I bring her hand to my mouth and put a small kiss on her inner palm. “The scene tonight will be challenging—for both of us. Will you follow my lead?”
Her thick lashes flutter on her cheeks, as she averts her eyes. “Yes.” She nods. “I’ll follow wherever you lead.”
The sincerity in her voice is alone remarkable. But when she lowers herself to her knees in a posture that is unequivocally submissive, her trust shakes me to the core. This might be her surrender, but she captured my soul as she quietly offered me her submission.
I know the precious gift is only for now. Delilah will expect me to earn it every day, as she damn well should. But she owns me. I can try to convince myself otherwise, but there’s no going back from here—not for me.
26
Delilah
The elevator ride to the lower level is quiet. Gray stands behind me, his arms wrapped tightly around my torso, his chin resting on my head. He doesn’t say a word, but he’s preoccupied and tense, and his sullen mood begins to make me wonder if kneeling for him was a mistake.
He’s not a man who would take the gesture lightly. He knows what it means, especially coming from me. Maybe it was more than he bargained for tonight. Brooding with dessert on the horizon is not at all like him.
When it comes to sex, whether in a scene or not, Gray’s fully present and in charge. Always. He doesn’t share the power, nor does he apologize for the way he wields it. This elevator ride would normally be a prelude, the beginning of a long, seductive tease. But it’s not, and the change in him has me unsettled.
The elevator door pings open, and Gray takes my hand and leads me down the grand hall. We pass rooms with plaques affixed to the doors, each one hinting at the fantasy inside. I remember all of it from Christmas. The only thing missing are the boughs of fragrant pine and spruce draping the doorways, and the gilded pinecones scattered on the elaborate consoles stationed up and down the wide hall.
The room we enter has no plaque. It’s a spacious suite, with a bathroom and a place for aftercare beyond, I’m sure. It’s done in rich golds and purples that complement the dark wood floor, and lush fabrics that remind me of the Sultan’s Palace, where we played on Christmas. There have been many memories since, but that night will always hold a special place for me, because it was our first time.
A luminous incense lightly perfumes the room—it’s luxurious and exotic, mixed with sweet orange and maybe vanilla. Not elixirs for religious ritual, but oils to anoint the body and awaken the senses.
Gray brushes my arm as he passes. His stride is assured, and the stress I sensed earlier is gone. This is his domain. Whatever was weighing on his mind earlier, he must have left at the door.
I look around the room and begin to relax.
Gray observes quietly from several feet away, letting me soak up the ambiance with all its possibilities. The room is ripe for pleasure. Beckoning and cajoling us to add our bliss to the carnal screams of others, swirled into the plastered walls. It’s tantalizing foreplay, and he’s enjoying it as much as I am.
I smile shyly at him. His eyes flare, but he keeps his distance, letting me explore the Tantra chair on a raised platform in the center of the room. It doesn’t have the fragility of the antique at the beach, or the practical simplicity of the one in the apartment that he fucked me on last night. No, this is larger, sturdier, with rings disguised as an adornment, hanging from the carved edges at the bottom. The possibilities make my mouth water.
I glance from Gray to the purple velvet coverlet that is hiding something on the platform floor. It’s plush and decadent, meant for a king’s bedding, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find something similar at the palace. But there’s more. Something that I suspect is neither luxurious, nor soft.
“What’s your safe word?” Gray asks, approaching me.
“Red. Will you tell me more about the scene?” He always does. Not everything, but he hints at what I might expect from him, or what he expects of me.
“I’ll show you,” he says, leading me to the platform. We stand silently while he carefully pulls back the velvet topper to expose a long, mirrored tray filled with all sorts of delicious torments that excite me.
“I have jewels for you,” he murmurs, pointing to the nipple clamps and then to plugs adorned with purple stones. Nearby is a strand of amethyst glass beads, of varying sizes.
Anal beads. I shiver at the beautiful spheres and the pleasure they hold.
“We’re going to do a little rope play.” The rope is purple too—it looks to be of soft cotton. “Just some simple ties and knots that won’t take forever. Nothing elaborate. That’s not the objective tonight.”
“What is the objective?”
“Pleasure—ultimately, it’s always pleasure.”
Not the forthright answer I was hoping for. He’s illusive. I don’t believe for one second that he doesn’t know exactly where he’s taking me and how. He’s just not telling.
There is also a satin blindfold and a pair of headphones on the tray. Elaborate binding might be out, but sensory deprivation is clearly on the table.
I look up and smile coyly. Gray’s lips twitch at the corners, and his dark gaze scorches my skin until I look away.
My eye finds something unfamiliar. It looks like a wand with a glass end. Maybe a vibrator of some kind? Whatever the instrument is, there’s something about it that raises gooseflesh on my arms.
“What is this?” I ask, my fingertips cautiously grazing the object.
“It’s a violet wand.”
I stiffen. It might not look familiar, but I’ve read about it.
“For electric play,” he adds. “It’s special.”
For whom? Surely not for me. “I—”
He places his hand gently on my arm. “Just some light play. You’ll be highly aware of the sensations—but it won’t be painful. The wand won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”
I love a good lightning storm. But electricity makes me nervous.
I’m not afraid of pain, but I don’t want to be electrocuted, especially in a sex club. Wouldn’t that be a fitting ending for my life? Jesus.
Gray reaches for the zipper on my dress and hooks a finger through the ring before beginning a long, slow, downward tug. His eyes never leave mine. “What’s your safe word?” he asks again.
I trust him, but I’m not ready to consent to electric play. “Red,” I say clearly, “but it won’t help if I’m being electrocuted.”
He stops, dropping his finger from the zipper, and takes the wand off the tray. “Let me see your arm.”
Like a trusting fool, I place my wrist in his hand. He touches the wand to my forearm, and I jump, not because it hurts—it doesn’t—but because the sensation comes as surprise. We both laugh—me out of nerves, and Gray because he knows I’m going to like the wand.
He zaps me again, on my upper arm. The purple sparks and rods that light up inside the glass ball are quite beautiful. The next time, the tingle is stronger but not at all unpleasant.
“I won’t turn the current up any more than that,” he assures me. “But on your nipples, and your wet pussy, where the skin is more sensitive, the zings will pack a more powerful punch.”