I swallow hard.
“I’m going to lay you out, expose you, and fuck you.”
“Oh god.”
He smirks. “Indeed. Consider it a Valentine’s present.”
I bite my lip and twist the antique, platinum diamond engagement ring on my finger. He’s giving me my fantasy and it makes me nervous as well as excited. He’s dug deep into my exhibitionist side, testing and seeking out the things that flip my switch. The only person I’ve ever done anything in front of before is Brandon because he’s a friend and he’s safe. But as my boundaries have stretched, so have my limits, and my fantasies have become increasingly depraved. I thought that was where they would stay. Leo’s never done anything like this. Never fucked me in front of anyone. Never exposed me for just anyone to see.
I’m terrified.
Even as the fear rushes through me, wetness slicks down my bare thighs, because, of course, I’m not wearing any panties.
I’d had some on, but Leo shredded them off me with a knife, then licked my pussy until I twisted under him, pulling back when I was about to come.
I grip the counter.
Leo’s mouth brushes my neck, his tongue sliding over my skin. “That’s right. Everyone’s going to be watching you. Are you wet, Jilly?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want everyone to watch you?”
I’m not thinking about the sanity of my answers. “Yes.”
“Are you going to please me?”
“Yes.” He makes me a mindless needy mess and all I want at the moment is to continue.
But before he can, the doorbell rings.
He strokes a finger down my bare arm. “I believe you will.”
Ruby
I don’t know what I’m doing here. I almost turned around and went home about a hundred times on the Uber ride over. The only thing that stopped me was Layla. She invited me to this party and I don’t want to disappoint her.
It’s not like I’m a prude or anything, but sex parties aren’t really my thing. I agreed because I was curious, and have second-guessed my decision ever since.
Michael, my best friend Layla’s boyfriend, lets me in. He smiles and wraps me up in a big bear hug that makes me feel like a miniature person. I’m only five-three, practically tiny next to Michael’s tallness. “Ruby, glad you decided to come along. Come on in.”
“Thanks for the invite,” I say in my most breezy voice. I’m beyond nervous to be doing something so outside my comfort zone, but I don’t want anyone to notice.
I walk into Michael and Layla’s living room to find Layla kneeling on the floor, wearing an obscene white dress that hardly leaves anything to the imagination. Unable to hide my shock, I let out a surprised, “Oh.”
Layla flashes me a sly little grin before giving Michael a dark look.
Michael laughs. “Layla’s working on a bit of an attitude adjustment right now, what can I get you to drink?”
I bite my bottom lip as a stab of jealousy twists in my chest. A jealousy I don’t understand or want, but seems to grow every time I see Layla and Michael. Even engaged in their kinky behavior, they are just so together. So very in love. It’s a stark reminder that Layla has managed to share this bond with two men—her fiancé that passed away and Michael—while I haven’t managed to find it once.
I clear my throat and try to pretend it’s perfectly normal that she’s kneeling on the floor, patting her dog, Belle, and scowling at the love of her life. “I’ll take whatever you have. I’m not picky.”
I turn to Leo and Jillian, who’ve I’ve gotten to know quite well over the last nine months. They’re also in the so-called “lifestyle” and look positively gorgeous together with their dark hair and olive skin. Like Michael, Leo’s wearing all black, and Jillian is decked out in some sort of red dress I can’t even figure out how she got on. The top is a tight corset she looks sewn into and the skirt is a flirty little fabric that barely reaches mid-thigh on her ridiculously long legs. She’s tall—at least five nine or ten—and looks like an Amazon warrior princess.
Leo strokes his hand down her rubber-encased hip and Jillian gives me a glassy-eyed, slightly unfocused smile before waving hello.
Leo winks at me. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Ruby.”
“Thanks,” I say, the response automatic, although I’m not sure it’s true. I’m pretty enough, but in my short, black skirt, studded belt, and black tank top I’m dressed all wrong.
