Niall gave her a rough, impatient kiss. “We should have kept ye in the cellar and fucked ye a hundred times. Stop thinking thoughts like that.”

“If my Master wants to torment you with my thoughts, it’s not for me to deprive him of that pleasure,” she observed demurely.

His pinch made her jump. “Remember what I said about ‘Master’ not being around to protect you. I’ll put ye over a bench and strap you within an inch of your life. Evan’ll join us after his meeting, but Marcus Stanton isnae known for being short-winded when harassing his artists. I have a guid hour at least tae impress upon ye the wisdom of yanking a bear’s chain.”

She suppressed a smile, but when he rested his hand high on her buttock, long fingers wrapped around it to stroke her bare hip bone, she had to concentrate to keep her head up, to walk in a way that best presented her Master’s assets.

“I was watching Evan and Tyler at the reception,” she said, attempting to distract herself. “Their relationship seems to extend beyond a mutual appreciation for art. How did they meet?”

“Always the observant one.” Niall nodded. “Tyler used to work for the government. One o’ those mysterious agencies. He’s never said which one. Our paths crossed his in the Middle East. Tyler got betrayed by a key informant, and we stumbled on him in a tough spot. He was overwhelmed in numbers and firepower. Though we didnae know a thing about him, neither Evan nor I liked the feel of it, so we got him out of there.”

Niall shrugged. “The lad was beat up pretty badly, so Evan took most his weight and dragged him out of there. Guid thing he was there to shield Tyler, because Evan took several slugs in the back that would have killed a human. I took a gun away from one of the bastards and laid down cover fire while Evan used his speed to get Tyler free of it. I caught up with them later. That third mark speed is fair handy at times.” He gave her a wink.

“After that, he must have realized the two of you were something . . . different. Or was he too out of it to remember what happened?” She didn’t like to think of bullets hitting Evan, or Niall in the line of fire, no matter how indestructible they imagined themselves.

“Ye could beat that lad’s head into a brick wall for an hour and he’d still have his wits about him,” Niall said dryly. “If I didnae know for certain he was human, I’d swear Tyler had vampire or Fae blood. But aye, I think he realizes we’re not exactly what we say we are. Never to this day has he said a word about it, though.”

Which was good, because the Council forbade knowledge of vampires among humans not integrated into their society through at least a first- or second-marking.

“Most folk find it easier tae overlook something like that than to entertain the idea of vampires,” Niall said. “But Tyler’s like Evan. He sees things other people dinnae, and he’s careful how he uses the information.”

She thought about that as they continued to wander through the party, studying the public scenes being executed by other Masters and Mistresses with their willing subs. While Niall nodded to several submissives not currently engaged, ones he obviously knew, he also demonstrated courteous deference to the Masters and Mistresses. She saw them acknowledge he was here as Evan’s, but she also caught the speculative looks, reflecting some of the same thoughts she’d had about Niall.

Evan and Niall reminded her of Tyler and Marguerite. Niall told her Tyler rarely exercised his rights as Master over Marguerite in mixed company, but she’d seen the subtle signs of her submission when Tyler touched his wife. Her gaze would briefly lower, her body gravitating toward his, her fingers docile in his grasp, seeking permission to touch. Yet when the woman looked toward a sub, she exuded a Mistress’s power, the sense she had the right to touch anything she damn well pleased . . . and he’d beg for her to do so.

“Oh . . . my.”

They’d reached the side lawn. Down where the wedding had occurred, a different ritual was occurring at the altar. Brendan’s upright body was a demonstration of Japanese rope tying, done by Chloe herself. A rope harness ran from throat to groin, with further diamond patterns and wraps down his legs and arms. His limbs were bound to the altar, holding him upright and stretched to the limits. He’d been thoroughly oiled beforehand, so his flesh glistened. His bride was on folded knees, staring up at him in adoration. She wore a brown velvet skirt that came to her ankles and purple Ked sneakers. A lavender T-shirt hugged her lush curves. She still wore the satin ribbon Alanna had put in her hair.

Brendan had been blindfolded, much like Alanna had been earlier on the bed. Apparently, Chloe understood as well as Evan and Niall did how sensory deprivation heightened and focused response. When Chloe reached out, slid her fingers through the oil on his thighs, up to the part of the harness that pressed against his testicles, his muscles flexed in instant reaction. She’d used a smaller grade of rope to do an intricate cock harness, the head plum-colored from the restraint. Now Chloe leaned forward and tasted, a kitten’s lick on the tip, and he bucked, showing how aroused he was. Loosening the cock harness, she slid it free and massaged him, rising to her knees to put her mouth on his abdomen, his hip bone, a reverent worship of the man who’d surrendered to her.

