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“Scarlett?” he calls out. “Time to go.”
I take a breath and head into the living room.
There’s nothing like being pathetically grateful over a coat and it pisses me off.
The drive to Alphabet City is short, and we don’t go in the front door. There’s a back entrance that to me is like a torture maze of dark halls. When he opens a door, it leads to another bar, but it’s nothing like the one upstairs.
Everything in this room is black. A glass cage sits at the other end, in lieu of a stage, and inside…
My breaths are short and sharp as my impending reality smacks me in the face.
There’s one of those St. Andrews Crosses inside, and next to it is a wall of whips, floggers, and paddles that look like torture devices.
The music’s low and I look around to see that there are mostly men in front of the cage. In suits. They sit around a table, drinking, smoking, a deck of cards scattered over the top with piles of poker chips in front of each player.
My whole body throbs when my gaze hits the woman seated at one end of the table. She’s in shining straps and her thighs are parted, breasts on display and nipples hard as a man fingers her.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you a party favor.” Malone’s fingers slip down my spine. “At least not in the next ten minutes.”
Then he joins the table.
I stand there, not sure what to do.
But he takes that decision from me when he snaps his fingers.
For a second, a sweet, fluttery second, I almost ignore him. But I don’t know his limits, or if he even has any. And after making me crawl to him, after taking my ass and making me give him a blow job on our second meeting, I don’t want to test him in public.
Or… test him here, in front of people in a private event, where he just might make me a party favor if I do anything to disobey.
So I go to him and I sink down to my knees, hating my fucking life. He casts me a look, one that I can’t read, and it makes my insides spin.
“Up. On my thigh, legs parted.”
No one’s speaking. There’s only the music reverberating between my ears, and I don’t need to look at the audience to confirm that I’m the center of attention. I do as asked, and the humiliation burns deep, so deep I almost play his game and hike my dress up.
But who’s that going to hurt? Me. No one but me.
Malone’s hand comes down between my thighs and he slides a finger over my pussy.
“Your cunt is wet, Scarlett.” He bites my shoulder. “Gentlemen, my fiancée.” This is said carelessly, and he then dismisses me and leans into the conversation.
Other girls in differing states of nakedness walk into the room. Some give lap dances, others stand there to be mauled and felt up, and one or two give blow jobs. Malone acts like this is normal.
But Jesus, this is so fucked up.
I keep trying to tune into what Malone is saying to the man next to him, but my attention slips away as he toys with me. He doesn’t push a finger into me. It’s so much worse. He just teases with slow, long strokes over my pussy lips, just inside them, avoiding my clit.
All this does is drive me out of my mind.
Sometimes, his finger shifts into me, just the slightest bit, enough for my pussy to clamp down onto it and beckon it to move deeper, but then it moves on. I try to stop myself from moving, from chasing this unwanted golden dragon of a touch, but I can’t help it, I’m rocking on him. I’m?—
“I think my girl wants to give us a show. Get on the table, Red. And spread your thighs. Time to let my friends taste the reason I decided to tie the knot.” He cups my chin with his free hand and pulls my face down to him. “Now.”
NINE
malone
The look on her face is enough to make me come. Jesus Christ.
