something?” Marco asked.
“None of that would be admissible in court.” Damon was looking out the window at the front of the club.
“Court? The legal system doesn’t exist right now.” Tasha tucked her ID and a few hundred dollars into the waistband of her tight shorts and then got out. “Coming?”
The men shared a look and then followed her out of the limo.
*****
Marco was grinning. He couldn’t help himself—this was fun.
Due to his relative fame and Damon’s need for privacy, their sexual exploits usually took place at a party Marco hosted. Going out like this wasn’t an option. They were fine clubbing, but nothing overt could happen in public.
Safe behind his mask, he was able to take in everything that was going on. He’d considered himself jaded and had even occasionally played with some bondage, but nothing near what was represented here. His eyes were being opened to a whole new level of kink.
The inside of the club, which as far as he could tell didn’t even have a name, was lit with alternative cool-blue and warm-gold lights. A circular stage in the center of the dance floor sported a large structure shaped like an X. A woman with a shaved head and plenty of piercings was strapped to it. She wore a thong and black tape over her nipples. A man wearing dark jeans and a leather harness circled her, a long whip in his hand. He’d occasionally flick his wrist, the thumping whip against her belly and legs. One wall was glass, and on the other side of it were three gold-lit rooms that reminded Marco of the red-light district in Amsterdam. In one of the rooms, a woman in pink lingerie dangled from the ceiling, her body cradled in a net of ropes. In the next, a girl in retro-style panties and a polka dot bra straddled a two by four, her calf and arm muscles straining to keep her body weight off her pussy. In the third, a woman wearing cat ears, a leopard-print teddy and mitts turned in a circle, showing off her tail.
“Damn,” Damon muttered.
“I agree.”
“ Shh,” Tasha whispered to them. “I’m going to the bar to see if I can talk to Demario.”
“I’ll get us a table,” Marco said.
“Then I’ll go with Tas—Ashley and get drinks,” Damon added.
Marco found a small table in a dark corner. There was a stage behind him, but it was unoccupied. Positioning himself so he could see everything, he settled in to keep an eye on the room. The consternation he’d felt in the limo was gone, replaced by excitement at the novelty of the club.
*****
Damon scanned the women, looking for a familiar face. He had only a vague memory of the blonde woman he’d slept with, who he now suspected had taken the video, but he was hoping he’d feel a jolt of recognition.
He accompanied Tasha to the bar, which had a crowd three deep. As they pressed closer, Damon put his hand on Tasha’s back in an instinctive gesture. She leaned into him and then nudged his arm farther up her body. Reminding himself of where they were, Damon grabbed her neck and slid his fingers under the back of her collar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, looking at Damon.
“I serve my Master,” Tasha said before Damon could reply. “He would like two Glenlivets.”
The bartender nodded once and started pouring single-malt scotch. Damon wondered if there was code to the ordering. He wasn’t a scotch drinker, but Tasha had rattled off the order as if she’d done it a million times before.
“Is Demario available?” she said.
“Who’s asking?”
“Nero and Sammy suggested we might offer him my services.”
If Damon hadn’t known for sure that the woman he held was Tasha, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her tone was sweet and somehow vulnerable. Her shoulders were soft and relaxed, her body seemingly ready to sway and bend at the slightest order or demand.
The bartender slid the drinks across the bar. Tasha held up a hundred dollar bill and looked at Damon. He raised a brow in question, realizing
“None of that would be admissible in court.” Damon was looking out the window at the front of the club.
“Court? The legal system doesn’t exist right now.” Tasha tucked her ID and a few hundred dollars into the waistband of her tight shorts and then got out. “Coming?”
The men shared a look and then followed her out of the limo.
*****
Marco was grinning. He couldn’t help himself—this was fun.
Due to his relative fame and Damon’s need for privacy, their sexual exploits usually took place at a party Marco hosted. Going out like this wasn’t an option. They were fine clubbing, but nothing overt could happen in public.
Safe behind his mask, he was able to take in everything that was going on. He’d considered himself jaded and had even occasionally played with some bondage, but nothing near what was represented here. His eyes were being opened to a whole new level of kink.
The inside of the club, which as far as he could tell didn’t even have a name, was lit with alternative cool-blue and warm-gold lights. A circular stage in the center of the dance floor sported a large structure shaped like an X. A woman with a shaved head and plenty of piercings was strapped to it. She wore a thong and black tape over her nipples. A man wearing dark jeans and a leather harness circled her, a long whip in his hand. He’d occasionally flick his wrist, the thumping whip against her belly and legs. One wall was glass, and on the other side of it were three gold-lit rooms that reminded Marco of the red-light district in Amsterdam. In one of the rooms, a woman in pink lingerie dangled from the ceiling, her body cradled in a net of ropes. In the next, a girl in retro-style panties and a polka dot bra straddled a two by four, her calf and arm muscles straining to keep her body weight off her pussy. In the third, a woman wearing cat ears, a leopard-print teddy and mitts turned in a circle, showing off her tail.
“Damn,” Damon muttered.
“I agree.”
“ Shh,” Tasha whispered to them. “I’m going to the bar to see if I can talk to Demario.”
“I’ll get us a table,” Marco said.
“Then I’ll go with Tas—Ashley and get drinks,” Damon added.
Marco found a small table in a dark corner. There was a stage behind him, but it was unoccupied. Positioning himself so he could see everything, he settled in to keep an eye on the room. The consternation he’d felt in the limo was gone, replaced by excitement at the novelty of the club.
*****
Damon scanned the women, looking for a familiar face. He had only a vague memory of the blonde woman he’d slept with, who he now suspected had taken the video, but he was hoping he’d feel a jolt of recognition.
He accompanied Tasha to the bar, which had a crowd three deep. As they pressed closer, Damon put his hand on Tasha’s back in an instinctive gesture. She leaned into him and then nudged his arm farther up her body. Reminding himself of where they were, Damon grabbed her neck and slid his fingers under the back of her collar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, looking at Damon.
“I serve my Master,” Tasha said before Damon could reply. “He would like two Glenlivets.”
The bartender nodded once and started pouring single-malt scotch. Damon wondered if there was code to the ordering. He wasn’t a scotch drinker, but Tasha had rattled off the order as if she’d done it a million times before.
“Is Demario available?” she said.
“Who’s asking?”
“Nero and Sammy suggested we might offer him my services.”
If Damon hadn’t known for sure that the woman he held was Tasha, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her tone was sweet and somehow vulnerable. Her shoulders were soft and relaxed, her body seemingly ready to sway and bend at the slightest order or demand.
The bartender slid the drinks across the bar. Tasha held up a hundred dollar bill and looked at Damon. He raised a brow in question, realizing
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