Dinner,more formal than they previously were, was torture.
Candles flickered in silver holders, and stemware caught the light. Millie had set the table with the good china, as if this were a celebration rather than an exercise in torment.
Millie had outdone herself. Roast lamb with rosemary and garlic. New potatoes glistening with butter. Spring vegetables that Ophelia and I had helped prepare.
I tasted none of it.
Kiernan cut into his meat with infuriating calm. “The lamb is excellent.”
I made a sound that might have been an agreement. Or a whimper. I wasn’t sure anymore.
Across from me, Ophelia’s cheeks were heated. Her movements were measured, deliberate—the guarded motions of someone trying to remain still. When our eyes met, my own need stared back at me.
We were both drowning. And Kiernan was watching us sink with dark satisfaction.
“More wine?” He lifted the bottle, the picture of a gracious host.
“Please.”
His hands were steady as he poured, while mine trembled. The wine was excellent—a rich Bordeaux that deserved to be savored. I drank it like water, hoping the alcohol might dull the relentless stimulation.
It didn’t.
When I reached for my glass and the device ground inside me, my hand jerked, nearly knocking the crystal over.
“Problem?” Kiernan smirked.
“No, sir.” The words came out strangled.
I was grateful when Ophelia’s gaze met mine. It was a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this exquisite hell. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. I was trapped in a body that had become a live wire, and the man whose gaze missed nothing controlled my pleasure.
Kiernan asked about the book Ophelia had been reading. She answered in fragments when she shifted in her seat. He inquired about my recovery, whether I’d been sleeping better. I managed monosyllables while fighting the urge to beg.
Twice,I clutched the edge of the table hard enough that my knuckles went white. Kiernan watched me with knowing eyes, eating calmly while I fell apart.
“Dessert?” he asked when the main course was cleared.
“No.” The word came out too fast, too urgent. I forced myself to add, “Thank you, sir.”
His smile widened. “Perhaps later, then.”
By the time he declared dinner finished, I was wrecked. Flushed. Sweating. I’d been hard for so long it hurt. Standing when he told us to rise took all of the control I possessed.
“Time for the club,” he said.
The walkto the wine cellar was endless. Each step drove it deeper and increased the pressure. Regardless of how cautious I was, the stimulation was relentless.
At the cellar door, Kiernan paused.
He unlocked the latch. “Remember, your bodies belong to me tonight. Your pleasure, your pain, your responses—all of it is mine. You will feel. You will want. You will ache. And you will not come until I decide you’ve earned the privilege.”
The walkin the tunnel seemed endless.
I could barely think. Ophelia’s hand found mine in the darkness, her grip as urgent as my own.
When we emerged into the club, the change in atmosphere was immediate. Music pulsed in the space—something low and rhythmic that seemed to sync withmy heartbeat. The air was warmer here, heavy with anticipation and the faint musk of bodies in motion.
Kiernan walked us straight onto the main floor.
