Arranged love

“Hey … I said he’s unavailable …”

Taking another turn, I walk past the open doors. The last one on the right is closed. I shove it open without knocking.

A woman lies on her back. Her legs up in what look like stirrups. All she wears is a pair of soft pink underwear from the waist down. Her jeans lie over the back of a chair in the corner of the room. And Cross is between her legs tattooing her inner thigh. “Oh my gosh … I’m so sorry …”

“Emilee?” He looks up at me. “What are you …?”

“I told her you were busy,” the young girl snaps, coming in behind me.

“She’s fine.” He waves her off, and I hear her growl.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, pushing up his black rimmed glasses to his head and removing his gloves. Cross always had that bad boy-I’ll fuck you on the couch while your parents are in the other room with the door open kind of guy. All he’d need is to wrap a hand around your throat and cut off your air to keep you from screaming his name. He’s always been mysterious but the guy could get any girl he wanted. And he lined them up. He had daddy issues just like Jasmine. I wonder if they got together and talked about them if that would help?

He has thick, dark hair that most women dream of. He’s always kept it long. Right now, it’s hidden under a backward baseball cap. And his beard-it matches his hair in thickness and color. I never cared for them because I felt like they covered up too much of his handsome face. But Cross has his own way of making everything look hot. His eyes are what make him, though. They’re a deep emerald shade. I avoided him back in school. Every time he makes eye contact with you, you feel like he’s undressing you. It’s intimate and makes your legs weak. Like now. He wears a black T-shirt with a skull on it that looks like it’s on fire. The top of the shirt reads-light up my soul. With faded blue jeans and black combat boots. He is every dad’s nightmare and ever mother’s wild fantasy.

I stop eye-fucking him and remember why I’m here. “How do I get to the sixteenth floor?”

His brows arch.

“The Palace?” I continue when he just stares at me.

He nods. “Right. Palace. Nigel can help you with that. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

“Got it. Thanks.” It must be one of those levels that only he has access to.

He laughs and shakes his head, grabbing a new set of gloves. “No problem.”

I close the door and head back to where I entered the shop. “Thanks for nothing, bitch,” I say to the girl still glaring at me as I walk out.

It takes me ten minutes to get to the far side of Kingdom-tower one.

“Hello, Miss York,” Nigel greets me before we step onto the elevator. He’s always happy. I also notice that he’s always working. I’m not sure the guy ever gets a day off. Or if he sleeps.

“I was given a code.”

“Ah, yes. You will need it to enter the room.” He nods.ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

What in the hell? What kind of room is this? Is it the vault? Is it where they stash their billions of dollars? Dead bodies?

We come to a stop, and he gestures for me to exit. “You have a great day, young lady.”

“Thanks for your help.”

He nods. “Anytime.” Then the elevator closes, and he’s gone.

I look over the flat black painted walls and dark purple carpet. Black sconces hang on the wall, shining purple lights down onto the floor. The carpet is so thick, my shoes sinking into it. I turn in a full circle to look at my surroundings. I can either go back to the elevator or toward the door at the end of the hall. Those are the only options I have.

The door it is. I make my way toward it and see a keypad. On the door is written The Palace in rose gold letters and then every queen needs a palace written below it. I press in the code I was given, and a lock clicks. I push down the gold handle and open the big black door. It’s darker than the hallway. A purple light is all that shines from the top of the ceiling in the rather large entrance.

“Thank you, Titan.” I hear a woman’s voice. My body instantly stiffens.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Everything went okay?”

“Yep.”

A woman comes into view at the end of the entrance. She wears a black dress that has a deep V in the front and high up on her thighs. It looks see-through. “Hello.” She gives me a warm smile, catching me before I can make up my mind whether to run away or barge in.

I blink and lick my dry lips. “I’m, uh, looking for …”

“Em?” Titan asks as he comes to stand next to her. He looks down at the blonde, and says, “You may go, Sandy.”

She nods, and as she walks past me, she whispers, “Enjoy.”

I watch her leave and then turn to him. We stand silently just staring at one another. I want to ask him what in the fuck he’s doing in a hotel room that I didn’t know existed with a woman. But I don’t have that right. Do I? I mean, I literally let him and his best friend fuck me the other day. I can’t tell him he can’t do the same.

“Stop,” he orders.

“What?” I blink.

“I can see what you’re thinking. It’s written all over your face, and you couldn’t be more wrong.”

My shoulders sag. I don’t get jealous. I don’t get feelings for men. It’s just sex. “I wasn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupts me.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “Then what were you doing in here with her?” I’m not going to play this game. I never used to get jealous, but I’m also not one of those girls who beats around the bush. If I have a question, I’m going to ask it.

“She’s a Queen and just finished a job.”

I frown. A job? In here? I open my mouth to ask him just that when he speaks.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been calling you. Grave said you were up here.”

He says nothing. Just stands there at the end of the entrance. I think he’s mad at me. I cross my arms over my chest and give him my back.

“Where are you going?” he asks. I stop and slowly turn to face him once again. He holds his arms out wide. “You were looking for me. Here I am.”

My eyes narrow on him. Even though my knees shake, I’m so confused on what I saw and what I can and can’t say to him. He doesn’t love me. And she’s a Queen. Maybe he was her job? I mean, he fucks me, and I’m a queen. He doesn’t pay me for sex, though. I’m sure he has them lined up to give it for free.

“I was,” I say, taking the five steps to close the distance between us. He reaches out, pulling me into him, and I gasp. “What …? What is this place?” I ask, stepping farther into the largely open room, looking at all the foreign devices.

“This is The Palace.”

