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My eyes scan the expansive, grand hall, austere in design. A multi-beamed high ceiling; cobblestone floors; brick walls; lighting that resembles flickering torches in brackets on the walls and in metal stands scattered around the room; an assortment of what looks like Medieval torture devices placed in clusters. My gaze flits from one area to another. An older man cuffed to one of the several St. Andrew’s Crosses, his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. His engorged dick eagerly sucked by a younger man on his knees. A woman in a swing, her thighs glistening with her pussy juices and stretched wide to accommodate the large man standing between them aligning her core to his massive cock. Several men and women attached to hooks hanging from the ceiling in varied positions being whipped by Doms and Dommes with canes, floggers, and paddles extending from their hands. Still others lead naked subs by leashes while they crawl on their hands and knees to one of the partitioned rooms for a bit of privacy. Here and there voyeurs stand watching, mesmerized by the decadent, sexual activities.
I circle the edges of the space then return to Peepshow. A light touch on my forearm draws my attention.
A beautiful sub with a flawless brown complexion peers up at me with amber eyes. She smiles.
“Excuse me, Sir. I noticed your white bracelet. Would I interest you for roleplay?”
As I open my mouth to respond, a familiar figure comes into view over her head. Loose chestnut brown hair gleams in the low light. Her sky blue eyes wide as she takes in the various sex scenes. Black lace barely covers her lithe body.
Blair!
What. The. Fuck.
I rush forward moving others out of my way in my haste to get to her. As I near, I notice she speaks to a man.
Hell. No.
“Blair! What the hell are you doing here?!”
Her eyes pop.
“Wh—What are you doing here?” She stutters, then her eyes narrow on my wrist. She lifts her gaze and glares. “Well, I guess the white bracelet answers that question! So, coming here represents your ‘other plans’ that prevented you from having dinner with me?! Well, then, carry on!”
She snaps and spins on her heels. The negligee billows behind her revealing more than I want any other man to see.
My palm itches to spank her round bottom. Instead, I lunge after her and grab her elbow bringing her to a halt. I tower over her even with the fuck-me mules she toddles on. Her eyes blaze cobalt fire as she glares up at me. I narrow mine just as angry.
“You do not belong here, Blair. Not without—”
“How dare you?!” She seethes as she yanks her arm from my grip.
“Excuse me. We do not condone unwanted attention between members or guests.”
I jerk my head towards the man with Blair.
“Who the fuck are you?! And why are you with her?!”
He straightens his shoulders drawing up tall. His eyes pin me with a don’t fuck with me glare.
“Taylor Hunt, Head of Membership for LEVELS New York. You, Monsieur Montaigne, will leave the club if you do not control yourself. Are you clear?”
Even as relief floods my amped-up system since he’s not a Dom who wants to play with Blair, I’m pissed with myself for losing control. Something I never do. I swipe my hand through my hair as I inhale deeply. On the exhalation, I incline my head.
“Absolument,” I respond, then switch my gaze to Blair. “My apologies, Blair. Forgive my boorish behavior.”
What feels like an hour passes as she scans my face. I remain open so she sees no genuine remorse. She nods.
“I accept your apology, Luc,” she says before her voice catches, and she shifts her gaze. “Ex—Excuse me.”
She pivots and walks toward the entrance to Peepshow.
I follow.
“Monsieur Montaigne—”
“I am in full control and will not harass Mademoiselle Thomas. We know one another, and I will speak with her.”
Without waiting for his response, I stalk after Blair. I place my hand on the small of her back. She jolts at the unexpected intimate contact. My fingertips glide along the lace touching her soft skin. I bend down to murmur in her ear.
