Page 3

Scarlett

I might die .

Somehow, I’ve made it through almost an entire week without losing my cool, but now it’s Saturday, and I just might die.

Penelope and I are trying to maximize my sex appeal by digging through my closet for the sluttiest things we can find. All I’ve managed to unearth is a black-and-red leather corset, still sporting its tags from when I bought it.

She fervently approves of the top, and after searching through the fallout of my torn-apart wardrobe, she pieces together something that seems to fit the occasion.

We crowd in front of my floor-length mirror, twisting into different angles and positions in order to survey our images as a whole.

“I look so…frumpy.” My shoulders slouch in defeat. “I’m taking bets on immediate rejection. Shit, can that happen?”

I’m dressed head-to-toe in the red corset, black faux-leather pants, and a pair of red heels that are covered with dozens of silver spikes. They’re ungodly sexy, except they’re about three inches too tall for my liking .

Penelope is a true vision, though. Her platinum hair is tied in a long braid that hangs over her shoulder, while her slim body is draped in a gorgeous blue minidress I could only hope to pull off.

“You. Are. Stunning.” She emphasizes each word with a slap to my boob. “There’s no pressure to pair with anyone, but you’ll have options. If worse comes to worst, we just hang out with the Onyx normies. We can drink, dance, and just have a good time. This is supposed to be fun!”

“But look—”

“Scarlett, this is the real world. Nobody grovels over stick-thin anymore. Guys want huge titties and an even bigger ass. You’ve got both. Nobody cares if you’ve got a belly, except you.” She reaches for both our masks sitting on the bed, handing me the white one. “Put your big-girl panties on and let’s get going, we don’t want to be late. Early bird fucks the worm, and all that.”

Ten minutes later, we’re piling into the car. She passes me the AUX cord, giving me permission to pump us up with whatever filth I see fit. To elevate my mood after our last conversation—and also to set the vibe for the night—I turn on “Treat Me Like A Slut” by Kim Petras.

When Penelope hears the opening, she bursts out in laughter, and I follow suit. We sing and dance to our hearts’ content as one song fades from another to another, until I’ve finally calmed down enough to feel like I can breathe again.

Pulling out my phone, I read through Eden’s list of guidelines one more time before we arrive.

Attendants must keep their masks on at all times, and are strictly prohibited from exchanging any information that may compromise their anonymity.

All attendants are allowed to socialize together, however, only those with matching masks are permitted to enter the VIP section.

The only exception to this rule will occur on Rainbow Nights, in which all VIP guests are invited to intermingle in the Rainbow Room .

I turn to Penelope in the driver’s seat, eyes wide with curiosity. “What’s the Rainbow Room?”

“The Orgy Room,” she laughs, and I’m sure it must be a joke until she elaborates. “Everyone gets together in a huge suite, and they just go wild. There are no rules, except you still have to protect your anonymity.” She gives me a side-eyed smirk. “Honey, you are nowhere near being ready for the Rainbow Room, so don’t even think about it.”

In what world does she think I’d even consider something like that? I can barely have a successful sex-session with one normal person, let alone a whole group of kinky freaks. “Trust me, you never have to worry about me stepping inside that room.”

I think.

The city is alive and bustling as we drive towards our destination. Everywhere I look, people seem to be aimlessly stumbling down every street and alleyway. The streetlights illuminate their faces, and I watch with fascination, wondering whether any of these city folk are about to get ravaged in a secret nightclub like I am.

I turn the mask over in my hands and fiddle with the ribbons, debating how much control I need to surrender in order to guarantee that tonight goes off without a hitch.

I’m always calculated and concise with my decisions, so it’s not like this is much different. I’m still me—I still chose this and planned it accordingly. I signed up, got in the car, and I’m holding the damned mask. I’m sure forfeiting some of my usual restraint will be a liberating experience.

So why do I feel like I’m about to give up so much more of myself?

We pull into a driveway that wraps around the side of the building, opening into a massive parking lot in the rear. The car comes to a halt, and the countdown strikes zero.

