The Incubus System Chapter 1561. Just Ordinary Lunch II

The Incubus System Chapter 1561. Just Ordinary Lunch II

I slowly turned toward her. Oh, that was definitely suspicious.

We entered. The interior was just as elegant as the exterior suggested. Cream-colored walls, polished wooden floors, comfortable seating, and subtle floral arrangements gave the place a refined atmosphere.

A hostess greeted us near the reception desk. “Good afternoon. Welcome.”

Olivia stepped forward. “VIP room, please.”

The hostess's expression changed almost imperceptibly. She glanced at a tablet on the counter. “May I confirm your reservation? Are you Miss Olivia and Mr. Ethan?”

Olivia nodded. “Yes.”

I nodded too. “That's us.”

The hostess smiled. “Your room is ready. Please follow me.”

I glanced at Olivia as we followed the hostess toward the back of the restaurant. She merely smiled. We reached a private elevator near the end of a quiet corridor. The hostess pressed a button. The doors opened. “Second floor, please.”

We stepped inside. The elevator began ascending.

I leaned toward Olivia. “So… should I be worried?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Should I be excited?”

Her eyes curved with amusement. “Maybe.”

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. And suddenly, I understood. The second floor looked nothing like the restaurant downstairs.

Instead, the entire floor resembled the private wing of an exceptionally expensive hotel. A very particular kind of hotel. I noticed a decorative sign beside one of the doors.

Private Dining Suite.

I glanced around as we followed the hostess down the corridor. The place was ridiculously luxurious, with thick crimson carpets, dark velvet walls, golden decorations, and soft amber lighting that made everything look suspiciously romantic.

Actually, romantic wasn't quite the right word. Seductive? Yes. That was much closer.

The walls were decorated with shamelessly erotic paintings, the kind that didn't even bother pretending to be tasteful romance. Naked bodies tangled together across silk sheets, lovers caught in explicit positions, mouths and hands exploring wherever they pleased. Some depicted two people, others considerably more, with enough exposed skin and intimate detail to make it extremely obvious what kind of establishment this was.

One painting showed a naked woman sprawled across a throne with a man between her thighs, her head thrown back while another lover held her from behind.

Another depicted a masked orgy beneath an enormous chandelier, bodies intertwined across a luxurious bed in positions that made me wonder whether the artist had been painting from imagination or personal experience.

Definitely that kind of restaurant.

I raised an eyebrow. Then I noticed the glass display cabinets. Inside were beautifully arranged gift sets containing chocolates, strawberries, champagne glasses, silk ribbons, decorative masks, and several accessories that definitely weren't intended for ordinary dining.

Some displays were dedicated entirely to BDSM equipment. Leather cuffs, collars, blindfolds, riding crops, paddles, ropes, chains, and polished restraints were arranged with almost ridiculous elegance, like expensive accessories in a luxury boutique.

There were even spreader bars, harnesses, and several pieces of equipment whose complicated collection of straps made me stop for a second and wonder whether an instruction manual came with the reservation.

And everything was displayed beside food.

Food!

Apparently, whoever designed this place believed fine dining and bondage belonged in the same package.

I couldn't even argue with the business strategy. As an incubus, I had to respect the entrepreneurial spirit. Still, the combination was rather amusing. Imagine ordering a chocolate fondue and receiving a complimentary pair of handcuffs. What a wonderful customer loyalty program. I glanced toward Olivia. She was walking beside me, pretending to be extremely interested in the carpet. Her ears were pink. So she knew exactly what kind of place this was.

I leaned closer. “Olivia. Are you sure I'm still going to eat? Or am I the lunch?”

Her cheeks immediately turned pink above her mask. “We're still going to eat.”

“Actual food?”

She lightly smacked my arm.

I chuckled. “Okay, okay. At least we're eating.”

Although, judging by the surroundings, I suspected the restaurant offered several creative interpretations of the word appetite.

The hostess stopped before a pair of dark wooden doors decorated with delicate golden patterns. “Here we are.”

She pressed a discreet button beside the entrance. A soft chime sounded. Then she opened the door. “Please enjoy your lunch.”

I smiled politely. “Thank you.”

Olivia entered first. I followed and immediately stopped.

The room was enormous. Calling it a private dining suite was technically accurate, but it also felt like calling a royal palace a slightly oversized house. The entire space was decorated in deep burgundy, black, and gold. Heavy curtains covered the windows, while adjustable wall lamps cast a warm glow across the luxurious furniture. A large dining table occupied one side of the room, surrounded by comfortable upholstered chairs.

That part looked normal.

But the other side?

A massive bed dominated the far side of the room, surrounded by dark velvet curtains and a mirrored wall that made the entire setup feel less like a restaurant and more like someone had smashed an expensive love hotel together with a private BDSM dungeon.

Leather cuffs were already attached to the bedposts. Black silk ropes rested neatly beside the pillows, while a padded bench stood near the foot of the bed. One wall held an organized collection of riding crops, paddles, blindfolds, collars, harnesses, and restraints, all displayed with the elegance of expensive wine bottles.

There was even a polished metal frame with adjustable cuffs.

A large mirror covered half the wall opposite the bed, positioned at exactly the kind of angle that told me its purpose had absolutely nothing to do with checking whether your clothes matched. Beside it stood a luxurious bathtub large enough for several people, separated from the bedroom by nothing more than translucent glass.

Then my eyes landed on the chair.

I stopped walking. The padded leather chair was blatantly obscene, fitted with cuffs for wrists and ankles, straps for the waist and chest, and adjustable sections designed to hold someone in embarrassingly exposed positions. Even the polished attachment points made its purpose obvious. Nobody sat there for relaxation.