I glance at myself in the mirror and snort. Great. I look like I’m sneaking out to LARP at a Renaissance Fair. All I need is a turkey leg and a fake sword.
Still, it’s better than parading through the halls in a towel. Or worse, naked—I’ve had enough of that for one night.
I slip the golden signet ring into the pocket of my cloak, its weight cool and solid. I also take a pouch of coins that have the blood-filled chalice on one side and the sun being eclipsed by the moon on the other. I put the pouch in my other pocket, just in case. It rattles softly and balances the weight of the heavy ring nicely, so my cloak doesn’t pull to one side or the other and look crooked.
Yes, I realize I’m probably stealing some pretty important items, but like I said before—this is essentially a prison break. Go big or go home, right? I’ve already been thrown in the dungeon once—what else can the Vampire Don do to me?
Don’t answer that, I tell my imagination. I really don’t want to know.
The door creaks as I ease it open. My pulse jumps…but no one’s there.
The hallway stretches long and empty, lined with sconces burning low. I have on some soft leather ankle boots and my footsteps vanish noiselessly into the thick carpeting. Maybe this wing is Lucian’s private space. Maybe the guards figured no one in their right mind would sneak around here and that’s why there’s no one in the hallway.
Well. Joke’s on them because here I go.
I creep along, my hand brushing velvet drapes and carved moldings, cold and smooth under my fingertips. The Crimson Spires are all about excess—paintings of roses dripping with blood and grim portraits of men with eyes like knives hang on the walls. Every corner whispers of wealth and menace.
There are doors every few yards, but they’re all closed and I don’t disturb them. Until I come to one which stands half-open. I’m about to pass it by as well, but curiosity gnaws at me. What is Lucian hiding in here?
I push it wider, peek inside—and freeze.
Oh. Holy. Shit.
This isn’t a sitting room. It’s a dungeon.
Not the kind I was in a few hours ago with dripping stone walls and a monster made of smoke and slime prowling through it—no, this is a sex dungeon.
Chains dangle from the ceiling like glittering snakes. Against one wall stands a heavy wooden post with iron rings—clearly a whipping post. Nearby, a padded bench sits low and angled, its surface polished with use. My stomach flips. A spanking bench. I’m sure it must be. We read plenty of BDSM in Book Club. Even if I’ve never been to a real sex dungeon, I know what I’m looking at.
The far wall gleams with “instruments of pain and pleasure” as one book I read put it. Floggers hang like trophies…canes lean in tidy rows…there’s even a heavy wooden hairbrush, all waiting like soldiers ready for deployment.
I look further and see an open cabinet which reveals cuffs, collars, and thin, smooth ropes coiled like serpents. I also see gleaming hooks I can’t even begin to guess at…and a selection of plugs I don’t have to guess about.
I’m about to go—I’ve had enough of this—when my eyes snag on the thing suspended from the ceiling.
The harness. It has to be.
It’s not quite a swing and not quite a rack but rather something in between. It’s a collection of straps designed to cradle breasts, spread thighs wide, and hold someone open and helpless. There are thick metal buckles to keep the leather straps in place.
My breath stutters in my chest—I can’t stop looking at it.
And of course, my brain supplies the visual—Lucian’s massive body, stripped to the waist and looming over me…his big hands fastening the buckles…his mouth closing over my nipple while the straps spread me wide. His dark head lowering between my thighs as I hang there, helpless and shuddering…
Heat explodes through me so fast I sway on my feet. Oh God, to actually live through some of the things I’ve only read about! To have a sex adventure that would put the smuttiest book I’ve read to shame…What would it be like?
Suddenly I realize what I’m thinking and I jerk myself back—mentally and physically too, because I was reaching for the harness. I just wanted to touch it—just once.
But I pull my hand way like it’s hot and might burn me.
“No. Nope. Absolutely not. Don’t you dare go there, Jules,” I lecture myself in a low voice.
But my cheeks are on fire and my thighs pressed together. My body is a complete traitor—I’m as bad as any of the heroines I’ve read in so many smutty books. I’m scared to death, but my nipples are tight and I’m wet between my legs which is wrong—so wrong.
I have a realization—I’ve got to get out of here. If Lucian catches me exploring his sex dungeon, it won’t end well for me.
I yank the hood of my cloak low and slip out, my heart hammering.
If I had been only halfway considering escape before, seeing the harness and all the other BDSM accoutrements seals the deal. Whatever kinky plan Lucian has in mind, I’m not sticking around to find out.
