Page 46 of The Princess and the P.I.

Maurice looked at her, then looked up, putting his hands on his waist like he was tired of it all. “What did your little internet trolls say about getting to the black room?”

“We have to get cleared by these referee people. The shortcut is to go from red to blue, but each referee is holding a different pass. We don’t know if they will take us the right way.”

“I’m not fucking my way through all these rooms, Kitty Cat. We need the shortcut.”

“Okay, we have to get a shortcut to blue. After we put on a show in the blue room, we get voted to the black room. Sara is the Grand Madame of the black room. We get in, we talk her up, and we go.”

Maurice was on his third drink, and Fiona was getting nervous. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Now, this room is shaped like a U, and Sara just walked through that bottom section. My guess is we want to get as close to the bottom cluster of rooms as possible. You start on one side looking for a blue referee—”

“We are not splitting up.”

“Of course we’re splitting up. It’s inefficient for us both to try to cover all these rooms. We need to find the shortcut refs—”

“What if you find one? How will you let me know if you have one? They took my phone after they medically examined my scrotum.”

“We don’t have to get to her together, Maurice.

You can read my report.” Fiona walked through the circle of onlookers, and throaty appreciation of her outfit echoed around the room.

How would she guess which room had the right ref?

She drowned out the sound of Maurice hissing her name and walked into a thick, tangled mess of people.

The stars of this room put on a show for the crowd.

A woman’s breast pressed against the plexiglass while a man in a leather mask pummeled her from behind.

He was spanking her with some medieval-looking device.

Fiona lost her purpose for a moment and watched the leather hit the woman’s reddening ass with a depth of curiosity that was indistinguishable from sin.

She was trying to hold the church girl back, but a lot of what she saw made her want to pray for these people.

There was so much pain in their desire. She was leaving that room ready to declare herself safe from perversion when she saw a man being held down by a woman while two other men forced his mouth onto the woman’s strap-on.

As she turned her head again, a woman was pushing against a wall of a man struggling as he held her down.

Well, less struggling and more squirming seductively against him, but Fiona got the point.

Rough play.

The wall of a man pushed himself inside the woman, and Fiona’s breath caught in her throat, and her skin flushed hot. She licked the peak of her top lip.

A hot hand clasped around her waist, and she gasped.

“I should have known I’d find you here.” Maurice’s voice was low, a little shakier, like he was hanging off a ledge.

The smoky alcohol on his breath made her nervous.

He used lists and itineraries to counter his poor sleep and endless rules to control the scene, but he was breaking his own rules.

She didn’t know how many drinks he’d had by now.

“Noncon play, Kitty Cat?” Maurice’s voice curled up her spine like a hot snake. “It fits the profile, though. Church Girl’s got big feelings in her pussy—but doesn’t want to own it.”

Fiona shifted on her feet and swallowed what felt like a mouthful of dry sand.

He took a step closer, crowding her space. “Oh no, Daddy,” he crooned, his hand brushing lightly up her trembling neck. “I wanted to be a good girl, but he just wanted to fuck me so bad…so it’s not my fault, you see.”

His hands circled her throat gently, like a dare.

Fiona was supposed to be looking for the shortcut, the signal, the goddamn referee. But Maurice’s heat and teasing malice cracked through her concentration like a whip. She couldn’t think. She was leaking power from her body as they spoke. He was tipping control back in his favor.

No.

“We’re doing a job, Maurice. I’m looking for a referee.” She wanted him to know she was in control, but his other hand looping around the red roses at her nipple was making her pulse wet between her legs.

“Lie,” he said, ignoring her.

There were angels looking out for her ego, because a ref slipped out from between two couples. “See! There.”

She nodded in the ref’s direction.

“Maurice.” She swallowed. “You caught the attention of the ref. Look at his holster.” She moved her chin to the blue cards in the ref’s hand.

Shortcut .

A small crowd began to mill about.

“More.” Fiona elbowed him, but his response time was slow.

He kissed her neck, and the gesture was…sweet.

“Wrong room,” she hissed. “The R and B room is down the hall. We’re losing him.”

His gripped tightened around her neck, and she gasped in surprise.

Good.

She pulled his hand away with dramatic indignation.

His fingers returned, everywhere now, insistent this time, walking up the stretchy lace of her garter straps, pulling her ass cheeks apart and watching them clap back together.

Her breath hitched like she had just finished a crying jag, and liquid heat felt like it was leaking down her thigh.

Slip my panties to the side. I won’t tell anyone what we do.

“Fiona.” Maurice sounded like he was talking down a man with a gun to his head. “I need you to say yes and no clearly.” He gripped her arm like his knees were buckling. “Fiona, no ‘hmm’ or ‘uh-huh.’ Yes and no. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Buckle up.” He pulled her up and yanked her to a darker part of the room, and Fiona didn’t have to make a show being surprised or a little scared of where he was taking her. But she saw what he was doing, letting the onlookers’ imaginations do most of the work.

“Suck it,” he demanded loudly for the refs, gripping her hair, and when Fiona reached up to slap him, something tightened in his stomach. Before he pushed her down again, she could see his soft brown eyes were blown-out black.

Fiona shoved against him, and he pushed her head down to the opened fly of his pants, giving the shadowy impression that he had forced his dick down her throat when it lay hot and throbbing under her cheek.

“Spit on it if you hate it so much, Kitty Cat,” he said in a wicked, mean rasp meant to carry to the edges of the room.

His fist was tangled tighter in her hair, forcing her eyes on him.

The musky smell of his skin, the pulsing velvet warmth of his erection bouncing against her cheek, her neck, and sometimes her mouth, filled Fiona with this dark and intoxicating combination of adrenaline and guilt.

That line between what was hot and what was sinful, what was power and what was submission, blurred.

She wanted to spit on it. Because it was filthy.

Because it didn’t deserve her perfect pussy, and—OH MY GOODNESS.

She was into this?

Way into this?

Her whole life had been about restraint and modesty and denying that she even felt desire, and now this theater of domination and degradation had lit her up like a bonfire.

A purity kink, Fiona? In this economy? She was always surprising herself lately.

What if she took him in her mouth right now? A surge of boldness seized her, and she gripped his thick shaft. It was pulsing hot and alive. Maurice shot her a look that bordered on a threat.

But suddenly it didn’t matter.

The sex referee came to find them, and he winked. “You’ve been invited to the blue room.”