Page 163 of What We Become

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Micah appears at my left, his eyes catching the club lights as he offers his hand. I take it, let him guide me through the press of bodies while Eli keeps the chain taut between us. Knox shadows my right, massive and silent, his presence a wall I could lean against if the floor tilted. Holden and Milo flank behind like bookends—one all sharp observation, the other already grinning.

The voyeur room sits closest to the main floor, giving those who enjoy watching easy access to the view. Nothing has changed since the first time we were in here. Dark walls. A chaise on a raised platform. Restraints arranged in neat rows. A mirrored wall reflecting everything inside while concealing the viewing gallery on the other side.

The last time I stood in here, I stripped for Eli and refused to let him hide from what he wanted. The others watched until Knox shut the glass because I hadn’t invited them into the moment.

Tonight, every invitation is mine to give.

Knox crosses to the control panel and stops with his hand above it. “Once I clear the glass, anyone standing behind it sees everything.”

“I know.”

His eyes stay on me, hungry. “You say the word. It closes.”

“I want them to watch, Knoxie. I want the whole world to see how good we are together.”

He lets out a low growl. His pants make his opinion obvious. Then he hits the control panel.

Nothing seems to happen at first. The wall remains a perfect black mirror, returning the image of one woman surrounded by five men. Then a small indicator appears on the panel.

GALLERY OPEN.

The number beneath it changes from zero to three.

Someone was waiting.

A shiver races over me.

Milo moves toward another section of the panel, but I get there first. My finger hovers above the internal audio control.

“That broadcasts to the club,” Knox warns. “It’ll mix with the music.”

“I remember.”

Milo leans against the wall beside me. “To clarify, kitten, there are people at the bar who came here for a quiet drink and some light genital torture. Once you hit that button, they’re going to hear everything.”

“Then we should give them something worth listening to.”

I press it.

A green light ignites overhead.

AUDIO LIVE.

My breathing spills through the concealed speakers, amplified just enough to come back to me from somewhere beyond the room.

The gallery counter rises to five.

Then seven.

Holden comes up behind me and closes his hand around the front of my collar, knuckles pressing lightly into my throat. “Tell us what you want.”

“Marks.”

His eyes darken.

“From each of you,” I continue. “Enough that I can see your hands on me tomorrow.”