The door opened to reveal Colette standing dutifully by. Her smile was serene as Beck urged me out into a crowded parking garage.
It had grown dark outside, and the cement structure was striped with shadows. Night crept in through the windowed walls while glaring lights cast wide beams. My knees knocked as I walked forward, feeling dampness seep into my underwear from my used hole.
When Beck crowded in behind me, I almost grabbed him and dragged him back into the Lincoln tofinish what we’d started. It was either that or sink to my knees on the pavement—anything to get his dick in me again.
Placidly, he hooked his arm around my waist and tugged me forward. I walked about as gracefully as a child, my limbs alternating between tingling and numb as my erection strained at the material of my leggings.
“Beck,” I said plaintively, but managed nothing more before he gestured ahead.
“This is my home.” He smiled. “And yours for the night.”
The weight of his statement pushed my lascivious thoughts aside. When he’d mentioned the hotel earlier, I’d assumed he meant a neutral location. Any given property on the Strip. But this was so much more.
Home.
Something the Dollhouse had never been.
Something I’d wanted without realizing it.
I bit my lip to stifle replies that felt suddenly inadequate. He was sharing this with me. Welcoming me into the most private part of his world, if only for the night. It was a grand gesture, one that soothed my urgency.
With that shift, I started to reallyseethe place we were moving toward.
Ivory statues flanked the entrance, carved in high relief like guardians of something ancient. “The Grecian” shimmered across the windows in ornate gold lettering. Colette followed us inside, where a hallway opened into a vast corridor of polished marble and warm lighting.
It didn’t feel like a casino. There were no blinking machines, no clatter of coins, no drunken laughter echoing off the walls. Just quiet, curated opulence.
It was the kind of silence that warned you to lower your voice; the kind of space that told you to behave.
But Beck didn’t flinch beneath its weight. The space seemed to bend for him. Acknowledge him. And somehow, just by standing at his side, I could breathe a little easier. I could move forward, and I could almost believe I belonged here too—if only for tonight.
Home.
He brought me home.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Zephyr
We bypassed the main floor by way of a side corridor. My new tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as Beck guided me onward. Colette trailed behind us until the hall opened into a smaller lobby, then she peeled off with a murmur I didn’t catch. Beck responded with a parting wave and, just like that, we were alone.
The room was lined with smooth stone and gold accents, every detail sleek and modern. A dedicated elevator stood at the far end, and Beck guided me to it, then pressed the call button.
“This goes straight to the suites,” he said, eyes forward.
The car opened with a soft chime, and we stepped inside. I turned to face the doors as they closed, finding my reflection faint in the polished brass and Beck’s silhouette behind me. The elevator began to rise.
I remembered being stuffed in the elevator at the Crowndell and brimming with anxious anticipation. There,I’d felt small and vulnerable, but here I was the center of the world, positioned in front of Beck as he curved his arms around me, holding me close. Keeping me safe.
And I could breathe. In fact, I was so full of air that I might have been weightless. Flying like I did onstage. Trusting the silks to keep me aloft while the world drifted away. I exhaled, then breathed in again, turning everything soft and supple but no less needful. If anything, I craved him more now.
Clasping Beck’s hand, I moved it onto my bare stomach and held it there as though he could feel the growling monster inside, a beast only he could tame.
He kissed the side of my neck, scrubbing the tender flesh with the rasp of his stubble. Then he reached lower, sliding intrepid fingers under the elastic waist of my leggings until he cupped my bare cock, half hard and dripping precum.
“Everypiece of furniture, Beauty,” he reminded me. “The bed, the chairs, the coffee table… Did I mention I have a kitchenette? We haven’t had dinner. Maybe I’ll lay you on the counter and make a meal of you.”
