Page 106 of Bourbon and Proof

I hold up the long leather piece. One end has folded soft black leather, and the other, closer to the handle, a plume of black ostrich feathers. A rush of shivers rolls through my body, thinking about how we watched something just like this used at the club in Strutt’s Peak.

“You’ve been working so hard.” Looking up and around at the space, he adds, “The place looks incredible. I’m impressed—as usual—but I’m proud of you,” he breathes out, and the softness of his smile melts me from the inside out. “So...I think my wife deserves an evening filled with rewards.”

Taking his glass of bourbon from his hand, I sip once, then twice, with my eyes locked on his. “An entire evening, huh?” I glance at the box of goodies he just gave me.

He watches me with the dangerously arrogant disposition he always seems to have. With a deep, low hum, he circles from behind the bar, standing in front of me—his tall and broad frame so close makes my pulse tick higher as a flutter settles between my legs. Pushing my hair behind my shoulder, he leans downto place a kiss along my neck. “You’ll take everything I plan on giving you tonight,” he says, lifting my chin to look up at him. “Do you understand?”

I shift my body closer.Oh, I understand.

I exhale the words I know he’s waiting for. “Yes, sir.”

Hooking his finger with mine, he scoops up the floral toy arrangement, tucking it under his arm and guiding us down the corridor, out of the lobby, and toward the room that we’ve deemed our observation space. A space purely designed for exhibitionism and voyeuristic fun. Sprouting off from here are more private areas, all specifically curated for different tastes. Each spot can transform into any variety of fantasies the guests choose—as simple as sex with a stranger to other kinks that range from bondage to primal play and every unique and exploratory experience in between. It’s all been quite educational, and I love to learn. Tonight, however, we have the entirety of The Foxx Den to ourselves. And my husband seems to be in agivingmood.

Ace shrugs off his jacket and drapes it meticulously over the velvet turquoise chaise lounge. The chandelier lighting bounces warm tones and shadows along every surface as he queues up a playlist on his phone that’s perfect for the evening ahead. A low bass echoes through the speakers built into the ceiling and walls.

He circles behind the chair and taps its back before he starts unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. I do as he requests and watch with rapt attention as he rolls his sleeves up, showing off his slutty forearms. I can’t help smiling at how stupidly sexy he looks. Leaning forward, I tease out my tongue and he swipes his thumb along the path I just licked. “This feels rather sweet,” I whisper.

He smirks before he takes a small step back, and then holds up three fingers.

“Don’t threaten me with three fingers, baby. You know you’re at least as thick as that.”

But instead of cracking a smile or mumbling out a curse like he usually does when I say shit like that to him, he inhales slowly, and on the exhale, the dominant man that lingers around his edges is in front of me now. Strong and demanding. Patient and measured. Singularly focused. “I’ve been pretty lenient with how often your bratty mouth goes unpunished, sugar. I’ve kept a tally. Every time you’ve said something that warranted more than a good, hard fuck, I’ve kept count.” He cracks his neck to the side. “I think it’s time for me to indulge and deliver a little discipline.”

I’m dead.I’m already wet and needy from the anticipation of this, but that confession just soaked my pathetic excuse for panties. My nipples are hard, and I’m craving his mouth, his fingers, his cock to fill me in every filthy way he wants.

He stands in front of me, wiping his thumb along his lower lip. “Tell me what I want to hear.” Unbuckling his belt slowly, he pulls the dark brown leather through each loop.

I nibble at my bottom lip. “Yes, Daddy.”

When his eyes shift to mine, he gives me a nod in approval.

His hands frame my face, thumbs caressing along my jaw and drifting over my lips.

From behind me, he lifts my skirt and asks, “Spanks or bites, sugar?”

I swallow the laugh that tries to bubble out of me.

“Either one works for me. I’m marking up this perfect ass tonight before I clean up how much you’ve already dripped for me.”

Fuck it, I’m so turned on, he could throw down a list of all the BDSM options, and I’d take whatever he’s willing to give me. “Bites.”

He doesn’t move, and then I remember what he would be waiting for.

“Bites please, sir.”

This part of who he is—leading, playing a role, and leaning into it with such confidence, holy goddesses does it make me want to play with him right back. I can see the hard, thick outline of what this is already doing for him, and my stomach swoops, knowing that he’s pleased.

His hand moves gently up the center of my back, easing my body down. “Face down, ass up, wife.”

I almost squeal and clap my hands at his direction. Facing him, I kneel, draping my body forward. My chest reaches the soft surface, and I tip my hips back, making it so that my ass is nice and high, just as he likes.

He pushes my dress up and over my ass and then tucks his finger along the string of my thong. Pulling it taut, he rolls his fist around it so that the lace material rubs tightly against my clit. That move alone has me audibly exhaling.

“Yes, please,” I mumble into the velvet chair.

As he settles behind me, his lips skate along my ass cheek. It’s so soft that when he swipes his tongue and then bites at the skin, I let out a tiny yelp and laugh. He does it again, and I know he’s holding back. Maybe I like a little bit of masochism, after all.

“You can do better than that,” I taunt.

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