Page 37 of Dirty Little Secrets
“DoctorQuinton Marquis, but please,” Quinton clicks his tongue, offering me his hand, “you can call me Quin.” I tentatively give him my hand, and he takes it, roughly bringing it to his lips as he places a lingering kiss on my skin. He grins, gaze flickering between me and Damon. “Emery—what a beautiful name.”
“You can let go of her hand now,” Damon states. Quin rolls his eyes, letting go of me. “Better.”
“Always so possessive of his toys.” Quin chuckles, glancing at me. “He never learned to share as a child.”
“That’s because Ivaluemy belongings,” Damon says, tone eerily polite. “While others find most things,” his gaze briefly floats to Quin’s guest, “disposable.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” Quin reigns in a glower, then raises a brow at me. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Has he forbidden you from talking?”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t like his attitude. “I preferto talk when I have something to say, Dr. Marquis, rather than,” I tilt my head, “make noise for the sake of making noise.”
Damon chuckles under his breath.
“Interesting.” Quin brims with mischief. “You’re not quiet at all, are you?”
Damon stops laughing. “We should take our seats.” The lights flicker as they would in a theater. “It’s about to begin.”
“Enjoy the show.” Quin grins, pulling a device the size of a USB port out of his pocket. His finger hovers over the small silver button on the side. He presses it, and the red-haired woman moans, buckling over. “I know we will.”
“What was?—”
“Quiet.” Damon spins me around and shoves me down the aisle toward the empty couch. The surrounding lights dim, the theater dark except for the spotlight shining into The Pit. The woman remains in position, not a muscle moving. We take our seats. Damon places his hands on his knees, and I’m disappointed with the distance between us. “You’re looking the wrong way, Miss Jones. Watch.”
A man enters the cage, a riding crop in his hand. His presence fills the room with electricity, and every spectator adjusts in their seat. He circles the woman as if she’s prey, a wounded doe. She hisses out in pain as he taps her nipple, the peak stiffening, my own mirroring hers. Despite the pain the man bestows upon the woman, she appears grateful, fulfilled,happy. As he marks her skin, she mumbles out thanks, tremblingunder his rough touch, the mysterious words that he whispers solely for her to hear.
Unlike The Playground, I watch The Pit with a clinical gaze, studying the way in which the two subjects interact. That’s why he brought me here. To study, to learn, to decide whether or not I’m meant for this world. Is that what he wants? He wants to hurt me? He wants me to enjoy being hurt? I can sensehispower. It’s unmistakable. But hers? Where is it?
“She can stop him at any time.” Damon’s voice slices through my thoughts. Swallowing, I face him, the shadows across his face highlighting all the sharp angles that I know want to pierce me. “With one word, she can end it all.” Damon sidles closer to me on the couch, still refraining from touching me.Why?Searching my conflicted features, he whispers, “While she has given up all control, she possesses all the power.”
Slowly, I turn my attention back to The Pit. The woman crawls toward the man as he strokes his cock. He calls her a good girl as she stops and takes him in her mouth. The gravity of the decision hits me like a ton of bricks and panic sets in. This isn’t me. I can’t do this. I won’t.
“I’d like to leave now,” I whisper, tugging on the hem of my skirt.Pussy. “Can we go?”
“Of course,” Damon says, with no hint of disappointment in his tone as we stand up. He remains quiet as we weave back to the lounge, no questions, no comments, not a word. “I’ll be a minute. Wait for me here.”
I linger awkwardly by the front door as Damon picks up his new membership card and jacket. Despite my best efforts to be open-minded, what I saw in The Pit doesn’t sit well with me. There are elements that I enjoy, that I’d be willing to try, but I don’t want my skin to bruise. I don’t want more scars. I have enough.
“Leaving so soon?” Quin appears beside me, a gold cigarette holder in his hand. He cocks his head. “You look sad, Emery. What’s wrong? Didn’t enjoy the show?” He licks his lips, arching over me. “This place is supposed to make you happy. Why aren’t you happy, darling?”
I flick my gaze up to Quin’s, the raw symmetry of his face causing me to stumble over my words as I say, “S-smoking kills.” I straighten out my shoulders, refusing to crumble under his stare. “As someone who works in health care, shouldn’t you know that?”
Quin pouts. “You already care about me. How precious.”
“I—”
“Quinton.” I’ve never heard such a venomous tone. I reign in a shudder. Damon glares at him, contempt brewing across his features. “Can we help you with something?”
Quin chuckles. “Relax, Cavanaugh. I was merely chatting with,” he gives me a cunning smile, “Emery, was it?” I nod and instantly regret it when Damon’s fuming gaze snaps to me. “Well…” He clicks his tongue. “Hopefully I’ll see you here again soon.” He pats Damon on the shoulder. “Take care now.”
Damon storms past me before I have a chance to say anything.
“Hurry up!” he growls, waiting impatiently for the valet. I’m tempted to call an Uber. Something tells me I don’t want to be in a confined space with his attitude right now. “Emery! Fuck sake’s, get over here!”
Unfortunately, tonight, I’m not leading with my brain.
THE NOCTURNAL ANIMAL
DAMON
