Beside me, Ethan leaned in, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Is that good or bad?”
I didn’t answer.
I wasn’t sure… yet.
Moments later, Kitty appeared on stage and whispered into Jason’s ear.
“Sorry about the confusion,” he rumbled, “Jamie is unfortunately not here tonight to help us, but we’ll pick one more time to get someone who is.” He shook the bowl and dipped his hand back inside. He hesitated for a split second before announcing the new volunteer, “Satara Holloway.”
My heart hit my spine, and I dreamt of fading into the background. I lied to myself, said I wouldn’t be chosen, and still, there I was, having a heart attack. The crowd clapped around me as they motioned me toward the looming toy.
In a flash, the sheet was pulled off, and I stared at my undoing.
Listen, I generally considered myself to be a good person; I ate vegetables, gave the extra dollar to children’s cancer research, and I didn’t disown my parents on my eighteenth birthday. So why, I asked myself, did he have to choose me?
The next few minutes flew by in a blur as Jason explained the functions of his masterpiece. He made a pun about being wet that earned several snickers from the crowd.
Ethan gave me a reassuring smile as I approached the massage table lookalike.
I cast a questioning glance to Jason, but his expression remained carefully blank. The men in the crowd whistled at my ass as I began to climb on top of the table.
Jason finally spoke up, “Strip.” I nearly cringed.
One word made the crowd cheer for his royal douchiness.
I shot Jason a look of pure venom, mouthing a silent, “Go fuck yourself,” before reaching behind my neck. My fingers found the thin strings of my top, and I pulled them loose, feeling the fabric slacken against my skin.
Jason’s face didn’t change, but something in his expression darkened when I let the garment slip down my arms, baring my chest to the room.
I inhaled sharply, keeping my chin high as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my hips in one slow, fluid motion. When the thin scrap of fabric hit the floor, my pulse roared in my ears.
I laid back, every nerve on fire, every cell in my body painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes drinking me in. Jason moved then, his hands finding my wrists with surprising care. The gentleness unsettled me more than anything else.
“Seem familiar yet?” he whispered after my wrists were secured, then addressed the room full of high-power men. “Satara is going to help me demonstrate how this toy will leave any woman screaming in pleasure.”
The announcement earned another fit of dirty chants from the crowd.
Another round of cheers. Filthy, hungry.
My skin burned, but I clenched my jaw and braced myself.
“Eyes open,” Jason said low enough for me to hear. “I want to see your eyes roll back when the first orgasm hits you.”
The sheer arrogance of his words should have fueled my hatred, but instead, something low in my stomach clenched, a warmth pooling between my legs that I hadn’t expected.
A soft hum started below the table, and my exposed body faced the crowd. I reminded myself to breathe.
“This table comes with multiple attachments that vary in size, texture, and shape.” Jason continued with his sales pitch as I waited for him to get on with it. “But tonight, I say we go big.” A devious smirk replaced his neutral expression.
Placed in a position where I couldn’t see his hands, I waited in anticipation. I swallowed down a whimper when Jason ran his fingers over my clit.
“Beg,” Jason said under his breath.
“What?” I gasped.
“Do it.” He motioned to the audience. My stomach dropped. He wanted me to play along, to helpsellthis.
Shame and arousal warred inside me, but Jason’s fingers didn’t stop their torturous strokes. My body was already pliant, already trembling, and I hated him for it.
