Page 38 of Unbind

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

I don’t know why I have such FOMO, why the idea of Adam partying the night away with Darcy and Maddy and everyone else while I stand out here alone is bothering me so much.

I don’t know why the stare of those pale, arresting eyes as he waited for my answer felt grave, a pressure as great as if he were piling rock after rock on my chest.

And Ireallydon’t know why I feel the need to disqualify said answer, to walk straight in there and prove to him that I am, in fact, capable of fraternising.

Onmyterms.

God knows what he’d do if I turned up and startedhooking up with someone right in front of him. I’d love to see his face. I’d give anything to take him in as his jaw set and his eyes glittered.

I bet Adam Wright doesn’t get toldnovery often these days. I have this odd, vague feeling that if I went in there, and he saw me, my very presence would provoke him. To do what, I don’t know. I don’t allow myself to delve that deeply into the thought.

But the idea is there, like a devil sitting on my shoulder, for the rest of my shift. And it’s dangerous enough, enticing enough, that when I finish up at eleven o’clock, I don’t change into my flats and grab my coat like I usually do.

Instead, I reapply my lipstick and walk the other way, down the corridor and into the bar area. It’s thinned out in here. Not that many people are interested in nursing their two drinks for hours when they could be next door, seeking the kind of pleasure it makes me nervous to imagine.

Adam’s not in here, and he certainly hasn’t exited the building on my watch, so there’s only one explanation.

He’s in The Playroom.

In for a penny, in for a pound. I smile at Stan, the burly security guard manning the double doors to the space where all the action happens, and he winks and lets me through. I won’t dwell on why it feels like he’s cranking open the lid of Pandora’s box.

There’s thumping trance music and dry ice and dim light and bodies. Lots of bodies. Dancing and grinding and getting naked. I’m not sure what I want to achieve, exactly. I just want a peek. I’ll do a circuit of the space and sate that nosy devil, even though Adam’s probably in a private room somewhere. He’s not going to be just standing around in here.

Suddenly I really, really wish I drank.

There’s some kind of performance on the stage. From here, it looks like a pole dancer. I turn away, slinking around the edge of the club. It’s so clever, how it’s divided into sections with pillars and white, billowy drapes. It gives the illusion of privacy. I’m not sure I thought this through properly, because I told myself I wouldn’t look too closely at anyone getting it on, and yet I’ll have to if I want to spot Adam. Maybe I’ll just look for a head of dark, curly hair atop an unfairly tall, unfairly broad-shouldered body.

It’s not until I get to the back part of the space, where the banquette is, that I spot exactly that.

Oh my dear God.

The banquette is really a giant long ottoman, high enough and long enough that several people can be bent over it and laid out and fitted with various hooks and cuffs.

There’s only one woman on it right now, and she’s completely naked, her pale skin a stark contrast to the black leather.

I draw closer. She has her head turned away from me, so I can’t see her face. Her hair is dark. I don’t know if she’s a member or one of the hosts. Behind her, facing me, is a man who is on his knees, his nose and mouth buried in her pussy so I can only see the top of his head as she wriggles her arse in his face.

But I’m not interested in him, because standing beside them both is Adam. He cuts a tall, commanding figure in the shadows. He’s with them, but apart, still fully dressed in his standard white shirt and black trousers.

Exactly what he was wearing the other morning when he bade me goodbye in his library.

He’s just standing there. What is he doing—is hewatching? It certainly looks that way.

Until the other guy raises his head and cranesbackwards slightly, and Adam’s hand comes down on the woman’s backside.Hard.She bucks, and I swear I nearly jump out of my skin with the shock. He straightens up, and I’m nowhere near close enough to see his eyes, but I’m close enough to see his face twitch with satisfaction as the other guy gets back in there, licking away, and I’m definitely close enough to see the huge bulge in his trousers.

So he’s still a sadistic bastard under all that fine tailoring, under that veneer of wealth and respectability. Uptightness, even. What a shocker.

But that doesn’t explain the impression I get that, unlike the violent kid who beat my brother to a pulp, the Adam before me looks to be wholly in control. Turned on, yes. Intense as fuck. But contained. That slap was more of a blow, but it was measured. Choreographed, almost.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Neither does it explain why arousal soaks my thong in a single warm rush as my pulse finds its home in my clit, tattooing out an urgent staccato.

But none of those things are my biggest problem, because it’s at this precise moment that he looks up, and his astonished gaze finds my horrified one.

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