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“Were you?” Sebastian glanced at me, then met Alastair’s gaze. “You’ve reserved it at the last minute before.”
“Oh, good one,” I said to Sebastian, turning to throw a smug glance at Alastair. “He got you there.”
Alastair looked chastened, but he smiled and tipped his head to Sebastian. “Yes, he did.”
“I saw that you filled out and signed the electronic consent forms, Mr. Dunn. So you’re aware that there’s video surveillance that will only ever be accessed if there is a legal complaint resulting from your use of the Bordello?”
“Yeppers. I guess that means you and Jacob can’t watch the footage for kicks?”
“Yes. It’s a darn shame, but, you know…ethics and all that.” Sebastian grinned. “Of course, I already have Mr. Kenney’s forms on file.”
“Of course, you do,” I muttered. “Hmm. Howlonghave you had them?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Sebastian said with a conspiratorial glance at Alastair.
“Bummer.”
“Knock it off,” Alastair told me.
Sebastian smiled.
“Don’t forget. You promised me twenty percent off the regular rate,” I said.
“Huh. Did I actually?”
“Yes, you didactually.”
“I’ll get the key.”
“Thank you, Sebastian,” Alastair said. “You can give it to Mr. Dunn.”
Sebastian got it from its place under the bar and handed it to me. The weight of the rusted antique keychain felt different in my palm.
“You’ve got your hands full with this one,” Sebastian said to Alastair.
“Don’t I know it,” Alastair muttered.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” I said, but Alastair took my hand and pulled me along like I was five years old and, hell, I did not hate it.
He led me out of the games room and down the hall, past the kitchens and along the familiar corridor to the door of the Bordello. The surroundings were familiar, but my role was so different.
I enjoyed being a server at Molly’s. It let me fulfill my fluid gender identity and tendency to exhibitionism in a way that was safe and appreciated. But walking down the hall with Alastair as his—well, as his boy toy, I supposed—felt very different.
“Last chance to back out,” Alastair said as we stopped in front of the door.
I rolled my eyes and slipped the key into the lock, twisting the handle to push the door open. We stepped inside, and Alastair stretched to pull the cord of the antique floor lamp by the entrance.
The Bordello was a fantasy—a pretend space that wanted to be a Victorian parlor, dungeon and school room all in one. Walking into it was like entering another dimension. My gaze flitted from object to object as Alastair shut the door and locked it. He held his hand out for the key, and I gave it to him. He hung it on the hook by the door.
A notice on the wall stated what we already knew and had signed off on, that the room was monitored by CCTV cameras at all times, but that the footage would only be reviewed if an issue was encountered. A list of rules followed that emphasized consent at all times, no high-risk activities, such as breath or blood play or unhygienic play involving bodily fluids beyond semen.
I felt like a kid at Disneyland for the first time—although I’d never actually been to Disneyland. But I didn’t really care, because this was better. Watching my boyfriend move about the large space as if he owned it, checking things over and no doubt coming up with ideas of what to do to me, made my cock hard and my brain explode.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Fuck.”
To the left of us stood an antique settee, similar to the one in the gaming parlor, but larger and more ornate. Alastair strode to it and stopped. He touched the polished wood frame, turned to me and smiled, showing his dimple. Then his expression changed into something sterner, in a transformation that sent bolts of lightning through my insides as he tilted his head.
“Pardon?” he said. “A good boy doesn’t use curse words.”
