Celebration (18 page)

The temperature of the room increased dramatically.

Athena dipped her hand into the fountain and selected a disk. “Number one hundred and sixty-three.” A woman on the far side of the room squealed with delight, then raced toward Athena to prove that she’d won. It was Tiffany, who could switch between dominatrix and submissive.

“Choose your slave,” Athena invited. This was the risky part, the part Rex would never have chosen by himself. This was the part where bad matches could happen, but Athena liked the thrill of the uncertainty. She loved the risk. In her view, people could surprise you. People could change. And there was nothing saying that you knew all of a person’s secrets, even if they insisted you did. Rex, of course, saw things otherwise. “Select your tools, Tiffany. Opt for privacy or not. We cater to all whims, here at the Phoenix.”

Tiffany appeared to have made her choice already. “Him! Number eighteen,” she cried, pointing to a sturdy looking man posed on the far side of the room. “Truss Vlad up for me now.”

The target of her affections jolted. Athena laughed. Vlad knew his role and the rules, but he made a run for it to prolong the game.

A team in black appeared out of the shadows right on cue. They looked more like ninjas than the guards at the Plume, but they fulfilled the same purpose. Vlad ran through the crowd as they pursued him, some attendees obstructing him and others obstructing the guards.

The guards finally snatched and bound him, hoisting him high to deliver him to the thrilled victor. Vlad struggled and shouted all the way. Tiffany was jumping up and down with anticipation.

Athena pulled one of the feathers out of her headdress and handed it to Tiffany. She smiled at the woman’s surprise. “Trust me,” she murmured and Tiffany smiled in understanding.

“No!” Vlad shouted when he saw the feather, but the guards dumped him to the floor to gag him tightly. His cock was huge and hard, seeming to grow before their eyes as his new mistress advanced upon him.

He threw himself forward so he was on his knees in front of her, an obvious plea for mercy. Tiffany smiled coolly, showing definite promise in Athena’s eyes.

“There is no mercy, Vlad,” she said. “And I don’t like begging.”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide.

“I’ve wanted you for years and tonight’s my chance to make you pay for the wait. I’ll have you upside down and right side up. I’ll take you fast and I’ll take you slow. I’ll have you from the back and from the front, and by the time morning comes, I’ll be the only woman in your universe.”

The crowd cheered approval.

Vlad fought his bonds, but Athena knew it was just a show.

So far.

Tiffany smiled as she flicked the feather across his penis. “Tickle, tickle, Vlad,” she said and he struggled wildly in his bonds. The crowd started to laugh. “Tickle, tickle.” Tiffany went after the bottoms of Vlad’s feet, then his chin and his balls, and the palms of his hands. He was writhing, almost incoherent in his torment, then nearly blew his load when she cracked her hand hard across his ass.

He froze. He stared at her. Athena adored the moment that big strong Vlad realized that dainty little Tiffany had his number.

And a feather.

Tiffany might well be the only woman in his world by the morning.

Athena gave her lovely slave boy a soul-stirring kiss, then climbed up again to choose the next number. She wasn’t really surprised to feel his hand slid up the inside of her thigh.

All these gorgeous people. All these feathers. All this passion. She turned and blew a kiss to the dark-haired Adonis with Louise.

He blew a kiss back.

It was going to be a great night.

* * *

Rex thought he was ready for anything.

He became increasingly tense, his muscles starting to hum as Athena took half of forever to pick the winning numbers. He changed his pose regularly, showing his body to advantage, not really comfortable with the level of uncertainty in this game.

Athena loved novelty.

Athena could create a hot encounter out of any pairing. She loved sex, any way, any time, with anybody. He wasn’t sure she had any barriers or no-go zones. As long as he’d known her, she’d been ready to try anything once.

But Rex wasn’t so much at ease in being the slave anymore. He had more definite ideas of what he wanted and how he wanted it. He was trying to stretch his own boundaries by playing along, but the longer he had to wait to know the truth, the harder it was to trust all would be well.

He’d thought he would be chosen first and early, but that wasn’t the case. At least four slaves had been claimed, some requiring more persuasion than others. If Rex was among the last, he wasn’t sure he could stand it. This game could last all night.

Athena’s voice rose over the din. “Ninety-three!” she shouted. A woman gave a gasp of delight. Rex felt his heart skip. He couldn’t really see the fountain, not from this angle, not with so many people in between. He heard Athena laugh, a victorious laugh but not a surprised one.

What was she up to?

“Number seven! You’re chosen!” she shouted and Rex froze.

He hadn’t decided whether to fight and run or whether to be submissive. Athena’s ninjas were moving into position just in case and he was considering the merit of bolting.

Then the crowd parted and his world stopped.

He blinked at the woman in the red dress who was walking toward him, a gold disk in her hand. She was black. Her hair was very short, almost shaved, but she was still delectably feminine. Her dress was very tight and shiny, as if she’d been dipped in red gloss paint. Her shoes had incredibly high heels and were exactly the same shade of glistening red. So was her lipstick.

But the enticing picture she made was nothing, not when he realized it was Michelle.

Michelle!

She smiled at him, then at the way his cock surged to greater size. Her smile turned knowing in a way that heated his blood. She knew what she was, how he was, what he liked.

And she’d followed him anyway. Rex couldn’t believe his luck.

Athena shouted something and Michelle turned to wave an acknowledgement. Rex’s eyes widened at the sight of the oversized zipper that ran down the back of the dress. It had to be three inches wide and was shiny silver. The tab was at the hem of the dress and pushing it upward, Rex was sure, would make that dress fall right off of her body. He saw no lines or indents and guessed that the dress and the shoes were the only things she was wearing.

