by Tara Quan
***
“Joss, what the fuck is this?” Luka tossed the vellum invitation through the open hotel door.
Catching the projectile with ease, Joseph Bradlee, III used the card to fan his patrician face. Sweat coated his pale skin. A scion of an old Boston family, the man abhorred heat and humidity. Ever since their plane landed in Las Vegas, the blond’s usual grouchiness had escalated to epic proportions. The Castillo Hotel’s steady stream of chilled air didn’t seem to have any effect.
Wearing a three-piece wool suit might have something to do with his discomfort.
“Since I need to sort out Nate’s issue tonight”—Joss pointed his thumb over his shoulder—“I figured you could use the company.”
Nathan Winthrop sprawled on one of the many leather couches. Though he didn’t look the part in an old MIT T-shirt and faded jeans, the computer whiz’s financial portfolio far outstripped those of the room’s other occupants. He planned on converting an abandoned downtown property into his firm’s new regional outpost. Luka had wanted to see the location in person before finalizing his design, and Joss had been needed to handle an unforeseen legal complication.
Of course, three bachelors didn’t require an excuse to visit Sin City.
Following his friend into the opulent suite, Luka shut the door. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Now, I’m curious.” Nate lifted a dark brow. “What did he do this time?” Having met two decades ago in boarding school, the two Boston brahmins tended to bicker like an old married couple. With well-heeled but less blue-blooded parents, Luka had been their school’s token representative from New England’s nouveau riche.
Joss sent the card flying. It drifted in the air before landing not far from Nate’s leather sandals. “Why do you always expect the worst? I’d promised him a fun night on the town, and instead you’re forcing me to slave away screwing some poor defenseless start-up. All I did was give Mr. Picky extra incentive to scope out the Carnivore Club. If it’s decent, we can book a room there next time. Since you’re going to haul my ass to this oven every weekend, you’d best dig deeper into your business expense account and give me easy access to entertainment.”
Leaning forward, Nate squinted at the invitation. “Madame Eve cordially invites you to a one-night stand….” His sapphire eyes filled with mirth as he glanced up. “Jesus, dude. You booked Luka a hooker? You should give us a discount on your obscene retainer. You create half the legal problems you solve.”
Joss dropped into the armchair farthest away from the streaming sunlight. “It’s a matchmaking service, dickhead. See the e at the end of Madame? Fucking hell, why do you insist on doing business here? The sun is melting my brain.”
“I can’t ignore undervalued real estate and a business-friendly tax code, not even for you.” Nate pointed at his own short-cropped black hair. “Cut off your lion’s mane and lose the jacket. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”
Grabbing a chilled beer from the fridge behind the well-stocked bar, Luka handed it to his overheating friend before returning to pour himself and Nate some single malt scotch. “As much as I find this hairstyle discussion fascinating, it got old halfway through the flight. Can we focus on why you signed me up for a mystery date? I can visit a BDSM club without an escort. I do so on a regular basis.”
After guzzling his beverage, Joss leaned back. A loud belch erupted. “You haven’t had sex with a sub in months. It’ll simplify my life if you do. I arranged a sure thing.”
Rolling his eyes, Luka placed both glasses on the chrome coffee table before sitting next to Nate. “Is it me, or is the man not making any sense?”
Their dark-haired friend shrugged “He doesn’t half the time. Is he serious about your dry spell, though? You scene, but you don’t fuck? What’s stopping you?”
Joss launched forward. With a Cheshire cat smile, he settled his elbows on his thighs and steepled his fingers. “I’m glad you asked. Want to hear my prognosis?”
“Why not?” Nate deadpanned. “Your C in Psychology 101 qualifies you as an expert.”
Joss’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t address the jibe. The man seemed to have learned some self-control upon reaching his thirties. “Because of his crazy ex, our unfortunate pal has lost all faith in subs. Whenever he meets one, there’s this voice in the back of his head saying it’s an act, designed to trick him to the altar. It’s why he keeps his pants zipped.” In full-on know-it-all mode, he wiggled his eyebrows. “Am I right?”
Luka opened then shut his mouth. Admitting the actual reason for his disinterest might add to his problems, considering his friends’ tendency to meddle. The one woman he wanted wasn’t part of the lifestyle. Logic dictated he move on. Both his heart and dick refused to comply.
