The masquerade was whispered about in certain circles — invitation-only, no phones, no names. Just masks, desire, and rules as fluid as the wine.
Tessa and Damon had been before.
They always played together. She wore his collar, a delicate gold chain that sat like a promise above her cleavage. Damon preferred to control, to orchestrate her pleasure. And Tessa? She loved to submit… but tonight, she wanted more.
“I want you to share me,” she whispered in the back of the car, lips brushing his neck. “With someone else. Just for tonight.”
Damon’s dark eyes didn’t blink. He held her chin. “Only if I choose him. Only if he knows you’re mine.”
Tessa smiled. “Yes, Sir.”
The ballroom at the manor shimmered in candlelight, velvet shadows clinging to corners. Masks everywhere — wolves, angels, devils. Music pulsed softly beneath the murmurs and moans.
Tessa wore crimson silk and a delicate black mask that revealed her parted lips but nothing else. Damon walked with her hand in his, exuding quiet power in a black suit and onyx mask. They drew attention. They always did.
And then he appeared.
Tall. Broad. A matte charcoal mask and eyes like slow fire. He was watching them from across the room. Not with desperation, but with hunger held in restraint — the way a lion watches the gate of its cage.
Damon caught his stare. Nodded once.
Invitation given.
They met in one of the side chambers — velvet-draped, warm with candlelight and tension. Damon sat in the wingback chair. Tessa stood in the middle, her breath shallow, her hands already trembling.
The man stepped forward slowly, voice deep and smooth. “What are her limits?”
“She doesn’t speak unless told,” Damon said. “You don’t touch her throat. And you finish nowhere but the floor or your own skin. Everything else?”
He leaned back. “Prove you’re worthy of her.”
The man approached Tessa, fingers brushing her arm, trailing to her waist. “Will she kneel for me?”
Damon’s voice was cold and clear. “Tell her.”
The man stepped behind her, pressed his lips to her ear. “On your knees, beautiful.”
She dropped instantly.
The room filled with heat and breath and power.
The man commanded gently but firmly. Damon watched, a god in the corner, allowing it all—controlling by proxy. Tessa’s body burned under another’s hands, her obedience deepening with every command. Her eyes flicked to Damon often—checking, begging, submitting twice over.
The man pushed her, slowly but confidently. Bending her over the ottoman. Whispering orders into her neck. Making her show how far she would go for her Dom… and for the man he’d trusted.
Damon eventually stood, circling behind them. “You like being used?” he asked her.
Tessa moaned, raw and wrecked. “Yes, Sir.”
The man didn’t stop moving, didn’t slow. “She’s perfect.”
“She’s not yours,” Damon replied. “But you may borrow her.”
When it was over, the man stood silently, his chest heaving. Tessa remained on her knees, lips parted, hair mussed, skin glowing.
Damon approached, lifted her chin. “Whose are you?”
Her voice was hoarse. “Yours, Sir.”
He kissed her deeply, reclaiming her mouth.
