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)
A couple performed the intimacies of shibari on a low platform stage surrounded by the audience. Red rope pressed against the woman’s flesh, wrapping around her legs, hips, and chest. The man continued down her arms, wrapping with care, taking time to stroke each inch of flesh he left exposed. It wasn’t until he positioned her on a single leg—precariously balanced on her toes, with her other leg curved behind her to a suspension hook above that went back down to her wrists, that he praised her for her poise and fucked her in front of everyone.
“She’s so beautiful,” a familiar, soft voice said.
“She is,” I confirmed. I took one last glance at the couple before giving my attention to the blonde standing beside my table. “And I’m sure everyone saw your beauty when I bound you on stage last month, Emily.”
She smiled with downcast eyes, her cheeks turning the perfect shade of pink. “It’s been a while since we’ve done a performance for everyone.”
“Hmm,” I murmured noncommittally. I played with Emily often when I came to the club because it was easy—as long as I ignored the overt desires and hopes I knew she had for us. “Come kneel for me.”
She obeyed, joy sparking in her eyes. When she rushed to remove her blouse, I stopped her. Instead, urging her head to my knee so I could run my fingers through her hair and continue watching the couple until they came.
Appreciative of her submission, I suggested, “Maybe we can use the new set of Florentine floggers.”
“On stage?” she asked, her tone more than hopeful—almost desperate.
“Of course,” I agreed anyway.
Emily didn’t hide her desire to be seen—especially with me. She liked being attached, and I’d started at the club as an unattainable island. As much as her eagerness to flaunt our relationship raised warning flags, it was better than a connection she could imagine growing in a private room with just the two of us. A crowd limited any perceived intimacy.
“How’s your godfather doing?”
My hand stalled in her hair.
Her question interrupted my respite from reality and struck a nerve.
Relax. There’s nothing wrong with small talk. Remember your manners, my father’s voice resounded from an old memory.
No. Nothing wrong with small talk. However, the familiarity of the question revealed her desire to know more beyond the club. A minimal connection formed around the required trust when you fucked and played with someone as much as we had. But I couldn’t help but wonder if the connection was becoming too close on her end.
Maybe it was time to find someone else to play with, because I didn’t do connections beyond the necessary. But I could make that decision later. Tonight, I pushed aside my worry and kept my answer simple. “He’s fine. Unchanged.”
“That’s good. I’ve heard how progressive cancer can be.”
Especially pancreatic cancer. Especially when he waited too long to go see a doctor and discovered it at stage four.
“Hmm,” I said, hoping to end the conversation there.
Unfortunately, she didn’t pick up on my cues and crossed a line I didn’t know I had. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep the promise you made to him?”
So subtle. So innocuous.
The soft question came as easily as the others, but this one coiled around my muscles and jerked tight. “Excuse me?”
Despite my even, measured tone, she heard the tension and hesitated. “The, um, one about getting married before he passes.”
Before the last word slipped from her pink lips, I tightened my fist in her hair and jerked her head back off my knee. I stared down into blue eyes so wide they looked like oceans of water swallowing her face. Fear briefly swirled in their depths—barely there—before morphing into pools of desire. Emily liked being handled—she liked toeing the edge of consent and fear. Otherwise, no matter how angry, I’d never control her this way.
“And who told you this?” I asked, dangerously low.
“I, um, I—” her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “I heard Corbin talking about it last week.”
I tsked. “You know I don’t like gossip, Emily.”
“Of course. I just assumed it was true since you’re friends with Corbin,” she explained in a rush, her voice breathy and needy. “I would never spread gossip.”
“So, does that mean you’ve been spreading this information since you assumed it wasn’t gossip?”
“No. Of course not. I would never divulge such personal details.”
I tightened my fist and held her gaze a moment longer. She hissed a breath of pleasure, and I knew I could hold her there for as long as I liked.
But I needed a moment to collect myself. Alone.
“Good girl.” I released my grip and gently scraped my fingers through her strands, soothing her stinging scalp. “Now go get me another drink.”
Her eyes grew heavy under the weight of my praise. “Yes, Sir,” she sighed. She basked in the relieving pleasure for ten more seconds before rising elegantly to her feet.