Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“This is crazy,” I insist.
I’m wearing a collar and handcuffs. I can’t be seen publicly like this.
He laughs again and doesn’t slow his confident pace through the massive, open front doors. “Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in.”
Dozens of people wearing fine clothes and elaborate masks fill the foyer. Several curious glances rake over us, witnessing the embarrassing spectacle we’re making.
To my horror, I feel something slick between my thighs with every shaky step. I’m getting turned on by this humiliating scene.
I lift my chin and school my features to an impassive expression that’s far better at concealing my emotions than the gold mask.
“My proud, brave little pet.” Dane says it like praise, not mockery. “You’ll enjoy yourself tonight. I guarantee it.”
As we near the other guests, shock makes my feet stick to the marble floor.
The guests’ outfits are obviously expensive, but several of them are dressed in leather and latex rather than fine silk. A statuesque blonde wears a corset over her voluminous taffeta skirt. Her breasts are almost spilling out, and the skirt is open at the front to reveal sheer white tights. She’s not wearing underwear.
I gasp and tear my gaze away. It falls on the man to her left. What I originally thought was a formal kilt is actually crafted in leather, and his loose-fitting white shirt is unbuttoned to reveal masculine chest hair. He’s holding a leash causally in one hand. The other end is clipped to a collar on the corseted woman’s neck.
“What is this, Dane?” I ask breathlessly.
He fixes me with a wicked smirk. “It’s a party, darling. Haven’t you always wanted to go to a ball like one of your fantasy princesses?”
I gape at him. There’s nothing romantic about this. It’s deviant. Carnal.
Perverse.
And my blood is humming through my veins.
“That’s one of my favorite colors,” Dane rumbles, caressing my heated cheek. “Almost as pink as your pretty cunt.”
“Dane!”
Judging by the kilted man’s smirk, he heard that scandalous remark.
A server carrying a silver tray with Champagne flutes pauses to offer us a drink. Dane assesses me with an x-ray gaze, reading every nuance of my jittery, indignant mood.
He selects a glass for himself but doesn’t offer me one.
“I’d rather not end up with Champagne in my eyes,” he teases. “I have a feeling you’d toss the drink in my face as soon as it was in your hand.”
“Good idea,” I mutter.
“Sorry to disappoint you. Now, do you want a drink?
I blink at him. He just said I couldn’t have one.
“Yes,” I reply before he can change his mind. Now that he’s mentioned it, I would very much like to throw Champagne into his smug face.
One of his big hands slides into my hair at my nape, anchoring me in a firm grip. He applies steady pressure and tugs my head back slightly. He lifts the glass to my lips.
“You wouldn’t,” I insist.
He won’t actually give me a drink from his hand like I truly am his helpless pet.
“Your choice,” he says again, but he doesn’t lower the glass.
I press my lips together in denial, but I can’t shift my head. The glass tilts despite my glower, and Champagne spills down my chin, dripping onto my chest.
I open my mouth, cheeks flaming. Having him pour the drink down my chest feels more embarrassing than accepting the drink. The fizzy liquid bubbles over my tongue, reminding me of the drink he bought for me on our first date.
That memory is so terribly tempting, and for a moment, I want to give in.
I want to belong to Dane again. In every way.
But the Champagne is still spilling from the corners of my lips, and I realize he’s doing it intentionally.
“Not too much,” he chides, as though I have a choice in how much I’m drinking. “I don’t want your senses impaired.”
I consider spitting the Champagne in his face, but it’s too late for that. He pulls the glass away, and I’m left panting for breath and covered in expensive wine.
His eyes darken when they fix on my chest, and I realize my nipples have pebbled to hard, aching buds. They’re clearly visible against the dark purple silk. It clings to my breasts now that the material is wet.
“I want a taste,” Dane rumbles, but he sets the half-empty glass on to a passing server’s tray.
I try to ease away from his predatory energy, but the handcuff keeps me closely bound to him. And he still hasn’t released my hair.
He tugs sharply, forcing me to expose my throat. His lips are unbearably soft against my sensitive skin, and his tongue brands me when he licks the line of my vulnerable artery. He takes his time sampling the Champagne on my skin, making his way lower down my chest with a trail of hot, hungry kisses.
“No.” My protest is so breathy that it might as well be a welcoming purr.