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“So we’re going to the club?” she asked.
Quill sent her a withering look. “Just put it on. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Master.”
Lacy had brought her a plate earlier when Quill hadn’t summoned her to the dining room for dinner.
“Good. Be ready to go in twenty minutes.”
The main house felt strangely foreign when she stepped inside it—like it had forgotten her already. But she shook the feeling off and went to the room with her things and put on the outfit he wanted.
She heard a low whistle behind her and spun to find Marcus standing in the doorway slouched casually against the frame. He looked as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. His hair was wet and he wore only jeans. The dragon twisting around his torso seemed to be craning to get a look at what had caused Marcus to whistle.
“Are you coming with us?” Saskia asked.
“Coming with you where?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The club maybe. He won’t say.” She wondered now if Quill hadn’t come to her because he’d been with Marcus.
“Then it’s probably the club. He acts as if acknowledging its existence aloud will break some sacred trust. But no, I’m not going. I’ve been given the night off.”
Saskia let out a long slow breath. If Marcus was being given the night off, it either meant she’d sleep in Quill’s bed tonight or whoever he was leasing her to wanted overnight privileges.
She met Quill out by the Bentley twenty minutes later. He glanced at his watch but made no comment. He simply opened her door for her and then got in on the driver’s side.
They traveled in silence out of the city and into the desert as before. Saskia felt no less self-conscious in the short skirt and boots than she had the last time she’d worn them.
When they reached the gate of Mr. Fizzy Pop Bottling Company, Quill input his code, and the doors swung open again. He parked in the same handicapped spot as before, as if it were his special reserved parking. Without a word, he got out and came around to Saskia’s side.
She started to open her mouth to speak, but Quill pressed a finger against her lips and shook his head. He took a black silk tie from his pocket and blindfolded her. Then he pulled the black cami top off over her head.
“No bra. Good girl,” he said. Quill slipped a hand under her skirt between her legs to find that she wasn’t wearing underwear. “Very good girl.”
He’d wanted her dressed the same as the first visit, and she wasn’t about to irritate him with feigned ignorance about underwear.
Saskia felt her nipples harden in the cool night air.
“Turn around.”
She turned, and a moment later, a piece of tight leather with stiff vertical pieces was being wrapped around her. A corset. There were no hooks, no easy fastenings or buttons or zippers for those who just wanted the “look” without the fuss and muss. No, this was a real lace-up corset.
She drew in a sharp breath as Quill cinched her up like he knew exactly what he was doing. And it struck her as kind of odd that he’d never done this before. He’d painted a few other women in corsets, but he’d always painted Saskia nude.
The corset stopped just under her breasts, leaving them pushed impossibly high and exposed for the viewing pleasure of anybody inside the warehouse. Next, she leather cuffs were placed on her wrists. A metal chain clinked as it was attached to a connecting ring between the cuffs.
Quill tugged on the leash. She tottered in the heeled boots briefly, then got her bearings and followed him. He led her into the building, through the loud, grinding industrial beat, through the secondary doors where the beat faded into a hum, then he held her hands and helped her down the treacherous spiraling stairs to the underground level. Even through the pulsing beat, she heard the staccato rhythm of her heels clicking against the hard floor until Quill halted her with a hand pressed lightly to her stomach.
She waited.
He unlocked one of the cuffs, repositioned her arms behind her back, and recuffed her.
There was a grinding sound as something creaking and metal settled against the ground. When a metal door swung open, Quill helped her inside.
“Kneel and spread your legs.”
She obeyed, and the door shut. She felt herself rise in the air as the creaking metal—which she realized was one of the bird cages—rose a few feet in the air.
The volume of the music seemed more muted now as a small crowd gathered around the cage. A din of speech surrounded her—deep male voices—but she couldn’t pick out a single strand of conversation. Different men’s words bumped up against each other as they seemed to circle and prowl around her cage like a pack of wolves.
