"Pink," I say between gritted teeth. Every bracelet's color means something different. By requesting the pink one, Violet is indicating that she's here to watch, but she wouldn't mind joining in. I question whether my front desk hostesses are explaining the rules clearly enough.
Violet's wearing a black lace mask, but I know it's her instantly by the thick flow of chestnut-colored curls down her back, the feline way her body moves, and I'll never forget how her hips swayed like they did that night in the garden.
"Do you want me to have her escorted out quietly?" Ivan eyes me cautiously.
"No. I'll take care of this myself."
Oh, have the haughty fallen. I laugh, remembering that night in the garden, when she'd scathingly said, "I'm not going to yoursex clubto find you."
But, here she is.
She's standing in a corner of a ropes and bondage room, holding an untouched glass of wine. The space is lush, with walls painted a deep red and several low tables filled with pillows, used more as platforms to perform than a place to rest a drink. She's ventured into an area that is especially popular with voyeurs; two of my best bondage experts are tying eager participants into exotic shapes with Shibari rope. One woman is swinging, suspended by a hook in the ceiling with one knee up and her head back, eyes blissfully closed as her partner swings her upand down on his cock. The air feels thick; sweat and perfume and pheromones. The soundtrack of the moans and slapping of flesh drowns out the guests' whispers.
Stepping up behind her, I fasten my hands around her waist like manacles. "If you were really this interested, all you had to do is say so," I whisper in her ear as she stiffens.
"Maybe I am," she hisses under her breath as two people look over their shoulders to nod and smile at us. I'm the only one who doesn't wear a mask at Sinful Secrets. The man looks familiar, the CEO of an architecture firm I think, and he's blatantly staring at Violet, his gaze making a leisurely circuit of her breasts and her toned thigh peeking out from a slit in her dress.
Leaning closer without letting go of Violet, I enjoy watching him stumble back. "Enjoy the show,Morgan,"I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. He pales under his mask, nodding and leaving the room with undignified speed.
"Well, that's rude," Violet whispers. "I thought everyone was supposed to be anonymous here?"
The other Shibari artist finishes his work. His subject is displayed with her arms tied back in a series of intricate knots; she looks like an angel with her wings bound. He pulls one rope tight and she gasps as he spins her, raising her higher until his mouth is on her breast.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I murmur to Violet. Her eyes are wide behind her mask and her lips are parted just slightly. She has her arms folded, which is a shame because I can't tell if this little show is making her nipples hard. "Look at her, fragile, yet strong enough to hold her position to please him." Violet draws in a deep, shuddering sigh, I'm not sure if she knows that she did. Drawing my knuckles down the line of her neck to her shoulder,I whisper, "Imagine the freedom of being bound so tightly, only able to take what's given to you."
The woman, bound in her angel pose is getting louder, her hoarse cries of, "Fuck! Goddamnit!" are not at all angelic. Her Dom is fucking her, holding her breasts roughly, using them like handles to move her on and off his cock. The audience draws closer, rapt, eyes glazed and needy..
"They need her to come almost as badly as she needs to." My lips brush against Violet's delicate ear. "Can you feel it?" She has such pretty, flushed skin when she's aroused, her stiff shoulders are softening against my chest. "Do you want her to come, too, sweet Violet? Will you come with her?"
She snaps out of her daze, stepping away from me so fast she stumbles. I catch her arm before she can fall.
Her lips tighten quickly, and she shakes her head. "Can we talk somewhere quiet?"
I pull her out into the hallway, as the screams of the bound woman and the moans of the audience rise together. Violet keeps her gaze straight ahead, walking past couples and threesomes kissing and fondling each other. A couple of women reach out invitingly, trailing their fingers along Violet's arm, before they recognize me. They pull their hands back quickly when I sternly shake my head.
"What was that?" Violet asks.
"No one touches unless you've given them permission here," I say. "But you're wearingthatbracelet." I nod to it, and she holds up her hand, the pink band glittering under the low light.
"Oh, this is the one the hostess gave me," she says. "I told her I was here to take a look around."
My jaw tightens. "Then she gave you the wrong bracelet. That's going to be addressed. Pink signals that you're here to watch but you don't mind jumping in if you're invited."
"Oh, God!" Violet puts her hand behind her back. "No. No jumping in." She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and sees my grin, her eyes narrow back. "At least notthistime."
"And how, Violet darling, did you gain entrance?" I take her arm, leading her around another group of people writhing together on an enormous bed. "Admission to Sinful Secrets is by invitation only, and you, darling, did not have one."
"Maybe I know one of your members," she says.
"Oh, I'll be following up on that." She had to give a name to the front desk. A member sponsoring a newcomer is always clearly logged. Is it a man? Someone she dated? My hand closes into a fist.
Violet's steps become quicker and more purposeful as we pass certain rooms. She doesn't like the St. Andrews Cross or the cage where a pet is being taken on both ends. We pass a bedroom with a viewing window where a man is chained to the bed as his master toys with him, lightly tapping a riding crop along his sweating skin. She slows down again for just a moment. I hear her mumble something about, "Larry would love that," before I pull her along.
When we reach my office, I close the door and the silence is absolute. It can be jarring after the constant soundtrack of gasps, moans, and whimpers throughout the club, but she sighs in relief, the tight line of her body softens.
"Is there a reason that your office looks like an old English library?" Violet strolls over to the shelves, running her fingers along the spines of the leather-bound books. She's not wrong,this building used to belong to an oil baron in the 1940's. The bookshelves are beautifully carved wood, surrounding a fireplace and two stained glass windows.
"Take a closer look," I say, heading over to the bar and pouring myself a drink. I watch her pull a book out and her cheeks flush.
