Page 74 of Audacity

‘What?’I whisper, trying to make sense of it all.

‘I didn’t know what to get you, you see. I thought,what do you get a beautiful, successful woman who can buy herself whatever she needs? What does she adore more than anything else in the world?’

I can see the answer imprinted in my mind’s eye before he even says it. It’s as clear to me as the knowing smiles of the guys around the table as they watch me react to this bombshell.

‘I know you love dick.’ The word gets caught in his throat, like he’s had to force himself to say it. ‘You’ve told me. Your previous employers have told me. And I’ve proceeded to ignore those signs, until now, because I just couldn’t bring myself to—anyway, I brainstormed with the team at Alchemy and we came up with a very special workplace scene to celebrateyou,and your birthday, and your needs, and your incredible, incredible body.’

‘Oh myGod,’ I whisper.

It’s all falling into place. I remember how much I harped on about it during that audition dinner. He’s asked me outright before if I enjoy being gang-banged, and I’ve given him a pretty resoundingyes.He’s read the reviews from my previous employers, too. He’s under no illusions as to the extent of my appetites.

But here’s the thing. I know Gabe would never in a million years pander to them in a real-life work setting. No matter how confident he was of my position, he would see it as utterly disrespectful to me and to any other parties. He’s not like some of the guys I’ve worked for. He’d never use me as a trophy, never put me in the centre of some power-play or manipulation and bid me be his puppet.

I know all that, and I’m fine with it, because what Gabe and I have is frankly extraordinary. You can work for a guy like Anton or my first boss, Thierry, who know all the tricks and aren’t afraid to push the envelope, or you can work for a guy like Gabe, who takes confessions in his office and for whom every fuck is an opportunity to worship me. I’ve made my peace with that, and the sex is out of this world, every time.

So to know that he’s been thinking about this, that he’s been mindful of my fantasies all this time and has willingly stepped so far out of his own comfort zone to serve them up to me with a big birthday bow, in the safest and most tightly orchestrated manner he can conceive of while staying true to my fuck-the-assistant fantasy, is blowing my mind.

It is blowing. My. Mind.

He’s even branded the entire event around my safeword.

Minerva.

I still haven’t said anything else. I’m too shocked. Gabe takes advantage of my relative and uncharacteristic silence to slide his hands down the front of my Gucci until he’s palming my breasts from above, and my nipples react instantly, tightening into needy little buds as much at his overt display of sexual proprietorship as at his touch itself. My mild-mannered, deeply spiritual boss has orchestrated a birthday gang bang for me, and he’s feeling me up in front of said “gang” to show them who I really belong to.

Every male pair of eyes at the table is staring at his hands on my tits right now, and fuck, it’s like a shot of heroin. Gabe’s doing my favourite thing—wheeling me out like a dazzling trophy, the ultimate fucktoy—and it makes me realise how much I missed this, how addicted I am to this feeling. If I give him the nod, in a few minutes I’ll be theirs to do as they like with, but really, the power is all mine.

I let my head fall back against his stomach, gazing up at him through my eyelashes. ‘More,’ I whisper, and he obliges. I’m in no hurry for things to escalate. Let me sit here for a moment with one man’s hands on me and every other man watching as avidly as Greek and Roman nobles watched lions and bears and slaves tear each other apart.

He stares down at me, and even upside down I can read his face. It’s astonishment, and respect, and desire. He knew all this about me, but he can’t quite believe it’s happening, can’t quite believe I’m sitting here in a three-thousand-pound dress, arching my back and letting him toy with me in front of this rapt audience.

‘What do you think?’ he asks me gruffly.

I straighten my head up. ‘Yes. To all of it.’ I meet the eyes of the guys around the table one by one. In a few minutes, they’ll have their fingers and tongues and dicks inside me, and it’s so perfect I can barely stand it. One of them—James—has his elbows on the table and is leaning forward, his eyes fixed on my tits. He’s practically drooling.

Behind me, Gabe releases my breasts and returns his hands to my shoulders. ‘You don’t even know what the plan is yet,’ he says, sounding amused.

‘I don’t care. I’ll say yes. But tell me.’

‘Well, Benedict here is going to MC. He’ll be calling the shots. He’s way better at this stuff than me. Benedict? You want to fill her in?’

CHAPTER 38

Athena

Benedict gets elegantly to his feet and puts his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, clinking his keys as if he’s about to deliver a best man’s speech at some society wedding. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with dark blond hair and an easy air of entitlement that does it for me every time.

If Gabe found these men through Alchemy, they’re guaranteed to be filthy bastards, the lot of them.

Gabe withdraws his hands and turns away from me. I hear the soft click of him locking the door and, a moment later, the door of the little drinks fridge beneath the sideboard being opened.

Meanwhile, Benedict runs his tongue along his bottom lip before he speaks, considering me with narrowed eyes. ‘No nice birthday party is complete without champagne, is it? Or some good old British party games, for that matter.’ He begins to pace. One of the other guys, James, leans back and crosses his arms, smirking.

I’m the only person in this room still ignorant of what exactlyparty gamesentails. But I suspect I’m about to be enlightened.

‘Let me see,’ he continues. ‘Blind Man’s Buff, which for today’s purposes we should probably rebrand as the somewhatless pithy but categorically sexier Blindfolded Woman in the Buff.Always a classic. And of course, Pass the Parcel and Musical Chairs—we have a rather clever way of combining those two, actually. And guess who the parcel will be? Why you, my dear.’

He winks at me, and I watch him, transfixed, as Gabe deftly uncorks a bottle of champagne and sets about filling the half dozen flutes he’s brought over. It occurs to me that he’s glad of having something to do while Benedict sets this filthy scene with such aplomb. Beyond Gabe’s obvious nerves just now, I have no way of knowing what his attitude is to any of this. None at all.

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