisper. “But I’m telling you now that I’m not sharing you. We’ll get in there, find a way to swap it out. Pretend we’re part of the crowd. And if anyone tries to buy you—”
“Tell them you already did,” I finish. We stare at each other in silence. The seconds tick by slowly as his eyes, intent on me, blaze with heat.
I stated the truth. Then why does it feel so awful?
“Tell them you’re taken,” he amends.
There’s a subtle difference there, but I don’t quite know what it is.
Bought? Taken?
I nod. “Let’s do this.”
He leads the way, which seems pretty much the norm if he’s the master here. As we walk down the hall, the noise dies. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. My hands feel cold as I walk on wobbly knees beside Fabien.
“Behind me. Follow my lead. Eyes down.” Right. Here, he’s the one in charge. He’s the master.
Something intense and visceral passes through me, a strange, sudden, and incredibly erotic desire to obey the man I call Master. To let him take the lead in here. To lean into our roles as long as we can.
I can’t let myself flirt with anything more than the task in front of me. I can’t allow myself to be seduced by the hint of concern, control… ownership.
By the thought that I might mean something to him.
If I don’t guard my heart —
We reach the room. I don’t know what I expect, but it’s nothing like this. There are easily three times as many people in here as are in the other room. Men, women, and androgynous people mingle and laugh, socialize and chat, and still others are apparently very into voyeurism.
The hot, sweet smell of sex and seduction fills the room. Music pipes in from hidden speakers, and somewhere I can’t see, there’s a clink of glasses.
“Two o’clock,” he says in a low voice.
Our target.
“Welcome.”
I start at the sound of a voice right beside me. Am I allowed to lift my gaze without permission? Probably not. I stare at the floor as Fabien nods his head. “Thank you.”
“Do you have an entry pass here?” I can only see polished leather shoes and dress pants, but the person beside him is dressed identically. Security guard?
My mind races with an excuse. We left it in the car. Surely our names are written down somewhere? With enough money—
“Of course.”
Fabien pulls something up on his phone and shows it to him.
He knew, then. He planned this. He was prepared.
The guard steps aside and allows us entry.
“You knew?” I ask.
“Eyes down. If I have to remind you again, I’ll punish you.”
I cast my eyes down. “I said, you knew?”
“I heard you.”
I blink. Did he really just say that?”
“That’s enough,” he says in a low, steady voice. A sudden chill paints his voice.
Excuse me?
I have a sudden urge to shove him. “Enough what?”
“Mouthing off.” There’s a steel note of warning in his tone.
I open my mouth for another smart retort, but clearly he has had it.
A chair seems to materialize out of nowhere. He sits on the edge and yanks me over his knee. My cheeks flame with embarrassment as soon as I realize what he’s doing.
I open my mouth to protest but realize that it’s fruitless. A slave should be submissive to her master. He’s well within his rights to punish her if he sees fit. She can’t disobey and if I really were a slave, I would know this is only a matter of course.
Still, I curse under my breath at the first searing smack of his palm. Beside me, there’s a woman giving a man a blow job, and his loud grunts of approval drown out my own pathetic squeaks.
I squirm on Fabien’s knee, and jerk when another slap cracks against my ass. Goddamn that hurts like a bitch. There’s no pause, not a single chance to catch my breath when he slams his palm down again, and again, and again.
I gasp when he lifts me bodily off his knee and stands me in front of him.
“Something to say now?” he asks, the flash of his eyes warning me not to step one more toe out of line.
I shake my head and gulp. He reaches for my hair and wraps it around his fist. A shot of arousal, as potent as whiskey, hits my veins. My breasts swell and my belly dips.
His voice is liquid magma when he bends his mouth to my ear. “You opened your mouth like you were going to talk back to me. You sure you’re done?”
I half wonder if he set this whole damn thing up just so he could do this to me.
“I’m done,” I whisper.
My breasts ache and my sex throbs. He’s done more in half a minute of dominating me than in a full make-out session.
“Good,” he whispers. “Touch yourself.”
I’m so eager for release, so desperate for an end to this relentless throbbing between my legs, I obey without thinking.
I don’t care that there are people here.
I don’t care if they can see me. Talisman?
What talisman? I press my fingers to the vee between my legs and whimper at the first stroke of relief.
“Mon Dieu,” he curses under his breath. “Christ. I want to taste you. I want to eat you out.”
I’m practically looking for a place where I can spread my legs for him when I come to my senses.
I stroke again and blink, holding his gaze.
“I know, I fucking know,” he says on a groan. I stroke myself again and shudder as the need to climax builds, and builds.
“Come here,” he growls. With a savage yank, he pulls me to his chest and shoves my hand aside. “That’s my pussy. Your climax is fucking mine.”
With expert moves, he slides his hand down the flat of my tummy and moves clothing aside in hurried movements until he finds my slick, swollen pussy.
I come apart on the third stroke. I lose my ability to stand by the fourth. By the fifth, I convulse against him and bite my lip to stop myself from saying his name.
Holding me bodily against him with one arm, he brings his fingers to his mouth and casually licks them before he releases a deep, guttural groan.
“Fucking mine.”