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  Hell is empty because all of the devils are here. Watching.

  We stay at the back of the room, and we don’t take a seat, standing behind the empty back row.

  A dark haired woman is tied to a table, naked but for two sets of leather cuffs strapping her down. Her legs are spreadeagled and tied to the table legs, her arms spread out in the opposite direction. Fingers curled over the wooden ledge, her luxurious hair cascades around her face. Beside her stands a man in dark pants and a white shirt rolled at the sleeves. Red headed, and about my age, he has the most amazing red beard, coating his face like a flame. Suddenly, he hunkers down, his eyes meeting hers.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I whisper, tension thick in my throat. Her nakedness embarrasses me and though I wouldn’t admit it out loud, it also turns me on.

  I can’t help but watch no matter how much I feel it’s wrong.

  ‘He’s giving her instruction.’ Will smiles sort of sadly at my confused frown. ‘It might be they’re negotiating the count or—’

  My head whips around. ‘You mean how many times he’ll hit her?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says gently. ‘Because she wants it. And because she likes it. She might even feel she needs it.’

  This is fifty shades of . . . of mind blowing stuff.

  The red headed man stands, lifting a small leather case from the floor, placing it on the woman’s back like she’s an extension of the table—an inanimate object.

  I glance up at Will’s strong profile. Arms folded across his chest, his chin is held high as he watches the scene playing out on stage.

  ‘Do you enjoy this sort of stuff?’

  He swallows, then rolls his full bottom lip into his mouth, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he watches as the man pulls a wooden paddle from his case, pushing it under her face. As she kisses it, something hot and wet blooms in the pit of my gut.

  ‘Are you asking if I like being on stage?’

  His question? That’s really not what he’s saying. I rub my lips together as I try to find the right question among the many swimming through my head.

  ‘Do you own a paddle?’

  ‘I don’t. I prefer my hand over most things.’ The implication is so . . . terrifyingly sexual.

  ‘Including the spatula?’ I ask softly, not quite believing I’ve uttered the words.

  I have mixed emotions when I think about that night, but the strident slaps and the resulting stings I don’t feel so conflicted about, strangely.

  ‘Have you imagined it since?’ The cadence of his voice speaks of bedrooms. Of whispered promises and hushed tones. ‘Have you touched yourself while imagining?’

  Between my legs feels needy and heavy, and ripe for use. But I don’t turn as we both keep our eyes on the stage.

  The man taps the woman’s ass with the paddle, and she turns her head over her shoulder and smiles back at him as he does. There seems to be some goading going on.

  Thwack. I barely see his arm move but I hear the sting.

  The woman grunts. It sounds like a number. It rings through the room. ‘One.’

  He hits her harder, the breath blowing out of again. ‘Two.’

  The third stroke he aims a little lower, and this time the woman’s cry is more a moan.

  On and on, he rains down concise blows, in between he pets her reddened skin, strokes a finger between her legs. Slides the edge of the paddle against her pussy, holding it up for the crowd to see the pale wood dark with her wetness.

  ‘You’re enjoying this.’ Will brushes the hair from my face, pressing his lips against my neck. And I let him. Against everything I know I should do I let him; encourage him as I tilt my head to the side releasing a breathy moan.

  ‘I dare you to take your panties off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  My first instinct is to remind him I’m not twelve, but as his hand slides around my waist like a tangling vine I find myself melting into him.

  ‘Look around sweet Sadie. Do you think anyone will pay attention?’

  Those in front are either watching or getting a little handsy, the sound of the woman’s cries of agony and ecstasy a backdrop to their lust.

  Her toes curl as she prepares for her next thrust, and just as I had in the kitchen, she pushes upwards with the blow, easing the pressure by pressing her pussy against the hard edge.

  I feel wet and heavy and desperate for relief, and I’m both shamed and excited at the thought of Will touching me. Without thinking about it deliberately, I slip my fingers under my dress and slip my panties off.

