Black Room: Door 3
Page 9
I see him through the gap in the doorway, and he sees me. “Ah, Miss Tavistock. Come in, please.”
He moves toward the doorway, and the voices cease as he shoves them wide open and then ushers me inside.
All eyes are on me. How many men are here? I scan the crowd, counting nine, and Killian makes ten. They are all of an age, late twenties or early thirties, handsome, expensively dressed in three-piece suits. All of them are staring at me, at my exposed breasts, at my erect nipples.
They’re looking at me like starving men, as if I’m something to eat.
I step into the room.
Killian closes the doors me and moves to stand behind me. He reaches around in front of me and pulls the edges of my shirt apart, exposing me more completely.
“Gentlemen, please find your places at the card table.” At his command, the other nine men find seats around a large round table. “We don’t play for money, this evening, my friends. No, tonight we play for something much more…interesting.”
His lips touch the shell of my ear. “Take off your panties, Miss Tavistock.”
I tremble. Shake my head.
“No?” He sounds pleased. “Very well, then. I shall do it myself.”
He sinks to his knees behind me. Slides his palms up my thighs, along the black lace stockings. Up, up, up under my skirt. He finds the elastic waistband of my panties.
Slowly, he slides them down.
I shake, nearly hyperventilating, aching. His touch is electric.
The eyes on me are wild with lust. More than a few men shift in their chairs, adjusting their crotches.
He lowers my panties inch by inch, until they’re at my knees. Then, he drops them so they fall around my ankles. He cups my calf, lifts my leg, tugs the panties free, and then does the same for the other side. I’m bare, now, beneath my skirt. The air is cold on my damp slit.
It feels as if each of the men can see beneath my skirt, can see my bare, bald pussy.
He stands, lifts my panties, and dangles them from one finger. “This is the prize.” He clutches my panties in his fist, balls them up, and holds them to his nose. He reaches under my skirt, swipes a finger into my slit, between the throbbing lips of my cunt, smearing my wetness on his finger. Holds it up, to show how it gleams in the light, wet, glistening. “They smell of her, still. They’re wet, gentlemen. Wet from her desire.” He pops that finger in his mouth, and then withdraws it slowly.
I hear a few groaned curses from the seated card players.
Killian paces past me to the card table, tossing my panties into the center.
“Win a hand with a full house, her apron comes off. Win with four of a kind, you get her stockings. Straight flush, her shirt. Win a hand with a royal flush, her skirt. Win the final hand, you get those,” he says with a gesture at my underwear.
The men smile and murmur between themselves.
“Are we agreed?”
There is a chorus of yes, and agreed.
His lips touch my ear once more. His whisper tickles, a buzz of sound only I can hear. “When the game is over, Miss Tavistock, I’ll make you come so hard your screams will wake the dead.”
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Copyright © 2016 by Jasinda Wilder and Jade London. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
THE BLACK ROOM: DOOR 3
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Jasinda Wilder
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