“How did you find them?” Lindsay asked.
“Artist trade secret.”
As if there were some secret place artists went to get this kind of thing.
It was clear Hunter wasn't about to reveal where he'd found these people. The artist pulled Lindsay aside a few feet away from Shannon and whispered something in his ear. Both of them looked over at her. Was he complaining that she'd been brought without an invitation? Was a Plus One not acceptable tonight? If the artist was reclusive and didn't like to mingle with the public, maybe he considered her part of the public and therefore unwelcome. Was her presence here a violation of some deviant bro code?
Lindsay stared at Shannon intently while Hunter continued to speak low in his ear. Even if she'd been standing closer she wouldn't have heard his words over the music. Lindsay nodded and said something back to Hunter, then the artist disappeared back into the crowd to greet his other guests and potential buyers.
Lindsay returned to Shannon.
“What was that about?”
“Don't worry about it,” Lindsay said. “You'll find out when it's time for you to find out. Come, let me show you the art.”
Lindsay grabbed a champagne flute off a tray and pressed it into Shannon's hand. “Here. You look nervous.”
She was nervous. The evening had taken a dark and thrilling turn, and Hunter had taken some sort of interest in her. Hunter. Appropriate name because she suddenly felt very hunted.
Shannon drank the glass of champagne. Not the casual refined sipping one was supposed to do at these sorts of events, but throwing it back like a shot of whiskey, barely tasting it.
Lindsay shook his head at that, took the glass, put it on a tray, and handed her another. “Try sipping this one,” he said. “I'll wait for your nerves to settle. You're safe here,” he whispered against her hair.
Shannon drank this one more slowly while Lindsay flagged down one of the roaming waiters to collect a couple of mini-quiches. Shannon ate them when they were passed to her. They were still warm from the oven, a delicious blend of cheese and spinach in the most delicate homemade crust. She finished the champagne and again Lindsay took the glass from her and put it on the tray.
She did feel more relaxed as the calming warmth spread over her face. The nerves had settled, the anxiety receding, and suddenly everything here felt very normal. And that was her first clue that 2 glasses of champagne consumed that fast was probably too much.
“Good girl. Now, let me show you the art.”
Lindsay guided her to each bound man or woman, speaking about the art and what he'd learned about it on his previous exploratory mission. He spoke of them as if they were inanimate statues or paintings, commented as others fondled them and they moaned. Each piece of art had a name connected with the designs carefully tied into the rope work, mostly to do with trees and flowers.
They stopped in front of a bound and blindfolded man. He had sleek muscles, as if he'd been sculpted out of marble. He looked like a model—and probably was one. His wrists were bound at his sides against his thighs in complex criss-crossing rope designs. His legs were spread, his ankles bound in place against round metal loops screwed into the platform which displayed him.
His erection jutted out, free of any bindings. It was... impressive.
Lindsay's mouth was suddenly near her ear, “You need to follow the rules of the gallery. Touch the art, kitten.”
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She was usually the bound person in this scenario. It felt so strange to have someone else bound at her mercy. Though perhaps not so much, since Lindsay was directing things and seemed very much in charge right now. She reached out and ran her fingertips lightly over the stranger's cock.
He shuddered in his bonds and arched closer to her.
“This one has been neglected,” Lindsay said, loud enough for the blindfolded man to hear. “I think you need to be a good girl, kneel on the platform, and suck him until he comes.”
The man's breath hitched in his throat.
“See? He likes the idea,” Lindsay said, urging her forward.
Shannon looked around, uncertain. Other people were engaged in similar acts with the art. She leaned closer and licked the firm muscles of his stomach. He responded with a panting gasp.
Shannon pulled her evening gown up so she wouldn't damage the dress and knelt on the platform. The stranger's erection was directly in front of her face now. She dragged her tongue over it, and he groaned in response.
Lindsay began to stroke her bare back in soothing circles. “Good girl, now take him all the way inside. Pleasure him. And when he comes, I expect you to swallow.”
His suggestion made her throb between her legs. It was so fucking wrong, but the man in front of her smelled like vanilla soap and tasted just as clean. She imagined the bound people had been put through some elaborate bathing ritual before tonight's event.
The man's hips rocked against her mouth as she sucked him. She allowed her fingers to skim over his thighs, feeling the goosebumps as they popped out over his skin. Her fingers trailed over his bound and straining hands.
“Martin!” Lindsay said behind her.
Shannon heard the unmistakable voice of the bank president behind her. She tried to keep her focus on the man in front of her, but she couldn't help eavesdropping.
An unfamiliar hand stroked her back. She flinched. She didn't like just anyone to touch her where the scars were. Even if no one could see them in this lighting, they could be felt.
“You brought your pet,” Martin said as if it were entirely normal for him to randomly touch her. Maybe he thought it was acceptable, given the venue and the fact that he'd done them both such a large favor in opening that unconventional bank account. She expected Lindsay to be more territorial or tell him to get his hands off her, but he didn't.
Martin Graysen was an attractive man, and he'd been very nice to her when he'd set up her account, but he hadn't treated her like a whore at the bank. And right now it felt like that was exactly what he was doing, as if she were public property just anyone could touch—and without Lindsay's say-so. That was the part that rankled the most. Even with the scars, if it were the doctor's idea or order she would have gladly given him what he wanted, much like she was giving the art what it wanted with her mouth. But it wasn't Lindsay's idea. He hadn't given the order.
Martin had just assumed he had the right.
An uncomfortable moment passed, then Martin said, “I'm going to mingle. Good to see you. We should get drinks at the club and catch up.”
“You can call the office and set something up with Shannon,” Lindsay said. His voice was cold.
The hand left her back suddenly and she felt, more than saw, the bank manager drift off into the crowd. Maybe Lindsay had given Martin a look and that was what had caused the bank president to excuse himself as quickly as he'd appeared.
She turned her attention back to pleasing the man in front of her, an activity that seemed surreal at the moment. She'd been excited by the idea, but Martin's arrival and subsequent weird propriety touching had thrown her off her game.
The stranger bucked more wildly against her, panting and moaning, entirely unaware of the power plays that had just taken place. His hands strained against his bonds, and she could feel how badly he wanted to touch her, hold her head in place as he came down her throat. But he couldn't.