Page 58

It feels like walking into box seats of an intimate theater.

Our host ushers us to a grouping of plush leather chairs sectioned off only by waist-height partitions.

The open-air space is the voyeur's lounge, with the focal point on the space slightly below. There’s a satin bed and velvet chair in the center, and a wall lined with toys that range from crops and floggers to dildos and nipple clamps and everything in between.

It’s not nerves ticking my pulse higher; it’s the sheer anticipation of watching something taboo—and doing it with a man who turns me on in the simplest of ways.

“A reminder,” the host says. “This is not a performance. There will be no need for clapping, cheering, or other auditory remarks from the audience. You’re welcome to enjoy it in any and every way you would like.

Please feel free to press that button there.

” He nods to the small, framed button on the wall, not too different from the one on the roof deck of my townhouse.

“I’ve been informed that you are both VIPs, so whatever you need, at any time, please do not hesitate to ask.

” His attention shifts to me. “And if at any time, miss, you are uncomfortable, or would simply like something from the house, please press that button as well.” He looks to Ace.

“You may ask your female guest for something you would like, but this is a reminder that regardless of how you arrived, this is a ladies' choice venue. What she prefers is respect. Always.”

My husband simply nods at the host in confirmation, and then he leaves, the door snicking shut behind him.

It’s the one thing I never questioned with Ace.

He isn’t the kind of man to take what isn’t offered.

And while I love that this particular establishment caters to the way things should always be, when it comes to him, I’ve only ever felt safe.

As soon as we sit, his arm drapes over my crossed legs, his hand feeling the lace of my dress that goes past my thighs and half-way down to my calves.

The woman who steps into the space ahead draws my attention; it’s the same woman I spoke with at the bar. That same confidence she had out there is in overdrive in here as she shrugs off her wrap dress, walks around the room, and sizes up her partner as if she’s deciding if he’s worthy.

Ace leans closer as he asks, “Are you ready for this?”

My mouth tips up into a coy smile. “I’m not sure watching people toy with each other will ever be as good as watching you slide your cock into me.”

He barely lets me finish the thought before he’s kissing me momentarily breathless. Shifting back, his lips still hover over mine as he says, “Right answer. Maybe you’re a good girl, after all, wife .”

I laugh at that. “Of all the things I am, dear husband, a good girl is not, and never will be, one of them.” I tip my head to the side. “But that’s exactly what drives you wild, isn’t it?”

His hand squeezes my thigh. The eagerness I feel whenever he touches me sparks along every inch of my body, well aware of where we are and that we’re not alone. Maybe that makes it even more heady.

“And you like it when I say things that make your tighties tent,” I tease.

I smile and gaze into his pretty eyes, intense as they look back at me. His plush mouth and the way he smells like the oak barrels at home and the clementines on my nightstand have me dizzy on this man.

He exhales a low hum. “Then what kind of praise would you prefer?” he asks while working his hand slowly down my leg. He gathers the lace of my dress as he moves from my calf up to my knee and settles on my thigh again.

I glance around and make out the shapes of other people, but it’s too dim with the way the lights are strategically placed to see much more.

The space is intimate and, if I had to guess, no more than twenty people are spaced throughout.

Cocktail servers are taking drink and prop orders before things begin.

My body nearly shivers with excitement at not knowing who or what we’ll witness, but I’m turned on simply by the vibes and the man molded against my side.

“I’ll settle for adjectives that better describe me—exceptional, exquisite.

And then you can always throw in: queen, wife, sugar, or simply.

..” I pause and articulate the last with a bratty smile.

“ Mine .” I’ve thought about all the things he’s ever said around me, and those are instant panty-dampers.

I sink into the side of his body as his fingers move lightly over my shoulder, aimlessly. Turning my head, I watch him pour and sip his bourbon. When he glances at me, his lips tilt up. “How are you feeling?”

“Warm and a little needy,” I say honestly. A part of me swoons at him even asking.

The huskiness in his voice sends a delicious shiver through me as he whispers in my ear, “Still trust me, then?” He pushes my hair away from my neck so that he can drag his lips across the edge of my shoulder.

