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I stand, feeling as apprehensive as Ava looks, and walk us out of the bar, up the stairs, and around the landing. I go slowly, making sure she’s got time to change her mind, all the while wondering if I should put a stop to this too. Yet I know if I do, it’ll only fuel Ava’s curiosity. It’ll only make her want to see it more.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the communal room, looking down at her. “We need to get cracking on those next week,” I say, distracting her for a moment from the engraved wooden doors. “Ready?”
AmIready?
Her mind is clearly going into overdrive. What will she see? What delights await her? I know she’ll find some of it filthy. That’s good. This place isn’t Ava, and that’s just one of the reasons I love her so much. I know she’ll be turned on by some of it. That’s human nature. But what I want her to see beyond everything is that Idon’twant it anymore. I’m not talking gags, cuffs, blindfolds. I’m talking about promiscuousness.
Her. I just want her. I don’t want to share myself.
I step into her body, and she looks up at me. Wonder. It’s rife. “You’re curious.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to be so apprehensive. I’ll be with you, guiding you through. If you want to leave, say the word and you’re out of there.”
She nods, returning my squeeze when I tighten my hold of her hand, and I slowly start to walk us up the stairs. I can hear it already. The moans of pleasure, yells of passionate pain. I start to explain what she’ll see, preparing her. “It’s important for you to remember that everything transpiring is because all parties have agreed. Just by being in this room doesn’t necessarily show your desire to participate in any of the acts. Not that you ever will. I’m making it my mission objective to ensure that every man knows what the consequences will be if they approach you.” I smile, thoughtful. “I might send a memo.”
Her light laugh takes the edge off the intensity, and I’m really fucking grateful. She thinks I’m joking. I’m not.
I reach the doors, placing a hand on the wood, and take a deep breath. I’m about to show the love of my life a huge part of who I was before she found me, no holds barred. This is The Manor, and under the impeccable facade, it is sex personified.
The sounds become richer, louder, more passionate. I close my eyes and inhale, ready for it. This is one part of me I can give to her. This is a question I can answer. This is for her to get out of her system, and for me to reinforce that all of it means nothing to me. Never did, really, only escape. And now I don’t need to escape.
I pull her closer to my side and watch as she starts the daunting task of taking it all in. The décor, the people, the lack of clothes, the weird ease of everyone, some chatting, some laughing.
The music.
Her hold on me becomes tighter, and I take my eyes off her briefly, saying a few hellos, seeing the women look down my fully clothed body, see their eyebrows rise. See the men eye Ava. I ask her if she’s all right, bringing us to a stop, getting closer, making sure the men understand the situation. She nods, quiet, and I wonder what the hell is going on in her mind. I want to say she hasn’t lived. Truth is, it’s me who hasn’t lived. Despite being considerably older than she is. Despite being immersed in the world of sex and kink. Despite being a multimillionaire.
I haven’t lived. Just slowly died.
That’s changing now.
I look to our left and see Caitlin, one of the younger members of The Manor, a lawyer from aristocracy who has an edge about her—something that’s obvious when she’s blindfolded and tied to a St. Andrews Cross. She’s a keen horse rider. Loves a whip or two. And isn’t that obvious as Wesley, a barrister from Kent, teases her skin with the tip of a crop. She chose that crop. It’s the best. The one with the sharpest bite.
Ava begins to fidget beside me, and I smile to myself, taking a quick peek of her, seeing her eyes darting, as if she thinks she’ll be judged for watching. Admiring. Enjoying.
No one around here will judge her.
Wesley pleasures Caitlin, she whimpers, writhes, he moans and growls, and between them they entice the interest of many. I gaze around. How many times have I been in this room in the past twenty years? How many times have I woken up in here trying to recall the night before? Who it was. What we did. I have never been in here and been lucid. Not even when I found Ava in here that horrific day she discovered what The Manor truly is. Because I was crazed with worry. Out of my mind. I saw nothing but the horror and disgust on her face.
Now, though? I don’t see horror or disgust. I see inquisitiveness. Fascination. When she found this room, her horror and disgust was all for me. Not my manor. It was because I’d deceived her.
I shy away from those thoughts and squeeze Ava’s hand when I see her looking around the room again, and I nod toward Caitlin and Wesley, encouraging her to watch.
Just as Wes twirls Caitlin’s favorite crop. I’m very aware that this is where I might lose her fascination—where desire ramps up and turns into a cocktail of pain and pleasure. Wes starts to trace the contours of her body, working her up, getting her impatient. This room, the people in it, the acts in progression. They’re the clearest they have ever been. But nowhere near as clear as the woman beside me. I cock my head to myself in curiosity when Ava’s hot hand in mine stiffens, and I’m pretty fucking sure I just heard her moan. I look down at her as she peeks up at me. She’s turned on. Does she know what’s coming?
When Wes brings that crop down on Caitlin’s arse, I flinch, and Ava swings round, putting her face in my chest, hiding. I hold her there, looking down at the back of her head as another crack of the whip penetrates the air. She burrows deeper, I hold her tighter. The pain side of The Manor has never been my thing. I’ve always tortured myself enough, I didn’t need the help of others for that, and by others, I mean Sarah. And giving in to Sarah’s whip would be as good as telling her I could love her back.
“This is not your thing,” I say quietly, seeing various ladies of The Manor looking this way. “Let’s move on.” I collect her hand and walk away as she asks me what track is playing.
“Enigma.” A regular in the communal room on anniversary night. “Is it making you horny?”
Ava snorts, denying it, her cheeks taking on a deep shade of red and her fingers plunging into her hair. She’s hilarious. I knock her hand away from her head, smirking when she realizes she’s given herself away. “Just for the record,” I say, bending to get up in her face. “None of this will ever happen with us.” I flip her a cheeky wink when she looks me up and down, considering my body, as I consider hers.
“What about the other stuff?” she asks, and she quickly has my sharp attention again. I knew it. She’s turned on. But what exactly is turning her on? The atmosphere? The music? The audience?
“I don’t share you with anyone, Ava,” I affirm. “Not even their eyes.”
