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The title font was a garish red.
The words had me recoiling.
I had no problems with my sexual tastes or how they ran toward the darker, kinkier variety.
That didn’t mean I wanted strangers tossing out shit like this.
Every successive line of the blog post got worse.
There were more pictures and the anonymous guest blogger, going under the name of SilkinBonds, gave a running commentary for everything.
This isn’t the first time for Maximus at this rodeo, ladies. A birdie told me he’s been known to pay for a private dance booth at the Black Star and request several ladies at a time for all sorts of torrid, illegal orgies.
Bullshit. So much bullshit. I didn’t like the private booths, and orgies weren’t my thing. I didn’t care if other people got off on it, but there was a distinct lack of control there, and control was crucial for me.
He’s one of their wealthiest customers, so there’s nothing the staff at the club will deny him, even if it’s not comfortable for the dancer.
By the time I finished the blog post, a good five minutes had passed. I kept checking each picture, comparing it to my memory of that night in hopes it might help me learn about the vicious bitch behind it all.
Let me wrap this up with my favorite image…Maximus, there, licking his finger and making it clear we all know just what he was doing under Tina’s prim and proper skirt.
Prim and proper? It had fit like a fucking glove, putting that ass of hers on display to perfection.
That made me stop and read through the piece again.
“Huh.” A thought whispered in the back of my mind, but I throttled it for now. Later, I’d worry about that.
There were other concerns on my mind.
Grabbing the bottle of water from the cup holder, I drained half of it, then poured some on my hand to splash on my face. It was still cold, but the hoped-for effect of clearing my head didn’t happen.
I was too angry.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself.
I had a lawyer to call, a sister to reassure, and then figure out how to keep Tina from turning tail and running from me.
Twenty-One
Tina
Horrified didn’t describehow I felt right then.
The order from Dina to come with her had already put me on edge, and my parents’ worried looks did little to reassure me.
“What the hell is this?” Dina demanded, shoving her phone into my face.
I stared at the screenshot that Dina had received via Messenger from a friend. I felt my face getting so red it hurt. Blood roared in my ears, and I was lightheaded from the brutal slap to my senses.
And Dina was furious.
“Well?” Her near-strident demand jolted me, scraping along nerves that felt exposed and raw.
Lifting my gaze from her phone to meet her eyes, I asked, “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me that isn’t you!” she half-shouted.
I flinched.