Page 31 of Caging Liberty
“What the fuck was that?” I grind out, still not letting go of his arm. We’re close enough that if the laws of matter would allow it, I’d meld into him.
“What was what?”
“You said you had my back!”
“Relax.” He chuckles. “I have eyes like a hawk. I knew where you were.”
I want to glare at him, but my eyes are too busy darting around. I land on a woman in a cage maybe twenty feet from us who’s rolling her hips to the beat of the music. She’s wearing nothing but a thong, and with the stage lit up underneath her, she’s one of the most visible people in here. There are another three stages I can see.
“Don’t leave me,” I demand, turning back to Mr. A. My voice sounds more desperate than angry, and my heart pounds so hard, I think for a moment I hear it over the noise.
The amusement in his eyes eases as he pries my hands off his arm to turn and fully face me. “No more pulling away from me.” He takes my hand and runs his thumb over my skin. I don’t dare move. If anything, I wish he’d wrap me in his arms and hide me with his jacket.
This is too much.
Waytoo much.
If I thought I couldn’t live this life before, now I’m certain.
A stunning, middle-aged woman with diamonds the size of boulders in her ears sets two cocktail glasses in front of Mr. A. She meets my eyes, gives me a small chin lift of recognition, then exchanges a look with Mr. A-for-asshole.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he says to her, picking up both glasses. He hands one to me and motions toward a row of tables. “Come on.”
His large hand claims mine, and he guides me to one of the many tables running along the side of the room. I wring my hands while he drags a barstool over for me to climb onto. Once I’m settled on it, he hovers beside me, standing so close I can feel the heat emanating from his body. I watch his throat work as he takes a sip of his cocktail. Desperate for a jolt of liquid courage, I do the same. My taste buds light up at the sweet vermouth.
It's a Manhattan. My favorite drink.
Coincidence? Or did he know that from my messages? I must’ve told saltyshells what my favorite drink was months ago. How interesting could those transcripts be?
I don’t know, but I also don’t care right now. My eyes lock onto a woman whose wrists are tied to two different metal poles that spread her arms apart. She’s fully nude, and a man is kneeled in front of her with his face between her legs. It takes a minute for me to recognize the long, flowing, red hair, but when I do, my stomach drops.
“Anna,” I whisper. My voice is absorbed by the noise in the room like it never existed, but Mr. A hears me somehow.
He follows my line of sight to Anna, then turns back to me. “Friend of yours?”
Eyes welling, I hop off the stool.
“What are you doing?” Mr. A steps in front of me with a frown tugging down his mouth.
“I have to help her.” I try to go around him, but he grabs my shoulders and stops me. I jerk in his hold, but he only digs his fingers in deeper and leans in to talk in my ear.
“Stop.”
My body stiffens, and I keep my hands at my sides. His voice has so much authority in it that I actually obey the command.
He lets go of my shoulders and turns us so I’m facing Anna with him behind me. His hands hold my waist like he’s afraid I’ll try to run.
“Look closer,” he commands, his velvety voice softer now, but just as authoritative. “Does it look like she needs your help?”
I stare at Anna while biting the inside of my cheek. The man is still between her legs, and another one stands behind her, fondling her breasts. My stomach flips watching, but I force myself to calm and take in the scene.
Her head is tilted back, her lips parted. Her body doesn’t jerk like I expect, but instead, it undulates, her hips rocking against the man’s face. I move my eyes back to her face and see her mouth open wider as her eyes slam shut. I can faintly hear the scream she lets out, but it doesn’t make me jump toward her because I can clearly see that she isn’t screaming for help. She’s having an orgasm.
“See?” Mr. A coos into my ear, desire saturating his words. I feel it flowing from the hands on my hips. “There’s nothing sinister going on there.”
I breathe in the scent of sex, closing my eyes when it’s all too much. The heat at my back from Mr. A’s body, his hands on my hips, his erection subtly rubbing against me.
I can hear it now. The groans sounding throughout the room are actually moans filled with more pleasure than I’ve ever felt.