Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

I get a playful swat against my ass and a soft “brat” in response.

“Fine, then what?”

“I’ll show you.” It seems quieter along this hall, though the crowd is plentiful. We pass by half a dozen more displays, most with couples having sex, some of women in chairs, masturbating for an audience. “Mostly this.” Henry points out as we pass a cluster of threesomes. He stops at a window with five people—two men and three women—on an enormous bed. “Once, like this.”

My jaw hangs as I watch two women take turns sucking off a man while the third is on her hands and knees, allowing the other man to drive into her from behind, his fist gripping her blond ponytail.

She adjusts her arms for support and reveals a tattoo on the inside of her wrist, of three intertwined hearts.

My jaw drops. That’s Kendra. But the man having sex with her is not Preston. I focus on the other man, his long torso defined but on the slender side. He grabs hold of both women’s heads and holds them close to his cock as he tips his head back and lets out a loud, guttural moan. Streams of cum shoot out of him, hitting the women’s lips, streaking over their masks.

That is Preston.

Did Kendra know what she signed up for when he brought her to New York? I mean, she certainly seems to be enjoying sex with a masked stranger. But is this why she was eyeing Henry so fiercely over dinner? Did she expect him to be joining them in one of these displays?

No wonder Henry disapproved of Preston inviting a coworker to this party. But what could she divulge about the big boss without outing herself? Sex parties and orgies isn’t typical water cooler conversation.

Henry’s dark chuckle curls in my ear. “This should not be a surprise.”

“It’s not. I just …” Henry hasn’t given me detailed specifics about every encounter he’s ever had, but I know his tastes are risqué. He’s been with multiple women before, several times.

But watching this now, and imagining Henry as one of these men, in this tawdry annual event he never misses, where he can do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants …

He uses these rooms every time he comes here. He admitted it.

So what does that mean for tonight?

Just the thought of another woman with her hands—and other parts—on him like this makes my fists clench and my eyes blur with rage. Especially when he’s declared that no one will be touching me.

“What’s bothering you?” He asks suddenly. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings from him.

I look around at the crowd of strangers watching the spectacle. “You’re not going to make me do this tonight, are you?” I whisper. Or at all, for that matter.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Grabbing my hand, he leads me at a quick pace down the hall and around a corner, this foreign object teasing my core with each hurried step.

It’s different here—still dark and swathed in curtains, but there are closed doors and no viewing windows. A mime in a revealing French maid’s outfit skips along the path with a spray bottle in her gloved hands. When she sees us, she blows a kiss. Even the cleaning staff is in character, and they’re all naughty.

Henry stops at the first door with a glowing light above it, swipes his bracelet across a scanner, and then pulls me inside, shutting the door behind us.

“What is this?” A tiny stall—no more than five by five. It reminds me of a change room, except there aren’t any hooks or chairs, nothing save for a small receptacle mounted to the wall for trash.

“Take off your mask,” he demands, sliding out of his. The steady pulse of music from outside is muffled, allowing for easy conversation.

I follow his orders. As much as I appreciate the anonymity, the air on my skin feels good.

He sighs heavily.

Why do I feel like I’m about to be scolded?

“First of all, I’ve never made you do anything, have I? I’ve never forced you?”

“No, but—”

“And you’ve enjoyed everything that I knew you would enjoy, right?”

“Yes. But I—”

“Okay, good. I’m glad we have that out of the way. Listen to me very carefully, Abigail.” Henry’s tone is cool and calm. “When I said I’m not sharing you with anyone like I did that night with Ronan, I mean that no one is ever laying a fucking hand on you ever again. Is that clear?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

“So that spectacle back there? Having someone else’s cock inside you? You don’t have to worry about me asking you for that because it’s not happening. Ever.”

I hesitate. “And what about you?”

“Me? I plan on spending an excessive amount of time inside you. Every day for the rest of my life, if it’s up to me—”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” I giggle, even as his words fan a wave of heat through the lower half of my body. “You’re in those rooms every year you come here. You said so yourself.”

“Every other year, yes. You weren’t in my life then.”

I falter. Okay, that’s somewhat of a declaration, but it still doesn’t ease my worries. “What about next year or the year after? What if you decide that’s something you want to do again?” What if, as Merrick so bluntly declared earlier, he’s bored? Why have one woman when he can have three? “I’ve never seen you so giddy. You’ve been like a kid in a candy store all night here. You’re telling me you’re just going to give up this lifestyle and not have regrets?”

He purses his lips, and I don’t know what is going on in his head, but I’m equal parts afraid to hear it and dying to know. When he finally meets my gaze, his blue eyes are piercing. “You still don’t get it, do you?” A strange look fills his face. “You have commanded my attention without pause since that interview video. I lied and manipulated to get you to Alaska as my assistant, I risked my entire future because I couldn’t stay away from you, I came back even after you shattered my heart.”

Henry’s never been so direct about how much my mistake hurt him this past summer.

“I feel like I’m on a fucking leash, and I don’t even care. There isn’t a woman out there who has ever tethered me like this.” His voice turns gruff. “You own me, Abbi. Everything that I have and am is yours, and that will never change. That, I can promise you.”

I fold into his body, pressing my cheek against his chest to feel the steady hammer of his heartbeat. “I love you so much. I’m terrified that I won’t always be enough for you.” As soon as I admit the words out loud, I accept how potent my fear still is, despite the ring on my finger, despite our conversations about this in the past.

“That’s not possible.”

“How do you know?”

He wraps me in his arms. “Because I’ve already had everything else, and none of it feels a fraction as good as you do.”

I sink into his warmth, reveling in it. I know what he means, the latter part, anyway. But will I ever feel like enough for him?

“Do you want to leave?”

“No. I am having fun.”

“Good. Because my favorite part is ahead.” He slides down his mask.