Layla and Jillian look like sex and sin. Every man that sees them tonight will want them. Lust after them and covet what Michael and Leo have. I, on the other hand, look like a pixie rock princess. Like I’m dressed for a Halloween party instead of to be ravished on Valentine’s Day.
And what was I thinking going out with the two most in-love couples on earth the night of single girl hell? I should be out with Ashley and my other hangout girlfriends, trolling the dance scene as we all try and forget that we’re not attached.
What can I say? Curiosity got the best of me, as it always does. Curiosity my conservative, Christian parents have warned me about since I could walk. As a child, growing up in a small town in Indiana, their number-one mantra was—be careful, Ruby. Of course, I rebelled, and pretty much got into any trouble I could find. Which, I suppose, is why I agreed to come tonight.
A decision I’m pretty sure is a mistake. I’ve been here one minute and I already feel out of place, like a fifth wheel. It’s not that I don’t love hanging out with my best friend, because I do. I love Michael and all that he’s done to help Layla heal from the murder of her fiancé. And Leo and Jillian are fun to be around and a guaranteed good time. I know they’ll do everything in their power to make sure I’m included.
It’s just that usually we’re at a bar or restaurant and everything is totally normal. Like being with regular couples. But tonight, going to some sort of fetish party to kick off the opening of their friend Brandon’s club, I’m out of my element.
I know I should consider myself lucky, when my friend Ashley heard I’d scored an invite to the hottest ticket in town, she’d begged me to let her come, but it’s not my kind of scene. If we were going to a metal club, I’d be totally fine, but I’m not into BDSM, nor do I want to be. I’m tagging along for the experience, to say I’ve seen it firsthand. To prove to myself I’m not the closet conservative I sometimes fear I am.
But after five minutes I realize my mistake. Leo and Michael are in full domination mode, and I can’t avoid it. Sometimes when we go out, I sense the undercurrent of what Layla calls the power dynamic between them. Occasionally, Michael will take her by the neck and say something in her ear with a certain look on his face that will make Layla shudder, but for the most part, they act pretty normal. Tonight all bets are off, I’ll be unable to escape what they are. The air practically pulses with it. Proof positive by the fact that I’ve walked in to Layla kneeling on the floor, saying nothing.
Not that I want to be dominated, because I do not. I’ve asked Layla enough questions to understand the basics and it’s not for me. I can’t stand the thought of someone trying to control me. But I can’t deny I find I’m fascinated despite myself. In moments of introspection, I’ve determined it’s the dedication and focus dominant men seem to possess that intrigues me.
I’ve never had a man pay attention to me the way Michael and Leo pay attention to their women. Unlike Layla, who clearly has a knack for picking perfect men, I have the exact opposite problem.
I have terrible taste in men.
I can’t even deny it.
I’m always attracted to the wrong sort. Emotional, temperamental rocker boys are like crack to me. I mean, I’m hardly the first girl to be attracted to musicians. Intensely creative types that lose themselves in their poetry and guitars.
I’m also that type. I’m a graphic artist by day, and singer by night.
They are my people.
Unfortunately, men like that tend to have Peter Pan complexes.
Which, I actual
ly don’t mind. Even at the ripe old age of thirty, I’m not in a hurry to be a grown up. Sure, I have a job, my own apartment, and I pay my bills, but that’s as far as it goes. As far as I want it to go. I have no interest in a conventional, traditional life. I don’t want a husband, kids and a mortgage.
I grew up like that—in Pleasantville—with parents that love each other. My mom and dad have a good, solid traditional marriage and they raised my brother and sister and me to have family values. My siblings toe the party line; walk the straight and narrow, living within a five-mile radius of my parents’ house, in the small Indiana town where I grew up. They raise their kids, go to church on Sunday, PTA meetings, and potluck dinners at the neighbors. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that life at all. It’s the American dream.
It’s just not my dream.
I don’t want to be ordinary.
