“Let’s play a game of fetch,” Roman said with a sinister grin. From his opposite pocket to where he’d placed the contraband phone, he withdrew a pocketknife.
My blood ran cold. The girl’s eyes locked on the weapon, and she bowed her head.
He crouched in front of the brunette, cutting right through the straps of her thong before tearing the fabric from her body. He tossed the panties across the room. “Fetch. Without the use of your hands.”
The woman crawled on all fours toward her underwear, still not making a single sound.
Roman studied my face, my body, with careful precision. “Oh, how I wish you could see what I saw right now,” he said, low and gravelly. “You’re going to leave the most delicious wet spot on my chair, aren’t you, angel?”
The woman returned with her panties in her mouth.
“That’s a good little mindless slut,” Roman said, sugar-coated sadism oozing from every word. He took back her panties. “Open.”
He shoved them deep inside her mouth until she gagged. He grinned, delighting in the sound. A bulge developed in his black pants. I quickly looked anywhere but there.
Roman shoved the girl to the ground and took out the knife once more. I swore I could see his demented mind churning, deliberating, an unfathomable thirst burning in his dark eyes. He looked from me to the knife to the woman beneath him.
He shook his head again, ever-so-slightly, as if reining in some dark urge. A breath hissed through his powerful, clenched jaw. He dragged the handle across the girl’s folds, and I held my breath when his fingers encircled the part of the wooden base closest to the blade and he shoved the lower part of the handle inside her pussy.
“Roman,” I breathed in horror. I rose to my feet.
“Sit. Down,” he snapped at me.
The girl moaned, looking down at what was happening with wide eyes and a rapidly panting chest.
He carefully eased the wooden handle in and out of her, stopping at the base of his fingers. I sat back in the chair. I couldn’t leave her with him, and I couldn’t—God, I couldn’t look away.
I hated Roman. I hated him for getting exactly what he wanted out of me, just how I assumed he got everything else in this world. I was hyperaware of my own slick heat, the darkness inside of me at a breaking point of raw desire.
But not for him. Not for Roman.
For the power exchange—the same I witnessed between the woman bound to the ceiling and her Dom.
Roman removed the knife from the woman, securing the blade back in the handle and then inside his pocket.
“You may leave,” he said to her, his eyes never leaving mine.
The door clicked shut behind her.
“Not every man is deserving of your submission, angel. I may be a monster, but at least I’m anhonestmonster,” he said, lips curving.
Was he talking about Wes? Did he know something I didn’t?
When his phone buzzed again, irritation colored his features.
“What?” he answered. The person on the other end of the line spoke. He rolled his eyes. He pressed the mute button. “Goodbye, Nova. I’ll see you soon.”
I balked at him. I’d never had a more severe case of whiplash. My face burned with shame and anger as I rose from the chair. I didn’t dare look down to see the wet spot I’d left.
I only knew of it from Roman’s victorious chuckle.
As I exited the room, I heard him tell the person on the phone he’dbe done soon.
The heat on my flesh only multiplied when the VIP section tracked my quick exit. Several men looked me up and down with a smile, as if guessing what I’d done with Roman Graves.
I guaranteed none were guessing correctly.
The hallway was empty, but I heard moans coming from rooms deeper down the hall. I should’ve searched them for Lorelei.
