Now that I was paying attention, it was pretty obvious why such a large crowd had gathered here. A pretty Asian woman in a red leather catsuit was tightening the final knots in a beautifully crafted web of ropes that held a pixie-like blonde girl suspended from a heavy ring in the ceiling. It looked like the sort of thing you might hang a heavy chandelier from.
The naked girl was trussed artfully into position with her arms and legs bound in a suggestion of graceful flight. She must be flexible as hell, I couldn’t help thinking. I shivered a bit as I noticed the ropes wrapped around her breasts and between her thighs—not to mention the hard knot placed strategically over her clit.
Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Apparently happy with her work, the woman in the catsuit straightened from the last knot. Immediately, my gaze was drawn to the red strap-on dildo buckled around her hips. My eyes widened as she murmured something to her bound captive, cupping the blonde’s chin and swiping her thumb across the girl’s ruby-red lips.
Within moments, she’d positioned herself so that same cupid’s-bow mouth brushed the tip of the strap-on, and... yeah. Things went about the way you might expect, members of the crowd making appreciative noises as the bound girl went to town on her captor’s fake dick. It might have disturbed me more, if not for the look of rapt ecstasy on the sub’s face as she swung forward and back in a shallow arc, the ropes creaking as she moved.
As it was, between the explicit floorshow and the cool hand resting on my thigh, I was feeling decidedly squirmy. Trying not to be too obvious about the effect the situation was having on me, I let my gaze wander over the assembled crowd. Meanwhile, I silently contemplated the idea of being the center of attention in the same way the two women currently were.
My gaze caught on a shock of purple hair teased into gelled spikes above a familiar, sharp-featured face with silver piercings glinting in the nose, eyebrow and lip. Familiar gray eyes pinned mine, and I realized with a jolt that I hadn’t been wrong. Len Grayson’s jaw dropped in disbelief, and he mouthed, ‘Zorah?’ before grabbing the guy standing next to him and heading in our direction.
EIGHT
I FROZE, BARELY stopping myself from shouting Len’s name across the distance separating us. I swallowed back the surprised exclamation just in time, since people who frequented sex clubs were understandably a bit gun-shy about having their names yelled out in front of all and sundry.
Instead, I tugged lightly on Rans’ hair again. “Erm... something unexpected just came up,” I whispered. He looked up, following my gaze to the pair of guys approaching us.
Len was making sharp, follow-me gestures with his chin as he steered his companion toward a quiet corner away from the spectators. Rans rose smoothly, breaking character. I practically shoved the stupid leash at him, and he took the leather strap with aplomb, unclipping it from the collar and stuffing it in a pocket of his long coat.
“Someone you know, I take it?” he asked, running an assessing gaze over the pair.
“Ex-coworker. He protected me more than once, before you stepped in and took over the job,” I said quietly.
Rans flickered an eyebrow. “Is that so? Hmm. I like him already. Shall we, then?”
He gestured after Len and I nodded, slipping away from the crowd in a mild daze. Len was still staring at me like he wasn’t quite sure he believed what he was seeing, while the man next to him just looked confused. Maybe this was his boyfriend—the chef from Le Grand Concours?
“Len!” I said, once we were close enough that I didn’t have to speak obnoxiously loudly. “Oh, my god—I don’t believe this!”
With that, I half-fell into the poor guy’s arms, suddenly overcome at this unexpected reconnection with someone from my former life. Len put his hands on my back with a touch of awkwardness, but he did give a little squeeze before grasping my shoulders and easing me back so he could see my face.
“Zorah? Don’t take this the wrong way, girl, but what in the seven hells are you doing here?” His eyes flickered from me to Rans, and he let me go completely.
I took a deep breath, trying to shove down all the feelings bubbling up in my chest.
“Long story,” I said. “Such a long story. Is there someplace private we can talk?”
Len nodded. He still looked a bit wide-eyed, even with his usual bad-boy exterior enhanced by the black tank top and dark jeans hung with chains he was wearing. He cut a glance toward his companion.
“You mind, Tris?” he asked.
The other guy shrugged agreeably, still watching the proceedings with obvious curiosity. I gave him a surreptitious onceover as we followed Len toward the back. Tris was a vibrant redhead, and he wore it well. Freckles, blue eyes a few shades darker than Rans’, a pleasant face, and a body that said he worked out regularly. I wondered if Len had passed on my message to him, that afternoon he’d walked me to the bus stop and ridden with me to my neighborhood, to make sure I got home safe.
We ended up outside the door of a room off the back hall. Another security person stopped us. She was a couple of inches shorter than me—at least with the ridiculous boots I was wearing—and she wore a tight ponytail along with a no-nonsense expression.
“Everyone coming back here voluntarily?” she asked.
We all nodded, and I thought I caught a glint of power behind Rans’ gaze as he said, “Very much so. We’re merely in need of some privacy. Will we find it here?”
The woman blinked rapidly. “Y-yes. There’s no recording equipment allowed in the venue, for obvious reasons.”
Rans smiled his shark’s smile. “Perfect.”
A moment later, the four of us were alone in the room, which