I want to live my life on the fringe. I want to stay up all night drinking bad coffee and talking about philosophy. I want to roll out of bed at eleven. Follow my impulses. Live without schedules and restrictions. So the fact that I attract men that aren’t interested in grown-up life is nobody’s fault but my own.
Michael hands me a martini glass, pulling me from my rambling thoughts. “Layla made lemon drops for you girls.”
“Thanks, Laylay,” I say, calling her by her college nickname. We were paired up as roommates our freshmen year, and despite our differences, we have been best friends ever since. She’s the best friend I could ever ask for. She understands me and I understand her. We’d walk through fire for each other. Unfortunately for her, she was forced to travel a dark road, and I stayed by her side the whole time, even when she infuriated me.
Layla glances at Michael and he nods. She shifts her attention to me and says, “You’re welcome.”
I grin down at her. “What’d you do?”
She pouts, her thick, heavily mascaraed eyes batting at Michael. “Absolutely nothing.”
“I’m totally unreasonable, aren’t I?” Michael strokes her hair affectionately.
“Totally,” Layla says.
And I experience a stab of envy at the love on Michael’s face as he looks down at her.
Jillian pours a glass for herself. “Layla makes the best drinks.”
The doorbell rings and I frown. “Who’s that?”
Michael goes to the door and Leo says, “Chad.”
Oh no. Layla conveniently forgot to tell me she invited, Chad Fellows. I’d suspect a set up except it’s pretty clear we’re not each other’s type, despite the fact that over the past couple months he has become my unofficial date when neither of us has one.
From what Layla told me, she went out on a blind date with Chad, thrust upon her by her sister right around the time she met Michael. Apparently, three or four months ago, Michael and Layla ran into Chad on a date and they all hit it off. They’d started hanging out, going on double dates with the other couple, until Chad broke up with the girl he’d been seeing. She’d disappeared, but he’d stuck, becoming part of the group.
I have nothing against Chad. I actually like him a lot. He’s a perfectly nice, solid guy. He’s just a bit traditional for my tastes. Yes, he’s good looking in an All American, Abercrombie and Fitch way. All tall, lean muscles and broad shoulders, with that killer jaw, high cheekbones and nice crystal-clear, blue eyes. He’s also got short, expertly messy brown hair, and a good mouth.
He’s the kind of guy you bring home to your parents. The settling-down type. As an IT manager, with a good nine-to-five job, he’s actually kind of a catch.
If you like that kind of thing.
If I brought a guy like Chad home to my mother, she’d be on her knees thanking Jesus that her daughter had finally seen reason.
Michael opens the door and the man in question walks in. In gray pants, a white button-down, and messy bedroom hair, he looks good. He wasn’t the least bit nerdy or anything, he just didn’t look dark and dangerous like Leo and Michael. He looks harmless. Clean cut.
What was he even doing coming to a fetish party? He belonged even less than I did. Those dominant girls were going to eat him for breakfast if he wasn’t careful.
At least watching him fumble around would keep me entertained.
As he strolls in he doesn’t even seem to pause at Layla kneeling on the floor. He glances down at her, but there’s no flicker of surprise like I would have expected. He hands Michael a bottle of wine, shakes Leo’s hand, and gives Jillian a kiss on the cheek before waving at me. “Hey, Ruby.”
I wave back. “Hey, Chad.”
He winks at me. “Glad you came along to keep me company.”
“Me too.” I relax a bit. He might not be my type, but at least I won’t be an odd man out. And we get along so well it’s hard to be put out.
He gives Jillian a long, appraising nod before flashing a grin at Leo. “Well done.”
Leo laughs. “I agree.”
Michael places the bottle on the counter, and says, “Be right back.”
When he walks out of the room and down the hallway Leo says to Chad, “Wait until you see what I do to her later.”
Jillian flushes, gasps, and glares at her boyfriend. “Don’t say that.”
I blink. That was overt. Leo will give poor Chad a heart attack before he even gets to the party.
What am I doing here again? I could be at The Whisky, watching one of my favorite bands. I have my eye on the bass player, although so did a lot of females, so I’ve been playing hard to get.
