Page 38 of The Devil's Spawn

“No, that’s too easy. An empty hallway or room will suffice. I want you in fear of getting caught.”

I turned wide, frightened eyes on him. “Master, please!”

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to my lips. “The ball is being held at the Davenport Estate. There are plenty of semi-private places to masturbate. I expect you to find one upon command, but you’re not to bring yourself to orgasm.” Running a palm down my ass, he pressed his lips to my neck. “This will help you get into the right mindset for our plans after the ball.”

Plans that included other people. Oh, how I despised these plans, probably more than he’d ever know.

“It’s getting late. Time to dress,” he said, slapping my ass. He crossed to the bureau and produced two masks—one for him and one for me.

“What’s a masquerade ball without a mask?”

18. Beneath the Mask

Gage pulled through the iron gates of the Davenport Estate, and as we approached the front of the traditional brick mansion, I marveled at the lush, sprawling lawns that seemed to reach the horizon. Rolling to a stop at the main entrance, he alighted and rounded the hood, warding off a well-meaning valet who moved to open my door. As Gage assisted me from the car, helping me maneuver the full skirt of my ballgown, I took in our surroundings. By no means did we live in anything other than the lap of luxury, but this place was on a whole other level of opulence.

Fitting my hand in the crook of his arm, Gage escorted me onto the stone walkway that led to the front door. A light breeze blew through my hair, and I brushed the strands from my face, my wide-eyed gaze riveted to the nearby pond. The night was mild, absent of even a drop of rain. Fluffy clouds parted, allowing the silver light of the crescent moon to ripple onto the pond. The moon seemed to hover—just a tiny dip and the bottom would touch the pond, breaking the glass-like surface.

A man in a tux greeted us at the door. He took our jackets before pointing us in the direction of the mansion’s host. And speaking of tuxedos…good God, how I ached to rip off my husband’s and have my way with him. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, appreciating how his chest filled out the vest and overcoat. But he caught me ogling, and his eyes sparkled behind the black mask he wore.

“Mr. and Mrs. Channing. Welcome to our home,” said a man who also knew how to wear a tux, though he lacked Gage’s commanding presence, not to mention a pair of sexy indigo eyes and a cock I wanted to kneel for at this very moment.

Gage shook hands with the man as he introduced us.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, failing to offer my hand because I knew the rules. No other man was to touch me, no matter the social etiquette. In the beginning, Gage had allowed that tiny concession, but not since I’d betrayed him with…

Better to not go there.

Mr. Davenport seemed unsurprised by my lack of manners, and something niggled in the back of my mind. Suddenly, I felt on display, naked despite wearing a gown heavier than seven layers of clothing.

“Pleased to meet you,” our host said, and even though he didn’t possess Gage’s innate dominant manner, he had a head full of thick, blond hair and a broad smile that revealed the kind of perfect white teeth I’d seen in toothpaste commercials. “This is my wife, Virginia.” He indicated the brunette holding onto his arm. Her hair was sleek and straight, and she had the kind of curvy waist I envied.

But her smile was as genuine as her husband’s, and that was all that mattered. She stepped forward and gently took my arm. “How about we allow these men to do what men do at these shindigs? There are several ladies just dying to meet the woman who snatched the one and only Gage Channing.”

Something about the way she spoke of Gage made me curious, and a little cautious. I shot him a quick glance, relaying so much with a furtive dart of my gaze.

May I go, Master?

With a slight nod, he bent and kissed my cheek. “Have fun, baby,” he said, voice too intimate to be overheard. “Don’t forget your task for the night.”

I’d grown used to the butt plug. It wasn’t overly big, so I didn’t find it uncomfortable, and I certainly didn’t miss the rectal burn the larger ones caused. Even so, now that Gage had reminded me of what I was to do, my ass suddenly felt too full—brimming with the promise of humiliation.

I swallowed hard as Virginia led me through the throng of people. Ballgowns of all colors brushed the parquet flooring, and men wore a variety of tuxedoes, from traditional black with long-tailed jackets to contemporary attire, embellished with colors from tasteful to…less tasteful.

She ushered me into another room where tables were grouped in strategic patterns around the dance floor. I instantly recognized the decor because I’d helped pick out the colors. Ironically, the ballroom matched my dress, and I wondered if that had been Gage’s intention all along.

Probably so. Gage did everything by design.

“Over here,” Virginia said, yanking on my hand and leading me to a table where four other women, also decked out in extravagant ballgowns, sat.

“Kayla,” my hostess said, “I’d like you to meet…”

Too busy taking in the features of each woman, I tuned out their names, as I likely wouldn’t remember them anyway. Not in this setting, with my heart pounding an irregular rhythm behind my breastbone.

The blonde with enviable curls and dark brown eyes nibbled on a crab-stuffed mushroom, her gaze shyly taking me in. The other three were all various shades of browns, but their hairstyles couldn’t have been more different. One sported a cute pixie while the other two had longer lengths. The girl wearing a dress that could pass as a wedding gown wore her hair past her ass. The last of this brunette trio ran her fingers through layers that feathered around her flawless complexion.

These women were, in a word, gorgeous. And something about the way they interacted with each other—with ease and familiarity—told me their friendships had withstood the test of time. I sat with them for about forty-five minutes, nibbling on hors d’oeuvre and listening to their casual chatter.

But I felt disconnected, unable to relate to Blondie’s endeavor to find the perfect piece of jewelry for her upcoming trip to Paris. Nor could I empathize with Pixie Girl’s indecision on which boarding school to send her daughter to next year.

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