  ‘Sweet Sadie,’ Will praises, coming to stand behind me. I curl my fingers over the chair in front, grateful for the height and the things that it hides.

  ‘Watch them,’ he whispers, pushing his rigid cock into me. I feel conflicted—does he know? I swallow over my need of him as he slides his hands down the front of my thighs, beginning to lift my dress.

  Cool air hits my pussy as the woman’s moans reach a crescendo. Will puts his hand over my chest, feeling my breath halt as my heart thunders beneath his hand. He slides his palm down, cupping my breast, my nipple pebbling under the attentions of his thumb, my head turning just a fraction to see if we’ve garnered any attention.

  Of course, we haven’t. A little over clothing tit feel isn’t anyone’s idea of exciting here. Except for me. With him.

  My whole body trembles as he presses his lips to my neck.

  ‘Are you wet?’

  I nod.

  ‘Could you see yourself there on stage. They’d worship you, if only you’d let them.’

  A surge of pure ecstasy floods my veins, his softly spoken words and the accompanying images, an aphrodisiac like nothing else. I make a sound that isn’t approval but not exactly a denial as his rubs his hardness against the bare cheeks of my ass.

  Could I do it? Could I see myself up there? The avid eyes watching me take what Will wishes to give?

  ‘I want to tear you away from her and I want to debase you right here.’

  ‘How deeply are you into this kind of stuff?’ My voice is soft, my tone tentative, my eyes unable to meet his the full way as I turn my head.

  ‘I like a little power play,’ he admits quietly. ‘But I’m not interested in the lifestyle or a full power exchange.’

  ‘I have no idea what that even means,’ I say, turning back.

  The red head is loosening his jeans. My god, he’s going to fuck her right here.

  ‘Yes, while we all watch.’

  Wills fingers skim my pussy—one swipe against my slit. My legs almost give way, though I lift my hand from the chair in front, wrapping it around his wrist.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘But that’s what you stayed here for,’ his bedroom voice whispers.

  ‘I did but, now I don’t.’

  ‘It’s a paradox.’ His tone holds an edge of taunt. ‘You came here not just because it was the opposite of what I wanted, but also because you were curious. I can see that now’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ I whisper, pulling away.

  Turning away.

  Taking myself to the back of the room to find the stairs.

  My heels are loud on the wooden boards, my heart beating a tattoo to match the sound. I can hear the soft scuff of his shoes behind me but I don’t want to run. I’m almost at the stairs as he catches me, a hand hooking my waist.

  ‘Not so fast, sweet Sadie. Isn’t this why you came here?’ I roll my neck allowing his better access even as my mouth begins to form denials.

  ‘Fuck you,’ I murmur breathily.

  ‘Against everything your mouth says I know you want me to, fuck you,’ he hisses hard in my ear. Bites my neck. Makes me moan and want all of this.

  In an instant, I spin in his arms, our mouths meeting in a collision of need—a punishing kiss where we both want to hurt and be hurt. Where we grapple for the upper hand, stealing the other’s breath. My fingers reach for his shirt, pull at his hair, while I writhe a
gainst his body like the whore I want him to make me.

  The tenor of his soft laughter slides down my spine as he lifts my dress again.

  ‘Because you want this.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ I whisper.

  ‘Gladly. Because you need this.’ He growls, pinning my hands by my sides. ‘And because you’re fucking soaked.’

  ‘Fuck you.’ Though louder this time, the expletive still sounds impotent in the darkened hallway, my need exposed in its tone.

  ‘That’s more like it.’ His voice is midnight and velvet. It’s boudoir bedrooms.

  It’s fucking in darkened alleys and hard stairwells. It’s gravel digging into my knees and everything in between. It’s his way and it’s his command and there’s nothing else I’ll ever want as he uncurls his finger and whispers, ‘Sweetheart, put your hands against the wall.’

  But I’m trembling, the sound of my heart filling my ears over the brunette’s moans beyond. Will threads his fingers through mine, lifting them, and pressing my palms against the wall. Like he’s the puppet master and I’m his doll.

