I was so busy being outraged that I handed over my trench coat when Alexander held his hand out for it without batting an eye even though I was only wearing the ornamental leather harness beneath it.
“You think he’s fucking the woman?”
“And the man,” Alexander clarified as he handed our jackets to the doorman and adjusted his diamond cuffs before leading us down a dark corridor. “Both of them.”
“Both!?” I squeaked, unable to imagine my brother with a man, let alone a man and a woman at the same time.
I winced as an image flashed across my mind, and I gripped my temples against the pain of it.
Alexander laughed. “Don’t picture it, but it’s true. The sexual tension between them was practically nuclear. I thought Adam would tear off my head for being so close to Sebastian.”
“He really was Adam Meyers, the actor?” I asked, dazedly. “And that must have been his wife.”
Alexander nodded, stopping us before a plain black door in the wall. He placed his hands on my shoulders and allowed me to watch his face turn firm with domination.
“Enough about that. Are you ready for tonight, my little mouse?”
As difficult as it was to push the awkward encounter and Alexander’s explosive extrapolation out of my mind, I found myself naturally softening at the look of possession and dark control in his eyes.
“That’s my girl,” he said, and the praise settled like a crown of glory in my hair.
He turned us both and knocked on the door. A little window appeared in the center, opened from the other side.
“Purpose?”
“Baccanalia,” Alexander responded, and a moment later, the door swung open and we were stepping inside.
Club Dionysus was exactly as I had imagined it, only even my imagination could not go to the lengths it needed to conjure up the scenes taking place on each of the three stages. It was darkly appointed in navy blues and blacks with silver accents and glowing ice blue lights under the bar and over the stages. Tables and chair were set up before each of the stages, but there were also booths in the middle, centered before the larger main stage where a huge bald man was whipping a young man strapped over a bench.
“Men?” I asked, because there hadn’t been any men in The Hunt.
Alexander placed a hand on my hip and whispered in my ear. “There have been male slaves in the Order for decades, even before it was officially sanctioned, but they still aren’t allowed in The Hunt. I think they believe it ruins the aesthetic.”
I blinked at his droll comment and then giggled in shock when he winked at me.
We made to move forward when a scene on the stage to our left caught Alexander’s eye and he stopped mid-step. My gaze followed his to witness a small woman around her mid-forties kneeling in the middle of the stage while her Master used her mouth. Her back was a brutal tapestry of red, white, and raised pink scars from old but savage whippings. I gasped at the ugly horror of it, turning into Alexander slightly for comfort.
Unwittingly, his hand cupped my hip and pulled me closer even as he didn’t take his eyes off the woman.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Yana,” he whispered before he could check himself.
He looked down at me, blinking memories from his gaze like cobwebs and then his mouth pursed unhappily as he moved us forward again.
He led us to a free table near the front of the main stage, and as he took a chair, I folded to my knees at his side, widening my thighs to adjust to the thickness of the plug between my cheeks. He stroked my hair ideally as he perused the drinks list, but it wasn’t long before a server came to take his order and not much longer after that for Sherwood to take the empty seat across from us.
“Good evening, Thornton,” he greeted in his papery voice as his slave knelt beside him.
She was a woman not much older than me, though her body was aged with scars. Not for the first time, I was grateful Alexander had bought me and not some other more perverted Master.
“Benedict,” Alexander said, rudely calling the head of the Order by his Christian name. “You summoned me and here I am.”
I peeked through the curtain of my hair to see Sherwood’s mouth thin and curl in distaste at the slight.
“I hardly summoned you. It was a friendly invitation. You hadn’t brought your slave in the club yet, and I thought to remind you of that.”
“Oh?” Alexander asked as he accepted his brandy from the server. “Then what was your rationale for mentioning poor old Knox?”
“It was just an inquiry, old chap. I’m sorry if you were offended,” Sherwood intoned innocently.
I gritted my teeth against his saccharine lies.