The Queen’s Knights by Ophelia Bell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author Name: Ophelia Bell
- Book Genre:
- ISBN #
- Edition Language: English
- Date of Publication: November 1, 2022
- File Format: PDF / EPUB
- PDF / EPUB File Size: 676 KB
GWEN
When I offer an invitation to dine, half a dozen men and a
couple women raise their hands from the crowd beyond the
window. Each one sports a matching light blue ribbon on their left upper
arm. Left means they’re givers, and they know I’m here to take. Nearly all
wear the same ribbon on their opposite arm too. I ignore the other “takers,”
seeking one whose right arm is unadorned.
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A well-built man catches my eye, an inviting smile spreading beneath
his jeweled black mask. Without a word, I tilt my chin and Percy nods,
stepping toward the door to my playroom, opening it, and pointing.
“You,” he says to the man with one blue ribbon.
The man looks flummoxed at first, then his eyes brighten. He glances
again at where I rest on my throne and licks his lips before following Percy
through the door. The rest of the crowd remains outside the viewing
window, some disappointed stares looking back. A couple men leave, not
content to merely watch. There are more interactive pursuits to be found in
other areas of the club. Most choose to stay for the show.
My chosen subject steps into the center of the room opposite my dais
and clears his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow and he
smiles awkwardly. “Ah, I didn’t expect to be called on. I’m not sure I know
how this works.”
He makes it sound as if I called on him to come to the front of class for
a presentation. I frown, but don’t answer. His voice is vaguely familiar, but
I can’t place it. His words bring to mind my other life, the one I retreat to
Whitewood Club in order to escape. Here I can be queen for a night, fully in
control of my own body, my own pleasure, and the partners I choose. No
one can touch me without my consent.
Percy steps in, my loyal knight, his muscular bulk blocking my view of
my subject for a moment.
“Undress completely,” he instructs, “except for your mask. If she still
deems you worthy, you’ll take your position beneath the throne. What’s
expected of you should be self-explanatory after that.”
The man nods and combs his fingers through his hair. He’s handsome,
from what I can see. His hair is thick and wavy and inky-black. His eyes are
dark behind his mask, but I can’t tell whether they’re blue or brown. He’s as
tall as Percy, but leaner, just shy of wiry—though when he strips off his
shirt, I reassess, taking in his light brown skin and tattooed biceps, the faint
dusting of dark hair that accents a moderate six-pack, and a swimmer’s
frame, still slightly soft with youth. When he bends over to untie his shoes,
the muscles of his tattooed shoulders ripple. The ink appears to go farther
than I can see and piques my interest. He’s young, but adventurous. Not
faint of heart, but willing to submit.
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