Page 44 of Cruel Pleasures

I’ve pulled back Imani’s seat for her, scooting her in once she sits down. She’s still tense, still uncertain if she wants to be here. Her gaze is set unblinkingly on the stage, watching in fascination as the ram-masked man finally removes the dildo that’s slick with the woman’s juices. He holds it up for the audience to see.

Now it’s more than just the person to our left clapping. The rest of the room applauds and goads them on with hoots and hollers.

He’s already moving onto the next device by the time I’m seated and the server arrives with a tray of my requests.

“Champagne and chocolate truffles, Mr. Hurst,” he says, setting down the slim flutes.

I arch a scrutinous brow at him. “And the spice?”

“Forgive me, sir. The spice as ordered.” He shuffles off the second he’s fulfilled his task as though nervous I might rake him over the coals for any perceived mistake.

Imani frowns. “Spice?”

“It’s a popular party favor at these events,” I explain, nudging the small, curved bowl toward her. The copper-brown powder looks neat and untouched inside the bowl. “Spice is a stimulant that enhances physical sensations. It greatly intensifies pleasure… and pain. Many who partake in these playrooms do so because, well, they love both. Would you like to try some?”

She breaks into a sardonic kind of smile. “Are you kidding? So I can wind up butt-naked on that stage as a man with a goat for a face jams a twelve inch dildo into my pussy? I’ll pass.”

I laugh, caught off guard by the candid answer. No wonder I’m so enthralled. Sasha Newton would never. This is all Imani Makune; this is all the realness missing from the world the rest of us exist in.

I ease the bowl closer toward myself and pluck the miniature straw the server delivered along with the stimulant. “Suit yourself. Just know I’d never let you up on that stage.”

“You’re serious?”

Yes, minx. Why would I ever share?

“That stage is for… the products brought in to entertain.”

“Products?”

“Don’t feel sorry for them. It’s elective. It’s work for compensation.”

“Are you saying… the two people up there…?” she trails off.

“Bought and paid for. The live shows always are. There are other private rooms for members to partake. Should they wish to do so.”

Imani sits with an intrigued wrinkle of her brows and nibble of her lips. I press on next to her, easing the straw into the bowl of spice and inhaling a dose. The finely milled sweet and spicy powder shoots up my nostril with an immediate tingling kick. I roll my head on my shoulders and let the stimulant do its job, working its way quickly and efficiently through my system.

On the stage, the man in the horned ram mask has climbed onto the bed with the woman and begun fucking her. They hold a captive audience. Everyone around us watches with rapt interest. Some of them beginning to fondle each other.

Imani switches her gaze between the stage and the bowl of spice and then, finally, to me. I wipe my nostrils and grin at her. The curiosity seeps from her every pore. It rolls off her in thick, palpable waves as she silently deliberates in her head.

I don’t need to hear her thoughts to know so. I can always tell.

Imani Makune was honest when she said she’s a sexual person. She’s explored before… but the setting of the Midnight Society has made her cautious and paranoid.

Rightfully so.

If she knew how deep the rabbit hole goes, she never would’ve come. She would’ve stayed far, far away…

“You’ve developed that look again, minx.”

She double blinks. “What look?”

“The look of someone who is barely containing themselves,” I answer smoothly. My arm stretches along the back of her chair, and I drag her closer ’til our knees touch underneath the table. “You’re curious and that’s okay. Curiosity is one of the most basic tenets of being human. Don’t you think?”

She turns her head back to the stage to watch more of the show. The masked man has uncuffed the woman and repositioned her away from the audience. She’s on her hands and knees as he pumps into her from behind. The throaty, pleasured noises they make bounce off the theater walls, guttural and uninhibited.

I’m more focused on Imani. My fingertips creep along the delicate line of her shoulders. Touches that are gentle and hesitant yet enticing. Enough to make her shudder, even as she tries to fight it.