Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
I can’t even speak. My eyes look blankly out the windshield as the city speeds by. Am I going insane? Am I really in the car with a man I don’t even know, going to a sex party? What’s going to happen there? What if Clay chains me up and lets every guest in attendance use me to their heart’s delight?
But sneaking a glance at his handsome profile, I already know that’s not going to occur. Clay Towning’s not like that. He may be dominant and assertive, but he just told me that I’m under his protection with this collar around my throat. My hands steal up to the leather, and the material is stiff and firm. Clay catches me stroking it and shoots me a sideways smile.
“It looks beautiful on you, sweetheart. We’ll be there soon enough. Rest assured, all club members will understand what the collar means as soon as they see it. You’ll be safe, honey.”
With that, the rest of the drive is mostly silent, although my mind is racing in every which direction with questions. Yet, I’m too shy to ask, and merely keep my mouth shut. After about twenty minutes, the sports car has crossed into Brooklyn and we’re in an industrial area that I don’t recognize. We meander down a few deserted streets, and then Clay points to a small warehouse surrounded by what appear to be abandoned buildings.
“Here we go,” he growls in a low voice.
As we draw closer, I become even more confused. The place we’re headed towards looks to be in disrepair. The outside of the building looks to be made of corrugated plastic that was once white, but is now covered in varying degrees of dirt and grime. The parking lot outside is weed-strewn and cracked, and there are only a few lights, casting eerie shadows on the asphalt.
OMG, what have I gotten myself into?
But I try my best to maintain a confident expression. Playing dumb, I probe for information.
“Wait, so that’s the club?” I do my best to sound self-assured. He nods, his blue eyes calm.
“That’s it. Like I said, it’s a members-only association, so our location is best left unmarked,” he says. “The location can change with the occasion too,” he adds casually. “It depends.” I take a deep breath because things are only becoming more unclear.
“But what’s the club’s name?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“There is no formal name. It’s just a group of folks with similar interests,” he responds in a smooth tone. Okay that fell flat, and I take a deep breath before giving it another go.
“Yes, but what might those interests be?” I demand with a shiver of impatience in my voice. “I know it’s a sex club, but what are we talking here? People in leather? Blood? Gore? Sadists taking out their rage on innocent young virgins?”
Clay merely looks over at me with an amused gleam to his blue eyes.
“You’ll see,” he says before turning his attention back to parking the car. “But I assure you, any virgins are here of their own free will, and they’re going to enjoy their night to the utmost.”
With that, we park next to a Jaguar, the silver vehicle shiny even in the dim light. When I step out, I notice that all the vehicles in the parking lot are top of the line, and many of them look brand-new too. Hmm, it appears the club’s clientele is exceedingly wealthy.
There are a few people making their way to the entrance of the warehouse, and although I can’t see more than shadowy shapes, the vibe seems okay. It’s not overtly scary or threatening.
A bouncer nods at Clay as we near the entrance, and then pulls open a heavy steel door. Inside, we step into a foyer where our coats are taken by a lovely woman wearing a bunny mask, and then we’re ushered down a long hallway, before a velvet curtain is swept aside, revealing the main room.
I’m blown away because the inside looks nothing like the outside. Here, the cavernous space is decadent, and even luxurious. It’s been done up with red velvet couches scattered about and huge golden chandeliers dripping with crystals. Small groups of people are sprinkled throughout the room chatting with one another while holding drinks in their hands. More than a few of the women are completely nude save for high heels, and I gasp at their boldness. But Clay merely chuckles at my side.
“Can I offer you a cocktail?” he growls into my ear, pointing out a large wood-top bar on the far side of the room. Before I can agree, a curvy woman steps in front of us. She’s wearing a golden dress, but it’s absolutely tiny, and looks almost like an inverted handkerchief. It ties around her breasts before dropping into a point that just barely covers the vee between her thighs.