“Alright bitch, put your mask on. It’s time.” Penelope smiles brightly at me while she ties the blue mask around her eyes.

I manage one last gulp of unadulterated air before the night begins and my life changes. Arm in arm, we walk around the building until we’re standing in front of the main doors. Above them, a large sign reads:

brAXTON SUITES

I don’t come to the inner city often, and I’m far too comfortable being at home to give a shit about exploring. There’s always so much going on, it never felt like a priority. But this place is incredible, and it already makes the trip worth leaving the house.

The lobby alone is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

Its white marble floors are streaked with glistening gold, the surfaces still glassy from their last polishing. The walls are covered in golden marble wallpaper, and the ceilings are lined with gilded tile. Directly in the center of the room, a three-tiered fountain acts as the centerpiece that brings everything together.

At the tippy top of the structure, a golden badger stands on its hind legs. The second tier is a little wider than the first, filled with a kaleidoscopic arrangement of different kinds of foliage. Red and white flowers protrude from a bushy, waterfall-like stream of greenery that hangs over the rim. Beneath the second tier, an ornate column connects to the final stratum. One section of the column curves outward like a vase, where four golden badger heads wrap around the sides, spouting water from their open mouths and into a pool at the bottom basin.

Along the left wall of the lobby is a bar that matches the rest of the color scheme, with white marble countertops and a golden frame. Tall, backlit shelves filled with expensive alcohol line the wall behind the bar, and it’s no wonder there’s already a group of guests stationed there .

This place bleeds money and lavishness.

A woman with a black dress and matching mask sits perched upon one of the gold-and-white bar stools, chatting happily with two other women. The moment her eyes meet mine from over her shoulder, her face drops.

If I wasn’t such an observant person, I’d probably have missed her subtle gesture towards me. At her command, the two friends turn around and give me a head-to-toe assessment. It’s impossible to mistake their interaction for anything other than the catty bullshit it’s meant to be. In perfect character, they all toss their heads back with a shrieking cackle that spreads across the room.

Fucking women and their highschool drama.

I guess it’s a good thing I spent my entire childhood getting bullied for my weight and whatever other shit children like to tease about. It hardly fazes me anymore.

With an equally condescending smile, I make a show of tapping on my mask before lazily dropping the finger to point in their direction.

Only one of us is getting a prize tonight—I’ve already won.

As Pen and I continue through the room, I take in more of the exquisite scenery to focus on keeping my mind clear. Opposite the bar, a couple of white-and-gold chaise lounges are paired together with glass coffee tables between them.

Spanning the entire width of the far wall is a concierge desk that looks like it was built to match the bar. The woman sitting there beckons us forward. “Hello ladies, welcome to Braxton Suites. Can I help you?”

Penelope places her hands on the countertop, returning the woman’s sweet smile. “Hello! We’re here to visit Eden’s Deliverance, where salvation can be found in the darkest of dreams.”

This line comes directly from the rules and guidelines that every applicant receives when they’re accepted. It’s a little too corny for my taste, but beggars can’t be choosers .

Apparently, if you don’t have the password, you aren’t even given the time of day. You’d think our attire would give away our purpose for being here, but alas.

“Thank you, Miss Sapphire.” She gives Pen a polite nod, then to me. “Miss Pearl. Please proceed to the elevator, here.” The woman gestures with her hand to a set of metal doors on her left. “Head on up to the 12 th floor lobby, and you will be directed from there.”

Inside the elevator, I have a gut-wrenching feeling this is all some sort of wicked game; there are no buttons indicating any other floor than the 12 th .

I do notice that there’s another elevator across the lobby, so maybe that one is for normal guests while this is exclusively for entry to Eden. Penelope doesn’t hesitate, though. She presses the button and waits patiently for the elevator to ascend.

The machine climbs higher and higher, like the anxiety rising in my chest. There’s no turning back now—not when I’m about to face a challenge incomparable to the hardships of college and my apprenticeship combined. Those are easy; I know where I’m headed when it comes to traversing the paths of my education and career.

I’m lost when it comes to this.

