by Ava Claire
“I can give in to the peer pressure-”
“Don’t even think about it,” Jacob growled, pulling me even closer. “The only man that gets to see all of you is me.” He cast a look around the room, and anyone that dared to look in our direction found something else to look at.
My heart did a happy dance as relief shuddered through me. More power to all of the women who were rocking their birthday suits, but I had no intention of joining them. I didn’t care that I stuck out like a sore thumb.
I cast a look over Jacob’s casual number. “And I thought I’d be underdressed.”
His lip quirked into a smile. “Are you complaining, Mrs. Whitmore?”
My fingers veered to his ass, giving it a good squeeze. “Hell no.” Jacob looked tantalizing in a suit, jeans, or nothing at all.
“Looks like you two need to get a room!”
I wheeled around to see Dylan ogling us with a playful smile on her glossy lips. She held out two glasses. “Bottoms up.”
I eyed the glass warily. This wasn’t a stereotypical club, and she wasn’t a frat guy passing me God knows what in a Dixie cup, but I still didn’t reach for it.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t Roofie Night.”
“Dylan...” Jacob groaned, taking one of the glasses.
“What?” she shrugged. “You’ve clearly forgotten that I refuse to take life too seriously.” She cut her green eyes at me. “Your sub isn’t quite there yet.”
I waited for Jacob to take a sip before I accepted the second glass. I brought it to my nose and sniffed it gingerly. “What is it?” It smelled innocent enough. Slightly fruity.
“Something to loosen you up before we head to the throne room and we really blow your mind.” When I didn’t move the rim to my lips, she sighed dramatically. “Do I need to drink it first? It’s sangria, Leila!”
I glared at her as I took a tentative gulp. Red wine, oranges, and cloves exploded on my tongue. “Thanks,” I offered her, heat pricking my cheeks. I didn’t feel too guilty since it was clear that she knew more about me than I knew about her.
My tummy was in knots, even though there wasn’t anything scandalous happening other than the kinky dress code. Since I needed liquid courage to even witness the main attraction, I had a feeling I was about to see some straight up sex.
I tried to think about it rationally.
Logically.
Once upon a time, the very idea of domination and submission would have been enough to make me clutch my pearls. I was evolved now. A little more open minded. A little less afraid after Jacob made it clear that I wouldn’t be stripping down and putting on a collar.
He still knew me. Knew me well enough to lean in and press his lips against my temple before they dropped to my ear.
“We can hang here for a bit, if you’d like.”
I’d come too far to wade in the water now. I threw back the rest of the sangria and pointed at the exit with the empty glass. “How can I say no to a throne room?” I even slapped on a smile for good measure and slipped my arm in with Jacob’s. I didn’t miss the fact that Dylan and Jacob both looked surprised by my statement. I broadened my smile and stifled the last bit of nerves that danced in my belly. “Lead the way.”
Dylan exchanged a look with Jacob, who gave me a few more moments to change my mind before he gave her a crisp nod.
She let out a whoop of delight that reverberated around the room like a record scratch. Most of the eyes were already sneaking a look in our direction, but that sound ensured that we were center stage.
I thought I was out of place with my gown and my red hot cheeks from all of the nudity, but I didn’t miss the disdain that rippled across the faces of the attendees. It wasn’t the annoyed, ‘I love her anyway’ annoyance that you spared for friends and family. These were Jacob’s people. People of means. People that were drenched in protocol and the do’s and don’t’s when you’re in public. And this place? With it’s elegance and crystal chandeliers and leather collars? It wasn’t an exception to the rule. They glared at Dylan like she’d let out the burp heard round the world.
She was nude, just like every other woman (except for me), but she practically had ‘Other’ stamped on her forehead. But she didn’t blush and apologize. She didn’t duck her head and hustle out before she ruffled any more feathers. She stood there in her robe with her head held high as she took our empty glasses and deposited them on a nearby table, then flashed me a toothy grin that almost made me forget that we’d started off on the wrong foot. Anybody that could give the rich and entitled the best kind of medicine (ignoring them altogether) was somebody worth a second chance.
