Page 67 of Mine
I scan the room, soaking it all in until my eyes land on a couple in the corner of the room. She’s naked, bar a tiny ebony silk scrap between her legs, six-inch stilettoes and a diamond encrusted collar around her neck. Her long black hair is swept up into a high, sleek ponytail, and her lips are painted a shocking shade of crimson. She’s on her knees for the man in front of her. He reaches a hand to her cheek, stroking it with a tenderness that contrasts the entire depraved scene.
My mouth drops open. Dominic smirks beside me as he guides me to the bar. ‘You need a drink.’ It’s not a question.
I swallow the saliva flooding my tongue as he pulls a stool out for me. He orders two glasses of champagne fromthe impeccably dressed server, who’s pouring drinks like nearly naked women are the norm—I suppose in here, they are.
‘Am I overdressed?’ I sweep a hand in front of me.
‘You won’t be for much longer.’ His pupils burn into mine.
‘Do they arrive like that, or are there changing facilities?’
‘There are submissive changing rooms. Aftercare rooms. Voyeur rooms. There’s a main stage for event nights. Fourteen private suites for private fun and two Saint Andrew’s crosses.’
‘Fuck.’ I bite my lip, accepting the glass he hands me.
‘Yeah, we do that here a lot.’ He winks.
‘In this room?’ One stolen glance at the woman on her knees again answers my question. Her head is bobbing up and down over her partner’s lap, her lips wrapped around his engorged cock. Their eyes are locked on each other’s and the way he looks at her is with utter adoration. My nipples tighten beneath my dress as I stare at the frankly debauched scene in front of me.
The men in the booth saunter over for a better look. I take a large mouthful of champagne. Dominic watches me as I drink it all in. ‘The booths and benches are a free for all,’ he tells me. ‘The bar,’ he taps his thick fingers on the marble counter, ‘is off limits to anyone but Sean and Layla.’ He slides onto the stool beside me, his dark eyes boring into mine. ‘Are you okay?’ Concern laces his tone. ‘It’s not… too much?’
My eyes dart to the couple again. My view is restricted by the men congregating closer. ‘No.’ I take another drink. ‘It’s utterly fucking erotic.’
His full lips lift into a wolfish grin as he leans closer and presses his mouth to mine. Heat floods my sex. My pussypulses, desperate for friction. His fingers trail over my waist, blazing over my breasts. It’s nothing compared to what’s going on across the room, but it’s still more than what’s publicly acceptable anywhere else.
‘Wait at that booth over there.’ He points to one of the few unoccupied ones. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ He drains his champagne, then stands.
‘Where are you going?’ My voice cracks with need.
‘You’ll see.’
I glance around the room.
‘Don’t panic, sweetheart. No one in here will touch you. Not now they know you’re mine.’ He stares at me for a long beat.
‘Yes, sir,’ I stand, taking my half empty glass of champagne to the booth. A large rectangular table punctuates the centre. Two high-backed leather benches are positioned either side of it. I slip into one of them and wait. Dom struts across the room. Everyone he passes nods respectfully before he exits through another glass door.
Several moans of what sounds like approval ripple from across the room, and I gather the submissive brought her dom to orgasm. I writhe on the seat, squeezing my thighs together.
So much for me wanting to carve out a respectable life for myself.
Everything I want right now is dirty and debauched.
I barely recognise the woman I’ve become, but I don’t dislike her. No, I’m kind of in awe of her.
Dom strides back into the bar, his long, powerful legs eating up the distance between us. He’s carrying some sort of chrome bar. My stomach spins with both anticipation and raw, unfiltered desire.
His eyes glint as he stops two metres away from thebooth. ‘When I said wait at that booth, I meant lie up on the table—naked.’
My lips pop open. I stand, slowly, my legs trembling beneath me as I scan the room. The crowd has dispersed around the couple; greedy gazes search hungrily for their next fix.
‘Loose the dress, sweetheart,’ Dom demands, pulling the pole wider.
I wet my lips, glancing at the many eyes drifting to us.
‘Eyes on me, Aoife,’ he booms. This isn’t the man who holds me in bed every night. It isn’t the man who brushes my tears away. Or the same man who so tenderly cleaned my cut feet.
No, this is a different Dom. Darker. Dominant. Devastating.
