Chapter 1: Sizing Up the Talent
The air in the Crimson Garter tasted of sandalwood and stolen glances. Diana leaned against the cool iron railing of the balcony, her fingers tracing the intricate scrollwork as she looked down at the shifting tableau of skin and shadow below. The low hum of conversation and the sporadic, breathy sigh that cut through the bassline of the music painted a portrait of a world she’d only read about.
“See anyone who catches your eye?” Marcus’s voice was a warm murmur against her ear, his hand a familiar weight on the small of her back. His touch was possessive, reassuring. This had been his idea, after all. A fantasy. Something to spice things up. A woman, he’d said, his eyes bright with an excitement she found endearing. Just to watch, to share. For you.
She’d agreed, a thrilling tremor in her stomach. Now, she scanned the women mingling on the plush loungers and dance floor. A blonde in a glossy latex dress kissed another woman’s neck. A brunette swayed, absently tapping a leather crop against her thigh. A redhead knelt by a chaise, a delicate silver leash connecting her collar to a seated man’s hand.
“Maybe her,” Diana said, nodding toward the blonde, forcing a smile. Her voice sounded thin in her own ears.
Marcus’s hand slid down, giving her ass an appreciative squeeze through the thin, black silk of her dress. “Gorgeous. But you’re the most gorgeous thing in this room.” He meant it. She felt his love, solid and steady as a stone wall. It was why she’d said yes. Safety.
But her gaze kept slipping, drifting past the women, past the curious couples, to a dark pillar near the back wall.
A man stood there, apart. He was taller than anyone else, well over six and a half feet, his frame a broad silhouette against the crimson velvet drape. His hair was dark, shot through with silver at the temples, and his face was all stark planes and angles, unsoftened by the flickering light of the low-hanging chandeliers. He wasn’t looking at the spectacle. He was looking at her.
Their eyes met.
A jolt, pure and electric, went straight down her spine to settle, hot and pooling, low in her belly. It wasn’t like Marcus’s warm admiration. This was a shock of recognition, an appraisal that stripped the silk from her skin. He didn’t smile. He simply observed, his silver-flecked eyes knowing, as if he could see the secret rhythm of her pulse.
She quickly looked back at the blonde, her heart hammering against her ribs. Focus.
“Or her, maybe,” she mumbled to Marcus.
“Who, honey?”
“The blonde in the latex.”
But when she dared another glance, the tall man was gone from the pillar. A trick of the light, she thought, a strange relief mingling with a sharp, unexpected disappointment.
Then the air changed beside her. A new presence, large and calm, like a deep, still lake appearing in the middle of a forest.
“She doesn’t want the blonde.”
The voice was a low rumble, effortless, cutting through the club’s murmur. Diana turned, and there he was, having crossed the space silently. Up close, he was monumental. Viktor, she read on the simple black tag on his wrist. He smelled of clean, cold air and expensive whiskey.
Marcus shifted, his arm tightening around Diana. “Excuse me?”
Viktor’s eyes never left Diana’s. They trailed over her auburn hair, piled loosely atop her head, down the column of her throat, over the swell of her breasts barely contained by her dress. His gaze was a physical touch. “Your wife. She’s looking for something, but it isn’t a woman. Not tonight.”
“And you know what my wife wants?” Marcus’s tone was a blend of defense and curiosity.
“I know what the body wants when the mind is too polite to ask.” Finally, Viktor looked at Marcus. His demeanor wasn’t challenging; it was impossibly assured. “You brought her here to watch her with a woman. To give her a gift. A safe adventure.” He stated it as fact. “But her pupils are dilated. Her breath hitched when she saw me. Not with fear. With hunger. She keeps shifting her weight, pressing her thighs together. She’s wet, right now, just from this conversation. Aren’t you, Diana?”
Her name in his mouth was a violation and a caress. She gasped, her face flushing hot. She was. God, she was soaking. How did he know?
“That’s enough,” Marcus said, but his voice lacked conviction. He was staring at Diana, seeing the truth on her flushed skin.
“Is it?” Viktor asked mildly. “Or is it the real gift? To let her have what she truly craves. To let go.” He leaned in, just slightly, his words for both of them now. “You can watch. You can see every second of it. See what she looks like when she comes completely undone. Not in your bed. Not in your familiar way. But taken. Fully.”
The words were obscene. They should have made her angry. They made her drip.
Marcus was silent, his jaw tight. Diana saw the conflict in his eyes—protectiveness, shock, and a dark, dawning intrigue. He looked from Viktor’s confident, dominant presence to his wife’s trembling, aroused form. The fantasy was reshaping itself in real time, and he was powerless to stop it. More than that, he was getting hard.
