Any thoughts about this being inappropriate are far away from here—outside of this moment and this dark hallway. Because right now, there’s only one thing I want, and that’s to come. I don’t even care that it’s in public anymore.
“You are so fucking beautiful. Make yourself come, baby.”
And his words don’t stop, like a river of praise I’m coursing down, heading straight for a cliff. My eyes don’t leave the throne room for a second, and when my orgasm comes crashing into me, I nearly crumble to the floor. My free hand grips the fabric of Emerson’s suit as he wraps his arms around me.
“So perfect.” His lips brush my ear, then my cheek, and trail down to my neck. I can’t even hear anymore—my ears are ringing, and my skin is buzzing. The orgasm just keeps knocking me down, wave after wave after wave. His hand finds mine again, and I feel his fingers carefully brush my delicate skin. But he doesn’t stop as he runs his fingers deeper into my panties, and I stiffen in his grasp when he reaches the evidence of my orgasm.
He moans darkly against my ear. Then, he pulls his wet finger out and lifts it to his mouth. I turn to look up at him just as he slips it past his lips, licking my arousal off of his finger.
“Emerson,” I whisper, and our eyes meet. It’s a long, heavy moment as we let everything that just happened swim in the tension between us. Does he feel bad for crossing this line? Do I?
No, I don’t. I keep waiting for shame or regret to hit me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m…excited. I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, and I don’t want to turn back now.
The threesome in the throne room has come to an end, and when I look back at the window, one of the women is standing just on the other side of the glass. Her gaze catches mine for a moment, and I stare at her with my mouth open. There is something oddly familiar about her, like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Then, she gives me a small wink and sly smile before pulling the curtain closed.
As soon as Emerson ushers me out of the dark hallway of sin, I scurry off to the bathroom. Suddenly, this dimly lit main room is just too freaking bright. I feel like everyone can see what I just did. They know that I just masturbated in public while watching Pornhub Live back there.
The bathroom is also dimly lit, which is a blessing. I was afraid it was going to be bright florescent lights in here. I wash my hands at the sink. Even the bathroom is fancy with ornate gold mirrors and shiny black stone counters.
While rinsing my hands, I glance up at the woman in the mirror’s reflection. Do I seem happy?
Happier than I was with Beau, certainly. But something is missing. What, I don’t know.
Just then, a woman comes out of the stall and takes her place at the sink next to me. When I glance up, I’m frozen in place, realizing it’s the same woman from the throne room, and I suddenly know why she seemed so familiar. It’s Madame Kink.
I almost didn’t recognize her without the black leather and whip, but it’s definitely the same sable-haired Dominatrix from the blog who told me everything I needed to know about Emerson Grant and the SPC. In fact, she’s still teaching me everything I need to know. Her website has gotten more clicks from my browser than probably any other user.
She might as well be a celebrity to me at this point, and I just watched her get publicly railed while she was going down on another woman.
When she notices me, her eyes graze over my body, and she looks up at my face and smiles.
“You are stunning,” she says, and my mouth falls open. Me? This woman, this…goddess, is telling me that I’m stunning.
“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling stupefied.
As she dries her hands, she keeps her eyes on me. And I know I should leave, but I can’t seem to move. Then she looks at me with a bright smile.
“Isn’t this place amazing?”
I nod, not quite knowing how to respond. And she continues.
“I mean, to have a place where we can just be ourselves, enjoy what we want to enjoy without feeling bad about it or catching judgment.”
“Yeah.” I feel so lame because I literally can’t think of a single smart thing to say. She steps toward me, letting her fingers dance down my arm to my wrist, where she takes my hand in hers.
“Emerson Grant is a fucking god, and he spent the whole night obsessed with you. And you look so nervous.”
Hearing his name come out of her mouth sends a shock of ice down my spine. She spoke about him like she knows him or like she wants him. My Emerson.
“I’m not nervous,” I lie. I wish that were true. I wish I was the sexy, confident type of woman she is. The kind Emerson wants.