Page 28 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter eighteen

Stevie

Creed’s hand holds steady over my lower back as he leads us through the ridiculously packed club.

It seems everyone here is running on the same notion: to release their deepest inhibitions.

Since walking through the doors, I’ve seen more dick and tits than I have in the last five years.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I have definitely never seen something like this .

On stage last night was one thing. I was far enough from everything that I couldn't pinpoint just one act.

It was a sea of bodies, bodies that I wasn't focused on as intently.

This, though? It's impossible to miss the individuality.

Women sit on their knees, eager to please, while men waltz around—touching one another without question.

There seems to be an unspoken agreement that everyone is simply okay with it.

No, it's more than that. They aren't just okay , they are welcoming the touches—encouraging each other with their sensual murmurs and starved stares .

“Where are we going?” I ask, breaking my perusal.

“I want you to see this club through my eyes,” Creed says with a hint of giddiness woven in his words as he carefully leads me up the staircase.

“We'll start up on the third floor and work our way down.” As we reach the second floor, I look towards the stage to see Mae dressed in a sexy, strappy, black lingerie set while she damn near levitates around the pole. In a blink, her thighs are hooked around the steel before she throws her head and arms back, lowering herself head-first to the stage floor. The move has me holding my breath until she safely follows through with a sassy dismount. “She’s a talented one,” Creed muses with far too much interest to be considered comfortable.

“Atticus is a lucky man, wouldn’t you agree? ”

“She is talented.” I leave the rest of his question unanswered, keeping my opinions of Atticus' marriage to myself.

We continue up the staircase until we’re met with a dark rope blocking further access to the next floor. A hulking man wearing a black t-shirt and slacks stands on the other end of the rope, his expression blank. “Mr. Hill, the viewing room is ready for you.”

“Tell the girls to bring out the champagne,” Creed smarms as he unhooks the rope, allowing us passage to the third floor.

“Right away, sir,” the bouncer concedes as he takes a step backward.

Looping his arm around my waist, Creed leads me down a dark-lit hallway with familiar neon lowlights spilling from overhead.

Men and women are gathered in the narrow hallway, entering and exiting rooms where inhuman noises escape from.

My stomach clenches, unsure if the sounds are from pleasure or pain as we approach the only room with an open door.

“Don’t be shy,” he whispers as he gently pulls me into the room with him.

“What is this? ”

The room is on the smaller end, similar to my hotel room with a helluva lot nicer decor.

While two of the four walls are neatly decorated with erotic artistry, the wall furthest from the bed is all glass, revealing a different room, the one next to ours.

Low light spills from the glass, highlighting the only thing that catches my attention.

Oh my God. Hanging from a support beam is a petite woman, completely nude outside of the leather mask covering her head.

“ This is Le Papillon.” Creeds' words hang in the air, thickening the tension between us far more than it already is. "Well, part of it, anyway."

My tongue dries, unsure of what to make of him bringing me up here. I mean, it doesn't take much to guess what he wants, but I'm naively hopeful that I can get out of this without needing to touch his dick. “I don’t think—”

He cuts me off by steering me to sit at the edge of the bed. “Tonight is all about learning and observing. You see, I am a voyeur. That little display you put on at Memento gave me insight into what you might enjoy.”

Licking my glossy lips, I chance another look through the glass partition before sitting on the bed.

The woman hangs steadily, as if she’s been trained to not move…

not to breathe. I can’t deny that I'm not curious. I am . I love sex as much as the next girl, but this isn’t something I find myself wanting to experience with a man like Creed Hill—not like this.

“And what do I enjoy?” I ask.

Gently, his fingers tail over my exposed shoulder, stroking my flesh until a shiver rakes through my frame.

“I think you enjoy being the center of attention, and that’s not meant to be insulting," he muses. "You’re a stunning woman, and it would be a shame to hide your appeal. I also couldn't help but notice how much you enjoyed having Maxwell’s fingers buried in your pussy while we all watched.” My heart stutters at the casual mention of Max’s name.

