Slade pushes the door open with a single, sharp shove.
The noise isn’t music here. It’s a low, constant roar—a thousand voices speaking in sharp, aggressive clicks and guttural tongues. The light is dim, supplied by sickly green lamps that cast long, unsettling shadows. The air is thick with smoke and a heavy, sweet narcotic vapor.
The room is enormous, a sprawling labyrinth of partitioned booths, low tables, and velvet-draped alcoves. Every surface is worn, stained, and richly decadent in its decay.
Slade guides me through the crowd. I see demons with extra limbs, creatures whose skin shimmers like oil, and ancient beings who look like they’re slowly turning to dust. They’re talking, gambling with glowing fragments of bone, and drinking thick, black substances from ornate goblets.
Every eye follows us. The silence that descends around our path is more deafening than the club’s bass. They’re recognizing Slade. They’re recognizing me.
He leads me to a booth tucked away in the deepest corner—a crimson velvet horseshoe with heavy black curtains. He sweeps the curtains aside, and we slip inside, claiming the space. The velvet is worn smooth, and the air is heavy with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and old power.
I’m sliding into the booth. Slade is sitting opposite me, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the chipped table, his eyes never leaving mine.
“This is where the realm unmasks itself,” he tells me, his voice barely audible. “Look around, Piper. Absorb their power.”
I’m doing as he asks. I’m peering through a slight gap in the curtain. I see a creature with eyes like liquid mercury staring directly at our curtain, its posture aggressive and territorial.
Slade catches my gaze. “He’s curious. He’s hungry. He's wondering why I’m bringing mortal sweetness into his den.”
I reach across the table, my fingers tangling with his. “Then remind him why,” I challenge, a fierce,wild energy rising in me. The liquor and the recent climax are still burning hot. I want to claim this space.
He smiles, a slow, deliberate unveiling of his full power. He’s pulling our hands away from the table, lifting them into the shadow of the curtain. His thumb is moving to trace the curve of my palm, then gliding up my wrist, finding the smooth skin beneath the lace cuff of my dress.
“You truly are insatiable,” he repeats, his voice a dark, rough velvet. “And I’m prepared to worship you again.”
He’s slipping his hand under the table, his eyes locked on mine. I’m bracing myself, my breath catching as I feel the heat of his touch on my thigh, sliding high beneath the skirt of the armor dress.
I’m leaning forward, my body trembling slightly. The tension is exquisite—the filth of the environment, the hidden intimacy, the sheer audacity of what we’re about to do with a room full of dangerous predators just inches away.
His fingers are stroking my soaked pussy, the dark cloth of my underwear already useless against the torrent of my need. He easily pushes the fabric aside, his fingers finding the slick heat of me. I gasp, forcing a nonchalant cough to cover the sound.
“You’re already dripping for me,” he murmurs, his voice dangerously low, eyes bright with dark triumph. “Look at me, Piper. Let them think we’re only talking.”
I’m looking at him, eyes wide, my lips parted. I’m forcing myself to maintain an appearance of calm dialogue while his fingers are driving me wild beneath the table.
He’s finding my clit, circling it with a relentless, demanding pressure. I’m biting the inside of my cheek, suppressing a moan as the waves of pleasure begin to crest.
“I’m going to drive you mad here,” he promises, his voice a sharp, seductive rasp. “I’m going to make you scream in the middle of this den ofthieves. And they’ll hear you, Lady Athalar, but they won’t know what you’re screaming for.”
His fingers are quickening their pace, relentless and perfect. I’m arching my back, pressing myself hard onto his hand, begging for more pressure. My vision is blurring. I can’t fucking breathe, but gods, it’s delicious.
“Give it to me,” I whisper, the words strangled, focusing all my energy on keeping my voice steady.
He’s plunging a finger deep inside my cunt, stretching me, dominating me—hitting the right spot, the pleasure so sharp it’s bordering on pain. Slade’s withdrawing and plunging again, a rhythm born of desperation and control.
I’m seizing, my legs trembling violently under the table. The climax is a silent, internal explosion, shaking my core, pulling a choked sob from my throat. I’m grabbing the edge of the table, my knuckles white, my eyes squeezed shut.
He waits until the tremors subside, withdrawing his hand slowly, lingering just long enough todraw out the last wave of bliss. He’s wiping his wet fingers on the expensive velvet of the booth, a dark smile on his face.
I open my eyes, utterly spent, panting softly.
Slade leans in, claiming a soft, sweet kiss from my swollen lips. “Now,” he whispers, the dark energy around him palpable. “We’re going to drink. And then, we’re going to leave. I’m going to take you back to my throne room, and I’m going to keep you beneath me until morning.”
I nod, unable to speak. The heat of the experience settles into a fierce, deep determination. I’m ready to go back, and so fucking ready for the throne room.
Chapter 38
Slade
