made a choking noise and I glanced at him with narrowed eyes. The sound caught the woman’s attention, her eyes flying wide with chagrin as she recognized me. I shook my head slightly, smiling to let her know I wasn’t offended. Or all that surprised, really, as I’d heard about similar scenes—and others far more extreme.
She inclined her head regally, really a perfect imitation of me, and I smiled more widely. As we moved to go, I saw her carefully studying my current look, and I wondered how fast she’d come up with a copy.
“I like your fancy shoes,” Con commented quietly, “but I don’t see my way to licking them.”
I smothered a laugh. “I’ll grant an exemption. It’s a specific fetish,” I added, “and I’ve heard of that courtesan. She’s apparently highly sought.”
“Hmm. Does that bother you?”
“No. She’s not the only one who dresses like Me. As with everything in the Night Court, it provides a much-needed outlet for…” I trailed off, unable to settle on the word I wanted.
“For the poor sods who can never hope to have the real thing,” Con replied smugly, patting my hand, making me laugh in truth.
“You have your own imitators,” I mentioned oh so casually.
He jumped as if I’d poked him with a needle, then glowered at me. “You’re making that up.”
“I am not. Shall we go look for them?”
“Definitely not.” No hesitation there, his expression set. “Unless you want to,” he conceded, though his lips twisted as if he’d tasted something bad.
“Not at all. That’s for the poor sods who can never hope to have the real thing,” I replied, enjoying his answering smile.
The next clearing held a large four-poster bed where a woman lay spread-eagled, blindfolded and tied to the posts with thick crimson ribbons. She moaned and twisted, her gold-painted lips gasping as she sobbed in frustration as two other women in half masks slowly licked her body. Her open sex showed wet and swollen, her nether mouth flushed as her hips pumped in helpless abandon. I glanced at Con to see if he liked what he saw, but he was staring steadfastly into the shadows, jaw tight and flexing.
“You can look,” I told him, and he dropped his chin to meet my gaze, his golden eyes fulgent.
“I saw,” he murmured, more roughly than usual.
“But you didn’t like what you saw?”
“Are you asking if it made me hot?” His gaze went to my mouth. “It did. Does. But I’m not sure it should. It … seems like an invasion to look.”
My darling Con. How he’d survived witnessing so many terrible things with such a tender conscience was beyond me. “She wants to be seen. It’s part of the pleasure for her. Or she wouldn’t be here.”
He searched my face. “You’re certain she’s willing?”
Ah, it hadn’t occurred to me that he’d worry about that, though it should have. I slid my hand down his forearm to twine my fingers with his. “Absolutely certain. Lady Delilah is many things, but she is unyielding in her rule of the Night Court. The passwords she mentioned? Everyone who enters must have a code phrase or gesture to indicate if they need to stop. That allows people to dance the line of power and helplessness without losing true autonomy.”
He smiled, a bit rueful and a lot relieved. “I should’ve known that you wouldn’t allow anything else here.”
“I wouldn’t, it’s true. But this ritual goes beyond me—and it’s a true freedom that anyone can come here and indulge their wildest fantasies, where they’ll find willing partners to enjoy with them, and where no one will judge.”
He nodded, a short jerk of his chin. Then he pulled me in front of him, turning us both to watch. Settling his hands on my hips, he pressed against me, the bulk of him warm and reassuring. One of the masked women had moved between the bound woman’s spread thighs and, using a feather dipped in oil, lightly stroked her engorged sex. It was like lightning struck. The bound woman convulsed, body arching as she wailed.
My own sex clenched in sympathy, my nipples tightening under the silk of my gown.
“Why do you suppose she likes this?” Con murmured in my ear, lips caressing the sensitive shell as he spoke, making me shiver.
“She’s bound and can’t control what they do to her. Even though this is a torment, all of it is for her sensual pleasure and eventual release. For someone who can’t otherwise set down the burdens of their