I catch myself in a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. “I don’t understand …” I trail off, my eyes shooting over to look at an old looking wooden bench that has a black leather seat on it

“It is reserved exclusively for our clients,” he adds.

“Clients?” I ask.

“The Queens.”

That’s where I heard that name. It was at the warehouse when Jasmine questioned the two girls we met about The Palace. They said it didn’t exist. An urban legend.

They were wrong!

I turn away from the mirror and walk over to the far wall. A tall chest that stands every bit of six feet tall. Both French doors are wide open. Chains, whips, belts and rope of various lengths and widths hang on metal hooks. I reach up and run my hands over the thick material. “What do they do?” I ask.

“Act out scenes.”

“What kind of scenes?”

“Whatever they want.”

I turn and look at the Alaskan king-size bed that sits in the middle of the large room. It’s got black silk sheets and two pillows that match. The headboard consists of vertical bars. The footboard looks like a stockade from back in the day when people were publicly beaten for their crimes. It’s raised high off the floor. I look underneath it. “Is that …?”

“A cage,” he answers.

“For what?” I ask wide-eyed. It reminds me of an overly large dog cage with its iron bars. They start at the floor and stop at my knees, where the bed begins.

“For the submissive.”

I take a step back and bump into him. I jump, and he chuckles.

I turn, cheeks red with embarrassment, and see a table. Walking over to it, I reach out and run my fingertips along the black leather. It has white leather straps connected to it in various places. They remind me of the type you see used in hospitals for patients to prevent them from harming themselves or others. The table is completely flat and has to be longer than seven feet. But maybe only three feet wide. “What is this used for?” I ask curious.

“Forced orgasms.”

“What?” I gasp.

He smiles at me. Walking around to stand at my back, he says, “A woman or man lies down on the table and is strapped to it. The Dom then brings the sub to orgasm. Multiple times.” He places his hands on my hips, and I jump.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers. “All you have to do is lie there.” He kisses my neck, and my head falls to the side. “And get off. Again.” His hand trails down my waist. “Again.” His hand slips between my legs, and I whimper. “And again. Your body will be shaking. Your skin covered in sweat. Your mind foggy. And limbs heavy.”

“Have you done this before?” I ask breathlessly. Not liking the heat that rushes up my spine in preparation of him saying yes.

“No. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do it to you.” He presses his hips into my ass, and I shiver when I feel how hard he is.

I feel the tension drain from my body knowing he’s never done it before. “How long?” I question.

“As long as they want. The sub is the one strapped to the table. Naked. Wide open and vulnerable. But they have all the power. The sub says when they’ve had enough. When they want to stop, the Dom stops.”

I close my eyes. “Do it to me?”

His hands come up the back of my neck, and he grips my hair. Slowly, he pulls my head back, and imagining the picture he just painted for me has me already panting. It sounds breathtaking.

“Get undressed for me, Em.” Then he pulls away, not even bothering to question my words.

I undo my shoes and kick them off along with my jean shorts and T-shirt. Then my bra and underwear. I stand naked, facing the table. My heart is pounding, and my hands are sweaty. He stands silently behind me, but I can feel his eyes on me.

“Crawl on the table and lie on your back,” he orders.

I comply.

He goes to the foot of the table and spreads my legs wide. He places my right ankle over the strap and buckles me in the belt-like restraint. The inside is lined with fur, so they’re cool and soft. He goes to the other ankle and secures it as well.

Then he moves to my side. He secures another belt across my hips. It’s tight, pinning me to the table. His eyes meet mine as he reaches around my neck. “Look up,” he orders, and I do as he says, tilting my head back. Another thick belt is placed over my throat, and I swallow as he buckles it in place. I take in a shaky breath.

“You okay?”

I go to nod but can’t. The thick leather strap across my neck prevents any movement. I have to keep my head tilted back. “Y-Yeah,” I stutter and then cough to clear my throat.

He pulls my arms above my head and secures both of them. I’m stretched tight and strapped down.

I begin to pant. My heart races. Sweat beads across my forehead and chest, and my backside is sticking to the black leather. He places his hands on my thigh and I jump. Leaning over, he looks down at me. “You let me know when the pain outweighs the pleasure. Understood?”

Pain? I thought this was about orgasms. I feel like that would be a stupid question, so I just say. “Yes.”

“Your safe word is black. Repeat it.”

Safe word? “My safe word is black.”

He nods. “Good girl.” He walks away leaving me alone strapped to this table, and I hear him on the other side of the room. A drawer opens and closes, then I hear him walking back over to me. “After each orgasm, I’m going to ask you if you’re okay. Say yes if you are, and black if you want me to stop. Understand?”

“Yes.” I lick my lips and hear a vibrating noise. “What is …?”

Something presses against my pussy, and my body arches. I cry out as the sensation tickles my clit. “Oh God …” I gasp. My body fights the restraints. What felt cool seconds ago now feels like needles pricking my body. “Tita …” Before I can even finish his name, I’m coming. Harder and faster than I ever have.

The sensation stops all of a sudden, and my body sags against the table.

“Are you okay?”

I’m sweating, panting, and every inch of my skin feels extra sensitive. “Yyyeess.”

This time, I feel his fingers spreading me wide before he shoves two into me while placing the vibrator back on my clit. He finger-fucks me while the amazing toy takes me to a whole new level. The room spins. My eyes close, and I’m breathing so hard I feel like I’m hyperventilating. I’m coming again.

“You okay?” I hear his voice in the distance.

“Yes,” I croak out. Why does my voice sound hoarse? My throat is sore. My body tenses again. I’m riding another wave. I don’t want it to stop. Ever. I’d be his sub if this meant being strapped to a table. His voice gets farther and farther away, but I always say yes. I always want more.