Friction(71)
“You, you're just nice.” I don’t tell her that I don’t think Jace is committed or that my heart constricts at the idea of him telling me he wants more. “I didn't expect that from you.”
“Looks and predilections can be deceiving.” She eyeballs a good-looking man across the room and slides off the armrest. “Take care, Miss Williams.”
She begins to walk away, but my question stops her in her tracks. “Why do you come to these parties, Sonora?” She turns to face me, running her palms over the front of her corset.
“Why? Are you judging me?” she demands.
“No.” I shake my head because it’s the truth. I’ve spent five minutes with this woman, and she’s been kinder to me than most of my prim and proper friends back in San Francisco. I’m grateful for that. Grateful for what she’s said to me tonight. “I’m just curious.”
“I do this because I need this in my life. It might not make sense to you or anyone else, but it's what makes me feel alive.”
“Just because I don't understand it doesn't make it wrong,” I say, surprising myself. A tiny smile forms on her face.
“Thank you.” When Jace returns a few seconds later, I let him know I'm ready for another drink. “I thought you said you couldn’t handle your liquor,” he teases.
“Not usually, but I might just need it by the time B shows off his table and we get out of here.”
By the time Mr. B makes his grand appearance downstairs thirty minutes later, I’m regretting that third shot of tequila. The liquor has gone straight to my head, but luckily, I can still stand upright when we step behind the glass on the other side of the voyeur room. Noticing the naked woman standing a few feet away from us, her gaze wandering over the massive table in the other room, I revise my thoughts about the tequila.
I definitely needed it.
Although several of his guests are in the other rooms, Mr. B’s new table has attracted at least ten other people. Of course, they might all be more interested in using said table rather than watching it in use. As Mr. B praises Jace’s work, I sneak off to the side and pull my phone out of my strapless bra, checking to make sure my mother hasn't messaged me. I have one text, but it's from Jamie.
11:13 PM: The suspense is KILLING ME. How’s it going? Is the hot guy from Jace’s workshop getting his rocks off in that Louis XIV room again? You. Are. Killing. Me.
“You’re crazy, friend,” I mutter under my breath. I snap a quick picture of myself with one eyebrow raised and my lips twisted to the side. Typing a condensed version of our conversation from the pancake restaurant from a couple of months ago—Cages and butt plugs and metal tables, oh my—I send both to her in a private message on Snapchat. I slide my phone back inside of my bra and rejoin Jace.
He lifts a black tendril off my shoulder, sliding it between his fingertips. “Unless you want to watch the table in action, we can leave now.” I don't jump to respond to him— my brain is fuzzy from the tequila and from his touch—so he takes that as an invitation. “My sweet, beautiful Lucy,” he growls. “Am I making a freak out of you?”
I shake my head, but Jace is still skeptical because he purses his lips. “I just want to go home with you tonight.”
His stormy blue eyes darken with desire that pulsates into my body. He squeezes my ass and draws me close to him, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “Good. Let’s get out of here before I lose my patience and take you here.”
As we quietly make our departure, the first willing and ready participant is being strapped to the table he created.
Twenty-Seven
Lucy
“Do you ever miss it?” I ask Jace, my voice a faint whisper as he motions for me to put my hands above my head. I do so without protest, shivering when the cold metal cuffs clasp around my wrists. “The parties, I mean.”
He latches the cuffs to one of the hooks on his bedpost then traces his hands down my naked body. I arch against him, my body curving into his mouth when he drops his dark head to my nipple. “No,” he breathes, and goose bumps race across my skin as his warm breath glides over my body. “Not at all.”
“Do you ever think about going—” I gasp when his hand squeezes between my thighs and he circles his palm around my clit. He’s relentless, rough, and my body sings beneath his touch. “Do you…”
Moving his other hand and mouth to my throat, he lets out a rough growl. “I’m happy right where I am.”
“With me?”
“With you,” he confirms, making my heart flutter. “Now, love, if you mention one of those parties again while I’m trying to make you come, I’ll make sure you won’t get an ounce of sleep.”
I promise that I won’t, promise that I’ll simply enjoy, so he moves down my body again. His hand never leaves my sex as his tongue circles each of my nipples, then my belly button, causing me to suck in my stomach. When he lowers to his knees in front of me, spreading my legs so far apart that I’m sure I would fall if it weren’t for my bound hands, he grins up at me. “You’re perfect, love. Everything I was searching for when I…”
He trails off, but I still bob my head. In understanding. In pleasure.