His knees weakened with desire even as she put her fingertips on his face. Rex felt dizzy.

“Pleased?” she whispered. Her gaze searched his.

“Overwhelmed,” Rex admitted, and she smiled.

“Athena rigged it for us, but don’t tell anyone.” She touched her lips to his and a glorious release rolled through Rex. Michelle was here. She’d come looking for him. She wanted him, and even if it was just for this night, he wouldn’t decline.

He caught her close and kissed her deeply, lifting her off her feet. “You sure?”

“I want a room,” Michelle whispered, gesturing to the attic. “I’m not ready for this.”

“And I don’t want to share,” Rex said with a smile. He caught her up in his arms, then tipped her over his shoulder. He headed for the stairs and his own room, intent on rewarding Michelle for the chance she’d taken. She was both strong and fragile, thoughtful and learning to be impulsive. She was a woman he trusted and one he adored.

One he already loved.

He’d prove it to her, no matter how long it took.

* * *

Eric supposed Mike and Joanna’s wedding was everything a wedding was supposed to be. The bride was radiant. The groom was delighted. The bride’s parents were proud. The dinner had been delicious and now the guests were dancing.

Funny how he wasn’t feeling very celebratory.

He went to the bar and ordered another drink, wanting no company other than his own. He knew he should be happy for Mike and, in a way, he was.

In another way, Mike’s happiness made Eric more aware of his own dissatisfaction. Once he’d been glad to be alone and answerable to no one. Now, he was tired of it. He was fed up with quick encounters and fleeting connections. He leaned on the bar and watched the guests dance, knowing there couldn’t be a single soul in this room who understood him as well as the bride and groom.

“Hi. We haven’t met.”

Eric glanced down to find a pretty woman beside him. She’d been in the bridal party—in case he’d forgotten that, she was wearing the same red sheath dress as three other women in the room. As such dresses went, it wasn’t bad. At least it was flattering. She had an impish smile, and a twinkle in her eyes. Her hair was dark blonde and had been wound up in an elaborate style.

She’d been made into an ideal bridesmaid, but her real personality was beginning to show through. Eric loved that. The ends were escaping from the arrangement of her hair and curling around her face, making her look young and cute. She’d eaten off the edges of the red lipstick she’d been wearing. That she hadn’t replaced the lipstick or fixed her hair made him assume she was someone who didn’t bother with make-up often.

He liked that in a woman, a comfort in her own skin. He also liked women who weren’t obsessed with their appearance. In a way, the half-eaten lipstick was more attractive, hinting that she had real appetites. Eric felt a familiar stirring of interest. When she bit her lip and glanced up at him through her lashes, his thoughts turned in a predictable direction.

She was young, he reminded himself. Young and innocent. Eric stomped down the spark of interest. She knew the bride and groom, and Eric wasn’t going to make trouble for Mike.

“Probably for the best,” he said gruffly, intending to move away.

To his surprise, she put a hand on his arm. “Don’t tell me I’ve found the one person who hates weddings as much as I do.”

That stopped Eric. He looked down in time to see her wrinkle her nose. The gesture made her look young, reminding him of his decision, but then she ordered a double Scotch. He saw that her nails were cut short and unpainted. Either she worked with her hands or she didn’t care about having long painted nails.

How could she be both enticingly feminine and indifferent to her appearance? Eric was intrigued.

She tapped her glass to his, then took a swig of it without choking. She drank Scotch regularly then. Not such a baby, after all.

Eric settled back against the bar, no longer so interested in putting distance between them.

Her gaze slid over the dancers, then back to him. “Are you a friend of Mike’s?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“Because he’s hot and so are you.” Her expression turned to one of despair, even as a thrill raced through Eric. “Every other guy here is lumpy or predictable. Working at a bank, waiting for the pension.” She made a face and he had to smile.

“No pension for you?”

“I’d rather get rich instead, enjoy life as I go instead of waiting until I’m sixty-five.”

“If getting rich was easy, everyone would do it.”

She laughed. “True enough. I’m still going to try.”

“Good for you.”

Her gaze lit on him again, her expression assessing. “You’re different. Just the way Mike is different.”

“Different?”

“You’re awake. You’re
here
. I’d guess that you’re living life as you go, not just going through the motions.”

Eric nodded, then watched her closely. “And you like that?”

She leaned beside him, her arm against his. She had beautifully smooth skin and it was soft. Eric caught a whiff of her perfume and again was surprised. It was deep and sultry, musky in a way he hadn’t expected.

Innocent and yet worldly. He was officially fascinated.

“I can’t imagine spending my life with a man who was predictable,” she said, then laughed. “Actually, I can’t imagine spending a
week
with a man who was predictable. Waiting for that fucking pension instead of living right now.” She glanced up at him again, just in time to see his surprise at her language, then toasted him with her glass. Unrepentant. “So, how do you know Mike?”

“You could say I’m his fairy godmother.”

She was surprised by that. “You don’t look like you’re gay.”

“You’re so perceptive that you can tell someone’s orientation by their appearance?” Eric couldn’t hide his opinion of that kind of judgment.

“No, no, by the way they
look
. You, for example, don’t look at me like you’re gay.”

“How do I look at you?”

She smiled, her eyes dancing. “Like you want to take a bite.”

“Maybe just a nibble,” Eric said before he could stop himself.

“I think more than a nibble. Maybe even more than a bite.” She dropped her voice to a dark whisper. “Maybe you’re the big bad wolf who just wants to swallow me up.” She laughed, apparently not troubled by the prospect.

Eric sipped his Scotch, enjoying this encounter a lot. “You’re looking at me like you wouldn’t mind.”