“Fuck no,” he growled, looking offended.
She’d never seen that on him either.
It was hot.
And damn …
It was also more than a little adorable.
Seeing that, experiencing it, not thinking Stellan had it in him to look even remotely adorable, she realized belatedly she should not have said at the Honey, “Let’s go.”
She should have slid out of the booth without a word, gone home, packed and written Aryas a snail mail note he would therefore get when she was long gone. This note explaining she was taking the stash of cash she’d already accumulated and moved to … she didn’t know where. Bali maybe.
No, Samoa.
Samoan men were gorgeous.
It may seem insane, only maybe an hour after lamenting the fact Stellan had given nothing to her, now to be questioning him giving her something, whatever that something was going to be.
But it wasn’t insane.
Because Sixx was used to taking risks. She did not calculate them. She did not move through them cautiously. She met them head on.
However now this was happening, and since it was, she knew innately this was the greatest risk of all.
It was a risk that could have consequences she might not survive in a way that survival wasn’t the hoped for conclusion simply to keep breathing.
It was crucial simply to stay sane.
Though she could imagine Stellan would be offended at her guessing he’d brought her to a Pound. The traveling sex scene in Phoenix known as the Pound was not anywhere a snob like Stellan would ever be seen, and further what it had to offer he’d find revolting.
“Are we playing this my way, Sixx?” he pressed. “Or am I taking you back to the Honey?”
Another challenge.
She should apologize for wasting his time, ask him to take her back to the Honey, go home and decide what was next in her life. Whatever that next was would be considered ridiculously unsafe to normal individuals, but it wouldn’t be something that would wreak havoc on Sixx.
Yes, that was absolutely what she should do.
She did not do that.
Because she was with Stellan.
Finally.
And apparently it didn’t matter what she was risking, even if this time she knew it was heart, soul, body and mind, not to mention whatever may happen to Stellan through it all, Sixx was Sixx.
All in.
“We’re playing it your way.”
That earned her another one of his wicked smiles. It also earned her his taking her hand, curling her fingers into the crook of his arm, and walking her toward the building like he was escorting her up a red carpet.
Or down the aisle after a wedding.
Lord, she had to get her head together or this could go very bad, and that bad was her losing control of … well, everything.
Sixx needed control just as much as she needed chaos. She couldn’t have one without the other because she was addicted to both, and her elaborate efforts to maintain a perfect balance kept the mess that was her from flying apart.
That night the balance had already shifted, though, so she knew she was in serious trouble.
So she had to get back on her game.
Pronto.
She caught sight of two security guards patrolling the parking lot, both wearing head-to-toe black, from unmarked baseball caps to combat boots.
And they were armed.
There was a similarly attired (but without the cap) guard at the set of double doors where Stellan guided her. One of four sets of doors along the side of the building, each separated by a goodly number of feet.
“Mr. Lange,” the man muttered as he moved to open the door for them.
Stellan said nothing until the guard looked at Sixx.
“Eyes,” he clipped so severely Sixx almost missed a step due to surprise at his tone.
The guard immediately looked to his boots.
Okay.
What was that?
Stellan ushered her through the door.
When it closed behind them, she looked to his profile. “I’m not exactly in the closet, Stellan.”
He dipped his chin to catch her gaze. “That doesn’t matter.”
“I—” she began.
“We shouldn’t delay.”
And he set about making them not do that by moving her.
It was then she heard the noise.
Muted cheers.
Like at a sporting event.
Right.
What the hell was happening?
She saw they were in a long hall that curved on the interior wall at the ends like they were in the cement-floored, cinder-block-walled, currently deserted foyer of an auditorium.
There were also a number of doors along the inside wall, all closed, all staffed by guards, all just like what would lead into a theater.
Stellan walked her down to the third set, turned them toward the doors, nodded to the guard—this one catching Stellan’s eyes, but not Sixx’s—and the man moved to open the door.
When he did, a wave of sound came out.
Definitely a sporting event, and she could tell that not only by the roars of what had to be a large crowd, but also by the scaffold structure that held bleachers that were on either side of a passageway. That wide walkway led to what appeared to be two throne-like, very-high-backed, clean-lined, attractive chairs at the end. The chairs were butted arm-to-arm, and each one had a small, but ornate, circular table next to it at its free side.
Beyond that, the tall, wide, cream leather backs of the chairs obscured whatever was happening.
Stellan did not move them to the steps that led to the bleachers.
Of course not.
He led them around the side of one chair, and there she stopped so abruptly, Stellan stopped with her.
There was a sunken pit in front of her. Large. Oval. Lined at the sides and bottom in thick black mats that now shone in places.
With oil.
And probably sweat.
Good Lord.
It was a gladiator pit.
Quickly, her attention moved to the two men currently grappling in the pit not far away from where they stood, and she felt her legs start to tremble and they weren’t the only things on her body experiencing that sensation.
The men were glistening, muscled, (mostly) naked, magnificent, savage brutes that were locked in combat with their only adornment—outside a full-body oiling—a black leather belt around their waists.
This had a small leather triangle above the pubis from which led snapped straps that rounded their erect cocks and high, tight balls with another strap coming from the behind the balls, separating each testicle, snapped to the cock strap.
From the back of the belt, shanks of leather curved around the sides of their asses and under them, cupping them and drawing the cheeks up, with another thick strap cutting through the crevice, opening it, a wide silver ring placed precisely, highlighting their anuses.
“I knew you’d like it,” Stellan purred in her ear, and damn it all, her movement was jerky when she forced her head around and up to look at him.
He did not hide he was pleased.
Yes, he knew she liked it, he’d guessed how much, and he got off in a big way that she did.
Even so, she hid she liked how pleased he was.
Before she could say anything, he guided her to her chair, and before she fell down, she sat down as gracefully as she could, which fortunately was an effort that went smoothly.
He barely got his ass in the throne beside hers when, appearing at his side, there was a female server in nothing but another variety of black leather straps, clearly the theme, though hers covered her completely at strategic parts, leaving all the rest bare.
“Refreshments, Master Lange?” she asked.
“Scotch,” he said and turned to Sixx, raising his brows and remarking, “They don’t have a full bar, but they have most everything you might want.”
“Gordon’s cup,” she said.
That got an amused look from Stellan, something she had seen, but not much, since she’d been home.
She’d missed it.
Horribly.
She knew it before, but she knew it keener then.
She was in a dangerous place.
Very dangerous.
Precarious.
He turned to the server. “Can you manage that?”
“If we can’t, I’ll return,” she said, obviously having no idea what the drink was.
“A male slave serves this Mistress,” Stellan ordered before she left.
She nodded, bowed, and took off.