Princess takes in a tight, defensive breath. “They volunteered. No one is forcing them.”
“What exactly is this party?” Aleena says. “Speed dating?”
“Something like that…”
Phantom attempts to explain the Valentine’s Day event in family-friendly language, but his voice fades as my attention drifts. I can’t stop staring at him. The stubble that’s grown over his jaw over the course of his shift. The way he wraps his hand around his coffee mug. I want to be here when he gets home from work. I want to shave the stubble from his cheeks. Iwant…
I want the terrible, awful reason we’re here to not exist. I want this to be normal.
“Ruby.”
“What?” I come back to earth. Everyone is staring at me.
Aleena repeats her question, “Are you going to the party?”
Phantom is watching me expectantly. He, too, wants an answer.
I shrug. “Oh…I haven’t decided yet.”
I shove a donut in my mouth before anyone can ask follow up questions. The pink glaze crumbles in my mouth and sprinkles get caught between my teeth.
Phantom’s jaw flexes. He doesn’t like my noncommittal answer, but he doesn’t push it.
30
Ophelia.Now.
Aleena isn’t going to overstay her welcome. I don’t want her going back alone, so we compromise; she’s going to spend tonight with our parents, then go from there. We pack everything up and strip the bed. I figure doing the laundry is the least I can do, so I ball up the sheets and towels and carry them upstairs.
I have absolutelyzeroidea where the washer and dryer are hiding, though. I search the first floor to no avail. Princess has looped a paper chain across the stairs to prevent any kids from wandering where they shouldn’t. Anyadults, too, perhaps, but I take my chance and step over the chain, heading to the second floor.
It’s strange. I’ve only been away from the club for a few weeks, but it feels like years since I’ve stepped foot in this room. Or maybe it’s the fact that all of the sex and play furniture—the bench, the St. Andrew’s Cross, the rigging station—are covered up in white bedsheets. Princess’s work, I assume. Just in case the children snuck up here anyway.
I can’t help it. I have to peek under the curtain. I drop the pile of laundry and slide the sheet back, revealing one of my favorites.
The spanking bench. A simple, leathered bench with wings that come out on either side for a person to latch their arms and legs to. I lean against one of the wings and run my hand over the bench. The leather feels wonderfully rough and smooth under my fingertips. This was the first device Phantom strapped me to. Where I first fell in love with the sting of his palm smacking my ass. Where I first experienced the pleasure of his fingers curling inside of me.
Goddess. Just the memory takes the breath out of me.
“What are you doing here?”
Phantom appears suddenly at the top of the stairs. My nerves jump and hand flies dramatically to my chest. “You scared me.”
His eyes don’t leave me. There’s an intense energy in his gaze. Slowly, he steps closer to me. I have plenty of time to get up. To move. But I don’t. I find myself rooted to my spot.
Does he slip into dom-space just as quickly as I slip into sub-space? The look in his eyes suggestsyes. He reaches out and cups the back of my head. My eyes don’t leave his. Not for a second. He guides me in close, so my chin is nestled against his hip.
He draws his thumb over my jaw line before coming to a rest at my bottom lip.
“Ophelia.” Scene names. That isn’t lost on me. He repeats: “Why are you here?”
“I was looking for the laundry room. I got lost.”
“You got lost.” His voice is a dark, honeyed thing that saysI’m not buying what you’re selling. He parts my lips, just slightly, and I can feel my breath pick up.
“Go back downstairs,” he commands.
“But…”
