“Ourkingdom, my fearless Thorn. La Lune Noire is yours now. Let’s introduce them to their queen.”
ZARA
An energy buzzes to life as we meander through the crowd at Magie Noire, as if the whole place is holding their breath because Axel has arrived. He was here a few weeks ago though. So, it’s that he’s here with me. Here to use the club he owns.
And maybe because he’s in a tux and I’m in a wedding gown. The guests in the cocktail lounge don elegant attire, much of which is 1920s-inspired. Feathers and glitter, fedoras and fringe. Several wear masks, like many do upstairs.
I purposefully don’t scrutinize faces. The last thing I need is to be hung up on an identity. The night of the Prohibition Ball, I recognized a woman. I’d killed her husband a few years ago. He’d been involved in a large trafficking ring. It seemed she’d moved on and gotten herself a better life. Hopefully. But it stuck with me throughout the evening. I don’t want any of that to taint my experience here.
When we reach Axel’s door, his explanation of the setup is clearer. It’s the first room in the owners’ wing, so one whole wall is glass, facing the voyeur hall.
“Security confiscates all phones and weapons before a member enters this area, so there’s no possibility of pictures or safety issues.” He shuts us inside, leaving us in the dark until a candle bathes the space in a golden glow. “We’ll start with dim lighting. Right now, any voyeurs will only be able to see a silhouette of us. No details. You have control of the situation the entire time. If you’re willing to give them more, you can light another candle, adjust the dimmer switch on the overhead to what you’d prefer, or turn on a sconce. Otherwise, I’ll alert you when I’m going to change it.”
“Okay.” There’s a slight quaver laced through my agreement, but it’s adrenaline more than jitters.
The space is simple and classy, more elegant than I’d have expected but so Axel. Chandeliers and plush velvet and a four-poster bed. Warm, neutral colors, toys galore, and even some multipurpose furniture. But I suspect the show-stealer of any BDSM dungeon is Axel’s commanding tenor.
He swaggers toward me—sure and regal—skimming his fingertips over my bare shoulders in a tantalizing tease. “Are you ready to begin?”
“So ready,” I breathe because my entire body is trembling with erotic fantasies.
He dips his chin, but his quirked lips reveal how much he’s relishing my fervor. “What’s your safe word?”
“Coin.”
“Good girl. Let’s get you out of this dress.” He leisurely works the buttons of the corset bodice, which has the thrill of what will transpire utterly wrecking me.
It takes a painfully long time, and he chuckles at my impatience until he rucks the mess of silk and tulle down to my feet, instructing me to step out. I do with my heels still on and my bare ass facing the glass wall. He prowls around me, never acknowledging the onlookers. Only admiring me.
“Look at what a mess you made.” He tsks in feigned disapproval, trailing one finger along the thin string covering my pussy and dipping inside me while I squirm for more. “Always so greedy.”
The lingerie is designed to feel like bondage, with various straps bound around my waist, breasts, and hips. Axel picked it for me. It does a poor job of covering anything, and it bites into my skin, but there was a lining added to my dress with that in mind. He wanted me to ache for him all during the ceremony and reception. It worked. Every brush was like a pinprick of flames.
That’s only heightened by the observers we have. I don’t dare crane my neck to catalog them directly, but there’s a horde of them. Most are clad in more playful attire too.
Axel removes his finger and traces my lips, forcing it inside for me to suck. His eyes are hooded at the sight, just as undone as I am. “So pretty when you hollow those cheeks,” he praises. “I might have to put your mouth to work earlier than I planned. Kneel while I hang up your dress.”
Before I comply, I point to the row of candles he has out. “May I?”
His sapphires flash with hunger. “You may.”
I use the lighter to ignite another wick, casting the room in shadows and warmth, and murmurs from the hall transcend the glass. When I kneel, I know our audience can see the details of my wedding-day lingerie.
Shame drapes over me as I question myself again.Why does this excite me so much?
Axel crouches before me, lifting my chin. “Who holds it all?”
How does he know without seeing my face or hearing my voice?
“You do.”
“I do.” His jacket is gone, and his sleeves are pushed up to brandish his corded forearms—every part of him is striking. He tucks a rogue curl behind my ear, veneration written in every line on his face. “And I say you’re perfect and sexy and mine. So, what are you?”
“Perfect and sexy and yours,” I repeat.
“Brilliant and brave,” he adds, weaving his fingers into my hair and conquering my mouth.
It’s soft and reassuring. Dominance, imposed with the caress of a feather. Total annihilation. And over before I want it to be.
