Page 77 of Under the Lies

Thea sees the answer in my face before I can say it.

Before I even make it down the stairs, I hear it. The music. The people. I feel the excitement pulsing in the air.

When Thea sent me up to my room to change into more “party appropriate” attire, apparently my lounge wear didn’t make the cut, she said she could get a party going in under thirty minutes.

She wasn’t lying.

With five minutes to spare, this place is packed with people.

From my vantage point on the second-story, I take in the zoo that is downstairs.

It feels like I’m back in Heathen’s Hell with the sea of bodies greeting me.

This isn’t your typical house party. It’s a party for the haves, not the haves not. Where debauchery is in full swing, and scandal isn’t expected but encouraged.

Walking down the stairs, I take in the chaos.

Scantily clad women wearing only lingerie dance on the furniture, bottles of champagne and wine in hand. They dance with assuredness and confidence even when they’re in nothing but see-through lace.

Thea’s one of them. Her matching white bra and panties pop against her dark skin.

In the kitchen, on the counter, she’s stripped down to her underwear and is grinding against another half-naked girl, moving seductively down her body, while other guys and girls are ensnared at the sight.

And that’s only in the kitchen.

When I see what’s happening in the living room, I want to divert my eyes and not look away at the same time.

Reeve Morgan lounges on the leather couch with a paint canvas in his lap, pieces of his black hair falling along his forehead. His pale fingers are stained with paint.

He brings the brush to his mouth as he surveys the line of naked men before him. They’re all different heights and sizes and races.

All beautiful as they pose in various positions before Reeve, who shoots appreciative gazes that linger every time he glances up from his creation.

I’m watching with rapt fascination as Reeve tells the man in the middle to lower his hand. The man does with a smirk, his thumb tracing the base of his cock.

Reeve bites down on his lip and shifts on the couch.

My cheeks heat.

I look away. Who knew the inner circle was such a fan of so much nudity.

Nobody else gawks like me, not fazed by these displays in the least.

They’re mingling, going about their party business as if strip teases and Greco-Roman art practices are everyday occurrences. Perhaps for them, they are.

I’ve been to a lot of parties. Prep school, college, and house parties, but never have I been to one like this.

I don’t know what to do. Where to look. I feel like a fly on the wall, a voyeur watching.

The party is made even more seductive with the vibe of Noah’s decor. The fireplace is on and the lights dimmed low.

Since I was forced here, it’s reminded me of a cave carved for a wicked creature, but now it feels like a sinful lair of sweet release.

Searching the room to see if anything else can scandalize me, like a full on orgy, I spot Gabriel Ruiz in a corner, under the stairs sans orgy. Instead he has a beaten leather book in hand.

Who can read with all this going on?

But that’s Gabe for you. Always with the serious, pensive looks on his expertly sculpted face.

---