He had taken all necessary steps to protect her honor, of course. She not only wore a mask, but a blowsy dark-colored wig that would conceal her identity from any friends. He doubted even Taehyung could recognize her.
As for his identity, he was far less concerned. Even if someone recognized him, they would assume the woman on his arm was a mistress or some cheap cleint. In his wilder days he’d been known to consort with both, sometimes at the same time.
Everything would be fine, but some part of him quailed at the plan he’d undertaken. Part of him wished to tell the driver to turn for home, because it was likely he’d lose Taehyung’s friendship tonight, perhaps jimin too. All because he wanted rosé to leave off worshipping her virtuous ideal of taehyung, who did not exist.
She looked across at him, and her lips turned down in concern.
“Are you well, Jungkook?”
“Very well,” he said.
“You remember that you are not to leave my side tonight,” he said
“I remember.”
“And that we are only to be voyeurs. If there is dancing or card games, you are not to participate.”
“ok" She grasped his hand in an impulsive, gleeful manner.
He brought it to his lips, feeling like the world’s worst blackguard. As he hauled her over his lap, he squeeze her bottom a few times. But later, he feared, she wouldn’t be laughing and smiling as she was now.
“Are you ready, love?” Jungkook asked, lowering his black demi-mask over his face when the car stopped.
He helped his wife down and checked one last time to be sure no one could possibly guess her identity, then took her arm and led her toward the stately old house.
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Rosé wasn’t sure if she ought to be feeling awe or shame. In truth, she felt a little of both. The house was so grand, but the activities inside rather...lowering in nature. Jungkook had told her other men and women enjoyed the same acts they did, and this party offered plentiful proof.
It seemed in every room a masked gentleman had a lady on his lap, his hands at play beneath her skirts. The ladies seemed to enjoy it very much, judging from their moans and cries.
“Don’t they care if people know who they are?” she asked her husband.
“No, they don’t.” He spoke in her ear so she could hear him in the din of the revelry.
She shied away as one of them reached to touch her waist. He was drunk, but not too drunk to perceive her husband’s warning glare.
Rosé turned and sucked in a breath in surprise. A man, fully and unabashedly naked, stood with his face to the wall while a short woman striped his bottom. With each stroke, he howled and threw his head back.
