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Perfection. She’sperfection.
Dimitri, Rhys, Rom, and Nate aren’t the only eyes on her. The entire room’s all but silent, watching from a distance.
It’s almost midnight.
ChapterSeventy-Three
Camden somehow succeeded in his obvious effort at calming my nerves by distracting me, but all my stress bubbles right back to the surface when a smiling, naked woman painted in red comes to inform me that it’s time.
I don’t move. I don’t even think. I just stay right where I am, lying against Camden, wearing nothing but my underwear and my exorbitant jewelry.
Camden takes over, effortlessly carrying me against his chest, until we reach the center of the room.
I swallow as I look at the mix of fabric, metal chains, and leather cuffs hanging from the ceiling. It’s not my first time in a swing. I know it’s more comfortable than it looks.
All my instincts still scream against the idea of getting strapped here.
I bite my lower lip as I see the crowd drawing closer, all those eyes on me.
“Your feet.” Camden’s tone is both gentle and firm—it’s an order, not a suggestion.
I might have protested if I could speak. Instead, I raise one leg. He catches it in his hand, and gently lifts my knee up to a loop of black leather.
“Hold on to this.” He gives me two straps that I take in each of my hands.
Then Camden takes a remote control, and the chains carrying those straps slowly raise my hands over my head, high up toward the ceiling. I’m standing on one heel, all my weight on the tiptoes of my foot, my right leg bent up high, exposing my sex to the eye of the public.
I half expect him to leave me like that—I’m in a position that gives access to everything, after all—but he takes my other leg and brings the knee to a loop like the one holding my other side.
The leather loops are reinforced with soft fleece-like fabric, and padded, too. It’s not physically uncomfortable, though I have to engage my muscles just to keep myself in position. I was hoisted about three feet up, not much higher than I would have naturally reached, except I’m crouched in the air. If I let my weight rest on my legs, my hips and thighs protest, so I pull myself up, using my arms to take off some of the pressure.
I’ve only just found a comfortable position when I blink, to hide from the sudden flashing lights trailing me.
Two women in red, armed with microphones, approach. The first, a bald woman with killer curves, announces, “Welcome back, everyone! We have a treat tonight—the surprise initiation of a brand-new petal!”
The second takes over. “Morgan Brown is from California. Currently nineteen, she attends Rothford University in Thorn Falls.”
They make me sound like a show pony. I suppose that’s exactly what I am tonight.
“Her patron is none other than Camden Hunt, seconded by Dimitri Volkov and Nathaniel Carmichael.”
I’m surprised. I would have expected Rhys and Roman. Then again, I suppose Dimitri was right there.
"Let’s hear it for Morgan!”
The crowd surrounding me claps enthusiastically.
“As her sponsors, Misters Hunt, Volkov, and Carmichael will have direct access to Ms. Brown at all times. Anyone else may line up for her attention.”
People don’t need to be told twice. They start lining up in front of the swing. My heartbeat becomes erratic when I see how long the queue is getting to my right.
“Don’t look at them,” Camden breathes against my neck. His fingers cup my chin and turn it so I look straight in front of me, rather than toward the line.
I gasp, my throat suddenly so dry. Dimitri’s in front of me, still wearing his custom suit, his zipper now open, his cock proudly protruding, standing to attention. I just can’t keep my eyes off it. Dimitri’s cock is even longer than Camden’s, though it’s thinner, but the reason I am fascinated is the four balls surrounding the tip.
“You like that, princess?” Camden asks me, his hand leaving my chin to move to my breast, while the other dips lower, sliding along the exposed folds between my legs. “Oh yes.” He chuckles, finding me wet. “You like it a lot.”
I don’t know if I do. Honestly, it seems intimidating. How does it feel? The piercings turn his cock into something that looks like a torture instrument. I’m wet because…well, because I know I’m about to get fucked. I certainly like that. The fact that my arousal is tempered by more fear than usual is irrelevant.