I can’t remedy this pit in my stomach. If anything, I feel more ill when the doors finally chime open. Stuck on a fancy, golden door with a matching filigree frame, is a large plaque that reads:

THE RAINBOW ROOM

Penelope must see the panic on my face, because she grabs my hand and drags me down the hall to the left. “Relax, Scar. This is just a halfway hall for the coat check. It’s all connected.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better, but we go ahead and leave our coats, bags, and phones at the check counter. The receptionist there invites us to climb into a second creepy elevator, directly adjacent to the one we came up from .

This elevator has no buttons at all—the doors just open when we approach and send us on a three-second-long ride to what I can only assume is the 1 th floor.

How fitting.

Almost instantly, the nervousness drains from my body when I take in the sight before me. An enormous room opens up to us, the red walls and dark lighting creating a completely different ambience than the rest of the hotel has.

A massive ornate chandelier hangs from the ceiling directly in the center of the room, high above the heads of a sea of people all wearing masks of one color or another. Past the crowd is another bar, except this one is black and red, just like the rest of the room and its furniture.

It’s beautiful—magical even.

“Pink Party” by Isaac Dunbar plays on the speakers, and a few dozen attendees are out on the dance floor, grinding with and groping one another to the upbeat music.

It’s all so…sensual. If this is any indication of what the rest of the night will lead to, I’m excited, to say the least.

Penelope shouts something over the music, but I can barely make out a single syllable, so she gives up and drags me through the mob of wriggling dancers. The song switches to “Shake it” by Jake Miller, but thankfully, we make it to the bar before the throng turns more animated.

She orders my favorite cocktail without even needing to ask—a true sign that she knows me more than anyone else in my life—and a few minutes later, we’re getting our buzz started.

“Have you seen anyone you like yet?” Pen asks, no longer needing to shout for me to hear her.

Honestly, I’ve been too overwhelmed to look. I’ve been so enthralled by what’s going on around us, I almost forgot our whole reason for being here. I already love this place, even without the sex.

Hopefully with the sex, too .

“I was wondering the same thing myself,” a low voice rumbles in my ear. When I turn around, Mr. Sultry Ear-Breather is standing so close he can probably smell the adrenaline pumping through me.

Mr. Ruby, as it turns out. Shame.

He’s got gorgeous, flowing hair that comes past his shoulders a bit, and a short, smooth beard. I can’t tell if it’s just the club lighting, but it almost seems like his hair and beard have a red-burgundy tone to match his mask.

Either way, he’s fucking ravishing.

“Buzz off, guy.” Penelope cuts in, killing the vibe immediately. “She’s clearly not going anywhere with you tonight, so make room for the others.” She shoos him away with a wave, spinning her chair back to face the bar.

“Well, I’d say I hope you go choke on a fat one, but I guess that’s what you’re here for. Isn’t it, Sapphire?” He turns to me and reaches up to swipe a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Maybe some other time. Good luck, Pearl.”

His knuckles trail a path down my jaw and collarbone, brushing so tenderly against my skin, I don’t realize I’m chasing his touch until I nearly fall from the stool.

Then, he walks away, leaving as soon as he came.

“What did you go and do that for? The man was fucking Adonis in human form, Pen.” I lightly shove her shoulder, reprimanding her for scaring away the first person to speak to me.

“I’m not gonna let you stray from the goal and get sucked up by all the crazies. You can’t go breaking rules on your first night here.” She pulls me to my feet, heaving me towards the dance floor after we get a new set of drinks. “Come on, let’s dance!”

It’s only natural when my hips start swaying to the beat of “love me” by Ex Habit, but I’m not used to this overwhelming feeling of calmness. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I’ve never felt more worry-free. Goosebumps coat the surface of my skin, and it’s like my body’s floating on air .

Our hands travel up and down each other’s bodies to the rhythm of the music, soaking in every bit of sexual energy the club feeds into us. If she doesn’t let me fuck somebody soon, she’s going to have to do it herself.

I’m going fucking crazy.

