the resort—only the leather ones. A girl in a gold collar is marked as mine and protected. No one else is allowed to touch you but us. Do you understand, Livia?”
I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good, let's go.” Dayne and Soren walk out the door while Griffin offers a hand to help me up. He steadies me while I put my shoes back on.
I felt a shift in Dayne just now. It's that darker more commanding side—the side that scares me a little and reminds me of Soren.
When we get outside, Dayne holds an arm out to me, and I loop my arm through his as though he's escorting me to Homecoming or something. Griffin and Soren walk directly behind us like they're our bodyguards. The guys are wearing their masquerade masks as well now.
Dayne leads me across the resort grounds into the enormous main building I only caught a glimpse of that first night. I keep my gaze straight forward, avoiding eye contact with the guests we pass. My heartbeat thunders in my chest.
They take me to an elegant ballroom which seems to be dripping in gold, which I'm pretty sure isn't fake. Gold accents on the walls, gold chandeliers, gold accents on furniture. The ceiling is white with complex swirling designs carved into it.
The lighting is low. There's enough light to see everything, but it's an understated illumination. A string quartet plays on a stage at one end of the ballroom. They aren't playing classical music. They're instead playing a darker rock piece re-imagined and arranged for strings.
Champagne and hors d'oeuvres are passed around on trays around us. Dayne grabs a champagne flute from a passing tray and hands it to me. This time I sip. There are no tables in the ballroom, just a wide open space with different types of sex dungeon furniture, as well as leather couches scattered about, mostly along walls. There are large leather tables which double as beds—at the very least they're surfaces to fuck on, judging by the presence of people fucking on several of them.
A couple of the walls are covered in padded leather in what appears to be a supple rich brown with restraints bolted into the walls. All the leather is this color, complementing the white and gold.
Hooks along the walls hold various implements like paddles and crops and floggers and whips. A shelf with a small recessed light shining down on it showcases an assortment of canes. There's already an orgy going on around us, and nobody seems to be shocked by any of the fucking and sucking and whipping occurring in this space. I take a deep breath as I take it all in and take another gulp of champagne.
We pass several people, including many couples and threesomes. There are a lot of women in collars, some scantily clad, some nude. Everyone wearing clothing is dressed in black. I'm not sure if this goes on all the time or if this is a special event.
Several people say things like: “It's good to see you, Mr. Montgomery,” “We haven't seen you in months, Mr. Montgomery,” “Is this your new toy, Mr. Montgomery? She's lovely.” Absolutely nobody calls him Dayne. They all know him, but it's like they aren't allowed to be familiar with him—at least not in public.
Near the stage with the string quartet is a second raised platform with a very nice very large leather chair adorned with tasteful gold accents. Dayne leads me up the stairs and my heart rate escalates higher. Griffin and Soren are right behind us. They stand on either side behind the chair, looking even more like bodyguards than they did on the walk down here.
The music stops playing, and a spotlight shines down on us. Everyone in the ballroom stops what they were doing to turn and look at us. I think Dayne is going to say something to the assembled guests—like maybe some sort of welcome speech—but all he does is nod toward the string quartet.
Slow dark strains of cello music fill the otherwise now quiet ballroom. The cello is soon joined by one of the violins. Dayne turns me to face the assembled guests, his large hands wrapped possessively around my shoulders.
He leans next to my ear. “Are you going to be a good girl and do everything you're told?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.
“Good. Take off the shoes.” He relieves me of my champagne flute, the alcohol starting to give me just enough buzz to bolster my courage. I remove the