Westbrook 2.0, so I’ll take it.
I’m watching awestruck as her finger and tongue are bringing this girl to a feral-like arousal when Chadwick grabs my hands, hoisting me up.
“Come on, Kitten. It’s time for our VIP show.” I hold on tight to his hand, but after watching the care and love exchanged on the stage, I’m apprehensively excited.
The door is locked, but it doesn’t stop Chadwick. With a swipe of his card, we’re granted access. A drape in front of the door like one would see at a hospital is covering our entrance while I faintly hear jazz music behind it.
“This is further protection from any lookie-loos in the hall.” Somehow when he says lookie-loos, he’s not the tough and rumble Dom I’ve always imagined, but a sweet little boy who only wants the attention of his parents, something never granted to him.
I hold back a smile because he’ll question it and be on guard from showing me his vulnerability again. “There are two couples in there tonight. They often play together. Both are fully committed. They have completely different relationships. I want you to see both of them scene together.” He kisses me on the bridge of my nose.
It's odd that as close as I feel to this man and the way he excites every part of my body, I’ve yet to kiss him. His mouth hovers over mine, but I don’t give in to my desires. “Good girl,” he comments, and this seems out of place to me.
“What?” I ask, and with a glare, his almost black eyes have me on warning. “What, Sir?”
“You want to kiss me. I know it like I know every little expression on your face. And I’ve not granted it, and you didn’t push, so you’re a good girl.”
He’s in his Dom role and not his normal douche-like ways. This Dom-like jackass is different than the assuming asshole—transformed and with a purpose. In some ways, this is a man I can follow. This thought enters my mind, and immediately, I’m scared I’ll like the scene too much. He pulls at my hesitation, and I give in, following him through the drape.
On a small elevated stage in the center of the room, two girls are suspended from the ceiling. What’s the word for it? Shivalry? Oh, shit, it’s not that. Chadwick has told me, but I can’t remember.
Two men, or Greek gods most would call them, are sitting on a long purple velvet couch that matches the furniture in all the clubs I’ve been to. They’re watching both women, never taking their eyes off them.
We don’t say a word while we sit in a smaller loveseat that’s just big enough for the two of us. One of the men, the blond, stands up and nods to Chadwick. In my peripheral, Chadwick nods back. “Holy shit, is that…?” I don’t get my words out when he hushes me. But I don’t need the question answered. It’s Thaddeus Lawson, a hall of fame football player from Miami. He approaches his girl, with matching blond hair, and kisses her on the cheek.
“My everything, you know I love you, right?” The tone of his words exudes the love this man has for her, oozing from his lips.
“Yes, Master. I love you, too.” He has a rattan cane, and with one swipe to her thigh, she squeals and laughs. She fucking laughs. “Again, please, Master.” And he slaps her another time. “More, Master, I love your marks on me.” I gasp. The head of the other man turns my way, but I don’t recognize him.
“Kitten, please don’t interrupt the scene.” I want to say so much. One being I can’t help it. I fucking can’t help it because of it being so erotic.
Thaddeus continues to swing the cane at her, and after a couple more blows, her voice leaves her mouth. “Please, Sir, no more.” And he immediately stops, dropping the cane.
He kneels before her, rubbing the spot I see forming even in the darkness of the room. “Mine,” he calls her. I love this so much more than slave because mine is such a graceful way of marking her without demeaning her.
“Mine,” he continues. “Tell them how you feel—what the cane does to you. How it helps you and why.” He points out at the crowd, but Chadwick and I are the only ones here.
She’s still suspended, and her eyes move toward me and only watch me. Can this get any weirder? What am I thinking? All this