The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

was fuzzy. I remembered the kiss as being nice but not earth-shattering. Kissing girls wasn’t any different than kissing boys, I’d discovered.

And for as curious as I was in life, it was surprising I wasn’t more than mildly curious when it came to women. I’d always been far more attracted to men. And I was certainly interested in this self-proclaimed complicated man whose demand made me shudder in excitement.

Following his order would be easy, and I wondered if it was possible the simulated sex would be even hotter than the real thing. I tilted my head, opened my mouth, and slicked my tongue across the glass, right over her neatly trimmed landing strip.

“Fuck,” Clay groaned appreciatively. “Again.”

Satisfaction washed down me in waves. I did as asked, dragging my tongue along the smooth glass that was damp and smudged from my first pass.

“Look at you,” he said, “being such a good girl now. I think you should stand up and show her what happened when you weren’t.”

He extended a hand to help me up, and I took it. “You want me to—”

“Show her the marks your bad behavior earned you earlier today.”

It was intoxicating being with him, and exhilaration simmered in my blood, like I was high. As soon as I was on my feet, I turned around, bent slightly at the waist, and lifted the back of my skirt.

Cool air drift over my exposed cheeks. I’d worn a thong tonight, not just to prevent panty lines, but to avoid putting anything over my irritated skin. As soon as his handiwork came into view, Clay let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Like I’d done earlier, I wiggled my hips, showing off my ass, and that earned me a spanking.

It wasn’t mean or harsh—it was playful, and I nearly giggled.

There was a dull bang that came from the window, and although the woman had probably raised her voice, it sounded muted. “Join us!”

But Clay shook his head, pointed to the nearly empty glass in his hand, and then gestured toward the main room, telling them we were going to get fresh drinks.

“The show’s going to start soon,” he said as we made our way back to the bar. “We should get in there if you want a seat.”

A quick glance revealed Clay’s friend was gone, which was disappointing on several levels, but I tried not to show it. I brushed a lock of hair over my shoulder. “What’s it going to be like?”

“The show?” His smile was cryptic. “It’ll be interesting. I think you’ll like it.”

There were only a few seats left by the time we stepped into the red room, and Clay urged me down into the first available chair while I was distracted by what was on the center of the floor.

Or more appropriately, who.

The girl looked like she was in her early twenties. She had her dirty blonde hair twisted back into a bun, and that along with her slender frame made me think of her as a ballerina. She was pretty in both her face and her body, and colorful artwork was scrawled all over her skin. I could tell because she was completely nude.

The girl had a lot of ink, plus a piercing in each nipple. She was lying on the floor, and as she took in a breath, the studs glinted faintly beneath the latex blanket covering her that was so thin it was nearly transparent. It was strange. The blanket was draped over a rectangular frame that surrounded her and the latex cinched around her neck in a thick black collar.

I’d just gotten settled in my seat when a woman dressed in black stepped forward, and every conversation in the room ceased. She was probably already naturally tall, but the huge platform on her stiletto boots exaggerated her towering height. Her shiny ‘wet look’ bodysuit hugged her gorgeous figure, accentuating her in the right places. The woman was statuesque and incredibly beautiful.

The braids of her dark hair were pulled up into a high ponytail, then they cascaded down her back like a beautiful tassel. Her latex bodysuit covered everything up to her chin, and even her hands were wrapped in the black PVC fabric. It left only her face visible, showing off her strong cheekbones and flawless brown skin.

Mistress Theia looked otherworldly. Like a goddess from a planet where sex was a religion.

A simple silk blindfold dangled from her fingertips as she strutted to the girl lying prone on the floor. There was power and confidence in every step she took, and she was catlike as she crouched by the girl’s head. The blindfold was slipped on and adjusted until both women seemed satisfied with the placement.

While that was happening, more couples came into the room, hushed and respectful, like the show had already begun. Maybe it had. I was surprised, yet pleased, when Clay offered his seat to a woman and moved to stand behind my chair.

The dominating woman’s voice was deep and seductive, drawing my attention back to her. “Ready, pet?”

The girl shifted inside the latex, spreading out her arms and legs so they were a comfortable distance from her body. “Yes, Mistress.”

A loud mechanical whirr rang out, sounding sort of like a vacuum cleaner.

Oh . . .

Wow.

That was exactly what it was, because the girl wasn’t covered by a blanket—she was encapsulated in a bag, and once the machine sucked out the air, she was locked in place. As the latex molded tight to her body, it became even more see-through and gave her skin a smooth, plastic sheen. And as soon as the air was gone, the machine powered down and the room went utterly silent.

A smile twitched on Mistress Theia’s lips as she gazed down at her pet like trapped prey. The dominant savored the scene before her. Then, she strolled to the girl’s side and knelt.

I sipped in air as her black hands smoothed over the girl’s latex-bound skin, touching her with reverence. She coursed her palms over the girl’s hips,