Page 87 of His Innocent Muse

“Mmm.” I sniff, pressing my mouth to his chest and peeking up through my lashes. “Even more than me?”

He shakes his head, with the sureness of a man who’s asked himself that very question. “Nothing is more important than you.”

My heart trips over itself, tears stinging the back of my eyes. He kisses me deeply, tickling the roof of my mouth with his tongue, before guiding me back to the elevator.

“Go on.”

I pause, fingers toying with the diamond covered lock on my neck. “Hm?”

He nods to the buttons. “Take us downstairs.”

Eagerly, I perk up. “Really?” His brow raises, and I scramble to say, “Oh, uh, no. I mean, yes, Sir.”

I whap the button with my palm and he chuckles, tucking his chin to his chest and coughing to hide it. The door opens to a simple black hallway, the only light coming from the elevator and a thin, thin opening under a heavy, padlocked door. The swarming darkness hurts my eyes, and I narrow them and cling to Ghost’s arm for fear of tripping over myself.

“You need to know what it is that I do,” he says carefully, resting his hand on the door. It beeps in approval for entry under his fingerprints, but he doesn’t open it yet.

My eyes bulge, and I strain my ears like I’ll be tipped off to what’s inside. Should I hear screaming, or begging, or Mayhem breaking kneecaps?

I donotwanna see any more dismembered body parts tonight. I will if that’s what he needs, to assure himself I’m safe, but, ew.

“I mean, I-I know you kill people,” I murmur. “I’m okay with it.”

I barely catch his grin in the darkness before it’s pressed against my neck, nipping the mark he left. “Not that.”

“Oh, thank God.”

He chuckles against my ear, that low, devious sound he made before. “What happened to ‘I’m not opposed to stabbing things’?”

My eyes flutter, stomach flipping. “I’m not.”

He hums, kissing my cheek and straightening up again with a cleansing breath. “There are many things I could say to explain, but I think… it’s best if you see for yourself.”

The door opens with a thickwhooshof cool air, revealing a room lit entirely in a combination of teal and snow white lights.

There are stations set up in an obvious, meandering path, each one corded off by a thick, velvet braid. Inside the ropes are what look like displays and machines. The floor underneath varies for each one. Some are tarp, some are plush rugs, and there’s even one in the distance that looks spiked.

Everything is sparkling clean and prepped for exploring, though it feels…empty, in a way. Like they’re not set out for studying, but for use, and are missing their centerpieces.

Some tiny part of my mind understands what Chuck and Damian meant byhooker museum, but it makes even less sense now. Clearly, they’ve never been here. They made it sound like he was trafficking humans, displaying women in cages for a profit.

This place is stunning.

Ghost closes the door behind us, this lock even louder than the one at the boutique, making me jump again. I peer up at him for direction, but he offers none, merely waiting for my reaction.

“What is all this?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vie De Mort,” he answers. “Playground for the rich and filthy. We hold different exhibits to showcase the art of sexuality and climax. No entry without a hefty payment and knowledge of our passphrase.”

Was hoping it was a Degas,Roman said.

“Oh my—”

“Ah.” Ghost snaps his fingers, and my body’s reaction is feral. Heat races up my spine, nipples hardening, while my heart drops between my legs. I press my knees together, and he nods. “Better.”

I squirm, drawing a breath through my mouth. That felt good. My mind shut off immediately, with the only thought left to beg him to do it again.

I so desperately don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to ruin my own night.

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