Page 109 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

I stare at him. “Here? Someone could see⁠—”

“Do as you’re told, wife.” His eyes darken. “Or you’ll get a spanking right here in the box.”

“You absolutely wouldn’t.”

He tips his head to one side. “No?”

The answer is written in the set of his jaw. He absolutely would. And he’d enjoy it.

Questioning my sanity, I lift up a little and wriggle the dress to my waist.

Caleb leans in. “Now spread your thighs.”

Disbelievingly I blink.

“You might want to obey him,” Lucian coaches.

How do they manage to take turns being so diabolical?

Since I know no one can see us, I follow Caleb’s instructions. Instantly Lucian strokes between my folds and presses a finger against my clit.

Gasping, I jerk my hips toward him.

“You’re wet, wife,” he says against my ear.

He continues his torment as the show begins.

It is breathtaking. A cirque-style performance, bodies twisting through aerial silks, sensuality woven through every movement. There are BDSM undertones everywhere, but unlike the Retreat, no one here seems hidden.

A woman kneels in the aisle in a tiny dress, her Master’s hand resting in her hair. Another wears a jeweled collar attached to a leash. No one stares. No one whispers. They are simply natural.

It’s terrifying. It’s sexy. And I am horrified at how wet I’m getting—at how part of me wonders what it would feel like to be displayed like that for them.

Maybe that is what unsettles me most. Not that I am becoming someone else. That maybe this was always somewhere inside me.

The house lights dim. My husbands make me spread my legs wider.

Lucian’s fingers tease my clit while Caleb’s slide inside me, fucking me slowly as the performance unfolds.

Onstage, a woman turns in silk, held and released and held again. In the dark of the box, I have to watch her and feel them at the same time, and the two things braid together until I cannot tell which one is making my thighs shake.

“If you make noise, people may look at you,” Lucian warns. “You don’t want that, do you?”

His fingers circle. My breath catches.

“Or do you?”

I bite my lip hard, scandalized and tempted, shame and arousal twisting together as they play with me through the act.

They don’t let me come. Every time I get close, Lucian eases off and Caleb stills inside me, and I have to sit there in the dark with my pulse between my legs and applause rising around us.

At intermission, they guide me through a discreet door at the rear of the box into a private salon with a marble vanity, low velvet seating, and its own powder room.

Lucian bares my breasts and sucks my nipples until they are sore and aching, and I moan, ready to come undone, needing to come undone.

Then he pulls out two small, shiny objects from his pocket. “Do you know what these are?”

I frown. There are tiny little pincers on the end. And suddenly I’m scared witless. “No…” I can’t look away.