Towards the end of the song, a second pair of hands lay on my waist, pulling me back against a rock-hard chest and even harder groin. His cock grinds into my ass, making the clothes separating us feel irrelevant—I can feel every inch of him.

The song fades into “I Want To” by Rosenfeld, setting a more fitting pace for the movement he’s encouraging as he guides my hips. I let go of Pen to reach my arm behind my head, wrapping my fingers around the nape of my new partner’s neck.

I know it’s just dancing, but this interaction alone is already dripping with the passion I’ve been desperate for. The music helps to set the mood, but this man knows exactly what he’s doing.

I throw my head back to rest against his chest, and his hands begin exploring a bit of their own. From my waist up to my ribs, then across my stomach and down to my thighs, his fingers glide over my body.

Everywhere they go, a lingering burn follows in their wake.

“Would you like to join me in the White Room, Miss Pearl?” It’s said dangerously low, and the hot breath against my ear sends a shiver right down my spine.

Just to make sure I heed Penelope’s advice and don’t get myself into trouble, I spin around to check him out. My hands trail across the expanse of his chest, but he grabs my wrists to stop me.

At least he’s wearing a white mask, so I know I’m in the clear.

Unfortunately, I feel more self-conscious now than before. Those girls in the lobby started it, but the fact he won’t let me touch him doesn’t help. If he’s going to turn me away, I just hope he lets me down easily.

“Is that what you want?” I ask as seductively as I can muster so there’s no mistaking I want whatever this is .

Instead of a verbal reply, he gives me a cheeky, lopsided grin and takes my hand. I turn to Penelope and mouth a silent scream before getting dragged off, watching her wave at me through the growing distance between us.

He leads me through an archway off the right side of the bar, taking us down a hall with doors lining both walls. The sounds emanating from behind all the closed doors send electric shockwaves straight to my clit.

I can hear every one of them—all the women being fucked the way I’m about to be. Their screams and moans of pleasure dig into my brain, painting a picture-perfect vision of what’s going on in the privacy of their own rooms.

He takes us all the way to the end of the hall where the Pearl rooms are. Each door has a small sign indicating the room number and designated gem, as well as an occupancy marker for privacy. They’re all vacant though, so we rush into the first one we come across.

I guess it makes sense; this is a kink club. I didn’t get a full scan of the other attendants, but I didn’t notice anyone else wearing a Pearl mask, so we may very well be the only ones.

Then, the panic sets in.

I know I can do this. I didn’t put on this slut suit and liquor myself up for nothing. I’m here, I found someone, and he’s looking at me like he wants this as much as I do.

I can do this.

But what if I can’t…even though I want to?

I don’t know if he can read my face, but he doesn’t allow me the time to host an internal freakout. Before I even have time to survey the room we’re in, he grabs me behind the neck and sinks his mouth onto mine.

The taste of bourbon on his tongue burns, but when it mixes with the cranberry juice on mine, our kiss becomes an exploding cocktail of ecstasy. I want to drown in it.

I need more—but I also need to breathe .

He lets me break away from the embrace long enough to lean back and get a good look at him in this new light. Obviously, it’s hard to catalog everything because of his mask and the dark lighting of the room, but the features I can see are impeccable.

His soft, golden-brown hair sits on the top of his head in short curls, with a faded cut down the sides behind his ears. His nose and jaw are so perfectly sculpted, they look like they could have been plucked right from a modeling magazine.

My hands act with a mind of their own and reach up to trace his hairline, following the path behind his ears and towards his neck. I can feel him tense beneath my fingertips, but at least he’s letting me touch him this time.

“Like what you see, darling?” he teases. He’s astonishingly attractive and not at all shy about showing it off. That must be nice; to be so confident in your appearance that it’s just expected for people to gawk in awe. “You seem nervous. Is it your first time?”

I shouldn’t be shy—especially after that sexual showdown on the dance floor—but I can’t seem to get any words out, only offering him a wary nod.

He touches my waist again, slowly fluttering his hands over the boning of my corset. I wonder what that might feel like on my bare skin, and what it’ll be like to be touched and appreciated by a man who knows what a woman wants.

