What pleasures await me, pet?
“Has the Devil of Mercy seen something he likes?” A soft French accent sang in my ear. Juliette, our resident concierge, and the only woman allowed into the brotherhood stepped into view. “Shall I col—” she trailed off, glancing over her shoulder for a second look. “Not your usual type,mon chéri?” her tone more curiosity than disapproval. “And I made sure to request your specific taste.” Her eyes came back to me, her smile wide over her painted red lips.
Anyone looking at her would never say Juliette was almost ten years older than me. Tall, beautiful and in bloody good shape, she carried her age with grace. While she’d come to us as a practicing submissive when she began, over the years, her charm, sharp tongue, and confidence earned her the position she now held. Some called her a Dominatrix outside these walls, she however, preferred the subservient role during the rituals. She believed it calmed the girls to see the friendly face of a woman among the monsters—and that we were.
Taking without asking. Punishing without offense. Eclipsing passion with pain. Yes, monsters we were. Only, we didn’t lurk in shadows, we hid in open sight. Money might make the world go round but the Sinclairs owned the spin.
Untouchable. Untraceable. Unbreakable.
Regardless, for all the power we possessed, there was a method to our madness. Few might understand, most, not. It’s been said that to open a specific door, one would need a key. Unfortunately, the door to the Sinclair Brother had been locked eons ago. The search for the key, however, continued. Probably, never to be found. Still, what went on behind those closed doors brought both pleasure and sadness.
“Sebastian?” Juliette’s soft call drew me out of the descent into my family’s less than colorful past.
I looked at her, smiling. “You can’t always eat vanilla frosting, Juliette, no matter how much you crave it.” I swiped my finger through the cake on the plate I held. Bringing it to my lips, I licked the thick cream, my gaze wandering over Juliette’s shoulder once more, catching the not-so-subtle interest of the girl who had my cock in a distinct snare I hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Sometimes a new flavor sneaks up on you that you must try, even if it’s just to taste. Perhaps you might fall in love with the new flavor.” I winked earning a mellow laugh from Juliette and a slick of her tongue over her bottom lip from the girl behind her.
“Collar?” Juliette asked, following my gaze. “The usual room I presume?”
“You know me well, don’t you?” I grinned.
“Would that be a bad thing, if I did?” She touched a well-manicured hand to my chest, openly flirtatious, knowing it would lead her nowhere.
Juliette was right. I had a type. Tall, blonde, and slim with an aorta of intelligence to understand that certain men held specific inclinations and to scream rape after the fact would get you nothing. The Brotherhood was that powerful. To trap a rat, all it needed was the right cheese. Sometimes that cheese would rot, and the poor rat would go hungry. Life’s lessons to anyone seeking to undermine the Brotherhood.
Shaking off the mental interrogation of why I was intent on straying from my usual norm, I held out my plate to Juliette. “I’ll leave it to you to explain.” I turned to walk away, and she stopped me.
“You’re not going to stay for the others?” she asked, referring to the rest of the Sinclair men who’d shortly be indulging their cocks with the remaining girls.
“I’m bored, Jules, I need a little spice.” She knew exactly what I meant. “I’ve chosen. I don’t need to watch the theatrics.” Her soft laughter followed me as I strode away.
I might welcome submission but there was nothing more exciting than letting a girl fight you. Then teasing the fuck out of her until she dropped to her knees begging for more and learned her place soon enough.
Chapter 8 - Levana
Instead of joiningthe other girls, I’d accepted a freshly squeezed orange juice from a passing waiter and subtly moved toward the paintings, trying to guess the artist or the piece of art. On my second drink, I felt an unexpected brush of air across my bare shoulder, like someone had touched me with the lightest of caresses. Confused, I slowly pivoted but no one stood anywhere close to me. About to turn back to the painting, I felt the sudden urge to look up.
Across the room, the only man dressed in an all-black suit and button-down arrested my gaze. Unlike the other men who wore black masks, his was different. A full mask of charcoal gray filigree shielded most of his features except for his lips and chin, even his eyes were covered. He held a cake plate in his hand and a finger in his mouth, licking the cream when I felt his hidden eyes meet mine.
