Page 33 of Delicious Surrender
“It got tense, but I calmed him down. At least he didn’t hitthe guy who overstepped, so it wasn’t too bad.”
Garrick’s eyes narrowed. “It’s our job to prevent things from escalating. If Gage thought there was the chance of an issue, I trust his instincts. They are never wrong.” His voice was low and harsh. “It was the right call to take you out of the room.”
She regretted making light of it. “Sorry, Garrick.” Jesus. Was the Russian that dangerous? “I appreciate it, I do. And I hope Bettie isn’t upset that I’m taking the private party.”
Garrick’s tone was short. “She’ll understand. Now, let me explain what you will and won’t do while in that room.”
Ten minutes later, Brynne’s stomach was doing flips. She didn’t want to ruin this opportunity by forgetting the rules. If she did well, there could be other chances to work up here and watch people doing scenes.
When she entered the room, she fought to keep her eyes on the floor and recited Garrick’s last instructions in her head. “Don’t stare at anyone; practice being invisible. Your job is to be demure, discreet, and don’t speak unless spoken to.”
She smiled at the security dude stationed inside. He gave her a curt nod and shut the door without making a sound. Brynne scanned the large dining table to check whose glasses needed refilling when her gaze landed on the centerpiece and froze.
Positioned in the middle of the table was a naked human sculpture. Brynne forgot everything as she drank in the sight of the naked woman secured to a raised leather platform. Her arms were fastened over her head with black leather wrist cuffs attached to rings embedded in the table.
Brynne’s palms dampened when she saw how they’d restrained her. Each leg was bent at the knee and held by a wide leather strap binding ankle to thigh. The woman’s skin glistened with oil. A black satin blindfold covered her eyes, and she held a small apple in her mouth, cradled by her ruby red lips.
Brynne realized she was being anything but invisible and tore her gaze away from the mesmerizing sight. She hurried to the portable bar cart in the corner. Bettie had stocked up the liquors and mixes and there was a long table against the back wall with a selection of red and white wines.
The man at the head of the table was obviously their host. All but two guests listened raptly as he told them a story about a stakeout. His mustache was neatly trimmed, and he kept his salt-and-pepper hair shaved close to his scalp. Brynne noticed the way he commanded the room. She took her time studying the guests and wondered how the eclectic group became friends.
They ranged in age from late thirties to late fifties. She recalled Gage mentioning Scotland Yard, but most of these guys did not look like they worked in law enforcement. One was clad in black leather and two others were dressed like models forGQ.
She kept stealing glances at the woman on the table. Guests nibbled from an array of fruit decorating her body. Someone had placed plump raspberries on each nipple and the juices from strawberries and watermelon left traces on her polished skin.
A tall, striking man came over to the bar. He wore his jet-black hair tied back, accentuating his high cheekbones and dark-brown eyes.
“What happened to Bettie?” His accent was distinctly Italian. He eyeballed her name tag and added, “Tinkerbell?”
Brynne smiled. “She was called away, and they asked me to cover.” It wasn’t a total lie; she just hoped the switch didn’t disappoint them.
His eyes probed, causing her pulse to flutter. “Are you a submissive, Bella?”
“No. I mean yes, but not the way you mean.” She lowered her voice. “I’m here to tend bar, not perform any other duties for the party.” She felt her face heating as he studied her.
“I see. That is a shame.” He chuckled and said, “Let’s see how well you make a Manhattan.”
“Certainly, sir. Straight up or on the rocks?”
“Rocks.”
She prepared the cocktail, having learned how to perfect it for her father, who preferred it with Canadian rye. After placing it on the bar, she grinned playfully. “Please tell me you are a purist and prefer cherries over a lemon peel?”
“Si, cherries. Grazie,” he said, his eyes glinting.
She added two sour marasca cherries on a stir stick and presented the drink. “I hope you like it.”
He took a sip and hummed in delight. “You’re an excellent mixologist, Tinker-bella.” He winked and returned to his seat near the end of the table.
It was then that she noticed the other submissive on display at the other end of the room. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. How had she missed seeing the man with a stunning body mounted on a St. Andrew’s Cross? His position meant the guest of honor could admire his beautiful form throughout dinner. Aleather hood hid most of his face but left his mouth visible. His body was perfection, well-muscled without an ounce of excess, made more tempting by his spread-eagled position. His skin was glistening with oil too, accentuating every curve of muscle. The cuffs held him taut, and his erection was bulging, trying to escape the leather pouch covering it.
Brynne’s mouth dried, and she felt suddenly warm. The guest of honor rose to speak to his guests and jolted her out of her trance. “Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate with me. Our first course will appear soon, but I want to play a little game before it arrives.”
Murmurs sounded around the room as they waited for him to continue. He pulled a purple velvet pouch off the table and passed it to the first person to his left. “Pull one card out and pass the bag along.”
Their excitement was palpable as each person took a playing card out of the bag.
“Each card represents either a punishment or a reward for our two slaves: Achilles and Helen of Troy. Depending on which card you draw, you get to mete out one or the other. If you have a spade, you’ll punish our handsome stallion on the wall. A diamond means he gets a reward. And if you draw a heart, you will give Helen pleasure, but a club means distress or teasingwithoutrelease.”