Page 75 of Audacity

I raise my eyebrows at Benedict’s declaration that I will be some kinky little parcel, and he smirks.

‘All clear so far? Excellent. So what I’d propose, after we’ve toasted your good health, is that we get you blindfolded, strip you naked, tie you up like any self-respecting parcel… and have at you.’

His depraved words have my blood heating and my pussy throbbing.

‘Have at me, how?’ I ask him. I’m proud of how clear my voice sounds. How assured. I want these men to know I’m no pushover, to know that when I submit it’s becauseI want thisso very, very badly.

‘Well, we’d like to get to know you first. Have a little play. See how beautifully we can make you come. And then we’ll arrange all these lovely chairs here in a circle over there and take a seat and get our cocks out, basically. We’ll put on some nice tunes, and we’ll pass our delectable little parcel around so we can all have a turn. Every time the music stops, you move onto the next cock. And so on and so forth until everyone’s had a prize.’ He leans forward conspiratorially. ‘That’s an orgasm, to you and me.’

‘Yes, I got that, thank you,’ I say, an icy attempt at concealing the searing heat coursing through my body. I’m in danger of sweating through this dress. The guys around the table are smiling at me, my co-conspirators in a filthy game while my boss’s hundreds of employees work away below, utterly oblivious. I have the sudden, semi-hysterical thought that if Torty Spencer-Wells walked in on this little birthday orgy, she’d probably clutch her pearls so tightly she’d garrotte herself.

‘What do you think, sweetheart?’ another of the guys asks me.

I glance up at Gabe as he slides a champagne flute over to me. He’s glowering at him, his jaw locked. ‘Hernameis Athena,’ he reminds them. ‘And her safeword is Minerva. And let me remind you, every second of this is for her. She comes first, figuratively and literally. Got it?’

He looks down at me, and I see a world of emotion in his eyes as he raises his flute. ‘To Athena.’

‘And to all who sail in her,’ one wise-arse bats back cheerfully. The air of tense solemnity in the room shatters instantly. Gabe snorts despite himself, and I giggle as the other men guffaw. I mean, the guy’s not wrong.

Especially not this evening.

Gabe is the one to blindfold me. He kisses me gently on the lips before moving behind me and securing the ends of the blindfold above the base of my ponytail. I wore my hair up this morning, slicked back into a ponytail and then curled in large, sleek waves. It’s now looking like that was quite a practical move.

I love on so many levels that I’ll be blindfolded for this scene. It will add to the power imbalance, making me feel more helpless, and to the suspense. It will free up my other senses to take over, to feel everything even more keenly. And it will certainly allow any lingering inhibitions I have to fly right out the window.

‘You say the safeword and everything stops.’ He kisses my neck before lowering the zipper at the back of my dress.

With my world now one of darkness, the sensation of my skin being bared is heightened. Gabe gently undoes the little buttons at my cuffs, and then he’s sliding the dress off my shoulders so it sinks to the floor in a frothy pile of silk. There’s the distinct clink of champagne flutes being deposited on the table. I can feel the other men in the room drawing near, predators approaching at the first signal that their prey is exposed. I hope they’re enjoying the sight of me, blindfolded and in pale blue La Perla underwear, still in my sheer stockings and heels.

If they do, it’s not for long. Gabe unhooks my bra, but someone else in front of me slides it off my arms, and then my thong is hooked at the sides and pushed down, my suspender belt unfastened, stockings rolled down. I’m bidden to step out of my heels, and my wrists are bound behind my back with a length of fabric, forcing my shoulders back and my breasts forward.

A voice rings out behind me, authoritative and clear, generations of aristocratic entitlement bred into it. With my sight removed, I could well be a nineteenth-century courtesan, fair game for some noblemen at Whites or Boodles or another of those exclusive clubs where the only women allowed were the ones paid for their services.

‘The lady has been disrobed, gentlemen. Let the games begin. Get her up on the table.’

CHAPTER 39

Athena

The lacquered wood of the conference table is cold and smooth against my bottom. They set me right on the edge, so I’m less sitting than perching, my legs spread and feet planted on the ground, my knuckles grazing the surface of the table.

I wonder if this pose will remind Gabe of my audition, or whether he’s too busy battling a whole maelstrom of emotions to make the connection.

There’s a pause, during which I hear only our breathing and the pulse of the music someone’s turned on—an aria over a sensual beat. I’m suspended between apprehension and anticipation. Then, presumably, a silent signal, for they begin to touch me.

Hands everywhere.

Cuffing my ankles.

Sliding up my calves.

Grazing my inner thighs.

Caressing my forearms.

My biceps.

Brushing over my stomach.

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