I moved through the edges of the scene. Let my body respond while my mind stayed alert. Someone's hands found my hips through my clothes. A man. Lean and confident. He pressed against my back, already hard, grinding against me.
“You're gorgeous,” he murmured against my ear. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” I said. Because refusing would draw attention I couldn't afford.
His hands moved over my chest, feeling the leather harness through my shirt. Down my stomach. One hand pressed against the bulge in my trousers—I was fully hard now, trapped between professional necessity and physical response. He stroked me through the fabric while I used the contact as cover to move closer to Harrow's corner.
Dom made a sound—low and pleased. The woman was working him expertly. Her head bobbing. Taking him deep. Dom's fingers tightened in her hair. His hips rolled forward. Chasing pleasure with the same controlled intensity he brought to everything else.
“Slower,” he commanded. Voice rough. “Make it last.”
She obeyed. Slowed her pace. Drew out each movement until Dom was breathing hard. Until his control started showing cracks.
Someone handed him a riding crop. Dom tested it against his palm. The sound made several people flinch. Then he turnedto the restrained woman. Drew the crop down her spine. She trembled.
“Count,” Dom said. “Out loud.”
The first strike landed across her backside. Red bloomed instantly.
“One!” she gasped. “Thank you, Sir.”
The second followed. Then third. Dom built rhythm. Each strike precise. Controlled. The woman's counting turned breathless. Desperate. By strike ten, she was begging for more.
Dom set down the crop. Gestured to the young man still holding her hips. “Fuck her. Slow. Make her feel every inch.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I watched the young man position himself. Watched him push into her with careful control. Watched her back arch and heard the sound she made—pure relief mixed with need.
Dom's hand never left the kneeling woman's hair. She was still working his cock. Still taking him deep. His breathing had gone uneven. Pleasure building despite his attempts to maintain composure.
The man behind me had me pressed against the wall now. One hand still stroking me through my trousers. The other gripping my hip. I could feel how hard he was, grinding against me with increasing urgency.
“You feel incredible,” he breathed. “Can I?—”
“Not yet,” I managed. “Just this.”
He groaned but obeyed. Worked me harder through the fabric. My hips bucked forward despite attempts at control.
I used the moment of distraction to place the audio bug under Harrow's table. My hands shook slightly as adhesive made contact. The man behind me mistook it for arousal. Increased his pace.
“You're close,” he murmured. “I can feel it.”
I wasn't. But I let him think so. Let him work me while I catalogued the room. Dmitri's voice in my ear confirming positions. Luka still had the fixer occupied. Troy tracking the enforcer.
Everything according to plan.
Except for the way watching Dom made my chest tight with something that felt too much like jealousy.
Dom pulled the kneeling woman off his cock. She whimpered at the loss. He hauled her to her feet. Kissed her—deep and filthy. His hand gripped her jaw. Held her in place while he took what he wanted.
When he released her, she looked dazed. Grateful.
“Go help with her,” Dom said. Gesturing to the restrained woman who was being fucked with increasing desperation. “Make sure she comes. Hard.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
The woman moved to obey. Positioned herself where she could reach the restrained woman's center. Started working her with fingers and mouth while the young man continued thrusting. The restrained woman's cries intensified, her body pulling against the leather straps as pleasure built.