  ‘That’s it,’ he murmurs, his hands falling to my thighs where he begins lifting the hem of my skirt once again.

  ‘What if someone—’

  ‘You let them watch. Or else, what’s the point.’ His words set off a powerful beating between my legs. ‘Unless the point is not to be caught.’

  ‘Y-yes. I don’t want to be watched.’

  ‘You just want the dirty illicitness of it all? Without the serving of shame.’

  Will immediately pulls my hips back, flipping the hem of my skirt fully over my hips. His hands find the place where my ass and thighs meet where he pulls me apart like a ripe peach.

  The sound of his zipper. The bump of his silken head.

  ‘Let’s test the theory of it, shall we?’

  I bite back my whimper as he slides his dick along my wetness. Cry out as he rams himself right into the heart of me—so hard I need his hands on my hips to keep me still. His thrust are punishing, all consuming, and no less than divine. I can hear myself crying out my love and my shame. Begging him to make me cum over and over again.

  ‘You fucking destroy me,’ he rasps from behind. ‘And you’re taking this cock. Taking it all and I don’t give a fuck who watches.’

  ‘Yes!’ My fingers claw the wall as I buck against him in ecstasy.

  ‘I’m going to tear you apart.’

  His fingers bruise as his cock heals me. Because I want him to hold me—to fuck me for now and for always. I want him to push me down onto the hard ground to my knees.

  ‘Do you want to come?’ he rasps.

  I want to ask him what kind of a question that is but I don’t have the wherewithal. The energy. The will for anything but this. And as his fingers rub light circles around my clit, my knees buckle, and I fall apart in his arms, crying out in his arms.

  Cradled on his lap, high on serotonin, endorphins, and fucking, I wrap my arms around his neck and sigh.

  ‘That was . . .’ What was it? Too much and yet not enough. But as I tip my head, looking up into the heart of him, I know it was, ‘The end.’

  Chapter Thirty

  WILL

  ‘I see you’ve got your funeral face on.’

  ‘What?’ I look up from watching the three children playing outside on the terrace, all dressed in dark colours, they’re the only happy faces in this house. Who brings children to a funeral? I shake my head, rousing myself.

  ‘Your face,’ Keir prompts. ‘You look suitably sombre.’

  ‘Do I?’ I turn from the French doors, throwing back the rest of the whisky in my glass. Andrews, my father’s aged and trusted valet, immediately appears with a bottle of Talisker in his hand.

  ‘My lord.’ He proffers the bottle and I hold out my glass, watching as he pours exactly one fingers width in.

  ‘Let’s not be stingy.’ I smile, still holding the glass in the air

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ Andrews replies, tilting the bottle again as he bows his head. It’s not an obsequious pose but rather one that allows him to conceal a his smile. The man has been part of my familial furniture for as long as I can remember, and over the course of my childhood he’d delivered many a cuff to my ear for my light-fingered and greedy ways. The last time he’d caught me stealing I was sixteen years old. I’d pilfered a bottle of whiskey from the drawing room. That time he’d turned a blind eye, probably on account of my mother’s death the month before.

  ‘Sir?’ Andrews offers the whisky to Keir, who politely shakes his head. Then, with another brief bow, he moves away to keep an eye on the caterers and other staff hired for the day.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to expect me to call you my lordship now.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I’ve always preferred my lord as a form of address.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ he coughs into his hand, causing me to smile for probably the third time this week. And it has been a long week. After Andrews call to inform me of my father’s untimely demise—while he was watching porn—my life has been a whirl of activity. And none of it fun.

  ‘That’s a terrible cough. I’d get that seen to if I were you.’

  I want to tell Keir I’m thankful for his friendship. I want to say I really and sincerely appreciate his, Mac, and Ella’s support. Instead, I point at his morning suit and say, ‘Where on earth did you get that awful get up from?’

