Page 132 of Wicked and Claimed

“He seems agitated or something.”

Kane adjusted his glasses. “A few minutes ago, he argued with some suit who slipped into the room. I didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face before he left.”

Something to keep an eye on, but nothing useful so far.

Nash slid a thumb across Haisley’s pastie, right over her distended nipple. “Keep looking.”

She sucked in a high-pitched gasp. “Oh… Do that again.”

“Tell me what else you see first.”

Haisley said nothing for long moments. She melted into the column at her back, writhing and moaning as his lips roamed her skin and his hands explored her curves. But her eyes remained open as she scanned the ballroom.

Around them, the cloaked guests grew careless. In the mirror over Haisley’s shoulder, Nash caught glimpses of increasingly explicit acts of debauchery and more masks beginning to slip away.

“Haisley…” He nipped at her lobe. “Talk to me.”

“Yeah, um… The man behind the emerald mask with Amy… I’ve seen him on the news. I can’t recall his name. He chairs some powerful committee in Congress.”

Kane turned, zeroing in on the guy in question. “Representative Keene. I’m sure his wife of thirty years and his constituents who elected him on a family-values platform would be interested in this footage.”

“No doubt,” Nash muttered in disgust, continuing his visual reconnaissance in the mirror. “Tell me about the man in black in the corner?”

Haisley frowned, fighting to focus through the drugs’ growing haze. “He’s got three women hanging on him, but he doesn’t look familiar.”

“A Saudi prince who likes to dabble in illegal weapons,” Kane supplied. “And judging by the company he’s keeping, he likes his girls young.”

“And that’s definitely what’s his name—the guy who won all those Grammys last year—in the corner with a woman on her knees.” Haisley jerked her chin toward a raised dais. “I’d know that hair anywhere.”

Kane sneered. “I’ve always thought his music has no soul. Probably because he doesn’t.”

“Amen,” Nash put in.

The nouveaux riche mixed with old money, political power with entertainment royalty. Each influential face one that would rock headlines if their presence here became public.

“My god,” Haisley breathed, thrusting her breasts in his face in jerky, pleading motions as the drugs fully took hold. “Most of these people have Wikipedia pages.”

“That explains the masks, heavy security, and prohibiting of guests with phones in spaces like this. One photo could end careers,” Kane murmured, still recording the room with his special glasses. “I’ll take another lap. I have a lot to capture.”

“Get as much as you can.”

“Then I should participate some. Blend in a bit more.” Kane winced before he slipped away.

Haisley swayed, hands sliding inside Nash’s shirt as if she was desperate to touch his skin. “I’m trying to focus, but everything is so intense. Ifeelthe blood racing in my body. I ache. I need. Please…”

Around them, others were lost in various states of perversion. He caught Gray’s suspicious stare on them again. They’d draw less attention if they gave in and participated. And Haisley’s pleading wasn’t an act. The combination of GHB and MDMA had stripped away her inhibitions, leaving her nerves raw and her sensations magnified.

“Please,” she begged again, this time loud enough for others to hear. “I’m burning up. I’ll do anything. Make it stop.”

Swallowing a curse, Nash pulled her off the pedestal and dragged her behind it, putting his back against the nearby wall. He lifted her nearly nonexistent dress to her hips with one hand. With the other, he shredded her thong, then made quick work of his fly before he leaned over her back and growled in her ear. “You want me?”

“Yes!” she cried.

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

“Inside you?”

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