He could also be another amateur fondler, but I don’t get that impression. No. He knows how to handle a woman properly, even if he is cocky about it.

“Let me take care of everything then, hm? Have you picked your safe word?” he asks.

I’m having immense difficulty convincing my vocal cords to spit out a sound, but I know I need to—at least for this. The way he’s fucking me with his eyes isn’t doing anything to help, though.

“Oklahoma,” I answer timidly .

I can tell he doesn’t mean to, but out comes this uncontrollable bark of laughter that has me giggling right back. “Sorry, I’m not judging. Can I just ask where that came from?”

I respond honestly, no matter how stupid it sounds. “I heard it in a joke once. Something about how funny it would sound if your mouth was full of—” Idiot. Why would you say that? You could have picked anything else. “But yeah. That’s it, I just thought it was funny.”

He gives me a kind smile, thankfully not turned off by my crudeness. I mean, how could you be that sensitive in a place like this, anyway? It’s a good joke.

His fingers trail up the column of my throat before spreading to wrap around my whole neck. He’s testing the span of his hand across it, and I get the sense he’s deciding whether to grab me or not.

“Oklahoma, it is,” he whispers. “I’m going to fuck you now.” It’s said without ceremony—matter-of-factly.

I don’t know how else to respond except with one word. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats. His forefinger gives a little spin in the air to signal for me to turn around, and I obey thoughtlessly.

He begins unlacing the corset, and with every inch of released pressure on my torso, I let out little sighs of relief. I can hear him humming in approval, sending hot puffs of breath straight to the shell of my ear. Fuck, this guy really knows what he’s doing to me. I’m not even naked and he’s got me eating out of the palm of his hand from these eargasms alone.

With a roughness I’m not expecting, he yanks the corset from my body, catching me when I trip into him. His hands are anything but gentle now, squeezing and grabbing at any pound of flesh he can wrap his fingers around.

“Wait, wait, wait…” I grab his wrists and restrain his hands when they reach for the button on my pants, drawing a breathy growl from his throat. “Don’t you have a safe word, too? ”

The man flicks his wrists outward and rolls them from my grasp, only to thread his fingers through mine as he drags them to my hips. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Trust me, I don’t need one. Do your worst.”

Fuck.

“Keep It Down” by Migrant Motel starts playing through the speakers. As I listen to the lyrics, I can’t help but think it’s suggestive of what’s about to go down here. I’m drowning in the music and his touch, so I close my eyes and lean my head back to enjoy the attention.

The hands on my breasts are nothing like the amateur ones I’m used to; that’s made clear in the way he methodically massages my nipples between his fingertips, making me writhe in pleasure. It feels so fucking good, and I’m not prepared for it to stop. But when he orders me to lay down on the bed, I obey.

I’ll do whatever he says, as long as he keeps touching me like that.

As long as he doesn’t stop.

Another sly smirk creeps across his face with the realization he’s turning me into a puddle for him to play in. He follows me onto the bed and positions himself near my feet, wrenching my pants off my hips and all the way down to my ankles before removing them completely.

When they’re gone, he flashes me a wicked glance.

Oops, no panties.

He's still fully clothed, and the vulnerability of my own bare body being on display makes me feel like nothing more than exposed muscle and bone.

To even the playing field, I sit up and grab at the hem of his shirt in an attempt to lift it over his head, but he stops me. In an instant, both my wrists are trapped in his firm grip.

“No touching,” he says, squeezing tightly enough for me to wince at the force of it. I nod in response, but that’s not enough for him.

In a tormentingly unhurried movement, he pushes forward until I’m lying on my back again with my arms extended above my head .

I can’t see anything but the fabric of his shirt brushing against my nose, but I feel the cold bite of metal encircling one of my wrists. The click that ensues is unmistakable—he’s handcuffing me to the bed.

Holy shit.

Can I handle this? I wasn’t expecting things to go this far, this soon.

As if reading my mind, he checks to make sure that I’m alright and gives me the chance to use my safe word, if I want to.