I wasn’t sure it was working though.
Chad’s brow rises, and he looks at Jillian like she’s a horse up for auction. “I hope I get a front row seat.”
Leo turns his attention on Jillian, his gaze raking over her. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Leo,” Jillian hisses. “Stop that.”
Leo kisses her soundly on the lips before twisting his hand in her hair, and saying to Chad, “Being watched makes her wet.”
At his words shock rolls through me. I want to look away but find I can’t. I expect Chad to be shocked too, but instead he leans in and whispers something in Jillian’s ear that has her swallowing hard.
Where’s his surprise?
My whole body flushes hot and I finally tear my gaze away.
Michael walks back in and Leo releases his hold on Jillian.
Chad turns to me, an easy smile on his face. “No Valentine’s date tonight, Ruby?”
I can only stare at him, confused and vaguely out of sorts. Why isn’t he taken aback, like I am? How is he able to adapt the easy manner I’ve been shooting for since I walked in?
“Nope,” I say lamely. A bad feeling vibrates in my chest and suddenly I want to go home. This is too much information. Too much… something. “Where’s your date?”
I suppose this isn’t really the kind of place you bring just anyone.
He shrugs. “Casual dates don’t really go over too well on Valentine’s day.” He gives me his winning, got-to-love-me smile. “Too many expectations.”
I laugh and the tension in my shoulders eases a bit. “Exactly.”
He grabs the beer Michael offers and winks at Layla. “Got yourself in trouble there, did ya?”
Layla sticks out her tongue at him.
Chad rubs his jaw, lightly dusted with stubble, and says to Michael, “I don’t think she’s sorry.”
Michael flicks a glance down at her. “Are you sorry, girl?”
“Of course,” Layla says, her voice saccharine sweet.
“And what are you sorry for?” Michael walks and stands in front of her. At six-five he towers over her on the floor and she looks small and delicate.
She meets his gaze and licks her lips. “I’m very sorry Belle only listens to me.”
He crouches down, takes her by the throat and she gasps. “I see you’re in the mood to be bratty tonight.”
“Me? Never?” The words a husky, gasping sound.
I hold my breath.
This is much more explicit than I’m used to them being.
He gives her a smile that would have me shaking in my boots, but all it does is flush Layla’s cheeks a pretty pink. “You’re in the mood to be bratty. I’m in the mood to be unreasonable. This should be an interesting evening, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she says, her tone all breathless and clearly wanting.
He straightens, crossing his arms as he looks down at her. “Since I’m stuck in this hell with my sister, let’s take care of that attitude in the bedroom.”
Without a word she rises to her feet.
Her dress is short, silky and leaves almost nothing to the imagination. She is a beautiful girl, but tonight she looks otherworldly gorgeous. And sexy in a way I can’t even fathom. I don’t understand how Michael can be so possessive over her, so utterly devoted, and still be fine letting her walk around like that.
Michael twines his fingers through her hair. “A few strikes with the cane should set you right, don’t you think?”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Jillian wince, and I assume this is not a pleasant experience. I mean, how could it be? A cane? I flush hot.
Layla, always a brave girl, says, “I didn’t really do anything wrong.”
Michael raises a brow. “You’re not being sassy and a bit bratty?”
“I am.” She flashes a smile. “But you like it.”
“I do.” He crooks his finger. “Let’s go.”
And down the hallway they disappear.
Jillian takes a sip of her drink. “Well now, this should be fun.”
Chad laughs. “Indeed.”
Suspicious, I stare at him. He’s not… no. No way. That’s impossible.
I glance longingly at the front door.
Suddenly, I want to go home.
Layla
When we get to our bedroom, Michael shuts the door behind us.
I walk to the edge of our bed, anxious and excited. I had been a tiny bit bratty.
I have my reasons. Reasons Michael understands.
I’m wound up. On edge.
Michael knows this. He knows everything about me. Knows what I need and just how to give it to me.
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