Page 82 of His to Possess
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop right now,” Philip growls in my ear. “I mean it, Lilah. I won’t allow you to let that bastard make you feel badly about yourself.”
I nod, trying to focus only on the command in Philip’s voice. On his certainty and strength. “Tell me what to do,” I blurt out, hardly knowing where the words come from. “Give me an instruction.”
He studies my face for a long moment, searching for something. Eventually he nods slowly, his expression hardening into one I’ve only seen him wear once—in the blue room at the club in New York.
“I want you to look around the room and tell me what you see.”
A rush of relief goes through me. Philip understands what I need, understands why I asked him for instructions. Letting him step into this role, letting him take control, brings me a sense of calm, just like it did when he dominated me in New York. I remember the blissful peace I felt when he controlled that blowjob, when I didn’t have to think or plan or try. When I could just be, and let someone else make the decisions.
Is this why woman get into submission? Maybe it’s about more than liking kinky sex or getting off on pain. Maybe it’s something deeper, something harder to explain.
All I know is that ceding control to Philip like this makes me feel better than I have in ages. And I have no desire to question that anymore.
So I do what he says. “There’s a stage,” I whisper, my eyes scanning the dark room. “It’s hidden by red velvet curtains.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “What else?”
“The room isn’t very big. It’s filled with arm chairs and sofas.”
“How many people?”
“Twenty,” I say, taking it in. “Maybe a few more.”
My breathing has evened out, the panic and shame of a few minutes ago a distant memory as Philip orders me to focus on the here and now. I’m so grateful to him that I could cry.
The lights dim further and suddenly the curtain swings open. I suck in a breath. Rebecca is already on the stage, fully dressed, with her hands bound to a rope over her head, only her tiptoes touching the ground. Luke is nowhere to be seen.
“Come here,” Philip murmurs, pulling me into his lap. I snuggle back against his chest, relishing in the feel of his warmth, his strength. I think maybe everything would be okay, if I could just stay here in his arms like this forever.
“When Rebecca started coming to this club, suspension was a hard limit for her,” he whispers in my ear. Up on stage, the girl I met for lunch just a few hours ago has her head tilted down, her long auburn hair curtaining her face. She’s wearing a simple white sheath dress, the silky material clinging to her ample curves.
“A hard limit is something a sub has no interest in trying,” he explains. “It’s very important in our relationships for the sub to clearly communicate these things with her Dominant. In that way, she’s the one who truly has control. A good Dominant might push his sub’s limits, but nothing can ever happen that she doesn’t consent to.”
“If suspension is her hard limit, why is she tied up like that?” I ask.
“Because she met Luke,” he says, and I think I might hear a note of confusion in his voice. Or maybe it’s envy. “Luke, a man who would step in front of traffic for her. A man who would offer five thousand dollars just for the opportunity to spend time with her.”
I turned to face him, surprised. “She was auctioned?”
He shakes his head quickly. “It’s not the same. Her former Dom put her into a lottery, here at Club Wyld.”
“How is that different?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed.
His jaw hardens, and I get the impression he doesn’t like the implication that Wyld might do something as seedy as what happened to me at Rendezvous. “It had nothing to do with virginity, for starters. All of the subs involved had experience in the lifestyle. They were making an informed, consensual choice to be won. The money went to the club, not the woman, so there wasn’t a chance any exploitation was happening. And there was no bidding. You bought a ticket, you had a chance to win.”
“And Luke won Rebecca.”
He shakes his head. “I won Rebecca.”
A stab of jealousy rushes through me, red hot and choking. He smiles at my expression, his fingertips brushing over my outraged, open mouth. “Luke offered me five grand for my winning ticket. He knew, the second he saw her, that he needed more.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead, the touch gentle, the complete opposite of the depravity of the conversation we’re having—about auctions and lotteries, women offered up as mere objects for powerful men. “I think I felt the same way,” he murmurs against my skin. “When I saw you up there. I had to have you, Lilah.”
My stomach goes into free fall. That confused tone is back in his voice, like he can’t quite understand what happened or how we got here. I feel the same way. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I might one day be sitting on Philip Matthew’s lap, in a sex club, listening to him tell me how much he needs me.
Movement on the stage catches my attention, and I turn to see a man—Luke, I’m assuming—step into the spotlight next to Rebecca. He runs his hands over the silky fabric of her dress and even from here I can see her tremble. Eventually he steps away, touching objects on a small table to the side. He returns with another long length of rope, and goes to work wrapping it around her arms and shoulders. When that’s finished, he grabs the fabric of her dress in two hands and pulls, a tearing sound filling the room. He tosses the ripped fabric to the floor, leaving her naked and bound under the light.
It should probably be awkward, I think vaguely, as he continues wrapping the rope along her torso now and down to her legs. I had lunch with this woman, in a fancy, respectable restaurant, not twelve hours ago, and now she’s completely naked and bound on stage.
But awkward is the last thing I feel. I’m interested, excited, maybe a little scared about what might happen next. But with the feeling of Philip’s strong, broad chest behind me, I know everything is going to be okay.
