“Stefan.” I look up to see a tall, bearded man with his arm around a woman with vibrant violet hair. Her skin is black as night, her eyes exotic and beautiful.
I nod. “Mikahl.” I know him to be a former brother in San Diego, and further know that Tomas’ dealings with the San Diego contingents eradicated corrupt leadership there. I’ve kept Atlanta neutral, loyal to neither San Diego nor Boston, and in the past year that decision has paid off.
His eyes go to Taara before traveling back to me. He looks at me questioningly, but I don’t answer the implied question. Have I bought her at auction? The less I say, the easier it is to stay consistent with my story.
“What brings you here?”
I shrug. “Same reasons as anyone else. You?”
“Same.”
Taara grips my arm tighter when a couple engages in a scene to our right. I hold her close to me, watching myself, as the man ties the woman to a bench and lifts a stout leather strap from a peg on the wall. She flinches when the leather makes contact with the woman, then turns back to me. Her eyes look questioningly into mine.
Would you?
I nod. Yes. I have no qualms about such a scene if she gave me reason. Or hell, even if I just felt like I wanted to or needed to. Did she forget her caning?
“Good to see you, brother,” Mikahl says, shaking my hand, before turning away and taking his woman further into the crowd. I’m not sure if I like that I know people here. I’d prefer anonymity. But Mikahl has already moved on, and I hope he forgets me. Though I’m not hiding the fact that I’m here, it’s best if I keep my own counsel. For now.
“Oh, God.” Taara mutters beside me. I look to where she does, and see a woman tied to an exam table, spread-eagled and stark naked. Her eyes are wide, her mouth parted, and she makes a little squeaking noise.
“Not your kink?” I ask her, my lips twitching. I can’t keep the humor out of my tone, because her reaction amuses me. She’s either horrified or turned on, and I can’t tell which until her nose crinkles in disgust. The brothers I know revel in the power exchange. Men like us enjoy the release it gives us to have a strong woman under our control. I like to dominate and master.
“Um, no,” she says. “I honestly didn’t know that was anyone’s kink.”
“Taara, this ship is a sex club on water. You know that, don’t you?”
“Well I… yes, but I… oh, God.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if she doesn’t know how to respond. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”
Oh, she has no fucking idea. We’ve only scratched the very surface of what this world we’ve delved into holds. Our purpose here isn’t play, though.
We watch couple after couple, electric play and impact play, chained slaves on hands and knees beside whip-wielding masters, a foursome bringing a woman to orgasm over and over again until her voice grows hoarse. Some is consensual and some clearly is not.
And I’m curious. Every time we witness a new scene, I whisper in Taara’s ear. “That?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted in astonishment.
Then a pretty blonde woman wearing a light pink dress walks in front of us. I know without asking them that this is not one purchased from the auction, but the partner of one of the members.
“Oooh,” the woman says, and they’re close enough we both watch as he takes her hand in his and leads her to a nearby bench. “Daddy, this is something I’ve always wanted to try. Will you, daddy?”
My chest tightens. How will Taara react?
Taara’s eyes widen, and she looks up at me curiously.
“Daddy?” she mouths. I give her a slight shake of my head with a finger to her lips to tell her to be quiet, when the man sits on the bench and draws his woman on his lap.
“If you’re a good little girl for daddy,” he says, tucking her up against his chest.
“That,” Taara whispers, but right after she does, she clamps her hand on her mouth as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
I look at her in surprise, not sure at first what she’s talking about.
“That what?”
She jerks her chin toward the daddy and girl and her cheeks flame, but she doesn’t lose her resolve. “That.”
And then it dawns on me.
I’m decades Taara’s senior, the oldest member of the Atlanta brotherhood. And she’s known me for years. I don’t think I imagined her feelings for me, however distant they may be right now.
“You like that,” I state, drawing her near to me. I finally understand why she’s so eager to please me, why her calling me sir sounds forced. Why she’s served me without question as my paid staff.