Page 41 of The Shame Game

She swallowed. “A little nervous.”

He nodded. “I haven’t told you what kind of scene I have planned for tonight. Would you like to know?”

Some of the tension coiled tight in her belly ease. “Yes, please.”

He nodded. “I wanted to step up the humiliation game, so to speak.”

The shame game, she thought, and might’ve laughed if she hadn’t been wound so tight. “Okay.”

He stroked down her arms and up again in a light caress. “You’re no stranger to playing in public, or having sex in public, but those are usually role play scenarios. This is going to be a little different. First, there’s no role here. You’re not Yvette the French maid, or Miss Smith the new secretary. You’re just Amanda tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, and the knot in her belly tightened once more. “What about you?”

“Me?” He smiled. “I’m James, the proud, loving husband showing off my beautiful, slutty wife for the crowd.”

“Crowd?”

He nodded. “Crowd. You’ll be able to hear them, but not see them.”

He’s going to blindfold me?She swallowed hard past the sudden lump in her throat. “Okay.”

“There are a couple of things I’ll need help with, so some of the hands touching you won’t be mine.”

He must have seen her panic, because he began stroking her arms again to soothe her. “They won’t do anything I haven’t asked them to do, and they’re not going to fuck you.”

She wanted to let out a huge sigh of relief, but she couldn’t seem to get air past her throat. James had invited other people to participate in their scenes before, but they’d always been punishment scenes, not sexual ones. Well, that wasn’t quite true—all of their scenes were eventually sexual, but he’d never invited anyone to participate in that part before.

“Take a breath, Amanda,” James ordered, and she sucked in air. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That I’m scared,” she admitted.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he assured her. “I’ll never be more than three feet away, and I’ll be watching everything. I’ve filled the DMs in on the plan, and they’ll be there, as well.”

She knew that was supposed to be reassuring. And if she hadn’t been panicking, it might have been. “I’m still scared.”

“Good scared or bad scared?”

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. “I’m not really sure.”

“Fair enough,” he said soberly. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she replied automatically, not even having to think about it. She trusted James with her life.

“That’s my girl,” he said, and the approval and pride in his voice washed over her in a warm wave. “I’m not going to gag you, so you’ll be able to talk. Tell me what your safewords are.”

“Yellow for stop to talk or slow down, red for stop right now.”

“Use them if you need them,” he told her. His hands left her arms to cup her face. “I love you, Amanda. I’m proud to be your husband.”

The knots in her belly eased, just a little, and she sighed. “I love you, too.”

He kissed her, soft and soothing, then dropped his hands and stepped back. “Up on the table, please, and lie back.”

The ‘please’ was automatic, she knew, a result of the impeccable manners drummed into him as a child, but in no way were the words a request—they were an order. She drew a steadying breath and obeyed.

The vinyl was cold under her bare butt, and clung to her skin, chafing as she wiggled into place. She lay down, her legs out in front of her. The table was short, so her feet and ankles poked out over the end, but not so much that it made her uncomfortable, and the built-in padding at the top made for an adequate pillow.

“Comfortable?”

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