Fuck no, I don’t. Give it to me.

My second wrist joins the first, and now I’m lying here in all my glory, splayed out for him to do whatever he wants to me. If his resistance to my touch wasn’t enough of an indicator, the look in his dark eyes is all I need to tell me how much he likes being in control.

In a swift motion, he removes his shirt to reveal an abdomen so solid you could sharpen a knife on it. His hip bones are two giant, neon-flashing signs pointing south—and I’ve always been pretty good at following directions. With bated breath, I watch his hands fiddle with the buttons and zipper of his jeans in a slow, teasing fashion.

He bathes in the light of my curious eyes, tilting his head against his shoulder while he studies me in return. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but a mischievous grin twists across his lips.

Before I know it, he’s leaning down close and wrapping the discarded shirt around my eyes. “No peeking.”

I’m seriously trying my best to keep calm, but my heavy breaths mimic the pace of my rapidly beating heart. All my senses are heightened with the loss of my vision, and I get chills every time his jeans brush against my skin.

He’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

There’s a small, tingling sensation—fingertips a hair’s breadth from the surface of my inner thigh—skating towards my bare pussy. Without any warning, I feel a finger or two prodding at the entrance before they’re shoved inside me .

My body reacts wildly, back arching off the bed while I struggle with the restraints. There’s nowhere for me to go.

I’m so focused on thrashing and fighting against the sudden assault, I don’t notice the fingers have been removed until he pushes them into my mouth. “Relax. Just breathe. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he coaxes.

I’m hyperventilating against his hand, but he waits for my panic to subside before continuing. When I finally nod, he says, “I know you are. Now be a good little slut and suck my fingers clean.”

They slip past the resistance of my lips and teeth, gliding alongside the top of my tongue. He doesn’t stop when the first knuckle disappears behind my lips, nor the second.

He shoves his fingers further down until I gag, my throat closing around them to protect my airway. “Shh, breathe through your nose and open your throat,” the man instructs. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

That can’t possibly be true when he’s using his fingers as a tongue depressor like some crazy, pervy doctor. He doesn’t pull away—not through my whimpering or cries for mercy—but he also doesn’t do more than I’m ready for.

That’s when I realize he’s waiting patiently for me to follow his orders. He wants me to show him I can listen and be obedient.

Though my attempt is a sad one, it’s an attempt nonetheless.

Breathing only through my nostrils, I open my throat up for him and accept my fate. He’s not gentle about it in the slightest; his fingers pump relentlessly into my mouth, only stopping momentarily for him to shush me through my panicked gagging.

I should probably feel embarrassed about needing to be coached through something as simple as breathing, but I can’t be bothered. Just when I’m finally starting to get good at taking him without choking, he pulls his fingers out.

I hate to say I’m disappointed, but even I can admit that was hot as fuck.

If this is the foreplay, how kinky is the sex ?

There’s a shifting on the bed, then he stuffs my pussy with the same fingers he just used to feed me my own tangy arousal. Despite working through the attack on my throat, all that goes out the window when it comes to the way he’s fingerfucking me.

I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. If it didn’t feel so fucking good, I’d be concerned about the aching pressure against my bladder. It’s too complicated of a sensation to call painful, but there’s an odd discomfort mixed with a steady wave of pleasure.

“Please...” I’m nearly in tears, but I don’t know if I need him to stop or keep going—I just need to come. I’m hovering right on the ledge, but he won’t give me what I need to dive off.

Although I have the power to stop him, I’m doing my best to relinquish control. He clearly knows more than I do here, but he’s taking his sweet time getting to the point.

The more I wriggle around, the more frustrated he becomes. He fucks into me like a madman, thrusting faster and harder with every reactive shift of my hips until I’m left a blubbering mess.

When he’s had enough of it, he rips his fingers out and gets off the bed. I take the reprieve as a gift, but he comes back full force. He pinches my cheeks until my lips separate with a whine, then I feel a rough cloth being shoved behind my teeth.

