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It’s just a whisper, but after not speaking to her for a few days, I’m like a deprived junkie who needs a hit.

“May I get you another drink?” I glimpse the almost-empty tumbler beside her. Does she drink whiskey? Or is this just part of the persona she came here to play?

Suddenly, I’m irrationally upset that I don’t know that. That I don’t know her favorite drink? Or that she didn’t come here for me?

Based on her apparent enjoyment of the show, she came here to piss me off, not to find me.

“No.” She turns to look at me. The mask’s lace softly clings to her skin, highlighting her eyes. “Thank you.” She returns to watching the debauchery on the stage.

“Then maybe you want to play,” I hear myself saying as I step closer, my body pressed against her side.

She swallows again but doesn’t say anything. My fingers dust her exposed leg, and her eyes flutter as she gasps silently.

I should require her consent, but I’m riddled with rage and want—no, need—so I take her silence as permission.

I trace her delicate skin up her thigh. The feel of her spreads through me, and while the contact is at my fingertips, it reverberates into my heels. And my cock. That fucker is painfully hard.

Saar’s eyes are glued to the stage, but the rest of her is very much here, reacting to my touch. Her throat bobs, her chest stutters, goose bumps cover her skin.

I love what my touch does to her. That she welcomes it. For a moment I allow myself to forget who we are, and where we are.

Dipping my head to hers, I rest my forehead beside her temple like I’m going to say something, but I don’t. I just inhale her, feeling her essence, wanting more of her. From her. With her.

My fingers slide under the hem around the daring slit, and I reach between her thighs.

With my thumb, I press against her clit, and she sucks in air. I massage her gently, just teasing her really, and she shifts in her seat, chasing my hand.

I chuckle. “Look at you, all wet and ready. Is it the performance or my hand that arouses you?”

I’m barely touching her, but her breath becomes labored. God, I wish I didn’t know what I know. That I didn’t have all the questions.

I have no right to demand the truth from her. She didn’t lie to me. She just hides her secrets carefully. And I’m irrationally upset about it. As if I shared mine with her.

I hook my fingers into the hem of her panties and tug. “Go to the bathroom and take these off.”

Chapter 20

Saar

Dizzy.

Dazzled.

Disoriented.

I slide from the seat and stumble, my legs like jello. I move, or I think I move. Mostly I’m just wondering if I lost my mind.

I don’t even know where I’m going.

Away from him? To do his bidding? To hide? To run away?

My eyes dart around frantically. Where the fuck are the bathrooms here?

The woman on the stage climaxes with abandon, and several men move to the stairs. The whole depravity of the situation is arousing and mortifying. Wrong, and somehow normal. Primal.

And the primal need is what moves my legs.

Finally, I see a discreet sign for the bathroom. I practically run there and push the door open.