“Diana?” Marcus’s voice was rough. “Is this… do you want this?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only look at Viktor, at the promise of utter abandonment in his cool eyes, and give a small, desperate nod.
Viktor extended a hand. Not to Marcus. To her. “Come.”
It wasn’t a request. A tremor wracked her body. She looked at Marcus, one last silent plea for permission, for him to save her from this. He just stared, transfixed, and gave a slow, stunned nod.
She placed her hand in Viktor’s. His fingers closed around hers, engulfing them, and he led her away from the balcony, from the safety of her marriage, into the deeper shadows of the club. Marcus followed, a ghost in their wake.
They moved through a curtain of heavy beads into a more secluded area, a niche with a single, wide leather bench and walls lined with dark velvet. It was quieter, the music a dull throb. A single spotlight cast a pool of light onto the bench.
Viktor stopped and turned to her. He framed her face with his huge hands, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “You are beautiful. And you are starving.” He kissed her then, and it was nothing like Marcus’s kisses. It was deep, claiming, his tongue spearing into her mouth with a possessiveness that made her knees buckle. She moaned into him, her hands clutching at his shirt. He tasted of dominion.
He broke the kiss, his breathing steady while hers was ragged. He turned her to face the bench. “Bend over. Hold the edges.”
She obeyed, the soft leather cool under her palms. She heard Marcus’s sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the shadows behind her. She was exposed, presented. Viktor’s hands smoothed over her hips, gathering the black silk of her dress. He pushed it up, over her ass, baring her. The cool air hit her skin, followed by the heat of his gaze.
“Look at that,” Viktor muttered, more to Marcus than to her. “Look how ready she is.”
A finger, thick and blunt, slid through her folds, gathering her wetness. She cried out, pushing back against his hand.
“Eager.” He parted her, examining her. Then he spanked her, once, sharp and stinging on the tender flesh of her ass. The sound cracked through the room. Diana yelped, a bolt of pure, sharp pleasure-pain radiating through her core. “Stay still.”
She heard the rustle of clothing, the clink of a belt. Then the broad, hot head of his cock was pressing against her, not entering, just nudging, teasing her slick opening. He was huge. The realization was terrifying and thrilling.
“Watch, husband,” Viktor growled. “Watch how she takes a real cock.”
And he drove into her. One deep, ruthless stroke that buried him to the hilt. Diana screamed, a raw, guttural sound torn from her throat. She was impossibly full, stretched, split open. It burned for a second before dissolving into a blinding, devastating pleasure. He didn’t wait for her to adjust. He withdrew and slammed back in, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm.
“Oh, fuck,” Marcus breathed from the darkness, a sound of awe and horror.
Viktor fucked her with a powerful, animalistic grace. One hand fisted in her auburn hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine. The other hand dug into the flesh of her hip, holding her in place for his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of her own choked sobs and moans, of Viktor’s low grunts, filled the tiny room.
“You love this, don’t you?” Viktor snarled, pounding into her. “You love your husband seeing you get used like a whore. Being my fucktoy. Tell him.”
“I love it!” she sobbed, the words ripped from her, true and shameful. “Oh, God, I love it!”
“Come for me. Now.”
His command was the final key. The coil inside her, wound so tight from the moment she’d seen him, shattered. An orgasm detonated through her, violent and convulsing, her inner muscles clamping down around his driving cock. She screamed again, the world dissolving into white light and pulsating sensation.
He fucked her through it, relentless, until with a final, deep grunt, he emptied himself inside her, his hips jerking against her ass, hot pulses filling her. He held there, buried deep, for a long moment, his weight heavy on her back.
Slowly, he pulled out. The aftermath was a raw, dripping ache. She collapsed forward onto the bench, trembling, spent.
Viktor straightened his clothes with an infuriating calm. He walked over to Marcus, who stood frozen in the shadows, his face a mask of stunned arousal. Viktor clapped a hand on Marcus’s shoulder.
“You have a remarkable wife,” he said, his voice once again that calm, low rumble. Then he was gone, disappearing through the bead curtain as silently as he’d arrived.
Silence descended, broken only by Diana’s ragged breaths and the distant throb of music. She couldn’t move. She felt Marcus’s eyes on her, on the mess between her thighs, on the red imprint of Viktor’s hand on her ass.
He finally moved, stepping into the light. He knelt beside the bench, his eyes wide. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her, and in his gaze, she saw the familiar love, but it was now fractured, changed forever. And beneath the shock, a new, dark fire was burning. He reached out a trembling hand, not to help her up, but to touch the damp, tender flesh Viktor had just vacated.
His fingers came away glistening.