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CHAPTER45
Evie
Owen pushes open the wide doors, and despite how eager I am to see what’s behind them, my eyes are glued to him. He’s deeply handsome in his dark suit, the cut of the cloth emphasizing his broad shoulders and trim waist, his black, slicked-back hair gleaming in the light. When he glances over his shoulder at me, a softness touches his eyes.
He takes my hand, twining our fingers together, his eyes locked to mine for a moment as he draws me over the threshold.
I could have stared at him the rest of the night and left satisfied, but the crack of a whip drags my gaze away.
With a wide-eyed sweep I take in the room. There must be at least a hundred people milling around in a large ballroom that’s been converted into what my mind dubs a… pleasure zoo.
There’s a wide aisle that runs a circuit around the attractions clustered along the walls. Guests dressed in everything from gimp suits to ball gowns amble along the aisle, stopping every now and then to watch or partake in whatever the various stalls have to offer.
Another whip crack draws my attention. My eyes dart to a stall some thirty feet away, where a woman dressed in studded, shiny black leather is trailing a cat-o’-nine-tails down the back of a sweating, shivering man she has tied over a bench. I jolt when she swings without warning, leaving several bright red lines over his back with the whip.
“Easy, toy,” Owen rumbles in my ear. “There’ll be nothing left of my hand if you keep squeezing like that.”
I was so entranced with the act that I didn’t realize he’d come up right behind me. He glides his hands down my arms before sliding them over my belly, drawing me close against him. My catsuit is so tight, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, or if he’s got a hard-on. “Sorry,” I murmur, my eyes still locked to the dominatrix as she gives the bound man another lash to his back.
“Come. We have lots to see.”
I’m reluctant to let him lead me away, but at the same time, I’m eager to see what else this place has in store for me.
Quite a few of the stalls just have people in various stages of undress fucking each other in interesting positions—usually with a very clear view for the crowd of how the guy or girl is penetrating the guy or girl.
I point at a girl with a strap-on ramming into a guy from behind. “Oooh, I’ve always wondered what that would feel like.”
“For you or for me?” Owen asks, and for the first time since we entered this place, he sounds uneasy.
I laugh, grabbing his hand and leading him to the next stall. “What is this place?” I ask, tilting my head as I try to work out how many people are involved in the orgy I’m witnessing. I shouldn’t have bothered: before Owen can reply, a couple who’d been walking beside us most of the way hurry over to the black-clad guy standing beside the red rope like a bouncer. A gold coin exchanges hands, and the couple are let through the rope, the girl already starting to disrobe.
“Le Renard Dansant,” Owen says. “The Dancing Fox.”
I tap the mask. “Makes sense. Whose house is this?”
“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?” He grabs my hand and leads me down a narrower side alley between two stalls.
“Where are you…?” Then I see an intimate alcove set into the wall of the ballroom. There are so many stalls around, it’s the first time I’ve had a chance to appreciate the luxurious wallpaper, double-vaulted ceilings, and intricate moldings that make up this space. Even this tiny area radiates opulence… and with the cluster of plush velvet pillows arranged just so on the semi-circular bench built into the alcove, it’s clear the place is intended for one thing above all else.
Sex.
I spin around, but Owen doesn’t even slow. He herds me into the alcove so fast that I don’t have a choice to escape before he grabs me around the waist and turns to sit with me in his lap.
I’m instantly taken back to the night he lashed me with his belt, my hands splayed upon his window seat. This alcove is nothing like that, though. His was bare wood, a window at our backs with the cold pressing in through the glass. This alcove is lit with a warm golden glow, and the seating is thickly padded, the cushions plump and soft.
Owen wrenches my mask to the top of my head, grabs my hair, and hauls me in for a kiss. Despite my tight catsuit, his hard erection is unmistakable against my ass. I rock into his lap, desperate to feel that ridge against my pussy, and his kiss becomes urgent.
He tears away a second later, staring up at me. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Me neither,” I say through a giggle. “But I’m glad I came. This is… exhilarating.”
It’s so freeing, knowing that I’m surrounded by people who don’t think a spanking or a collar or some rough sex means you’re a freak. It seems ridiculous to be ashamed of liking it… although it still takes me to a very negative place whenever I think about Brent’s video.
Owen must sense my happiness starting to slip away, because he cups my face in his hands and brings our lips together. His kiss is slow, gentle, so fucking arousing that if this hadn’t been latex, I’m sure I’d have a big wet spot between my legs right now.
“I want you,” I whisper as I squirm around on his lap.
“And you’ll have me… but there’s something I have to show you first.”