“Right this way.”
The guests parted like the Red Sea and she smiled so sweetly at them I was surprised they weren’t holding their jaw, wincing from a toothache. We stepped back into the hallway, met by more classical music, more eyes aimed at us before they carried on with their business. I didn’t miss the fact that the men came in every size, every suit tailored to their various frames. The women were every color of the rainbow, but they had one thing in common: they all were thin and collared, like they were ordered from the ‘Perfect Submissive’ catalogue. Considering all the things I had to worry about (What exactly would I see in the throne room? Why did Jacob bring me here? Were we really safe here?) the fact that everyone was probably thanking their lucky stars that the chunky girl in the gown was keeping her clothes on should have been the furthest thing from my mind...but I couldn’t help it. I kept wiping my palms on my skirt, trying to keep my chin high when I saw two of the collared women whispering after they sized up me and Jacob.
Dylan was rambling on about themed events they had coming up and I was battling that old, familiar feeling.
The new girl. The fat girl.
Right back to the ‘why her?’ that I’d been dealing with since the day Jacob chose me.
The two women, a blonde with cheerleader-perfect hair and a brunette who reminded me of Missy went all out, full on giggling.
Keep your head up.
You’re just as sexy as anyone here. Sexier even! And-
“Wh-oh!”
I stopped mid mental pep talk as Jacob made the entire world stop.
He pushed me up against the wall.
Braced himself and stared down at me like a woman wanted to be stared at by her man.
Like I was his reason for existence.
He wet his lips, sky blue eyes glowing with love and lust. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look tonight?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer. He turned it into a rhetorical question as he claimed my mouth. Shoved his tongue down my throat. Took his hands and groped me like we’d been saving ourselves for marriage and the honeymoon was on.
It was a good thing that he was fucking me with his mouth because I was at a loss for words.
I was his.
Lost in his touch.
His smell.
His lips.
His love.
Because that’s what made me wet. Made me groan. This man loved me and he didn’t care if we were surrounded by people or all by ourselves. He wanted me to know that nothing else mattered except for this fact: Jacob Whitmore was in love with me.
When he came up for air, I had to plant my feet on the ground so I didn’t float right up to the vaulted ceiling. He didn’t open his eyes right away, his handsome face serene. Like he wanted to savor the lingering taste of me.
“We do have private rooms upstairs,” Dylan quipped, reminding me that we weren’t alone. The two women who’d been eyeballing us and chuckling at my expense turned on the charm, the sides of their mouths nearly reaching their predatory eyes.
The blonde was the first to speak, holding out her hand as she split the distance to us. “We just wanted to introduce ourselves-”
“And I want to introduce you to the love of my life.” Jacob didn’t accept her hand, standing at my side. Both women looked like he’d just snatched the wind right out of their sails. I put the
nails in any delusions they had that they were relevant. I shook her hand, with a smile of my own.
“Charmed.” I released her hand like it was toxic and gingerly wiped my palm on my skirt before I dismissed them, breezing past the duo to where Dylan was watching with a ‘Oh snap!’ look on her face.
She leaned in, lowering her voice a notch or two. “So glad that someone else finally put those two in their place.”
Someone else? Did that mean that she took a stand against Mean Girls: Submissive Edition?
The moment was gone in a flash as she peered over my shoulder at Jacob. “Shall we continue? Or did you want to suck face some more?”
A sigh shuddered through Jacob, but I was biting back a smile. This chick was definitely brash and in your face, but there was a charm underneath it that was hard to deny.
We moved down the hall, past a few lounge rooms, one where I was pretty sure a circle of women were taking turns giving a man a blowjob, another where a sign was on the door that read ‘Scene in Progress’. Curiosity made me want to put my ear against the wood, but I kept pace with Dylan. We rounded a corner and she came to a hard stop.
