Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I stick my tongue out at him. “I have work to do, cowboy.”
“Hey, Cora.” I look up to see Diana and Beatrice approaching the bar. At least I think it’s Beatrice, as she’s dressed from head to toe in black leather in a Catwoman costume, whip and all. Diana’s one of my favorite people here, tall and graceful with long, super curly hair and kind eyes. I grin at her. She’s wearing a full-on Wonder Woman costume.
“You look awesome. Is that… Beatrice under all that black leather? Catwoman or Dominatrix?” She’s tiny, but tonight she’s wearing platform boots and carrying a scary-looking leather whip.
“Dominatrix my ass,” comes a growly voice to my left. Beatrice’s husband Zack, wearing just civilian clothing and a scowl, takes her by the elbow and draws her to him. “Remember what I said about that whip, woman.” He’s her long-term dominant, and one of the more serious guys around here. Pulling her close, he kisses her, then when he’s got her disarmed, he nimbly flicks the whip out of her hand.
“I’ll take that,” he says.
“Zack! You fooled me!” Beatrice playfully smacks his chest.
“Watch it,” he says, shaking his head and coiling the whip in his hand. “Lest you forget. I’m experienced in relieving people of their weapons.”
“He’s just jealous he doesn’t look half as good as you,” Diana teases, taking a glass of wine that Travis hands her.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Zack says, rolling his eyes. “Did you get something to eat yet?” he asks Beatrice. “They’ve got food over by the pool tables tonight.”
My stomach aches.
“Since when?” I say, trying to pretend like I’m not starving and just curious why they’re serving food.
“Well,” Diana says, taking a seat at the bar. “A few months back, we asked for member feedback, and lots of people wanted more food so they could stay longer, so we decided on our themed nights we’d have some tables set up in there. The problem is, people keep trying to sneak food in the dungeon, and that’s not happening.”
“Why not?” I ask. I have no idea what goes on in the dungeon, and I wonder what the reasoning is.
Beatrice giggles and Travis walks over to me. “There’s sex in there,” he says with a grin. “Bodily fluids? May not be okay with the NYC health department.”
“Oh, ew,” I say without thinking, wrinkling up my nose.
“Well,” Beatrice says. “Don’t ew it until you’ve tried it.” She bites her lip when she looks at Zack, who responds by giving her a flick of the whip. Squealing, she comes up on her toes, and I instantly feel my body heat from the sound of the crack.
“I just meant… about the food, not the… well… public sex.” My damn cheeks flame, so red, they likely match my hair, as if they all know my breasts are swelling and a pulse of arousal just flared between my legs.
God.
I’ve been watching people interact here for months, reading every book I can at Marla’s, and telling myself this isn’t for me. But somehow that flick of the whip did strange, erotic things to my body. What the hell?
A few customers place drink orders, and I get busy filling them. I need to eat something, though. It doesn’t usually affect me like this, but I’m so hungry I can barely think straight. I’m handing a gin and tonic to a girl wearing a slinky mermaid gown, when I feel someone staring at me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles and I glance around the room. It takes me a minute until I see him, and when I do, I nearly drop the drink.
Standing against the dungeon door, he takes up the whole door frame with his massive height and breadth. He’s wearing nothing but head-to-toe black and a mask that covers his eyes and nose. It takes me a minute to realize he’s in a mime’s costume, yet his shirt is sleeveless, showing strong, muscled arms covered in tattoos. Like a sexy sorta twist on an age-old classic. Mute. Powerful. Cloaked in mystery. I want to see all of him. And why is he staring at me?
“Who is that?” I ask Beatrice on a whisper. I lift my finger to point, but before she turns to look, he crooks a finger at me. I blink. Once more, he beckons, then turns around and walks straight into the dungeon. He’s more than a mime. He’s a puppeteer, because I feel the tug like I’m attached to him when he walks away, like I need to follow him. To somehow satisfy an unknown hunger in me that’s as powerful as physical starvation.
“I don’t know who he is,” Beatrice whispers back. “Not sure I’ve seen him before. But, babe? If it were me? I’d go.”
“Go where?” Diana chirps up.
“The dungeon,” Beatrice says, filling her in quickly.