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“All work and no play. Not that I know.”
“Yeah, you won’t bother—you play more than you work, arsehole.” Lux sassed me again and reluctantly passed me another shot. “Tonight is all about fantasies. What the hell is yours supposed to be? A Stick Figure Santa?”
“Ha ha, you’re so fucking funny.”
“Oh, no.” She wheeled toward me, shimmying her shoulders and feathers my way in a move that was like me to get killed if Killian saw it, and downed three shots one after the other without breaking a sweat.
“Damn, girl.”
“Stop flirting, you beautiful little slut.” Killian slid his finger through the D ring on Lux’s collar and pulled her into him for a long, hot kiss.
I looked away, pretending his show of dominance didn’t affect me, but the truth was I had come to Fray seeking a submissive of my own. Nearly three weeks into the job, and I still hadn’t found one I liked enough to keep.
“I’d tell you to get a room, but I know she’s got an exhibition streak.” So did he, but I wasn’t ready to get into that sort of confrontation tonight. I had plans of my own. Namely to find a little submissive and quiet time to have some fun.
“Knox has a little fantasy he wants to play out.” Killian shot me a shit-eating grin. “He likes his girls tied and terrified.”
I rolled my eyes, pretending for the second time not to be affected. Tied, maybe. Terrified? Not in the way he insinuated. I wanted a girl on her knees, ready to do anything I asked because she had no other choice except for the one she’d agreed on in coming with me in the first place. The rest was all consensual role play, and damn good fun at that.
“So he likes it a little rough?” Lux shrugged. “Who doesn’t?” Her arms wound around Killian’s waist, and she rubbed her cheek against his chest, basically purring at him while he glared at her, pulling her tight into his body.
I groaned. “Stop it. You two are fucking killing me.” I drummed my fingers on the bar. “Fine. I have a kidnapping fetish. Not the real stuff—I’m not a fucking rapist. If I see fear in a playmate, it’s the sort that means she’s not sure where I’ll spank her next or when I’ll push her down and fuck her into next week. A little bondage, maybe, so she has to listen while I torment the fuck out of her. Good girls get rewarded.” I let my own insinuation drip from my lips as Lux stared at me with her mouth open.
A shiver rippled over her body where she pressed herself harder into Killian’s tall frame. “Sounds good to me,” she whispered, though I wasn’t sure who she said it to until she tipped her head back for another kiss.
Killian provided what she asked for so nicely, devouring her in front of everyone.
I pushed away from the bar before I had to suffer any more and wandered to the back of the bar where the utilitarian areas of the club were situated. A few rooms stood mostly empty, storage and the like. With a few little adjustments, I’d have the perfect place and privacy for a little quiet playtime with a willing sub.
Killian’s stare weighed on my back as I headed away from the main area, and I glanced over my shoulder to maintain eyecontact with the big man. “I promise I won’t break any house rules.”
His eyes filled with understanding, but his lips settled in a tight line. Or maybe that was because Lux dropped to her knees, leaving her head bobbing around his crotch region. “Make sure you don’t.”
I nodded and wandered into the area I wanted to inspect, snagging bundled ropes and handcuffs from the storeroom as I went and whistled, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”
Chapter Two
Josie
I waited in the long line that curved around the better part of two blocks for entry to Club Fray’s Christmas Wish party and tried to blend in. Not that it was hard, as half the incoming patrons were already blended. That would make my mission for the night all the easier, as inebriated people and crowded spaces tended to highlight people’s mistakes, and that was key to what I needed to discover.
Fray had an exclusive clientele—the shifter community—but my boss, being a plain, boring human, didn’t know that. What she did know was that the club had more going on and offered me the chance at an exposé and a letter to my university in thanks, along with a weekly paycheck … and a place on the other side of the glassed door to the media conglomeration that housed her newspaper-cum-tabloid.
The side that faced the street front.
The man in front of me stumbled over his own feet and knelt by the gutter where he retched over his own clothes. I edged away as far as the sidewalk allowed, which wasn’t far at all.
I knew Rafe Astor ran the club his own way, but surely serving alcohol to already inebriated patrons had to be against some sort of law.
Strike one for Mister Astor.
Why had I taken the assignment after all? Working a club on Christmas was the worst idea in hell. Any hell. I could be doing an article on the homeless or a feel-good piece on churches and morning services. Kids dressed as angels and houses lit up like, well, Christmas.
Instead, here I was, extending my internship hours by shoving my nose into a notorious club owner’s personalplayground and hoping my furry ass didn’t end up getting warmed by a bouncer.
Which, in a BDSM shifter club, was a distinct possibility.
If I can get in the door.
