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He moistens his lower lip with his tongue. I can almost feel how hard he is through the phone, even though he’s nowhere near me.

“I promise I’ll wear it for you when all this is finished with.”

He nods and brushes his floppy hair from his eyes. “Deal,” he says. “And I’ll be wearing?” There’s a sparkle in his eyes. It doesn’t show itself often enough, but we are getting there. I’ll help him see himself for what he truly is eventually – not just for the guilt and shame he carries around with him after years under his father’s thumb.

“You’ll be wearing whatever I tell you to wear if you want to feel my fingers wrapped around your dick,” I whisper.

Nico rubs his jaw. The eye contact he makes even through the phone is so disarming, I shove my hand into my panties and release a low murmur.

“What if I refuse? What if I say no to your request?” He’s playing with me.

I start to circle my clit, slowly. “Then I’ll have to punish you, won’t I?”

“How will you punish me?” The slightly jerky movement of the camera tells me he’s fisting his cock.

Slowly, I remove my hand from my underwear. My fingers glisten with my juices. I bring them to my mouth and slowly lick them clean, then suck on them, staring at him the entire time.

Nico shudders. “Fuck, Reverie.”

“No touching yourself until I’m back.” I hang up, try to shake off the throb of arousal that has settled in my core, and grab my keys.

Spine.

I thought I’d visited for the last time. And now, here I am. Heading back there again. The only person I’m hoping I can avoid is Madame herself. Because if she sees me, she might not let me go again.

* * *

The pulsing beat of the music hits me as soon as I step through the door. Strobe lights flash, casting an eerie glow over the writhing bodies on the dance floor. I take a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of sweat, leather, and desire wash over me.

I make my way to the bar, ignoring the appreciative glances and whispered invitations from the club's patrons. I'm here on a mission, not to play.

The barman is new, someone I haven't seen before. Young, maybe mid-twenties, with a shock of bleached blond hair and multiple piercings glinting in his ears and eyebrows. His bare torso is lean and toned, glistening with a sheen of sweat under the pulsing lights.

I lean against the bar, making sure my cleavage is on full display as I catch his eye. “Whiskey, neat,” I say, pitching my voice low and sultry.

He nods, pouring the amber liquid with practiced ease and sliding it over to me. As I take a sip, I let my eyes roam over him appraisingly.

“You’re new here,” I observe. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Jace,” he replies, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “And you are?”

“Rev,” I tell him, extending a hand. As he shakes it, I let my fingers linger, trailing lightly over his wrist. “I’m looking for some information, Jace. About a... transaction that went down recently.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “What kind of transaction?”

I lean in closer, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “The Anti-Magick Alliance. Bragging about a certain acquisition. A scepter.” I pull back, holding his gaze. “Ring any bells?”

Jace's Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

I chuckle, low and throaty. “Oh, I think you do, Jace. Or should I say, Jason Whitaker? 32A, Whistable Street, Ridgemore. Wife, Amy. Kids, Susie and Ben. Dog, Oscar.”

His eyes widen, a flash of panic crossing his features. “How do you…?”

“I have my sources,” I interrupt smoothly. “I know a lot about you, Jace. Just like I know about the little side business you've been running, skimming off the top of Madame’s profits.”

Jace’s face pales. “I don’t… I mean, I…”

I place a finger over his lips, silencing him. “Relax, handsome. I’m not here to expose you. In fact, I’m here to offer you a deal.”