He must have waited too long to answer, since his friend continued, “A chick who signs up for a one-night stand with a stranger isn’t looking to sink her claws into anyone. She has no clue who her date is, or the size of his trust fund and lawsuit settlement. As hookups go, this is as safe as it gets. Once he dips his cock into the pool, maybe he’ll stop moping. I’m getting depressed watching him sulk.”
Nate snorted. “It always circles back to you, doesn’t it?” He rolled his eyes at Luka. “I thought you’d be over Ivanna at this point. She might be the hottest chick you’ve ever banged, but she isn’t worth it.”
Luka groaned. “We’re grown men. My sex life is no one’s business. Shove off, the both of you.”
Joss drummed his fingertips against each other. “Au contraire, mon ami. I’m your lawyer. Everything you do is my business. Besides, you asked me to find a solution to your stalker problem.”
“No, I told you to file for a restraining order,” Luka gritted out. “I remember being very specific.” Giving Joss vague instructions had always proven a recipe for migraines.
Nate lifted his glass. “Wait. Rewind. I’ve spent too much time away from Boston. What stalker?”
Joss butted in before Luka could explain. “He’s acquired one of those exes who keeps on giving. She hired a PI to follow him around and keeps materializing at every club we go to. I’m beginning to think she has a teleportation device. Anyway, restraining orders require a lot of boring paperwork and don’t really work in public spaces. Even if I went through the pain and suffering to score him one, BDSM clubs hate it when cops show up to spoil the mood. Luka gets all pissy at the sight of Ivanna, and this melodrama is cock-blocking both of us. I’ve seen so little action, my penis might have shrunk.”
Nate choked mid-sip. “On the plane, you boasted about topping a different sub every day this week.”
Joss squinted. “Fine. My penis is shriveling in solidarity with his dick’s lack of action.” He fixed his gaze on Luka. “Your ex is a narcissist. You might be off your game for some weird trust issues you should have already recovered from, but, in her warped, self-absorbed brain, you’ve kept your cock strapped down because you’re still in love with her. Ergo, she’s got it in her thick skull that she can win you back by doing strip teases in your line of sight.”
“And when I came to you for professional legal assistance about this ridiculously annoying problem, you what?” Luka tapped his temple. “Arranged for me to fuck some other woman in front of her?”
His friend’s nod didn’t come as a huge surprise. “You’re the one who hooked up and proposed to the psycho bitch against my professional legal advice. Getting rid of crazy involves doing something crazier.”
Nate retrieved the invitation from the marble floor. “Not that I’m taking sides or anything, but this mystery chick isn’t keyed in on your plan. If she isn’t a hooker, then she won’t be too happy about having sex, in front of an audience, with a complete stranger, for the sole purpose of pissing off her date’s insane ex.”
“Forget mystery chick.” Luka downed his drink. “I won’t have sex with a complete stranger for the sole purpose of pissing off Ivanna. It’s plain wrong.”
Joss grunted.
“Stop looking at this all warped. You’re fucking your date for the age-old reason of being horny. You’re doing a public scene because it always turns you on. The service likely matched you two lust birds based on some super-advanced compatibility algorithm, so chances are high having an audience gets her hot and bothered as well. Whether or not your stalker bitch shows up is irrelevant.”
Nate cleared his throat. “For a lawyer, you’re making a shitload of assumptions.”
“For a genius, you’re failing to see my brilliance. This arrangement has the potential to kill four birds with one stone.” Joss counted off on his fingers. “He won’t be alone tonight while we work. If the chick is hot, this date will end his flirtation with celibacy and get rid of his nutso ex. Last, and most important, it saves me from wasting my considerable talents on a bunch of mind-numbing forms. There’s no downside.”
“If this is all about the stupid restraining order, I can go to someone else—”
“Don’t even think about it. I’m your lawyer. The last time you enlisted the assistance of less-accomplished bloodsuckers, they messed up so bad you almost had to give psycho bitch a quarter of a million dollars.” Joss tilted his chin up. “There’s a method to my madness. Besides, can you give me a single reason why you shouldn’t go to the Carnivore Club tonight?”
He was hung up on Naomi. “No, but—”
“Weren’t you planning to try out the scene in Las Vegas anyway, even before you found the invitation in your room?”
Reputed to be the classiest BDSM destination in the West, the brand new resort had piqued his interest. “Yes, but—”
“Do you have a secret relationship I should know about?”
Not as of this morning. “No, but—”
“So what’s the hold up?”
Nate cleared his throat. “The man does have a point. If you let Ivanna ruin sex for all eternity, she wins.”
