Timeless Read Online Free

you should have,” I taunt.
    “Maybe I will,” he returns dangerously.
    Oh god. Why does the thought of that make my stomach drop deliciously?
    “Go home, Ari,” he says softly. “You don't belong here.”
    “You don’t know me. You have no idea where I belong.”
    I turn on my black stiletto heel and head toward a crowd that’s gathered by one of the demonstration stages. There are three people standing on the stage—two men and one woman—all of whom look the tiniest bit imposing, and Dominic.
    “Next up is a spanking demonstration,” Dominic says. “Garrett will be using his hand, Cassandra has a paddle, and Thomas will be using his belt. However, we need a few subs who’re willing to be their victims, er, models.”
    The crowd titters with laughter. A young man dressed like Peter Pan steps forward. “I’ll volunteer for Cassandra,” he says.
    “Thank you,” Dominic says graciously as the young man steps onto the stage and kneels before the slightly scary looking woman dressed in black leather. “Who else?”
    I’m desperate to prove to Marcus that I’m not out of my league and that I certainly don’t need his help to play here, but a belt on my ass? I involuntarily squeeze my cheeks together at the thought. The Dom named Garrett is tall and broad-shouldered, with a small scar on his cheek that makes him look like a real pirate who’s not above rape and pillage, but surely a hand spanking can’t be that bad. And a demonstration sounds safe enough. I take a deep breath and step forward.
    Strong fingers grip my shoulders firmly and spin me around, and I find myself face to face with Marcus again. His face is implacable, his brown eyes glittering. “Are you looking for a spanking, little one?” he asks. “Is that what you want?”
    Yes," I say defiantly. “That's exactly what I want. And don’t call me little one. Actually, what I really wanted was the flogger, but you interrupted that!”
    "If a flogging’s what you want, I'll be glad to oblige you," he says, his voice menacingly soft. “You don’t need to go looking elsewhere. But it will be a real flogging, not some half-assed version that you top from the bottom. And I promise you won’t describe it as a ‘nice’ time.” Turning to a monitor walking by, he snaps, “Give me some cuffs, please.”
    Before I can process what’s happening, my wrists are bound in front of me, wrapped in padded neoprene cuffs secured with Velcro and connected by two clips that are fastened together. Marcus grabs the clips that connect the cuffs and tugs me along after him. I follow him, slightly dazed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was mad, but I know from personal experience it’s practically impossible to make Marcus angry. He keeps his temper as firmly under control as everything else in his life. I study the set of his jaw. No, not mad. He looks more grimly determined than anything else.
    He leads me over to a wall near a table that looks like someone stole it from my gyno’s office and points to an assortment of clamps.
    “Let’s add some nipple clamps so you get the full experience, since that’s what you’re after.”
    I open my mouth but no words come out.
    There’s a startlingly wide variety of clamps—some look like tweezers, some like alligator clamps, some are industrial-looking, spring-loaded clamps shaped like a clover, and a few look like miniature versions of the vise my dad used when he painstakingly handmade a dollhouse for me when I was seven. My heart squeezes a little at the memory.
    I look at Marcus and shrug. Without hesitation, he grabs a pair of the tweezer-looking ones and drags me over to a darkened alcove around the corner from the main room where there’s a small couch. He unclips the cuffs, but doesn’t remove them.
    “Take off your clothes.”
    “I, um,” I stammer. The reality of undressing here in front of everyone, particularly with Marcus’ gaze concentrated so fully on me, is more unnerving than