Page 111 of Harvest of Sighs (Thornchapel 3)
But maybe I’m wrong? She did allow me to put the two of us on Instagram; we’ve been photographed together countless times at events and out in the city—it would be difficult to get more public than we’ve been in the last month. But then why would it be hard for her to show me off here? Is it because she couldn’t care less about tabloids and social media, but she does care about her peers here at the club?
“Delphine,” Emily says softly. She carefully pries the champagne coupe from my fingers; my hand has been shaking so badly that I’ve been sloshing the drink over the sides. She uses a napkin to wipe at my hand and wrist, and it’s so soothing to be taken care of like this, it’s so comforting. My breathing evens out the tiniest bit.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “We don’t need to stay if you aren’t.”
“I’m okay,” I lie, because I’m not okay, but I also want to stay. I want to see the people here, and I want them to see me. I want to belong to this stylish club of stylish deviants, and I don’t want to wait anymore.
“Let’s go up there,” Emily says suddenly. “You and me.”
I let out a short, inelegant huff of a laugh. “What?”
“You wanted this,” Emily says, leaning forward. “You deserve to have this, and you can have it, even if your mistress isn’t here. I’ll go up there with you.”
“But—”
“Doesn’t Rebecca share you anyway? Sometimes?”
I take a sip of champagne, unable to phrase an answer. Because—yes—there’s Thornchapel, where all of us have kissed and petted and fucked to some extent. And also because—no. Rebecca doesn’t share me here in London. And she hasn’t even shared me at Thornchapel since I officially became hers.
“You should be shown off. Anyone would be proud to show you off, including me,” Emily continues in a quiet voice. “I know she would feel the same.”
“I don’t know about that,” I mutter, taking another sip. If she were proud, she’d be here right now. Or at the very least she wouldn’t have given me the brush-off.
“What’s your favorite punishment?” Emily asks.
“Spanking. But I don’t—”
“Ah, spanking. A simple girl, I like it. Let’s go up there and get you spanked.”
“I can’t,” I say with finality. Even as I think why can’t I?
I’ve been with other people at Thornchapel, and Emily is Poe’s ex and friend, which surely makes her an honorary part of our circle? And it’s not as if Emily and I are going to kiss or have sex. It would be a little platonic spanking between friends.
I’m fine, Rebecca said.
Well, I’m not. I’m not fine. My panic is turning into shame, which is turning into anger. Why shouldn’t I get to have this? Just because Rebecca can’t be bothered? How is that fair?
“Only spanking?” I ask, looking at Emily.
Her eyes glitter with victory in the dim light. “Only spanking.”
I’m the only one who gets to hurt you, is that clear?
The memory of Rebecca’s voice filters through my thoughts, but I push it away. This isn’t what she meant, I justify to myself. She meant about my work—she was talking about taking care of myself at work. Not a harmless light spanking.
“Let’s do it,” I say and then finish off my champagne.
Emily only smiles.
The scene on stage finishes after only a few more moments, and then the emcee for the night asks for any other volunteers while the stage is cleaned behind her. Emily stands, and so do I, and heads swivel as we walk down through the booths and tables to the shallow steps at the side of the stage.
Up here, under the bright lights, in front of all these eager, lust-filled eyes, a giddy kind of joy suffuses me. It’s humming, it’s electric; I feel every cell in my body spark up and hum with energy. And when Emily confidently issues orders and I obey, I spark even more. I ignite like a Catherine wheel, all color and glitter and heat.
I love this. I love being right here.
It should be Rebecca here with me.
The thought barely has time to register, because I’m already bent over the spanking bench—a pleasantly comfortable model with a padded riser for my knees and a second padded surface at waist level for me to bend over and lie on. Once I’m arranged, I rest my head on my folded arms and turn so I can see the crowd. So I can see them seeing me.
