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I accept it and let him lead me to the door, still reeling from what just happened. And what didn’t.
Midas gives my hand a squeeze as we step out into the hall. There’s only one other door on this floor, and he leads me there now.
He knocks once. While we wait for someone to answer, he leans close, and, even though there’s no one around but us, he whispers, “Pick a safe word, little diamond.”
“W-what?” I’ve never done anything that required a safe word before. My insides twist. I nervously chew my bottom lip.
Before I can get my reaction under control, or decide what I’m going to say, the door opens. A thin-lipped man in an elaborate tuxedo with tails stands in the doorway. He bows slightly. “Good evening, my lord.”
Okay, so I guess this is some kind of role-playing party. Rich people pretending to be nobility—which they basically are. When the man lifts out of his bow, Midas scowls, grabs the handle, and says, “Give us a minute.”
He pulls the door shut in the man’s face, takes my hands, and turns me to face him. The gruffness softens as his eyes pierce mine. He rubs his thumb along the inside of my palm. “The safe word scared you.”
It’s not a question. We both know it’s true.
“It’s just… I’ve never… what is it you’re into?”
He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses the back of my hand. He turns it over and licks the inside of my wrist. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just want you to know you’re ultimately in control. Even if you’re choosing to give up control to me.”
“Okay.” His desire to make sure I’m comfortable is just as hot as his commands. But my nervousness hasn’t completely receded. He didn’t really answer my question about what he’s into. “So… um…” I pick at my new nail polish. “W-what do you plan to do with me tonight?”
“I’m going to play.” He steps back and uses the hand that’s holding mine to spin me into his chest. He sways us to unheard music in the hallway, then stops suddenly and pushes me against the wall, kissing me, hard and hungry.
He rubs his cheek against mine, teeth nipping the soft flesh of my ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Jeslyn.”
His hand slides down my side, under the slit of my dress, and across my thigh. “I’m going to fuck this perfect cunt so hard that no other man will ever fill the space I leave.”
He kisses down the side of my neck. “I won’t tell you where or when I’ll strike.” He bites my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “I’m going to decide. Just like you said you wanted.” Soothing his bite with a gentle kiss, he adds, “But you need to feel safe first. So pick a word.”
“I don’t know what to choose.”
His smile is feral and wide. His gaze a flickering flame that licks at my skin, warming my insides as he chooses for me. “Dragon.”
Chapter 7
This apartment is a mirror image of the one we just left, but gaudier. A crystal chandelier hangs in the entry way above a table filled with white lilies. Beyond that is a massive open room, like at Midas’s, but this is completely empty of furniture and filled with people holding champagne flutes and mingling. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place before.
Midas takes two champagne glasses from a girl holding a tray and gives one to me, leading me into the party with a warm hand on my back.
“All hail the King.” A man calls, parting the crowd as he makes his way towards us. He’s grinning wildly, like he’s already a little drunk. His cheeks are red. His shoulders, wide enough to be a linebacker.
For a moment, Midas’s posture stiffens. “With the way you throw parties, you’d think you held the position of royalty.”
“I wish.” The man bursts into a laugh. He somehow reminds me of a cross between a hot football player and Santa Claus. Jolly is the only way to describe him.
“And who’s this?” He asks, lifting his champagne flute and an eyebrow.
I shrink back under his scrutiny. These are not the kind of people who hang out with dog-walking cleaning ladies. I’m so far out of my league right now, I have no idea what to say or do. Do I offer him my hand? Curtsy? Am I supposed to introduce myself or wait for Midas to do it? Is this the host or just a partygoer? How does he know Midas?
While my brain is spiraling with anxious insecurity, Midas says, “Jeslyn, this is our host, Jethro, my oldest friend. Jet, this is Jeslyn Ra’a,.”
Opening my mouth to correct him on my last name, I notice his flamboyant friend has gone completely still. He looks between us with something like awe on his face.
“Truly?” He asks.
Midas nods.
“And she’s…”
