Each step deeper into the manor syncs with the thump of my pulse against my ribs. As a precaution, I tug my dress up so my tits sit higher. Can’t be too careful about who I might run into…
The first hallway? Boring. All doors shut tight.
The next? Same.
So, I start flinging them open. Groups of fuckers barely notice, too busy doing what they came here to do.
Wait. How did she get into that position?
When I’ve almost given up, I turn down a large section with a set of double doors at the end. Celestial moans curl from beneath them, wrapped in twinkles of light like a silent invitation.
Bingo.
Swallowing roughly, I lift my chin and march toward the room, like I belong there.
You might puke, Ashlyn. No. No. Don’t be a wuss. Let’s go.
The golden handles are hot as I thrust them down and make a Broadway entrance. My eyes need a second to adjust to the dim light. Shadowed figures move rhythmically throughout the room, but none of them pay attention to me. Swinging around, I hurriedly shut the doors, plunging the space into deeper darkness.
Only the pulse of red LEDs and flickering candlelight illuminate the cavernous bedroom. A four-poster velvet canopy bed looms in the center, draped in sin and sweat. Several glistening-bodied men and women writhe on top. In the far recesses, a desk creaks beneath a pile of naked limbs and swiveling hips. Most wear masquerade masks…and nothing else.
Suddenly, I feel very overdressed.
Bowls of condoms and flavored lube perch like party favors on every table. The air hums with slapping skin and the sour-sweet scent of slutty sex. High-pitched cries ripple through the haze like violent gusts of wind.
If my eyes were closed, I’d think I was in a haunted house. One that smells like cum.
Which is pretty horrific, I guess.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing aside some random guy who grabs my waist.
“Honey, you’re in the red room now. Join us,” he says with a nod toward the sofa.
And that’s when I see him…
Gravity drags me forward, awed and breathless, as he reclines in the living room like he owns all the oxygen in my lungs. Silky, wine-colored fabric drapes over every inch of his long legs. His bare, hewn chest gleams with sweat, reflectingthe licks of fire in front of him. Both arms drape across the back of the couch, as if the whole thing was built for no other purpose than to be his throne. Neck tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes squeeze shut while sipping air through parted lips.
There’s a tattoo—too hazy to make out, but maybe…a skeleton key just under his left pec. Unfortunately, yeah, that’s rock hard. As is the entire carved ladder of abs beneath it, twitching with each breath.
Broad hands twist into the hair of the women beneath him…The three heads of Cerberus: Elowyn Price, some dumb cunt I don’t know, and…Mutton Marris.Her real name is Sutton, but Mutton is far more fitting for what her face will look like later.
Aiden Cardell chokes on a groan, then lifts his head and peers down at them with disinterest. When he stands, thethree stay kneeling before him like worshipers, his open-mouthed acolytes waiting for communion.
He’s a god in red silk.
Eyes drunk on devotion.
With a cruel snap of his hips, he shoves each of them down his length. No tenderness, just raw power until he’s ready to blow. And when he does, it’s as if he senses a shift in the atmosphere.
Those icy eyes lift…and find mine.
He doesn’t look away. Not even as he jerks himself with steady, hungry strokes. His bottom lip curls underneath his top teeth…and the smug bastardsmiles.
Then he comes.
All over their faces.
Fire ignites in my belly as he gasps, letting out a breathy, performative whimper. The women moan as if it’s sacred, gathering the glistening mess off each other’s skin, licking and swapping it with dainty reverence. All the while, Aiden pets their heads like some benevolent god.