“Think of all the fun you’ll have,” he murmured. “Like a fucking siren, leading men to their ruin. Bringing them here and taking them for all they’re worth.”
Or letting them take me. That was the most likely scenario. And if Ididlure some customer here by wagging my ass and whispering sweet nothings, who would oversee? Would anyone intervene if a lust-fueled stranger tied me down or chained me up and then fucked me dry?
“Is it…” A lump clogged my throat. “Is it safe?”
The wraith chuckled, then used his grip to turn my head toward the corner where a red light flashed. “We have cameras.”
Surveillance didn’t equate to safety. Sex tapes were a lucrative market, and I wouldn’t put it past Maslow to make money in any way possible. The Dollhouse’s gift shop wasstocked with all kinds of salacious goods, from Playboy-worthy photo spreads to life-sized replicas of the dancers’ dicks. Rape videos would slot in nicely among the rest, and they would make a hell of a souvenir.
I stared at the little red light, wondering how much Maslow had spent on this room and how much he planned to make from it. Would it become profitable enough for him to decide I needed to spend all my time here? Sequestered in this room in the black and red dark, shackled to the bed like some kind of animal?
But then maybe I wouldn’t be hungry anymore. Maybe itwouldfeel good, because this was what my new body was made for. I was a vessel. A predator, like Maslow, needy for victims. He had us, the souls he saved from damnation; I had whoever I could seduce, enchant, and suck dry, literally.
Maslow’s hand crept around, brushing across my navel as though he sensed the grumbling inside. That hollow ache.
“You like it already. I can tell.” He sounded so certain, and I had to question why I didn’t feel the same. “I take good care of you, don’t I, baby?”
The wraith rubbed my bare midriff as he leaned in. His breath puffed hot past my ear as he whispered, “Now, say ‘Thank you, Mazzy.’”
“Thank you, Mazzy,” I parroted back.
He kissed my cheek then gripped my hips, encouraging me to stand as he rose behind me. “Club opens in an hour,” he said. “Make sure you’re ready, but don’t rush. Look around for a bit. Get acquainted.” He slapped my ass hard enough to make my spine snap straight before assuring me, “You’re gonna love it here.”
There was that word again. Love. Meant in the way people loved houses and boats and things. Empty spaces.
I was already empty enough.
Maslow walked toward the door, then paused in the frame to nod at the details and fixtures that twisted my guts into knots. When his attention settled on me, I forced myself to appear as appreciative as he expected me to be.
I thanked him again. My voice got lost in the distance between us, but it must have been enough because he smiled.
Maslow always smiled.
“You’re welcome, baby boy,” he replied. “Starting tonight, you’ll be able to feast like a king.” He tapped the doorframe as if for luck and leered at me in a way that sent chills skittering down my spine. “And when you’ve had all you can take, it’ll be my turn.”
CHAPTER
TWO
Zephyr
“Pucker.” Darby held a lip gloss wand inches from my mouth.
I puffed out my lips so he could slather them with the goop that smelled like sugar and tasted as sweet.
He nodded while skimming over my face with appraising eyes. “Now, pout.”
I’d stayed in the “Private Area” after Maslow left. Long enough to make him think I was really checking the place out, which was much longer than I would have liked. I explored a bit more. Opened a few cabinets to scrutinize their contents. Besides an absurd collection of dildos, there were also nipple clamps, cock rings, gags, a chastity cage, a collar and leash… It was the stuff of fetish fantasy. Enough to outfit several porn stars.
Or one very unlucky incubus.
Was I unlucky, though?
For a sex demon, it should have been a treasure trove.An abundance of accoutrements ready to be used in the pursuit of pleasure. I could turn that room into a lust buffet. I should have wanted to.
Instead, I stood there in shock, unwilling to touch anything while casting over-the-shoulder glances at the video camera’s steady red light.
After that, I scurried to the dressing room, where Darby was preparing for tonight’s show. Our resident makeup artist had an airplane policy when it came to his services: put your own oxygen—or in Darby’s case, your own beauty marks—on before helping others. Because of that, he tended to arrive early.
