Page 70 of Redemption

I straighten my shoulders. “You can’t do this to me. I won’t walk into a room full of strangers wearing a collar and handcuffs.”

“I absolutely can.” He chuckles, a sound of arrogant amusement. “Try to stop me. Give me the satisfaction of clipping on your leash and making you crawl.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You can’t make me do anything.”

“Oh, little dove,” he croons. “I definitely can. But for now, I’m giving you a choice.”

“These aren’t choices,” I shoot back. “It’s coercion.”

With every “choice” I make, I’m making myself more vulnerable. I’m surrendering to him just a little bit more.

He traces the curve of my purple curl. “And you love being coerced.”

You liked it.I remember how he justified his actions as the masked man. How he justified what he did to me in the studio.

The chill is closing in on me again, and my throat tightens to restrict my breathing, as though his long fingers are squeezing my neck.

He kisses me again, taking his time to caress my lips with his, imbuing me with warmth.

“Time to join the other guests, pet.”

I try to stall, but he strides forward. The metal cuff tugs at my wrist, dragging me in his wake.

“This is crazy,” I insist.

I’m wearing a collar and handcuffs. I can’t be seen publicly like this.

He laughs again and doesn’t slow his confident pace through the massive, open front doors. “Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in.”

Dozens of people wearing fine clothes and elaborate masks fill the foyer. Several curious glances rake over us, witnessing the embarrassing spectacle we’re making.

To my horror, I feel something slick between my thighs with every shaky step. I’m getting turned on by this humiliating scene.

I lift my chin and school my features to an impassive expression that’s far better at concealing my emotions than the gold mask.

“My proud, brave little pet.” Dane says it like praise, not mockery. “You’ll enjoy yourself tonight. I guarantee it.”

As we near the other guests, shock makes my feet stick to the marble floor.

The guests’ outfits are obviously expensive, but several of them are dressed in leather and latex rather than fine silk. A statuesque blonde wears a corset over her voluminous taffetaskirt. Her breasts are almost spilling out, and the skirt is open at the front to reveal sheer white tights. She’s not wearing underwear.

I gasp and tear my gaze away. It falls on the man to her left. What I originally thought was a formal kilt is actually crafted in leather, and his loose-fitting white shirt is unbuttoned to reveal masculine chest hair. He’s holding a leash causally in one hand. The other end is clipped to a collar on the corseted woman’s neck.

“What is this, Dane?” I ask breathlessly.

He fixes me with a wicked smirk. “It’s a party, darling. Haven’t you always wanted to go to a ball like one of your fantasy princesses?”

I gape at him. There’s nothing romantic about this. It’s deviant. Carnal.

Perverse.

And my blood is humming through my veins.

“That’s one of my favorite colors,” Dane rumbles, caressing my heated cheek. “Almost as pink as your pretty cunt.”

“Dane!”

Judging by the kilted man’s smirk, he heard that scandalous remark.