Page 13 of Art of Sin

6deviancy

There’s a live performance underway.The club’s lighting is dimmed, a mellow spotlight shining over the central stage, nicknamed the Epicenter of Sin. Circular in shape, the sunken area has a retractable metal lattice overhead that I’ve seen used for all sorts of fun and freaky things. Though it’s up tonight, high in the shadows, the crowd’s humming interest tells me whatever’s going on doesn’t require suspension.

I check the crowded bar first, then meander around the assorted seating areas, but don’t spot Gideon. No one speaks to me and very few make eye contact, likely because of the pissed-the-fuck-off look on my face.

Three fruitless circuits through the crowd surrounding the live show and I’m forced to consider that Gideon is exactly where Nate doesn’t want me to go. Where I don’t want to go.

I allow myself a few seconds to wallow before straightening my shoulders and heading toward a nearby, arched entrance. The wide hallway is lit by industrial sconces, each of them hung between long viewing windows—four on each side of the hallway. Twenty or so people cluster in groups before various windows. Two are dark, either because they’re unoccupied or the occupants pulled the curtains.

I walk to the end of the hallway and back, studying both the spectators and the rooms’ participants.

No Gideon.

Sighing, I pause before an open viewing window, the only one that caught my attention on my first pass. Inside are two men and a woman. What intrigues me isn’t that the woman is blindfolded and bound spread-eagle to a table, but that both men are focused on her pleasure. One lavishes attention on her upper body, kissing, sucking, and licking, while the other kneels between her legs. His head moves sinuously, ravenously, as he eats her out.

The sight is undeniably erotic; I’m not immune, warmth pooling between my legs.

Warm breath teases the shell of my ear.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” murmurs Gideon. “Thoreau said, ‘We cannot well do without our sins; they are the highway of our virtue.’ But who’s to say what highway one must take, what sins it should be paved with? Is pleasure truly a sin when it’s given freely, without manipulation or motive?”

I want to turn and laugh in his face, to dismiss the words as trite, but I can’t. Because I believe they’re true. I can’t even summon anger at his proximity. He’s not touching me. I don’t feel threatened—at least not physically.

Shifting a little, I glance up at him. He’s watching the spectacle in the room, no discernible expression on his face. Like he’s here and not, his mind far away.

“Why are you here?” I ask, more curious than I want to be.

His gaze stays on the room. “What if the pursuit of happiness and pleasure is, in fact, a pursuit of sin?”

I frown. “I’m surprised you believe in it.”

His eyelashes flutter, gaze veering to my face. “Believe in what?”

“Sin.”

“I didn’t say I did.” He nods toward the glass. “But don’t you wonder if their pleasure isn’t enhanced by the idea of sinning?”

I study his face for signs of inebriation but don’t find any. He might be on drugs, but it’s too dark to discern whether his pupils are artificially dilated.

I step away from the glass, obeying a primary need for distance. Distance from the scene, but even more so from Gideon. His voice, breath, scent… his everything.

He watches me retreat with a mirthless smile on his lips, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Why?” I demand in a low voice. “Did you come here just to test me? To see if I had you under surveillance? If your goal was to force me outside my comfort zone, you’ve failed. I don’t have one.”

“That’s interesting, because from where I’m standing, you look extremely uncomfortable.”

My lips curl back from my teeth. “I’m not playing whatever twisted game you’ve devised. You signed a contract, and I expect you to adhere to the rules of that contract. If you can’t, I’ll tear it up right now.”

Shocking me, he merely nods. “Okay. I’m not participating tonight, Deirdre. And Crossroads is very discreet. I’ll leave the back way.”

Hesitating, I search for signs he’s lying. Then something occurs to me. “You’re admitting you came in from the street because you knew I’d get an alert?”

Gideon’s head tilts. “What would you think if I said yes?”

“It would merely confirm what I already think—that you’re a petulant man-child.”

He chuckles. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.” Taking two steps toward me, close enough that the heat from his body radiates onto mine, he stares down at me with a smile that can only be classified as sinister. “I want you at my house Sunday morning. Nine o’clock. Wear loose clothing and expect to stay for the full three hours.”

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