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Until that moment she had not been one hundred percent certain what his reaction would be when he saw her.
But he didn’t ask what she needed help with. He automatically agreed.
Every part of her knew she had made the right choice in coming to him.
“I’ll get Wolfe to cover so we can talk in private.”
“Thank you.” His help might come with a cost, but whatever price he demanded, she’d pay.
As they made their way through the dungeon, a couple of people stopped him to talk. He did not introduce her. Though it was completely against her normal nature, she remained whereshe was, not drawing attention to herself, even though several members shot her some curious glances.
The submissive that Gregorio had referred to was still chained in place, and she appeared just as serene as she had been earlier.
The Top turned to her and snapped his fingers.
With the small, satisfied smile, she knelt up and opened her mouth as she tucked her hands behind her neck.
This cannot be happening.
But as he lowered his zipper and fed his cockhead between her lips, she opened her mouth even wider.
Wave after wave of awareness crashed through Sasha.
As Gregorio had said, the Top continued his conversation with a woman whose bottom was attached to her leash.
She’d leapt into an alternate universe.
Would she wake up at home in the morning to find this had been nothing more than a terrible, erotic dream?
“Petal?”
The shortness in Gregorio’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. Evidently, he’d spoken to her more than once.
“Shall I put you on a leash, my Petal?”
Yes.
No.No, no, no, no, no. She couldn’t imagine anything more horrific.
Dragging her gaze from the erotic scene in front of her, she frantically shook her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders.
“In that case…” He angled his head toward the exit.
Obediently, silently, she followed, reassuring herself she was not behaving like a submissive.
On the Den’s main level, he asked her to wait while he talked to Wolfe.
With a nod, she watched the check-in desk and people interacting in the living room.
Less than two minutes later, he rejoined her, possessively placing a hand on her lower back like he had that night at the wedding as he guided her toward the staircase.
“Gregorio.”
A man, tall, also in black, long, sleek hair held back with a thin strip of leather, stepped in front of them.
“Boss.”
Damien, she guessed. The club’s owner.