His hand rests on the small of my back. Playful chills dance up my spine in response, but my gaze is focused on the incoming guests. Our hosts greet them individually as Alex introduces them, each looking like fairy-tale creatures with sinful beauty.
“Okay, so Ms. Madison gets Magnus, the Wolf,” I chuckle softly.
“She likes it rough,” Max says, “wild and bumpy. Magnus is precisely what the doctor prescribed for a woman like Genevieve.”
“How do you pair them?” I ask.
“Interviews, personality tests, an in-depth look at their proclivities,” he replies. “We’ve come to know our clients well over the years, and not just through Haus of Sin. We meet them at business summits, negotiations, and economic forums around the world. We share a few drinks, we talk, we do a background check, and once we’re satisfied that they can be trusted, we send out the invitations.”
His hand moves lower, fingers seemingly frustrated by the fabric of my white slacks. I moan softly when it sneaks under my chef’s tunic, then slips beneath the waist of my pants.
I look around, relieved nobody can see what’s happening.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whisper with a ragged breath.
“You gave yourself to us, Raina. It’s part of the experience,” he growls in my ear.
At the same time, his fingers slide between my buttocks and farther down. He finds me slick and hot and aching to be filled. I hold on to the black velvet drape for dear life. Outside, a second guest walks up the stairs.
“Who’s that?” Max’s lips brush over my earlobe, and I struggle to remain conscious as I follow his gaze. He kisses the side of my neck. His fingers tease my entrance.
“That’s… oh, God…”
“Focus, Raina.”
“John Quincy III, oil tycoon and red-blooded Texan, a hard-ass, from what I remember. Runs his oil fields with an iron fist,” I manage as Max slips a finger inside me.
“Smart girl.”
“Oh…”
Quincy gets Deanna, the Fox. She’s a dominatrix, and he wants to be dominated, he wants to be the one who gets whipped, for once. It makes sense in a sick and crazy kind of way, but who am I to judge when I’m hiding behind a velvet curtain in my chef’s uniform and getting deliciously fingered by one of my bosses?
Tension builds in my core. I clench myself tightly around his finger and tilt my head back to rest it on his shoulder, but Max clicks his teeth and backs away.
“Oh, no, you don’t get off that easily,” he says, his hunger coming off him in waves. “You still have a dinner to prepare, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I manage, suddenly feeling empty and cold.
“I need you to focus on that,” he says, licking his finger with a devilish smile. “Hm. I can see why Alex was so enthralled after the playroom. You really do taste like heaven, Raina.”
I lower my gaze; my cheeks flushed with arousal and shameful delight, but I love the feeling. I adore the naughtinessthey bring out in me, their lack of boundaries, the excitement, the complete abandonment of the good girl I once was. I need more of it.
“I should go back into the kitchen. We’re about to…” My voice trails off as I gaze out the window one more time and recognize William Bancroft. “Holy crap.”
Why didn’t his name ring a bell when I first read it on Alex’s brief?
“What is it?” Max asks.
“I know that guy from the papers, from Vivian’s social media, too…”
“Vivian?”
“My best friend. She’s a junior associate with Bancroft & Associates,” I say. “I didn’t make the connection right away…”
Max nods slowly. “Probably because we kept their business identities out of the brief.”
On Alex’s list, each of the guests was loosely described in terms of who they are, but without specifically mentioning their company names or associations. There were plenty of notes about personalities, though. Of course, the business details don’t really matter in Haus of Sin, not after the ridiculous fees they paid to get in, and not after they were invited to come. What a brilliant business model.