I don’t know much about the MC’s business practices, but there’s a reason they all go by their road names.

Why didn’t he call Max, Mack? “There is no need to pretend with me, angel. I hold no judgment. In fact, I think we could enjoy ourselves today.”

Not wanting to tip him off to my unease, I relax into his touch and offer a sigh of contentment despite my desperate urge to run. Jesus. Get it together, Stevie. “How about that drink? It might help me relax a little since this is all so new to me.”

He moves toward the small end table where two glasses of bubbling alcohol sit. “Excellent choice.”

Accepting the glass he extends to me, I press the cool glass to my lips before swallowing a generous amount of the subtly sweet liquid.

The silence between us stretches for minutes, giving me ample time to continue sipping on the drink.

Sooner than I think, Creed takes my empty flute, leaving me to stare through the glass partition until the woman strung is the only thing on my mind.

Thoughts I've never had in my life filter through my mind, like a quiet voice in the back of my mind egging my imagination to run wild with stray ideas of what the woman smells like—wondering if her voice is as soft as her skin looks and if her taste could quench the burning thirst in the back of my throat.

My body ignites, as if it's coming to life for the first time, at the imagery now painted from my wayward thoughts.

A shadow behind the glass pulls my attention as it covers the bound woman.

Before I can blink, whomever is with her moves just enough to reveal silver clamps over the woman’s red, excruciatingly pointed peaks.

While I can’t hear her, there's no doubt in my mind that she's making some sort of noise underneath her mask.

Was it out of pleasure or pain? Slowly, the darkened, lithe figure moves around the woman.

Thick fingers drag over her torso, triggering both mine and her abdomen to contract. What the hell?

Crossing my legs, I attempt to ignore the building heat simmering low in my stomach. “Sensory deprivation makes her rather sensitive,” Creed explains softly. “I’ve had her waiting here for about an hour now. Every sound, scent, and touch wound her all the more tighter for this moment.”

The question falls from my lips without warning, “You had her waiting?”

A deep laugh rumbles from the man next to me, raising the hairs on my arms. “Of course I did. Why would I pay for such luxury and not utilize it when the urge strikes?”

Each word from his mouth slowly reaches my ears, morphing from cocky to something headier, stoking the heat that's creeping through my body. The shadowy figure steps from the darkness, removing his darkened cloak as he moves around the woman. His muscles flex with each calculated step, like he’s attempting to confuse the woman of his whereabouts.

Her legs tremble continuously as his hands leave no part of her untouched.

Everything about this feels heightened, yet tame given who owns the damn place.

“Is this it?” My tongue tingles, temporarily distracting me as I try not to slur my words. “Is this what does it for you?”

“ Foreplay is everything,” he chides. The sound of rustling fabric pulls my eyes away from the scene in time to see Creed remove his suit jacket. As if he were a seasoned professional in this scenario, he folds the fabric neatly before placing it on the nightstand where our drinks previously sat.

I snort an unlady-like laugh, turning my attention back to the scene. I can’t explain why I’m so intrigued by it, but it’s the better alternative. Staring at Creed Hill feels a lot like an offering, and I’m not offering him a damn thing. "I think our versions of foreplay are very different."

“I would say you’re right,” he huffs a laugh, “but I think you’re enjoying this more than you want to admit.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed your legs clenching together or those irresistible, pointed buds peaking through your dress.

” Frowning, I look down at my chest and see exactly what he’s talking about.

My body is reacting despite my efforts to conceal any sign of arousal.

I know I’m not the hardest person to please on the planet, but this is a new level, even for me.

Why am I turned on? “Don’t worry,” Creed whispers, brushing my hair behind my ear as he sits beside me.

“The real show will begin now. Let’s enjoy it, shall we? ”

My heart kicks against my ribcage as I bring my eyes back to the glass wall.

Any confusion about my state of arousal changes as I watch the man who teased the bound woman lift her leg with ease before driving his engorged length into her from behind.