Chloe had woven a spell around those watching, yet it was obvious the new bride wasn’t aware of anything but her husband. When she stood up, she slid her arms around his bound torso. “I love you,” she said. “You are so perfect.”

He was unable to dip his head because she’d attached the wide collar he wore to two horizontal tethers, but the strain of his body against her gave his answer to that. Sliding under his arm, she went behind him. Her hands glided down the front of his body to curl around the ropes, tug on the ones that looped under his testicles. His cock slit glistened with fluid.

Alanna was at a side angle to the stage, so she could see the harness in back had a line of knots threaded between his buttocks. When Chloe worked them against his rim, he pumped against her hold, fucking the air.

“Do you want to please me?” she whispered.

“More than anything,” he said hoarsely. “Let me please you.”

Niall had his arm around Alanna’s waist. She gripped his forearm hard, aware of his heartbeat behind her back, the press of his heavy kilt against her bare buttocks. He cupped her breast, thumb brushing idly over her nipple, making her whimper softly.

“Do ye want to please me, lass?” Niall’s voice was in her ear.

Yes. God yes. She was so wet she felt the sucking dampness when he moved the thong aside. His probing touch made her catch her lip in her teeth. She wanted him to lift his kilt, bend his knees and drive into her with third-mark strength. With Niall’s strength.

Despite the oil on Brendan’s skin, Chloe pressed fully against her husband’s back, wrapping both hands around his cock. “Come for me. Here. In front of all of them, so they know you’re mine. Okay?”

Her soft voice wasn’t a Mistress’s demand, but a sweet desire, a need expressed, and Brendan thrust into her fingers. “Please . . .” he said. “Yes. Anything.”

She began to work him, slow, long strokes. The gathered audience was absorbed in it, Alanna no exception. Niall brought her closer to a bench in front of them. The Mistress who sat there looked nearly six feet tall, black skinned and red-haired, intimidating even without the coiled single tail next to her. She wore a buckled corset over tight leggings and thigh-high boots.

When she looked back at them, her dark brown eyes coursed over Alanna’s features, measuring her aroused state, as well as Niall’s hot male intent.

“She’s welcome to put her hands here, Niall.” She nodded at the back of the bench, her voice a husky purr. “I’ve seen what meat you bring to the table. She’ll need something to hang on to.”

“Do it,” Niall ordered, breath bathing her neck. Alanna clamped down on the smooth wood. As Niall adjusted his kilt, the Mistress tilted her head to watch, her tongue touching her top lip at what he revealed. Her gaze shifted to Alanna’s face as Niall drove into her wet cunt.

Alanna shuddered, internalizing the incredible energy, because she wouldn’t distract from Chloe’s beautiful display, any more than she would deny Niall. The Mistress was right, however. She needed the brace of the bench, especially when the Scot lifted her off her feet enough that she hooked her stilettos around his calves for further support.

The Mistress turned her attention back to the stage, but a feral smile curved her lips, showing her pleasure in the rhythmic vibration going through her seat as Niall mirrored Chloe’s pace, thrusting in slow, pulling out slow, making Alanna come apart.

At this angle, she realized Brendan had a brand on his lower back, a fleur de lis like her InhServ mark, with two decorative elements around it. The mark of a willing slave.

The air was so dense with lust, it didn’t surprise Alanna when the Mistress put her hand between her own legs, began to play with her pussy through the latex. She threaded her other arm beneath Alanna’s grip, so that Alanna’s exposed nipples were brushing her forearm, increasing the friction. That female–female contact galvanized Niall as well, and Alanna clutched the bench harder, biting back an involuntary grunt at the power he used to drive into her.

“Showing ye about like this brings out the animal in us, muirnín,” he muttered in her ear. “Evan wants me to take ye hard, remind ye and everyone else you’re ours. And so do I.”

So did she. Oh God, she did.

The Mistress was still masturbating, her fingertips sliding along the bench edge as if she was caressing flesh.

“Now, baby,” Chloe said. Brendan began to release, ropes of come spurting through Chloe’s fingers and over the platform. He groaned loudly, all the swimmer’s muscles flowing under her touch. Chloe had her face pressed into his back, but as she turned her cheek so it was pressed against his heart, Alanna could see she was whispering to him, words of utter devotion as she held herself against his flexing ass.