Page 168 of Pucking Obsessed

I replied, “Like Eliza Doolittle inMy Fair Lady?”

Only for Shay to wrinkle his nose. “He hasn’t tried out much gender play yet. But I won’t complain if he dresses me in stockings, suspenders, and a corset.”

Robyn would understand.

Silently, I push open the next door into a vast, more modern lounge with ivory walls and couches, walls lined with books, and a white grand piano in the corner.

It suits D’Angelo. I can imagine him relaxing here with a whiskey.

Even though D’Angelo hasn’t been living here, it’s been kept clean.

Frustrated, I back out of the room.

No one is here.

I can’t even see evidence that anyone has been inside here for a long time.

I stand still, straining to listen.

Nothing.

Then…something.

It’s faint and coming from beneath me.

Surprised, I stare down at the wooden floorboards.

What’s beneath the house? A basement?

My heart beats faster. I spin around, stalking back into the corridor.

I scan along the wall. It’s too dark for me to see it properly, but there must be a way down from here. I walk up and down the wall’s length, running my hands over it.

Now that I’m listening out, I can hear a weak sound. It’s familiar to me, but I can’t work out what it is.

A rhythmiccrackingsound.

My mouth goes dry.

It’s the sound of a whip.

My breathing becomes ragged. My pulse roars loudly in my ears. I claw at the pristine wall.

Heine is hurting D’Angelo.

Whipping him.

He’s…

My fingers close around a handle.

My eyes widen, as I yank on it hard. A discrete door opens in the wall, revealing a narrow set of wooden stairs.

I throw myself down into the blackness.

The more steps I take into the basement, the louder the sounds of the whipping becomes.

I can hear something else mixed in with it as well: groans of pain.

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