  ‘I was told,’ he begins, dragging in a deep breath, ‘that morning dress was a requirement.’ I look down at my own dark suit; grey striped pants, black waistcoat, and the black morning jacket that makes me look like a penguin. ‘And before you ask, no I didn’t hire it,’ he says. ‘There was a time I used to get invited to weddings, you know.’

  The implication hangs silently in the air; when Keir got divorced, his wife may have given him custody of their daughter, but not their friends.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you dusted it off for this shindig,’ I reply sincerely. ‘But honestly? You could’ve turned up in a pair of speedos and a sombrero for all I care.’ The important thing is that he’s here. And for that I can’t say thanks enough.

  ‘She might care,’ Keir says, tipping his head in the direction of my father’s Aunt Prudence, an austere woman, but for her choice in hats. This one’s a corker; black velvet with a jet veil that was probably part of her mother’s wardrobe. Circa turn of the century.

  ‘Maybe only for the scandalous aspect. My father often said she was only interested in pussy.’ And by that I mean her numerous felines.

  ‘Y ’can’nae say pussy at a funeral,’ he hisses.

  ‘I can say what I want. It’s my house now,’ I reply with a sigh.

  ‘Well, he might’ve been an auld bastard, but you’ve done him proud.’ His gaze falls on the room full of mourners. But the truth is, other people have had a hand in this. The vicar took over the service side, Andrews dealt with the announcement in The Times, the caterers, and a million other details. I’ve had very little to do with the planning. I will, of course, have to pay the bills following. And pay. And pay.

  ‘I’d have chucked him in the ground without any service, if it were up to me.’

  ‘That’s not very seemly.’

  ‘Well, you know me.’ I take another sip from my drink, relishing the slide of it over my tongue.

  ‘But I sense the suitably sombre face has nothing to do with your loss.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Other than I’m now responsible for this place for the rest of my life.’ I raise my glass, but not my voice, and indicate the faded grandeur we’re in.

  ‘Aye, but it’s no’ that is it. That’s not why you were staring out of the window just now.’

  ‘I was just looking at the kids playing.’

  ‘I know. I saw.’

  ‘And from that you divined what, exactly.’

  ‘I was just thinking.’

  ‘A novel experience?’

  ‘Well, I don’t oft
en think about you.’ His presence here proves that patently untrue. But this is how we are, Keir, Mac, and me. We show we care by taking the piss.

  ‘I was just thinking how you’ve never been interested in what happened to the women you’ve slept with before.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I say, standing straighter. ‘Maybe I don’t care enough about them to settle down. But I’m conscious of their feelings.’

  ‘Nah, that doesn’t ring true. If you cared about them—any of them—you’d have settled down. Even if for only a few weeks.’

  ‘We’ve been over this. I can’t.’ I can’t saddle anyone with my lot in life. ‘You know the old bastard was trying to set me up with some oligarch’s youngest daughter?’ I say, changing the thread. And yet not.

  ‘That shouldn’t have come as a surprise,’ Keir says, chuckling quietly. He was a twisty bastard, God rest his soul.’

  ‘God had nothing to do with him. He’s probably dining with the devil as we speak.’

  ‘Don’t let any of this lot hear you say that,’ Keir replies, gesturing to the members of distant family, my father’s friends, and hangers on. They mill around the better of the poorly heated rooms, drinking whisky and copious cups of tea while eating finger sandwiches. ‘Anyway, he was just trying to set his house in order before he popped off this mortal coil.’

  ‘Not a moment too soon.’

  ‘But here’s the thing; in a lot of ways, you’re right; you’re in for a shit time. But it’s all yours now. To do with what you want. To live how you want.’

  ‘That’s the thing, though. This place will eat away at my bank balance and at my soul. I can’t expect anyone to chain themselves to me for this.’ I stare into my glass rather than look at him.

  ‘If you grew up in a council flat wi’ a drunk for a dad you’d have something to complain about. As it is, all I’ve got for you is this.’ He brings his thumb and forefinger together, beginning to rub.

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘The world’s tiniest violin, my lord. But what I was trying to say is, if you need any advice or just a sounding board, I’m here.’