Page 12 of Master

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. The people enjoying from the hallway go crazy listening to you come.” Conor brushes his hand over the warmth of her cheek as the red hue adorably flares across her face. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he shares, “Fuck,Icould get off simply listening to you come.”

“Piscín,” Finn places a tender kiss on the side of her neck as he wraps his hands around her waist. “Please get up so I can beat the piss out of my brother.”

In turn, she wraps her hands over his and glances over her shoulder at Finn, “Let him dream,mo ghrá.Knowing he’ll never have me is more torturous than your fist in his face.”

“Fucking hell, Cat,” Declan exclaims with voracious laughter, and the rest of us join in as Conor slinks back into his seat.

“The lot of you can deflate my hopes of enjoying these beautiful women you’ve all somehow convinced to love you,” Conor playfully huffs, crossing his arms and pretending to sulk. “But just know, you can’t take away the sweet dreams I have of Cat’slittle cotton panties or that sweet whimper Layla has right before her toes curl and she comes undone.”

“Fuck it.” Tristan’s face heats with anger, quickly matching the same shade of Cat’s embarrassment. “I don’t care if this place is full of new members.I’mgoing to beat the fucking piss out of him.”

“Can you all go one measly day without slugging each other?” Layla rolls her eyes as she approaches on Jorge’s arm. “I think you have a bigger problem than the big guy wanting to fuck us all.”

“She doesn’t call me that because I’m tall.” Conor winks at all of us, further aggravating Tristan.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Layla teases, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Based on the line at valet, your new members are very eager to visit. Because I’m pretty sure every last one of them is waiting to get in.”

“Fuck,” I huff, sliding from my barstool. “Layla, sweetheart, join me on a trip to the viewing hall.”

“Really?” Conor barks as she slips her hand into the crook of my arm. “I make a joke about sticking my dick in her and nearly get the piss beat out of me. Meanwhile, Liam asks to take her to the hall, and no one says a word?”

“You fucking twat.” Declan rolls his eyes. “He’s taking her with him so he doesn’t look like a creepy bastard.”

“Why?” Conor shrugs. “I wander the viewing hall on my own all the time.”

“Exactly.” I condescendingly pat his shoulder before walking from the bar with Layla.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SASHA

All the time Isaac ranted about wanting to bring me to this club, I was expecting it to be like the places that Trevor used to take me. In our time together, we frequented many private dungeons. All of which looked a lot like low-budget BDSM porn sets with dark, dingy basements. Most with very questionable hygienic standards, or with a complete lack of standards based upon that one time Trevor tried to share me on some clearly soiled sheets.

The punishment I received was well worth not kneeling in some unknown guy’s cum or having my face pressed into someone else’s wet spot.

This place, though, is nothing like those dungeons. I never could have imagined that it would be like this. Everything about the lounge we’re walking through is meticulous and opulent. The white marble floors are so spotless you could eat from them, and every chair is perfectly placed. Even the people match the atmosphere; everyone is dressed in well-fitted suits and cocktail dresses.

Suddenly feeling out of place, I glance down at the strappy, backless dress that Isaac insisted I wear tonight. My cleavagespills from the deep, swooping neckline of the almost-sheer black fabric. The hemline is so short that this dress should come with a complimentary Brazilian wax. Eyes keep falling to the still pink scars on my well-visible upper thigh, and the choice of this piece of fabric posing as a dress becomes obvious.Isaac wants to show me off to everyone.

Isaac presses his hand to the bare skin of my tailbone, and I startle at the unexpected touch. “You’re sweating. Are you nervous, beautiful?” Isaac asks, oblivious—or ignorant—to the fact I’m clearly running a fever. Without waiting for a response, he leads me through the crowd toward the bar. “Maybe we should get you a drink to loosen you up a bit.”

Pinning me between him and the bar, Isaac flags down the bartender. “Whiskey. Four doubles. Neat.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We have drink limits. Two per patron and one at a time. Best I can do is a double for each of you,” the bartender informs us as he shakes his head. Considering the handful of cold-and-flu medicine I took to make it through tonight, I don’t really want a drink. Let alone two of them.Not that I would tell Isaac no.

“Fine,” Isaac slides fifty dollars across the white marble bar with his Club Treskilion card. “Just don’t be a stingy pour.”

Collecting the money, the bartender tucks it into his pocket before responding, “I will be sure to give you the full two ounces, sir.” I fight back my snicker and am happy that my back is to Isaac so he can’t see the amusement I can’t keep from spreading across my face. The bartender returns a moment later with two glasses and slides them across the bar before returning Isaac’s card.

“To showing the best of Manhattan what a perfect girl you are for me.” Isaac raises his glass and taps it against mine, sloshing the amber liquid in it. I mirror the small sip he takes from his glass, swallowing less than a shot, but his displeased eyes quickly tell me it’s not enough. “Drink up. Our room will be ready in a few minutes, and you are too tense.”

Lifting the glass, I swallow the rest of the warm, spicy liquid. A drop rolls over my chin as it burns down my throat. Placing a warm, wet kiss against my jaw, Isaac collects the droplet before grabbing his glass and leading me from the bar. We walk down a long black hallway, and Isaac hands me his glass. “Finish this for me, beautiful. I’m definitely more of a tequila man.”

Knowing I can’t handle this much alcohol in this short amount of time, I contemplate disobeying him oraccidentallyspilling the remaining shot from the glass in my hand. Thinking better of either of them—and the punishment I know would ensue—I lift the glass to my lips and swallow the shot.

After ushering me through the black decor of this side of the club, Isaac leads me to a hall at the far side. “Eyes down,” he commands when we reach the roped entrance. “You are here to be watched, not to watch.”

Dipping my head to honor his request, I stare at the back of his shoes as he walks through the crowded hallway. Stealing a glimpse as we pass a window, my eyes are drawn to the pleasure-filled face of a woman on the receiving end of a paddle. I’m so infatuated with her, I can’t seem to stop staring as we pass, forcing me to lift my head to watch her take another strike.

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