Page 106 of Chandelier Enthralled
But I couldn’t express how this experience was making me crazy, firing me up to do something obscene.
“Greyson,” I pleaded for relief.
“Touch yourself.”
It was an enticing order—one I couldn’t ignore.
Reaching low, my fingers found my wetness between my thighs, and I shuddered with relief.
“Good girl,” he cooed. “Play with yourself, nice and slow.”
I felt a surge of exhilaration at the way he spoke to me—like no one ever had before. Being a Cole carried privileges, a level of respect. He was talking to me as though I was his, and I liked it.
Inside the ballroom was a brilliant symphony, music so loud it drowned out the moans.
In here, the man behind me became a maestro himself, guiding me masterfully, showing me how to touch myself. Following his commands, my talented fingers strummed my clit with perfect rhythm. As the symphony unfolded, my fingers gracefully played along.
“Play your clit like a cello’s strings, Willa, each movement fluid and deliberate.”
“Oh, God.”
“That is correct,” he said. “I am your God. And you will obey.”
My fingers glided effortlessly, drawing rich, resonant tones of pleasure from me—because I was pretending it washishand.
I felt a heady mix of triumphant emotions as we shared this moment, as if I’d traversed an expansive sensual event, journeying from confusion to enlightenment, emerging with a clarity that ignited a deep passion for this lifestyle, this experience, creating a renewed sense of wonder in me and a profound appreciation for the boundless depths of sexual exploration.
I felt an addictive hunger to know more about this beautiful complex man.
With each stroke, my fingers were weaving blissful intricate melodies on that small nub.
“Willa, tweak your left nipple,” he said, as though it was profoundly important.
His order demanded serious consideration. It was an imperative impossible to ignore, leaving no room for refusal.
I obeyed, knowing there was no other choice.
“Flick,” he added.
It was as if it was his hand that left a fingerprint on me, and I had given him the right to touch me, creating a brilliant vibration, echoing the passion of a promised climax—even though there was distance between us.
“You don’t belong,” he whispered. “But this moment can still be yours.”
The music surrounded me, haunting and dissonant—seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
It weaved through the space, entwining itself with the incense, saturating the air with an unsettling mixture of beauty and menace. The figures fucking elegantly, swaying and controlling each other.
The sounds of my moaning, and others finding release, blended with the music as though this was choreographed and not a random event.
Their fucking wasn’t frenzied, nor was it slow. It was something that slipped between the lines of a quiet rhythm, like a perfect dance, each step, each spin, was deliberate, and yet it felt like they weren’t moving at all, just existing in a mirage where time didn’t work the same way.
My pleasure was theirs, even if they didn’t know about the girl concealed in the shadows, stealing her pleasure from them.
My double was being taken by several men—and I could tell she loved it, the way she hungered after them, gave herself over to them—as would have been expected of me.
I felt anticipation for the blinding pleasure to come, as I watched all those bodies melding into each other, demanding more, unsatisfied as they each chased after that which they clearly needed.
Greyson’s palm crashed over my mouth, timing it perfectly, catching my scream in his hand as I ground out my pleasure, my bliss, the orgasm snatching away my breath.
