Page 26 of The Owner's Temptation

The walls are lined with black leather panels, the scent of it mixing with the sharp tang of something electric. Anticipation. Submission.Pain.

I hear it before Iseeit.

The unmistakable crack of impact.

The quiet, shuddering inhale of someonetaking it.

Then anotherslap.

I round the first corner, heels clicking slowly against the polished floors, as I walk straight intosomething primal.

A large open area stretches before me, a raised platform in the center where a man and woman play out something rough and raw.

She’s bent over a padded bench, her wrists bound to the legs with deep red rope. A man stands behind her, shirtless, powerful, a leather paddle gripped in one firm hand.

He drags it down the curve of her back, his other hand smoothing over her flushed skin.

Then—

Crack.

The paddle meets her ass, a delicious moan spilling from her lips.

My stomach clenches. My thighspress together.

The room is filled withwatchers.

Not just here.

Everywhere.

Some standing near the stage, some lounging in the dark corners, some sitting in chairs that line the perimeter of the floor. Their eyes track the movements of the participants.

And now…

Their eyes trackme.

A slow chill rolls over my skin—not fear,not even close.

Awareness.

One by one, the patrons ofWrathturn their attention toward me, their gazes sliding over my body, assessing, lingering.

Not judgmental.

Desirous.

I don’t even realize how my posture has shifted, how my body has adjusted.Like my training.

Back straight. Shoulders rolled. Chin lifted.

My mask hides me, but it alsomarks me.

Black mask. Elite. Untouchable.

But the rabbit: Prey

I swallow, but I don’t lower my eyes.

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