Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

I gasp. “You hustled me!”

“No, you assumed I would be terrible at a carnival game, and I didn’t correct you. Excuse me, is that the largest one you have?” he asks the mime, pointing to a strange rainbow-colored toy that reminds me of a unicorn horn.

I’m suddenly nervous. I could lose to Henry. Which of these toys will he make me use? Nothing I wouldn’t enjoy, I trust, but I don’t see how we could possibly use that anywhere here without attracting a lot of notice.

I get my third ball. “How did I not know you played basketball?”

“The same way I had no idea you’ve made an Olympic sport out of bucket ball,” he counters. “Seriously, have you always been this competitive?”

Gritting my teeth as I concentrate, I aim for the top basket again. It loops inside once before rolling out and dropping down into a first-row bucket. The bell rings once.

“Sorry, what’s the score now? I lost track,” Henry taunts.

The mime gestures six and six.

“Right … A tie, and you’ve used up all your shots. So, I could put it in any of these baskets and win. Even the lowest.” His mouth curves into a frown as he tosses with no effort. “Or I could just get another one of these.”

For a third time, the ball lands in the top.

“How are you good at everything!” I squeal as the mime jumps around, clanging her bell to declare the winner.

With a dramatic bow, she points to the top row.

“What’s your suggestion?” he asks her.

She holds up a finger as if to say “One moment” and reaches below the counter to pull out two silver clips.

“What are those?” I ask warily.

Without a hint of hesitation or shame, the mime peels off her suspenders and attaches the clips to her nipples.

I wince. She’s a naughty mime.

“I don’t think pain’s her thing,” Henry says.

The mime holds up another finger—she’s having too much fun with this. Reaching below the counter again, she pulls out a giant fist-shaped dildo.

I gasp. “Don’t you dare!”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Seeing as you were so interested in that one, we’ll take it.” He points to the silver plug.

My stomach stirs with nerves. “Yeah. For you, not me.”

“I guess you should have won, then.”

The mime—still wearing the clamps—uses a long metal rod with a hook at the end to retrieve a new one still in its box. She delivers it and a small bottle of lube with a bow, before waggling a finger between Henry and herself, then pointing toward the sign leading to the Fun House.

“Just the game, thanks. But maybe we’ll see you there,” Henry says pleasantly, leading me away.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“I think she was asking if she could fuck me in the Fun House.”

My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?” I spin around, ready to march back and throw a ball at her head. Or her clamped nipples.

Henry lassos me with an arm around my chest. “Relax, I’m joking. Sort of.” He holds up the small package. “This is going to look so good in you—”

I elbow him in the ribs, earning his laugh before he pulls me in close.

I nestle against him as we move on. “You seem different tonight.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. Playful. At ease.”

“I don’t get to be anonymous often. It’s a nice change. I can do whatever I want here, and I don’t have to worry about reporters or pictures. No one knows it’s me. No one cares.”

“I guess that’s the case for everyone.”

“Exactly. Which makes for an interesting night.”

Every circus character imaginable surrounds us—magicians, ventriloquists, people dressed as trained animals—and it appears no one has spared any expense for their sophisticated costumes.

“Are there any famous people here? Like actors and singers?”

“I’m sure there are, but we’ll never know unless they show us their face. That’s the beauty of the rules.”

Speaking of famous people … Up ahead, a sleek female moves through the crowd, her curves visible beneath the sheer black material draped over her body. She’s drawing attention from all angles.

“You were right.” There’s no mistaking Margo in her racy fortune teller’s costume, even with her gold mask. I’ve seen her naked enough times to recognize her pert breasts and long, svelte torso. The black thong she wears hides little. The tassels on her nipples, even less.

Joel—I assume—walks behind her, dressed as the strong man in a fitted dark red one-piece jumpsuit, the sleeveless top half artfully torn and open to show off his brawny torso. The shorts are tight, revealing runner’s thighs and a prominent bulge that would be considered obscene at any other costume party. His mime mask has the added touch of a painted-on handlebar mustache.

“Don’t you two look magnifique,” she croons in her accent, stretching on her tiptoes to double-cheek kiss Henry as if she didn’t just see him.

“How did you know it was us?” I ask.

“You are not hard to pick out.” She twirls my red braid in her fingers. “Have you found the others yet?”

“No, but we just got here.”

“Perfect timing. A show is about to start.” She beckons us to follow.





“They’re amazing.” I lean back against Henry’s chest as we watch two sets of acrobats twirl on aerial rings to sultry music, their outfits nothing more than a thick Lycra ribbon wrapped strategically around their sinewy bodies. The stage is in a structure that reminds me of a giant birdcage, separating the performers from the growing group of spectators.

“I’ve seen the ones on the left perform before,” Margo whispers, peering up at the male and female couple. “They are exquisite.”

“How can you tell they’re the same people?” Their faces are elaborately painted.

A reserved smile touches her lips. “I just can.”

Gasps sound as the performers twirl and the ribbons of material unravel, pooling on the mat below. From that point, the artistry of their performance changes drastically, with naked bodies contorting and stretching to bare revealing angles that tease the crowd.

“I took a few acrobatic classes,” Margo muses as her favored couple positions themselves deliberately—the male sitting on the bottom of the ring while the woman curves her body until the apex of her thighs lines up with his mouth. He buries his face against her as his dick swells until it juts out for all to see.

She slides it down her throat, all the way to the base.

This has to be the most dangerous sixty-nine ever performed.

I steal a glance at the crowd around us, and while I can’t see any faces, the parted lips and little smiles reveal an audience of voyeurs, no one having qualms about watching people have sex. Some are taking it a step further, their hands wandering into their partner’s pants and up skirts.

“Some touching is fine, but if they want to keep it going, they have places for that,” Henry whispers in my ear, noting my focus. “They don’t want people fucking in the middle of the floor.”