She whirled back to face us, dropping her tone to a theatrical timbre. “I hope you’ve prepared yourself. Gird your loins-”
“Dylan-“ Jacob was using his Dad voice, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Just take us in the throne room.”
She didn’t let the interruption (or Jacob’s tone) steal her thunder. She took two dramatic steps forward, inhaled deep and turned back to us. “May I present...the throne room.”
She held out an arm like a game show presenter. I linked my fingers with Jacob, holding tight to his hand. Dylan was miming a drum roll as we followed suit.
Two oversized doors were thrown open and my eyes bulged as I took in what was inside.
Back in the old days, throne rooms were the place where the King’s favorites could witness his splendor. A place of excess and tradition and attire spun with golden thread. A place for royalty.
This throne room?
It was a place for sin.
The wood beneath our feet was the same wood that lined the walls. St. Andrew’s crosses were affixed to the stone, with women attached to them in various stages of pleasure and pain. Chrome glinted like diamonds. Like the buckles on their collars. The men in this room had shed their jackets. Rolled up their sleeves. Those that weren’t preoccupied—teasing, biting, kissing, whipping their submissives—were at velvet lined equipment racks.
There were enough devices to give a Victorian era doctor a hard on. Everything from Wartenberg wheels to things that made me worry that whomever they were being used on might actually need medical assistance. But the sounds that whipped around the room were more than wails of pain. Pleasure hung in the air like a heady cologne.
It was terrifying.
It was intoxicating.
Jacob leaned in, and I guessed that he was about to ask me if I was okay.
I was wrong.
“What’s your color, little sub?”
The old Leila, the wide eyed girl who walked into Whitmore and Creighton for the first time, would have booked it out of there like her life depended on it. Ignoring the curiosity. Snuffing out any hint of desire that something so extreme elicited.
Now? Surrounded by debauchery and climaxes? Surrounded by people who were shouting for more, breathlessly calling out safewords, Doms stroking their submissives? There was only one word that fell from my lips.
“Green.”
Chapter Two
“Fan of the cross, eh?”
Once upon a time, that quip would have taken me back to vacation bible school. It would have been said by the sinner of the group. The new girl that refused to close her eyes during prayer and cussed without fear that God would strike her down.
At the moment, I couldn’t be further from church. If anything, my current location was essentially Sodom and Gomorrah. And she wasn’t talking about biblical crosses here. Dylan was referencing a cross that I was intimately familiar with. A cross that was turned on its side, making a mahogany X. A cross that had me enraptured, watching a woman with skin as rich as the wood she was affixed to. The chrome twinkled like the diamond studded collar around her throat. A collar that had a leather leash attached—that her Dom tugged in between lashes.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Well, until Dylan helpfully reminded me that I was staring.
I glanced at Jacob, who was smirking at me with his eyes. ‘Discreet’ was not in Dylan’s dictionary. Her laughter weaved in and out of the moans, commands, and the whistle of God knows what that elicited sounds of pain and pleasure.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She was literally doubled over.
Heat flared in my cheeks as I tried to glare at her, but I was on the verge of laughing myself. Fate was definitely a comedian, smack dab in the middle of this den of sin. Gawking at everything like I was on some open air tour bus.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll see a woman having clothespins attached to her vagina. Don’t worry, Grandma—she’ll use her safeword if it becomes too much!”
Dylan stood upright, using a steel cart lined with medical tools to steady herself. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I must have looked like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar because she went serious, flashing me a tiny, gentle smile. “Despite those bitches out front, you’ll find that Risk is the least judgmental place on Earth. This is a place where people who are into all forms of BDSM can explore their kinks safely and discreetly. Plus-” she added with a wink, “I’ve literally seen and done it all. I’m not so much into bondage, though. I’m more of a pain slut.”
