Page 35 of Bared

How she came to that conviction at once, she had no idea. She knew about this kind of lifestyle simply by listening closely at college parties. Well, maybe a little more than listened. She had been entranced, as if her sources were telling tales of far-off knights and wizards saving the day. Never did she imagine that those stories were real. That there were real people who enjoyed this extreme way of showing affection, gathered in special rooms like this to enjoy it.

But here they were. A lot of real people. Doing a lot of extreme things.

And here she was, standing and gawking, the rudest voyeur ever.

But only for another three seconds. On the fourth, Brickham again clutched her by the wrist. With the same rushed intensity, he hauled her to the darker shadows along the wall to their left.

Her head spun. Her stomach flipped. How “blended in” was the man planning to make them? And why did contemplating that answer make her breath catch like she was merely being pulled onto a dance floor by a boy she was crushing on?

But as fate had already established, Brickham was not a boy. Millions of kilometers from it. A couple of continents too.

No moment confirmed that conviction more than the next.

“Oh!”

She exclaimed it as soon as he swept her around and rushed her directly at the wall. Less than a second after she hit the ornate wallpaper, Brickham pressed in behind her.

By every star in the firmament.

This was…good. So very, very good. His torso was a wide shell across her back. His massive thighs framed both of hers.

“Fuck,” he rumbled into her ear. “Did I hurt you, Pixie?”

“I—” Her breathing hitched but not from pain. Pixie. From his lips, it was the most beautiful thing anyone had called her. Sure, she had handful of nicknames related to her noticeable stature. Well, lack of it. Shortcake, Mushroom, Little Bit, Shrimp Dip. She was fine with them all, but never had they made her long to hear them again. Over and over and over again “I…am fine,” she finally asserted, tilting a look over her shoulder. “How are you?”

For a moment, she thought she had said or done the wrong thing. His surprise was evident, even with half his face hidden by the mask. And for some reason, she sensed that manners mattered in here. Protocols.

“I’ll be more than fine once we shake that asshole for good,” Brick stated. “But that’s going to mean obeying everything I say, okay?”

There was a smile in his voice if not on his full, determined lips. So Jayd gave him one of her own. “I understand, Brickham.”

“Thank you,” he repeated. “But my mandates start here, and the first one is no more talking. If you absolutely have to speak, you’ll address me as Sir, not Brickham. I can’t give you a full crash course in dungeon etiquette right now, but that one has to stick. You can speak to indicate you comprehend that too.”

“Of course, I—I mean, yes, Sir. I understand.”

As soon as the words rolled out, she wanted to smile again. They all felt so real and right, especially when she felt the vibrations of Brickham’s approving rumble.

With the same low warmth, he sidled closer to her. He kept one hand wrapped around the top of her hip while grazing the other one up her back, to the side of her neck. “Very good,” he soothed, though he dug his fingers into her flesh with a new burst of force. “Now turn your head down, with your forehead pressing the wall. Place your palms to either side of it.”

Jayd complied with swift readiness. The task was easy once she heard the cadence of Gervais’s huffs between the placating murmurs from the man with the green armband. The bonsun was closer than she wanted him to be, though her mind could be playing tricks on her. But she did not dare look up to check. The latex hood only shielded half her face.

Brickham’s voice, rough but reverent in her ear, was a perfect slice into her spiraling fear. “Don’t focus on them,” he instructed, eclipsing her wonderment about how he had read right into her thoughts. That no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but complying with him, briefly nodding so maybe he would speak again. Fill her ear with his warm breath. Consume her senses with his perfect strength.

Strength she desperately needed right now.

As soon as he spoke again, she was rewarded well for her effort. “Just stay with me, gorgeous girl.” His voice was now aural cashmere. “For this to work, your world is only about me right now. None of the rest matters. Do you understand? Nod for me, Pixie.”

She did just that once more grateful that he had not demanded more words. They likely would not come. Not with the lava that had once been her bloodstream and the starlight that had once been her eyesight. Right now, she did not need anything else. All her stresses and worries and fears slipped away, lost in the pulse of the music and the security of Brickham’s proximity. She begged providence to make it last forever. Maybe, if she kept being his good girl, it would.

“Perfect.” His voice full of more rumbling approval as he fitted his face into the curve of her neck. This time, there was no trace of Gervais’s anger in the background—which crashed schisms of sorrow through her. If they had tricked the idiot and he moved on, was this the end of her sensual escape? “You’re doing so beautifully, girl. Just a few more minutes. Our friend isn’t giving up so easily.”

“Y-Y-Yes, Sir.”

The rasp was as natural as the air in her lungs and the vibrancy in her veins. But that was before she remembered Brickham’s initial instruction—for which she got a swift reminder courtesy of the force of nature himself. His fingers, bold and masterful, slid beneath her underwear. His pinch, harsh and hard, dug into her backside. His anticipation, swift and sure, was ready for her reacting yelp. As his other hand clamped across her mouth, she broke into another high-pitched protest.

And just who was she kidding?

Not a protest. She was blatantly goading the man for more.