They didn’t give me time to process Damien’s revelation. The moment the aftershocks faded from the orgasm he’d forced on me in front of his open safe, he scooped me up and carried me down the hall. The others were already waiting in the playroom, as if they’d known exactly when I would finally crack.
The lights were low and red, the air thick with leather and anticipation. Every toy I’d glimpsed in stolen moments was laid out in neat rows: ropes, whips, clamps, plugs in ascending sizes, needles in sterile packs, violet wand crackling softly on a side table. Cameras on tripods blinked red in every corner.
Julian smiled when he saw me trembling in Damien’s arms. “Time to stop pretending, sweetheart. Forty-eight hours. No safe word unless you want the story and your freedom back. Otherwise,