I nestled a little closer to Jacob, the heat intensifying. Not out of embarrassment, mind you. I’d literally stepped into kinky Oz. I was used to keeping this side of myself hidden; exclusively behind closed doors, with no one other than Jacob having any clue that I liked to be dominated. Now, I was surrounded by women who liked what I liked. Shepherded around by a woman who seemed to wear her kinks like a badge of honor.
It was exhilarating.
It was overwhelming.
“Maybe we should find Bash.” Jacob brought me in closer, clearly reading me like an open book. Answering my question before I had a chance to ask it. “Sebastian Knight. He’s the founder of this place.”
“Right!” Dylan snapped to attention, a dutiful soldier, even in her robe. “Let’s not keep the king waiting.”
I mouthed ‘the king?’ to Jacob, which brought the smirk from his blue eyes to his lips. He didn’t answer me, just pulling me along, past more crosses and a bondage bed that put ours to shame. The woman tied to it looked like something out of a Cirque du Soleil show, suspended in air with silver chains attached and draped across her bare flesh. All this talk about throne rooms and kings brought to mind epic sex parties hosted by philandering rulers with concubines as far as the eye could see. Here, there was everything from masters who were paired with their submissives to groups of submissives servicing one man to-
My eyes bulged when I saw a woman bent over a spanking bench, her behind as red as my face...with men lining up to take turns spanking her. Like a kinky carnival ride.
I ripped my eyes away, but Dylan had already seen my horror.
“This isn’t much of a leap, but I’m guessing you’re not a pain slut.”
“She’s my submissive and that’s all you need to know,” Jacob said darkly, letting her know that while we were surrounded by public displays of kink, our sex life wasn’t an acceptable conversation topic.
I’d be lying if I said that his shutdown of her curious desire to take a peek in our playroom wasn’t a little hot, but it left me with an important question: if I wasn’t getting naked, and we weren’t going to do or talk about what we did in those fevered, blissful moments, why were we here?
Dylan kept pace, not showing any sign of taking offense. If anything, she picked up speed, narrating the different scen
es we passed as we continued on.
“There’s the section for people who are into medical play. I hate pap smears so speculums are a buzz kill for me” and “If you’re into sensory depravation, there’s everything from blindfolds to ball gags, to full hoods” and “It’s a good thing you’re getting your Cinderella on because it’s always chilly over here. Have to keep it cool for peeps into food play”.
All the stone and medieval inspired equipment made my head spin, but when we arrived at the bottom of a marble staircase, my world came to a halt. A man that looked like he played professional football when he wasn’t attending elite sex parties stood at the foot of the stairs. Like most of the men here, he was also wearing a tux, with an onyx colored tied that matched his beady, midnight eyes.
Dylan walked right up to him, hands on her hips, and nudged him out of the way. “Bash is expecting us.”
He could have easily swatted her away like a fly. I wasn’t too proud to admit I snuggled a little closer to Jacob, just in case. I watched in awe as the man stepped to the side without a word.
We followed Dylan up the stairs and I paused halfway up, taking a look back. I had a bird’s eye view of every kinky activity below, like a queen looking down on her subjects. When we continued our ascent, I realized I was essentially a subject myself. This Bash person? He was in charge because at the peak of the stairs was a rectangular structure with sheer tapestries, creating a private, ethereal oasis. I had no idea who was waiting beyond the material that looked like the tulle that whispered around my feet, but I’d be lying if I said the anticipation wasn't killing me. I almost reached in my clutch and brought out my compact so I could make sure that nothing was out of place. Jacob was no longer squeezing my hand and gauging my relations out of moral support, but I would be out of sorts until I met whomever was waiting.
Probably being fed grapes by naked women.
Never one to miss an opportunity to be dramatic, Dylan stopped right outside the curtain. She whirled to face us, her expression serious. Pale eyes intent.
“May I introduce Mr. Sebastian Knight the III.” She snatched back the curtains like a magician doing a big reveal and-