“No. Fucking. Talking,” he hisses, placing his palm over my mouth. “You’re going to lie there and take it, or you won’t get anything at all.”

I may have a pussy, but I’ve never acted like one.

And we all know how I feel about threats.

Even though I’m enjoying myself, pulling this primal aggression from him feeds my fucking soul. It’s sexy as hell and I want more of it, so he can’t blame me for the mumbling that comes out through the fabric in my mouth. Unfortunately for him, it’s just in my nature to fight dirty.

A little egging-on never hurt anybody .

I feel the bed dip again before he turns me into a rag doll, effortlessly flinging my calves over his shoulders before burying his head between my thighs. His angry, heavy breath assaults me, and I can’t help but raise my hips in an attempt to delocalize the intense blaze of heat.

SMACK.

Did this goddamn caveman just slap my bare pussy?

My scream is instinctual, though it didn’t necessarily hurt. My stinging flesh is begging for any kind of attention, soothing or not. Honestly, I’d take another slap.

Anything.

He doesn’t make me wait long before answering my prayers, but instead of smacking me again, his wide tongue licks a wet path from my ass to clit.

I’d apologize for squirming if I wasn’t drowning in complete euphoria, letting my vocal cords finally sing into the gag silencing me. Despite my—clearly more earnest than before—fidgeting, he doesn’t punish me like he threatened to.

His tongue doesn’t stop its sumptuous dance around my clit, but he does dig his fingers into my thighs with a force that draws a pained cry from my throat when he struggles to hold me down. I won’t be surprised if I’m covered in bruises tomorrow, nor will I care.

I’m overcome with the need to grab onto something, but I have nothing besides the chain of the handcuffs tying me down. I want to come so badly, and I’m so fucking close I can taste it. His tongue laps at my clit in perfect, uniform motions that leave me shaking with full-bodied tremors. But when he reintroduces the pressure of those two fingers to the upper wall of my pussy, I'm in shambles.

He's got me climbing higher and higher, and I can hear his own animalistic rumbles of hunger as he feasts, finally sending me towards the precipice of Eden’s promised salvation. Then, everything stops.

Everything .

There are no hands wrestling my hips down, no magical tongue stealing pleasure from deep within my soul, no fingers abusing my G-spot. I’m completely bereft of all physical touch—at the exact fucking moment I need it.

I’m speechless, and not just because of the gag. I don’t even have the energy for a whimper or a cry or a plea. I’m drained.

And fucking pissed off.

His soft breath against my ear startles me back into reality. “If you want more, you’ll meet me in the Red Room next time.”

What?

The fucking Red Room? He’s got to be joking. I try to speak, but my words are incomprehensible behind the gag.

I scream once more in agony when he takes one of my nipples between his fingers, pinching it and giving a hard pull until it snaps back. The cloth is gently pulled out of my mouth so I can talk again, though my throat is dry as sandpaper.

“What was that, darling?” he asks.

“I said…I can’t.”

“Can’t what, come? I’m fully aware; I made sure of that.” He’s teasing me, but I have no idea why. I didn’t do anything to him.

I’m seething now.

What was the point of bringing me here—of working all that magic—just to leave me panting for an orgasm like I’m a 1-year-old boy? This isn’t the Yellow Room.

“I can’t come to the Red Room,” I pant, still catching my breath.

“Not with that attitude, surely. What’s wrong with the Red Room?” He actually sounds dumbfounded, like I or anybody else would be crazy not to sign up for all that psycho masochistic bullshit.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just not for me. I’m sorry.”

No, I’m not sorry. Why did I say that? Maybe because I’m still tied up and blindfolded, and I want to get out of here safely .

Maybe because I wish I was strong enough to handle being a Ruby, but I just don’t see that in my future.

“ Well, that’s unfortunate. I was really looking forward to having another taste of that sweet pussy. Come and find me again when you’re feeling a little more…adventurous.” The clink of the handcuffs above me signifies the sweet sound of release, but before I can pull his shirt off my head, the door clicks shut behind him.

I’m alone, wound up, writing for his touch, and completely unfucked.

Rejected .