Our view of the display is completely unobscured as the man kicks her other leg further away—testing her flexibility to the point that I ache in more ways than one.

His hips piston forward ruthlessly, pushing her body just for her to collapse back into him.

Her arms shake above her head continuously as her head writhes from side to side.

Time seems to slow with each thrust, dragging this show out a hell of a lot longer than I would have imagined.

My mouth falls open as the man suddenly drops his submissive’s leg and rips away the clamps from her nipples.

I don’t know what I expected her reaction to be, but a steady flow of fluid dripping from between her legs wasn’t it.

“What do you see?” Creed breathes against my ear, eliciting a pulse of desire through my core. He slides behind me and the gentle brush of his legs around my body sends a rush of heat through my veins that I can’t explain.

I moan. I fucking moan before it even registers in my head that I shouldn’t want to moan as the woman shakes against the bindings that are holding her up when another orgasm tears through her. “I see the woman…”

“What about the woman, angel?” he groans, sliding his warm, calloused palms inside of the cups of my dress, gently kneading each breast.

My lips part as another moan works its way from my mouth. I don’t know why his touch feels so good or why I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life…and I don’t care. Why don't I care? “She’s being t-tortured with p-pleasure,” I pant .

He pinches my sensitive buds with a deep rasp, “Does that sound like something you would enjoy?”

“Oh God,” I choke out. “I-I think s-so.”

“Now, tell me what you want.”

What do I want? Flashes of Max’s hands on my body filter through my mind.

It’s him taunting me and his hateful stare that I feel burning through me—setting my entire world on fire.

I know that I should want to deny it, but my brain is…

foggy. I try to reach for a thought, anything that will anchor me to reality, but his name slurs from my tongue before I can stop it, “M-Max.”

“ Maxwell ,” Creed drawls. “Did he make you feel that good, or was it knowing how wrong it was to have your stepbrother finger fucking your pretty little cunt?”

His sharp words bring another throb of desire through me. It’s almost enough to convince me to fall into the fog, but a wave of clarity threatens to bowl me over. How does he know that Max is my stepbrother? “How—”

“Shhh,” he hushes. “Let’s not worry about that right now.” His hands pull the front of my dress over my breasts, exposing me completely. “I want you to play with these pert nipples and pretend that you’re doing it for your brother .”

I don’t like that he called Max my brother, but I nod. At least, I think I do. Moving my hands slowly, I cup as much of each breast as I can, letting the tingling sensation run through my veins. I gently graze my fingers over my pebbled buds until arousal coats the inside of my thong.

The bed dips subtly from behind me, leaving me to hold myself steady. “Fuck,” I hiss as my eyes flutter shut.

“Open your legs for me.”

A warmth spreads over my thighs as they open with zero resistance. Cool air nips at my arousal-coated panties before a heated air replaces it, stimulating another wave of arousal .

It feels good. Too good.

Something is wrong.

I pant as my heart races. “W-What are you doing?”

Creed's hot tongue prods again the material between my legs before he speaks. “I’m going to give you what you want.” Weightlessness takes over in my mind, sending my body falling backward into the bed.

I want this, right? “Will you be a good slut for me?” he rasps as he slides his fingers through my arousal.

“Mhm,” I mumble.

“Oh, angel,” he groans, and it sounds like he's in pain. “Is this all for him?”

“Max…” I sigh, spreading my legs further for him. Because it’s Max here, behind my closed eyes. It’s Max touching, licking, and sucking on my swollen clit until my legs shake. It’s his forest green eyes, still laced with disdain and arousal, staring back at me while he enters me repeatedly.

I raise my hips to meet his harsh thrusts, knowing that I’m admitting to wanting him—wanting this .

“ Are you going to come for me? ”

I don’t have time to second guess how off the voice sounds, or debate who is bringing me to the edge as my orgasm rips through me. The last thing I hear before the darkness takes away what little consciousness I have is my voice screaming Max’s name.