“Thank you, Titan.” I hear a woman’s voice. My body instantly stiffens.
“You’re welcome,” he says. “Everything went okay?”
“Yep.”
A woman comes into view at the end of the entrance. She wears a black dress that has a deep V in the front and high up on her thighs. It looks see-through. “Hello.” She gives me a warm smile, catching me before I can make up my mind whether to run away or barge in.
I blink and lick my dry lips. “I’m, uh, looking for …”
“Em?” Titan asks as he comes to stand next to her. He looks down at the blonde, and says, “You may go, Sandy.”
She nods, and as she walks past me, she whispers, “Enjoy.”
I watch her leave and then turn to him. We stand silently just staring at one another. I want to ask him what in the fuck he’s doing in a hotel room that I didn’t know existed with a woman. But I don’t have that right. Do I? I mean, I literally let him and his best friend fuck me the other day. I can’t tell him he can’t do the same.
“Stop,” he orders.
“What?” I blink.
“I can see what you’re thinking. It’s written all over your face, and you couldn’t be more wrong.”
My shoulders sag. I don’t get jealous. I don’t get feelings for men. It’s just sex. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupts me.
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. “Then what were you doing in here with her?” I’m not going to play this game. I never used to get jealous, but I’m also not one of those girls who beats around the bush. If I have a question, I’m going to ask it.
“She’s a Queen and just finished a job.”
I frown. A job? In here? I open my mouth to ask him just that when he speaks.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been calling you. Grave said you were up here.”
He says nothing. Just stands there at the end of the entrance. I think he’s mad at me. I cross my arms over my chest and give him my back.
“Where are you going?” he asks. I stop and slowly turn to face him once again. He holds his arms out wide. “You were looking for me. Here I am.”
My eyes narrow on him. Even though my knees shake, I’m so confused on what I saw and what I can and can’t say to him. He doesn’t love me. And she’s a Queen. Maybe he was her job? I mean, he fucks me, and I’m a queen. He doesn’t pay me for sex, though. I’m sure he has them lined up to give it for free.
“I was,” I say, taking the five steps to close the distance between us. He reaches out, pulling me into him, and I gasp. “What …? What is this place?” I ask, stepping farther into the largely open room, looking at all the foreign devices.
“This is The Palace.”
I catch myself in a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. “I don’t understand …” I trail off, my eyes shooting over to look at an old looking wooden bench that has a black leather seat on it
“It is reserved exclusively for our clients,” he adds.
“Clients?” I ask.
“The Queens.”
That’s where I heard that name. It was at the warehouse when Jasmine questioned the two girls we met about The Palace. They said it didn’t exist. An urban legend.
They were wrong!
I turn away from the mirror and walk over to the far wall. A tall chest that stands every bit of six feet tall. Both French doors are wide open. Chains, whips, belts and rope of various lengths and widths hang on metal hooks. I reach up and run my hands over the thick material. “What do they do?” I ask.
“Act out scenes.”
“What kind of scenes?”
“Whatever they want.”
I turn and look at the Alaskan king-size bed that sits in the middle of the large room. It’s got black silk sheets and two pillows that match. The headboard consists of vertical bars. The footboard looks like a stockade from back in the day when people were publicly beaten for their crimes. It’s raised high off the floor. I look underneath it. “Is that …?”
“A cage,” he answers.
“For what?” I ask wide-eyed. It reminds me of an overly large dog cage with its iron bars. They start at the floor and stop at my knees, where the bed begins.
“For the submissive.”
I take a step back and bump into him. I jump, and he chuckles.
I turn, cheeks red with embarrassment, and see a table. Walking over to it, I reach out and run my fingertips along the black leather. It has white leather straps connected to it in various places. They remind me of the type you see used in hospitals for patients to prevent them from harming themselves or others. The table is completely flat and has to be longer than seven feet. But maybe only three feet wide. “What is this used for?” I ask curious.