Page 17 of The Player

Basil chuckled, clearly pleased with the response. “That’s exactly the attitude we like to see here. In fact, I was hoping you might indulge us with a demonstration tonight. A small scene, nothing too intense, just a little… entertainment for our guests.”

Seth felt Hope stiffen beside him, her hand twitching slightly in her lap. He knew what she was thinking, the uncertainty and fear that lay beneath her composed exterior. But they couldn’t afford to refuse—this was their chance to solidify their place in this world, to get closer to the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“We’d be honored,” Seth said smoothly, his hand slipping to the nape of Hope’s neck, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that was both possessive and reassuring. “Wouldn’t we, darling?”

Hope looked at him, her eyes searching his, and he could see the flicker of uncertainty there. But then she nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, and turned back to Basil with a smile.

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady but with an edge of determination. “We’d love to.”

Basil’s smile broadened, and he raised his glass in a toast. “Excellent. I’ll have Gwendolyn prepare a space for you. Anything special you require?”

“I didn’t bring my own kit, but if you have a violet wand and a St. Andrew’s Cross, I believe we can do something interesting.”

“There shouldn’t be any problem in finding that for you. In the meantime, feel free to explore the club, get a feel for the atmosphere.”

Seth nodded, his hand still on Hope’s neck as he rose from the couch, pulling her gently to her feet. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. But she was strong, stronger than she gave herself credit for, and he knew she would do whatever was necessary to see this through.

Being bound to the St. Andrew’s Cross and using a violet wand on her should help. He should be able to send her to subspace or have her orgasm. Being bound would help hold her in place, and he knew from Royce that she had a love/hate relationship with the wand.

They moved through the club; the soft glow of candlelight and electric sconces cast flickering shadows on the walls. Seth kept Hope close, his hand never leaving her as they navigated the crowd. They passed various pieces of equipment—crosses, padded benches, and intricate suspension rigs, all designed for the more daring and adventurous participants. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of leather, perfume, and desire.

Seth guided Hope toward the bar, where they could take a moment to gather their thoughts before the scene.

“Anything I can get you?” the bartender asked, his voice low, his demeanor professional.

“Whiskey for me,” Seth replied, glancing at Hope.

“Just water, please,” she said, her voice steady, though Seth could sense the underlying tension.

The bartender poured their drinks with practiced ease, sliding them across the polished surface of the bar. Seth took his whiskey and sipped it slowly, the burn of the alcohol grounding him, helping him focus on the task ahead.

He turned to Hope, his hand brushing against her lower back. “We’ll keep it simple,” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for her. “Just follow my lead.”

Hope nodded, her gaze meeting his, the flicker of uncertainty replaced by resolve. “I trust you,” she said softly, her words carrying a weight that went beyond the scene they were about to perform.

Seth felt a surge of something warm and powerful in his chest at her words, a connection between them that went deeper than the roles they were playing. He knew she was putting her trust in him, and he was determined not to let her down.

Gwendolyn appeared beside them; her expression composed as always. “The stage with a cross and a violet wand is ready.”

“I’ll need a bottle of room temperature water, as well as a warmed blanket and somewhere I can take Hope for aftercare.

“If you’ll follow me,” Gwendolyn said in her smooth, dulcet tone.

Seth nodded, taking Hope’s hand and leading her after Gwendolyn. The hostess led them down a long hallway, the air growing heavier with each step they took. Finally, they reached a door at the end of the hall, and Gwendolyn pushed it open, revealing a large, dimly lit room.

The space was dominated by a raised platform in the center with a St. Andrew’s Cross mounted in the middle. It was surrounded by low couches and chairs, all positioned to give the audience a clear view of the scene that would take place.

A few male guests were already seated, some with submissives kneeling at their feet. Their eyes gleamed with anticipation as they watched Seth and Hope enter the room. Basil was among them, his gaze focused intently on Hope, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“This will be your stage,” Gwendolyn said, gesturing to the platform. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

Seth thanked her, his hand tightening around Hope’s as they approached the platform. He could feel her tension, the way her pulse quickened under his touch, but she kept her expression calm and controlled.

They stepped onto the platform, the polished surface smooth under their feet, the audience watching their every move. Seth turned to Hope, his eyes locking onto hers, his hand moving to the back of her neck, drawing her closer.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for her.

She nodded, her breath hitching slightly as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a brief, gentle kiss. Then he stepped back, his hands moving to the ties of her corset, unfastening them with practiced ease.

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