Dirty Bad Wrong(30)

Alcohol made me brave enough to follow her lead, holding onto her for dear life as she wove her way amongst the spectators. Cara pressed in close behind, pointing out a spare pew in the shadows with a decent view of the stage. My jelly legs were relieved to be seated, wedged between my two guides to watch the action unfold. I dared to cast my eyes around the other viewers, but most were cloaked in darkness beyond the glare of the lights. I couldn’t deny the adrenaline. The whole room was buzzing, and me along with it.

“Who’s up?” Cara whispered to Raven behind my back.

“No idea,” she replied. “Maybe Tyson and Dixie?”

“They’re in playroom two,” Cara said. I saw Raven shrug, then turn her attention back to the floor as a woman took her position under the spotlights. She was pretty. Older than any of us, maybe early forties. A shapely redhead with her hair piled high, trussed up tight in a simple black PVC dress. She was breathing deeply, staring out beyond the crowd at the darkness. There was a serenity to her; a calmness in her stance despite her agitated breath. She swayed gently in her own little trance, her arms graceful like a swan, oblivious to all around her.

A shadow appeared at her rear, looming large through dark drapes. A man. A huge fucking man. Electric nerves pulsed on sight of him, fear and excitement mashing into one heady concoction. A ripple went through the crowd, an excited murmur that fizzed up my spine.

The man was as toned as a gladiator, ripped and raw and ready to fight. My eyes bowed down to his feet on instinct, and slowly I worked my way back up. Heavy black boots. Tight black denim over sculpted legs, hanging low enough to showcase the muscular V of his hips. His abs looked forged from steel, tense and tight under bronzed skin, and his chest, oh my God, his chest. My eyes widened in recognition. A huge tattoo in jet black, curling all the way around his ribs. A multi-headed beast, tribal and malevolent, dancing on his flesh as though it owned every part of him. So this was the man with the chimera: the design on Rebecca’s wall, the design I’d looked at every fucking day since I moved in. My eyes shot to his face, searching for the identity of the man who wore such a mark, but there were no answers to be found there. The man was masked, most of his features hidden behind black leather. His eyes were only shadows, dark and sinister, and his hair was slicked back to his scalp, as dark as the rest of him.

I had no idea who the fuck this man was, but I’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

Cara broke my trance, leaning right across me to speak with Raven. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming?”

Raven put a finger to her mouth to hush her submissive, and I caught a flash in her eyes that meant business. Cara sat back in position, content to let the conversation drop, but me not so much. I leant into the silenced Cara, putting my mouth right to her ear.

“Who is he?”

“Masque,” she whispered. “He’s a God here... seriously hardcore. He’s so fucking dirty bad wrong.”

“Dirty bad wrong?”

She smiled at me. “Dirty. Bad. Wrong. So wrong,... but so right.”

Raven grabbed my elbow, pulled my ear to her mouth. “We should go now.”

My stomach lurched. “Why?”

“This isn’t for you. We need to go.”

The words were out at lightning speed. “I want to stay.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into. This scene, here, right now, really isn’t for you.”

“I don’t care. I want to stay.”

We stared each other out for long seconds, and I felt the uncomfortable urge to plead like a child. She looked away as the man known as Masque made a move. He pressed up against his woman and she melted into him, relaxing her head against his shoulder in complete compliance to his will. He wrapped his arms around her, tugging down the zip at her breast. She was surprisingly heavy-chested, loose flesh hanging low against her ribs. I felt my cheeks burn as I watched the path of his hands. He took the zip all the way down, offering her naked body to a roomful of eyes. She was shaved, like Raven, and even from my position I could see how wet she was. I shifted in my seat, burning but fascinated. She looked so raw, so vulnerable in her nakedness before the crowd. Pinned bright in the spotlights, every part of her bared to the world. She looked so real, so authentic. She looked free. My mouth dried to paper.

Raven leant in again. “We’re leaving straight after. No arguments.”

I nodded.

Masque tossed the woman’s dress aside, then trailed his fingers down her arms. Her skin goose-pimpled, and she let out a moan as he took hold of her wrists, raising them high above her head. She held them as instructed, not even flinching as he fastened her into the leather cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Her breathing quickened as he retreated to control the hoist; winching the chains up tight until her arms were stretched and spread above her. He returned to test the chains, pulling down on them to check their resilience. They took his weight easily. He pressed his lips against her ear, whispering words I couldn’t hear. She spread her legs, giving more of her weight to the chains above, and he tapped his fingers against her thighs to indicate even wider. She did as he wished, gripping tight to the chains for support as she spread herself as far as her legs would go. He moved to her front, and she tilted her face up towards him, eyes still closed. Her lips parted in silent offering, and he moved in closer, teasing her mouth with the slightest touch of his. I heard a moan as she inched forward, straining for more. He gave her what she craved, a harsh, hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth. Her lipstick was smudged when he broke away, her lips full and puffy.