I release a breathy exhale at the slow and deliberate pace of his movements. “Yes,” I whisper with a smile.

His fingers glide across the edges of my dress, along my collarbone, and down the slope of my breast. When I part my lips, he’s quick to remind me to be nice and quiet. Dragging my dress up over my hips, he fists the lace so it pulls taut against my skin. “This looks beautiful on you.”

“It will be more beautiful off of me.” He’s too much fun to push. I bite my lower lip. “I know you have a thing for panties. These are rather pretty, don’t you think?”

His thumb grazes my lips before his hand cuffs around the column of my throat. “Such a smart mouth,” he teases as he tilts me where he wants me, but instead of kissing me, he bites at my lower lip first, and then runs his tongue along it, making me whimper.

Ace hums against my skin, his lips ghosting just below my ear. “You will not come until I let you.”

My head whips toward him, thighs clenching. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

His eyebrow quirks. And he lets out a muffled growl. “Then it sounds like you’ll be self-servicing tonight.”

I smirk, narrowing my eyes, thinking that he can’t be serious. But his glare and lack of humor are an easy tell. He’s serious. I let out a frustrated groan and sit up a little taller, peering back at him when I say, “I’m very good at self-servicing, if you remember.”

His sexy mouth doesn’t say anything else. He just gives a simple nod, knowing that I’ve heard his demand. But he’s still waiting. “Say it,” he whispers.

I squeeze my crossed legs as his fingers skate along my outer thigh.

“Tonight. You are not coming unless I permit you,” he says, voice like gravel. “Now, say ‘yes, Daddy,’ and watch.”

I’m dead and on my way to heaven. I’m wet past the point of my panties. And I’m not sure I want to simply watch any longer.

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, just as his fingers push lightly against my knee, encouraging my legs to uncross.

“Knees wide, sugar.” He shifts his body beside me, wrapping his arm along the back of the oversized chair, and focusing on the scene unfolding in front of us. “And eyes on her.”

The woman from the bar is lying out on a plush, round platform, her sheer lingerie set framing her lush figure.

The dynamic between her and her partner feels like it’s changed.

She’s no longer in charge while the man standing across from her takes his time choosing tools and toys from an expansive display.

“Has anyone ever used those types of things on you before?” Ace asks.

I shake my head, keeping my focus on the long bar with leather cuffs on either end.

And then the riding crop wrapped around the man’s wrist. I’m chastising myself for never having thought of having a spare one for pleasure in addition to the ones in the stables.

I glance along the tabletop with various straps, plugs, and gags.

I know the mechanics of most of it—romance novels and falling down a rabbit hole of curiosity in a post-Fifty Shades era will do that to a woman.

But witnessing them in use, or being on the receiving end, has yet to be on my experience card.

“Do you find her attractive?” I ask him.

“She’s very beautiful,” he says, and then takes a drink of his bourbon.

When he places it back on the side table, he leans into me, and with his lips dancing along my ear, says, “But she’s far too obedient for my liking, and like every other woman, her curves aren’t the ones I want in my hands.

She doesn’t rub her wrist when she’s nervous.

Her hair isn’t wild. She doesn’t have a freckle on her left cheek, just beside her nose that I love to look at.

And her lips don’t tilt up along the right side when I talk. ”

My heart beats faster as I turn my head to him. “That was very detailed of you.”

But instead of answering me, he wraps his arms farther around me, just as he kisses my forehead.

Then he’s lifting and shifting me effortlessly into his lap, as if I’m not a solidly built woman.

There’s something wildly sexy about being manhandled with the right man.

I’m not tiny. My legs are long and muscular, and I have a softer center and round hips.

Thick and fit. I learned a long time ago to love all the parts that make me whole, but I also take notice of that reality.

And Ace lifts, shifts, and holds me without much effort.

With one arm still around my waist, he encourages me to relax, pressing my back to his front.

It feels so good to be handled like this—carefully and dominating.

My body warms as I sink into him. I’m rewarded with his hard cock pressing into my lower back.

His hands fist the lace of my dress, exposing my panties, and cool air brushes against my pussy as I watch.

“Be nice and quiet for me,” he says quietly.