Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Something like pride and his own excitement flashed in his dark depths, spurring mine on.
I held my breath, taking in each slowly revealed inch, ready to fall into the shock and awe. I almost skipped forward into the large open room of golds and blacks and…stopped.
I stood just inside the doors with Lucian behind me, and steps leading down to an aisle that ended in a bar. I froze—the shock settling in. Not because of the open debauchery I expected, but because of the completely normal looking restaurant and bar in front of me.
Of course, the space screamed rich luxury with its large focal chandelier, burgundy carpet creating a runway over dark hardwood floors leading down the steps and across the room to the bar, backlit by a wall of glowing glass shelves and bottles. On each side of the carpet were tables where people sat, their soft conversations and clinking glasses filling the open air.
More seating stretched along the walls to our right and left on the mezzanine level, except they offered more privacy with dark, velvet drapes swooped in front of the booths built into the walls.
My excitement sank, souring in my stomach.
Doubt and confusion took its place.
Why all the buildup? Why the NDA? Why the…lie?
What the hell was going on?
Why would Lucian lie about this being anything more than a fancy restaurant?
Unless…
No.
This couldn’t be some kind of prank—some kind of way to get me to let my guard down so he could make fun of my loss of control. This couldn’t be a joke.
We didn’t like each other, but going to these lengths was too much.
What was the point? To shame me?
It didn’t make sense.
I shook my head, sucking down the panic, and turned to ask him what the fuck was going on.
Before I could, movement beyond him caught my eye. He faded away as I looked across him to one of the booths built into the wall; the curtains tied back, offering the perfect view of the couple.
A view of a woman sitting on a man’s lap, her hands splayed wide on the table for support while she bounced up and down.
A view of a man with his hand fisting the woman’s hair, pulling her head back so he could suck at her neck.
A view of a woman with her mouth opened wide in pleasure.
A view of a man pulling her dress aside so he could play with her nipple.
And if I looked very closely, a view of another man on the other side of the booth, hidden behind the curtain. Only showing his legs spread wide, making room for his fist to stroke his cock.
“Not quite what you expected?”
I jerked, not expecting his dark voice so close to my ear—not expecting to like it. I blinked, attempting to refocus my attention on the room. “No, it—it’s not. Although, I didn’t really know what to expect,” I defended, not wanting to admit how easily he read my reaction.
“Hmmm.”
I risked a glance in his direction, wanting to understand his quiet hum, but found him like me—studying the room beyond.
“How about a drink?” he asked.
“A drink sounds perfect.” Perfect was an understatement. In less than ten minutes, I’d run through the entirety of the emotion wheel.
With his hand to the small of my back, he guided me down the stairs toward the bar at the end of the room, bypassing tables on either side. At first, I assumed they held people laughing, talking, and drinking like any other restaurant.
I assumed wrong.
While I did find many people in their cocktail attire carrying on conversations with a drink in hand, I also found them in various levels of undress. Some even had a collar with a leash connecting them to their companion. Some had only a collar.
One table in particular held me entranced.
A stunning woman in a simple black dress sat with an older man. At first glance, they appeared to be enjoying a normal conversation over drinks. She held a glass of wine and laughed at something he said. However, she also had her leg propped over the shoulder of a muscular man kneeling on the floor, digging her heel into his back while he buried his head between her thighs.
The older man beside her kept talking as if he didn’t notice her getting eaten out. Probably because most of his attention was given to the young man, clad only in a pair of small satin boxers, curled up on the floor with his head resting on the older man’s thigh while he ran his fingers through his hair.
Other scenes played around them, but I couldn’t look away from this one. The one where the woman and the older man were the dominants and the younger, muscular men were the submissives. If I saw either of them on the street with their rippling muscles and large builds, I’d never guess them to be submissive. The blatant opposition to typical stereotypes fascinated me.