Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
At least the decor's on point. December usually makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a candy cane, but the dildo Christmas tree behind the bar? That's a masterpiece. Each toy is a different size, shape, and color, spiraling upward in perfect harmony, their rubbery sheen catching the low lights. The star on top? A massive, comically oversized butt plug.
Now I can't stop fantasizing as my eyes trail off to a corner where a dom has his sub on her knees.
Not fair! I want my throat fucked until my voice is nothing but a cracked whisper and my legs refuse to hold me up!
I fucking swear. I glare back at Domhn, who's sitting comfortably beside me, chatting with his friends. I can only take so much of his sanctimonious imposed celibacy before something inside me snaps. If he doesn't fix this soon, I will fix it for him. I will tie him down in his sleep and ride his cock until I drain every last drop of him.
"So," Quinn's voice slices through my criminal fantasizing, her sharp eyes landing on me like she's been waiting for an excuse to start shit. "How's therapy with Dr. Ezra?"
This fucking cunt.
She's digging. She's always digging. She prefers Anna. Thinks she's the better half. The one who deserves Domhnall. And maybe she's right. But fuck her.
The only friend I have isn't here tonight. Moira's been busy with her new boy toy and only pops up at the club occasionally, which is usually when Domhn makes us leave. He's being ridiculous about not making up with his sister, if you ask me, but it's not like anyone does around here.
I meet Quinn's gaze and flash her a saccharine smile, my voice syrup-thick with venom. "So good. Making progress."
"What kind of progress?" she presses, her lips barely twitching at the edges.
"The kind where I don't wake up screaming as much." I flick my eyes back to Domhnall, where they belong. "Unless it's my devil of a fiancé tearing the screams out of me."
God, I wish.
I stare at him. Hard. Willing him to feel it and absorb my need through his skin.
Finally, finally, his gaze slides to me. A slow smirk. Along with a deliberate nudge of my cocktail glass toward me.
Oh, games? We're playing games now?
We both know if I take one drink of that, playing is off the table completely tonight.
I cross my arms, slouching down in my seat like a brat, and shove the glass away with my foot. But then I see it—his glass, untouched beside mine.
So that's how it is.
Is he teasing me? Testing me? Is this a punishment? A promise?
I am actually trying to play by their stupid rules. I didn't pretend to be Anna tonight. I'm just being my cranky ass self and not pretending to get along with anybody. My patience is hanging by a thread, my secrets stacked like dynamite, and something is going to explode—soon. And if it's not my back against a hard surface with my knees by my ears, it's going to be something much, much worse.
"Speaking of progress," Caleb interrupts, pulling Quinn's attention away before I have to cut the bitch, "we finally got the renovations done on the east wing. New bondage frames, better soundproofing—the works."
"About time," Marcus mutters. "Some of the old equipment was starting to look like a tetanus risk."
"Everything here meets safety standards," Caleb says staunchly. Fucker is always wiping down and sanitizing everything any second he's not at the bar even though he's hired people to do it, too.
Quinn snorts. "Tell that to my ass after that spanking bench collapsed under me."
Laughter. Talking. Useless fucking words. I barely hear them. My focus is singular. Domhnall. He isn't listening to them either. His eyes flick between his friends and me, darker by the second.
And then—oh. Oh.
He stands.
My pulse skyrockets, and my nails bite into my palms.
Does this mean he's decided the night's over and we're leaving or—
He extends his hand.
"Would you like to play, love?"
My entire body goes tight, drawn to him like a star collapsing in on itself. The sheer audacity of him, to make me wait, to string me along, to act as if I am not already on the verge of tearing him apart with my bare hands and devouring every piece.
Oh, Domhnall.
You have no idea what you've just unleashed.
I leap to my feet, heat flashing through my body like a live wire.
Domhnall's fingers tighten around mine as he leads me across the club, weaving through the lazy Saturday night crowd until we reach the newest addition to Caleb's house of depravity—the Spider's Web.
Ten feet of polished black steel make a square with interlocking chains woven into an intricate, cruel web-like design. My breath comes sharp and uneven, my pulse thudding against my ribs. I'm all but vibrating in place.