Page 12 of Love By Design

“Do I look like it?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “You look like you need to be taken down a couple of pegs,” he said.

It should have been a red flag.

Honestly, it should have been.

It was.

But from the corner of my eye, I saw Lincoln and Riot stumble into the private room, and I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with the need to know what Riot looked like with a dick in his mouth. And the conversation from earlier still held true. I needed a good spanking, and Lincoln had found someone to facilitate that. The club was safe. Everything would be fine.

“I’d like to see you try,” I taunted him deliberately, then headed after Lincoln. Around the corner into the newly constructed play space, and I found it barely occupied. There was a couple sitting on the couch, lost in a conversation that looked a lot like aftercare, and Lincoln in the corner with Riot already on his knees. We made eye contact, and he lifted a brow, his concern morphing into excitement when the man he’d scouted followed me into the room.

“On the bench,” he said, palm connecting with my back. He guided me toward the spanking bench, and I let him. “Pants around your knees.”

“I don’t even know what to call you,” I said, undoing my fly and shoving my pants down to my thighs.

“You can call me Sir.”

I laughed. “Pass.”

He pushed me onto the bench.

It should have been another red flag.

Lincoln had his hands in Riot’s hair and his hips moved in slow, measured thrusts. I bet his cock would taste like cherry lip gloss at the end of the night. It was my own distraction that caused me to miss the man clipping cuffs around my ankles, attaching me to the bench. I caught him when he came around to do the same to my wrists, and I rocked back into a seated position to stop him.

“Slow down there, buddy,” I warned, holding up a hand to stop him. “That’s not how this works.”

“How it works is you do as you’re told.”

In the corner, Lincoln was coming, lost to an orgasm that he shot straight into the back of Riot’s throat, and the man in front of me grabbed my wrist and tried to haul me forward so he could cuff me to the front of the bench.

“Stop,” I told him.

He ignored me.

Riot made a gagging noise.

The couple on the couch…. I had no idea about them. I couldn’t hear anything, and when I tried to turn to look behind me for help, the man tugged me—hard. My chest came forward, I landed against the bench with a thud, and then I only had one hand free.

“Lincoln,” I tried to call out for my friend, but the music in the room was almost as loud as it was on the dance floor and the restraint had it so my voice traveled straight into the floor. Panic reared its head, slamming against my rib cage alongside my frantic heart.

“Stop fighting me,” the man complained, trying to grab my other wrist. He succeeded, and I was bound to the bench with my bare ass up in the air. “You’re supposed to do what you’re told.”

“Let me go,” I said again, fighting the cuffs.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a balled up bandana, then he shoved it so far into my mouth that when I sucked in a breath, the corners of it tickled the back of my throat, threatening to choke me. Sweat prickled my temple, and my fingers tingled with anxiety. Another set of feet came into view, not Lincoln, and my stomach sank. I had no idea who this other man was or what I’d gotten myself into. All I could do was hope Lincoln realized something was wrong before it got too far out of hand.

“Is this consensual?” a new voice asked. It was almost familiar, but I couldn’t make out anything over the quickly rising panic.

I shook my head frantically, trying to use my tongue to spit out the gag.

New fingers attached to new hands made quick work of unclasping the cuffs around my wrists, and I was back upright as soon as he finished my second cuff. I yanked the bandana out of my mouth and flung it in his face, furiously tearing open the cuffs while the stranger who’d saved me went around back for my ankles.

“Silas?” It was Lincoln’s voice from the corner, coming out of his post-orgasm haze, and I didn’t want to know what the scene in front of him looked like.

“I’m fine,” I promised him, wishing more than anything I could climb off the bench and pull my fucking pants up.