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“At work. Where are you?” she bites back.
“At your house. Seems you forgot what time your shift started.”
“Get the fuck away from my place, you stalker.”
“Show up to fucking work on time, and I wouldn’t have to stalk your ass.” I hang up and drive off.
The infuriating woman calls back immediately, but I don’t answer.
When I get to the club, I spot her standing at the front desk straight away. Her two-toned hair is pulled back in a ponytail, the silky strands dark below and blonde on top. Weird, but whatever. Her full lips shine from the pink coat of gloss she has spread across her mouth. She’s chewing gum.
Loudly, I might add.
She pops a bubble when I reach her.
“So, you do show up to work after all.”
She smirks at my words. “You were late. I was here.” She gives me a full smile, and all it does is grate my every single nerve. “But since you’re here, I need you to sign off on a few things.”
“Grayson.” One of the girls says my name as they approach. “I need you to remove the man in the blue room.”
“Where is security?” I ask.
She doesn’t meet my eyes as she says, “Helping another girl.”
“Fucking hell.” I point to Avani. “Stay there. Do not fucking move.”
She smiles big, showing me her perfect white teeth, and gives me a salute. I hear her chuckle as I walk away, followed by, “He has something stuck up his ass. Maybe he should pull it out.”
The blue room is comprised of a jacuzzi surrounded by a rock garden perched at the top of a short set of steps. It has a waterfall feature lit from underneath, glowing a luminescent blue. Striding straight into the room, I see a client lounging in the hot tub. He has a gun next to him and a glass of champagne in his hand. How the fuck did he get that in here? Glass is not allowed. His eyes flick back to me as I reach him. I kick his gun away, and it falls off the ledge, clattering to the floor.
“Out,” I growl.
He lifts his glass of champagne and puts it to his lips, smirking. “Tell her to come back and stop being a little bitch. I want to play some more.”
I grind my teeth at his words. “Last chance. Get the fuck up,” I warn, my voice lowering. He grips his glass in his hand and offers me a smile before he takes another sip. I start rolling up my sleeves before I step into the jacuzzi, shoes on and all, and move in close to him. “Close your eyes,” I tell him, but he doesn’t listen. I smirk as I reach for him, my hands going around his throat and gripping tight. He struggles. His legs kick out at me—thankfully missing my cock—and his hands grip my bare arms, trying to rip my fingers free from his throat. I push him down, his head going under water, and he tries to fight me hard, but I keep him there waiting until he doesn’t fight me any longer—and they all fight at the end—but this man has no luck, and after about five minutes he goes limp.
I could have shot him.
But the clean-up crew would not be impressed if I made them scrub all that blood. We have a room for that kink, and it has the proper sterilization products and procedures. This one, not so much.
A lot of the men come here to be dominated. We don’t call it the Playroom of Pleasure for nothing.
Some want a safe place to live out their fantasies. Somewhere they can act out their kink, shame free—whatever that might be.
They get off on it.
And the women don’t have to touch the clients.
They always get a choice.
Consent is key.
And for those who don’t obey the rules? Well, let’s just say they end up like Mr. Harrington here.
Dead.
