Tied with Me (With Me in Seattle, #6)(2)

“Do we have to?”

“Yes!” She rolls her eyes again and drags me behind her. “You don’t have to participate. Just watch. It’s fun, Nic.”

“If you say so,” I murmur and greedily sip my fresh drink as we walk through the dance room to the fetish exhibits, where the music is gone and instead there is laughter and moans of pleasure.

“You didn’t say that people participate.” My voice is three octaves higher than normal, and I don’t care.

“Of course they participate. But you don’t have to.”

The first demonstration we come across has me sucking down my drink in one long sip of the straw and pulling Bailey’s drink out of her hand to suck hers down, too.

A woman is lying on a massage table, face up, with a blue satin sash over her naked breasts and pelvis. A large, shirtless, gorgeous man is standing over her with a metal wand in his hand. It’s attached to a machine, and when he touches her skin, it shocks her.

“Electro play,” Bailey informs me.

My eyes can’t move away from the woman as she writhes and moans on the table. The man leans down and murmurs in her ear, but she smiles and shakes her head. “He’s checking in with her, to make sure she’s okay.”

“Kind of him,” I reply sarcastically.

He resumes pulling the wand over her breasts, making her nipples pucker even more than they were, which didn’t look possible, down her stomach and finally between her legs, sending her into a screaming orgasm.

“Dear God.”

Bailey laughs at me. I didn’t even realize I’d spoken the words aloud.

“You’re into that?” I ask her.

“No, it’s not for everyone, and it takes a lot of trust and someone very practiced to dive into that world.” She smiles as she watches the couple on the small stage.

The man has turned the machine off and pulled the woman into his arms, soothing and petting her as she shakes and pants. He kisses her cheek and whispers lovingly in her ear. Watching them together, so intimate, so loving, makes my chest hurt.

It’s beautiful.

“Those two are married. She’s been his submissive for about three years.”

“Submissive?” I ask.

“Are you really that na?ve?” Bailey asks with a shake of her head.

“I had no idea that stuff happened in real life. I thought it just made for a fun romance novel.”

“It happens.”

“Are you submissive?”

She smiles at me then shrugs her slim shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. I tried, but my mouth kept getting me in trouble. My ass was sore for a month.”

I swallow hard as we move along to the next demonstration.

I jump when I hear the crack of a whip. “Holy shit!”

Bailey laughs and tucks her arm through mine as we watch another tall, lean, shirtless man wield a bullwhip. A woman is suspended by the wrists to a chain in the ceiling, her arms pulled high over her head. She’s wearing black panties and a bra.

The man circles the whip over his head and cracks it in front of him, leaving just a tiny red mark on the woman’s shoulder blade. She moans, as though it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever felt.

The man circles her, his focus completely on her, and when he gets to her back, he repeats the motion, leaving another, identical mark on the other shoulder blade.

He approaches her, grips her red hair in his fist and pulls her head back so he can whisper in her ear.

“Yes, sir,” she replies breathlessly.

He grins and kisses her deeply before releasing her hair and raising the whip above his head, the leather kissing her skin, leaving one, two, three more red marks on either side of her spine.

“How can he do that and not break the skin?” I ask in awe.

“Lots and lots of practice,” Bailey whispers back. “That’s Master Eric.”

“Is she his submissive?” I ask, proud of myself for understanding the lingo so quickly.

“No, she’s not with anyone that I know of. But she is a masochist, and Master Eric is happy to oblige her.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, but can’t deny the clench in my stomach when Master Eric cups her ass in his hand, pushing his fingers between her legs and pulling them away sopping wet, glistening in the soft light.

“See? She’s happy. Master Eric would stop if she said her safe word.”

Jesus, I think again. Safe words and whips and electrowands. Who would have thought?

When we move along, a woman is pouring ladles of hot wax on eager participants.

“Ah, we’re moving on to the more vanilla demonstrations,” Bailey explains. “Not that hot wax is vanilla, but it’s no bullwhip.”

I smirk and watch in rapture as a shirtless man has wax poured on his chest, down his defined abs, and smiles in pleasure. A hard ridge beneath his blue jeans proves that he is enjoying himself.

“Want to try it?” Bailey asks me.

“No, thanks.” I shake my head but can’t look away as the next woman in line takes a seat and scoops her hair off her neck, giving the woman pouring wax space to drizzle the hot liquid over her collarbones and chest. It cools and hardens almost immediately and is peeled seductively off the skin.

It’s actually kind of…sexy.

“Oh! The bondage area!” Bailey exclaims excitedly and pulls me over where a small line of women are waiting patiently as a handsome man ties long lines of ropes around their torsos, arms, legs, leaving a trail of intricate knots around their bodies.