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Frankie gets up to refill her drink and pauses, looking around the room. “Damn, it looks good in here.”
“Right?” Kelly agrees. “This place is sexy. And did you see the hand soap in the bathroom?”
“Here we go,” Casper groans. “I had soap before.”
“You had dish soap,” Kelly says. “That’s for dishes.”
“And hands,” he counters. “And ducklings in crisis. It’s versatile.”
“Oh my God.” Frankie barks a laugh from the kitchen. “I’m just glad y’all got the asbestos out before we started painting.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, the what?”
She walks back into the room but pauses when she sees Logan swiping a hand in front of his throat in a frantic cut-it gesture. She opens her mouth but Thor interrupts before she can speak. “The asbestos was at my house.”
“Wait, your house has asbestos?” Kelly asks, looking confused.
“Allegedly,” he answers, digging his stare into Casper.
“Yeah. Big asbestos problem,” Casper nods.
Frankie’s brow furrows. “Why are you being weird?”
“We’re not,” Logan answers, which is exactly what someone being weird would say.
All three of us women exchange baffled glances. There’s clearly some inside joke happening between the guys that we’re not getting. Whatever.
I’m not sure I’ve ever had a dinner like this before, not one that felt this easy and didn’t involve family. There’s no pressure to perform the right version of myself; I don’t have to tiptoe around or feel like I’m an outsider trying to fit in. I can simply sit here with my plate, laugh when Thor says something hilarious, and lean back into Casper’s legs. I belong here, in this beautiful house that feels like him . . . and a little like me too.
“You look dangerous,” I tell her, as she unties the black wool trench coat sash around her waist, revealing a bit of exposed thigh above her stockings.
“Dangerous?”
I slide the coat off her shoulders and pass it to the coat check.
“Mmm,” I confirm, dragging my gaze down her body to the black stiletto pumps; how the fuck I resisted taking her before we entered the club is beyond me. I keep her tucked by my side as we move through the space. I keep a close eye, along with most of the other patrons. But that’s all they do—watch. She doesn’t have to worry here. The poised men and women take her in, their stares filled with admiration rather than leering glances.
The stockings and garter belt break necks, but the deep fuchsia velvet of her corset is what really sets her apart, the rich color and fabric makes her look so goddamn lush and decadent. Anna’s not just sexy, she’s something to be worshipped and wrecked—and tonight, a room full of strangers will watch me do just that.
We pass a mirror, her hand in mine, and I briefly catch her in the reflection, I know her well enough to recognize the nerves hidden beneath the smile she flashes. I squeeze her fingers, glancing back to see the thread of tension in her shoulders ease.
The room we choose is for couples not looking to add any extra participants. It’s open enough to be seen, but not enough that it creates a spectacle. We leave the heavy curtain open, inviting people to look. A cream, six-foot-diameter ottoman sits in the center like an intimate stage.
“You can change your mind, at any time,” I remind her. “The safeword is stop.”
She nods in agreement.
“Tell me.”
“I want this,” she says, exhaling a steady breath.
“For you?” I need to know she’s not just indulging me.
Anna holds my stare. “For us.”
The answer unlocks something in my chest and I grin, shrugging off my suit jacket and tossing it to the side. When I help her up onto the ivory leather, she looks beautiful even in her nerves—especially in them. The hesitation in the way she settles herself, displaying a flicker of shyness as she watches me undo my cuff links and roll up my sleeves.
She sits on the edge of the circle and I gather her hair into a fist in one hand, capturing her throat with the other. She searches my eyes. I bring up a knee beside her thigh, and then the other, straddling her as she’s forced to look directly up at me. “You’re stunning, Duchess.”