Joss slapped his hand on the coffee table. “See. Even he thinks you should stop being a pussy. You’re a Dom. Act like one.”
The taunt rankled enough to overrule Luka’s better judgment. “Damn it. Fine. I’ll check out the stupid club. But if this plan crashes and burns, which I’m 100 percent certain it will, you’re getting me a restraining order for free.”
His friend’s ear-to-ear grin tempted Luka to reverse course. “See? That wasn’t so hard, now, was it? By the way, if the mystery sub turns out to be a hottie, I’m adding bonus hours to your next invoice.”
Chapter Three
“Your paperwork is all set, Ms. Price.” The red-vested receptionist at the Carnivore Club pointed toward the smoked glass panes to his right. “The guests’ changing rooms are past those doors, down the hall. One of our dungeon monitors will join you shortly.”
As her stiletto boots clicked on marble, Naomi struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. She’d perused the club’s website prior to arrival, but virtual tours and blueprints had failed to capture its extravagance.
The limo had glided along a wide, curving drive, where a giant marquee advertised regular performances of a world-famous acrobatic troupe. As they approached a massive structure of stone and glass, her gaze drifted to magnificent twin marble sculptures of men draped in chains. Busy taking in the surroundings, she tripped while stepping out of the car.
In the lobby, gleaming walls merged with the ceiling and floor, the seamless expanse giving off an edgy aura of contemporary sophistication. The modern theme extended to the underground club area, as well as the winding tunnel she now traversed. Warm light bathed her path, but she couldn’t locate any fixtures. Elaborate masks banked her on both sides, their eyeless faces adding a rainbow of colors to the obsidian catacomb.
Even the air smelled luxurious—a combination of cedar, sandalwood, and pine, laced with hints of fresh tobacco. A gigantic slab of polished wood marked the hall’s end, the door’s weight significant enough her biceps protested as she pushed. Stepping into a room of black and gold, she shuffled toward the wall of mirrors.
Her reflection stared at her, as out of place against the posh background as a mutt at a kennel club. “Why even bother? You don’t belong here.”
She’d toyed with the idea of buying new clothes, but logic and frugality had triumphed over vanity. Instead, she’d spent twenty bucks on a sewing kit, double-sided tape, and craft materials. The sleeveless, square-necked, black dress she always packed for emergency parties laced in the front. It took minimal effort to replace the original ribbon with crimson satin, which lent a punch of sexiness to the otherwise nondescript gown. She’d used the same fabric to add a border along the neckline, and temporarily shortened the hem so it cut off an inch under her butt cheeks.
With a crocheted red belt around her waist, the outfit approximated a corset and miniskirt. Worn with knee-high, leather boots, some might label her DIY fetish wear creative or flattering. But expensive couture, it was not. Even compared to the uniformed hotel staff, she appeared drab. She didn’t want to know what the other female patrons donned inside the club.
Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed her arm and caught the fruity scent of body wash and lotion. No perfume had won over crappy perfume. Wringing her hands, she leaned forward to study her face. The lighting added a coral tinge to her dark skin and gave her tight French braid a nice shine. But she didn’t own any pricey jewelry, and her makeup kit had contained the bare minimum. Drugstore mascara and liner accentuated her eyes, though she could already detect a few smudges. She’d bought her foundation and powder in the summer. While they’d smoothed out her skin tone, the color didn’t quite match her current pallor.
The door opened, the reflected flash of red prompting her to spin around. A short Asian woman who appeared about eighteen strolled in. Like the receptionist, she wore a vest over her white dress shirt, which she’d paired with ankle-length black trousers. Sleek ebony hair formed a bun at her nape. A glittering red band covered her skinny upper arm, displaying the acronym DM.
“You’re the dungeon monitor?” Cute as a button, the petite teenager look-alike stood as good a chance corralling a misbehaving Dom as a Pomeranian puppy did a full-grown Rottweiler.
Flashing two rows of even white teeth, the monitor winked. “I’m tougher than I look. I also carry a Taser. By the way, I’m Kim. You must be Naomi.”
Their reflections aligned as she approached. Next to the newcomer’s elfin silhouette, Naomi appeared as a towering mastiff. Her shaky confidence plummeted. Throwing up her hands, she slumped on a nearby leather bench. “Okay. This seals the deal. I’m done with the place.”
Kim’s eyes widened before she lowered onto the opposite seat, her skinny ass occupying next to no space. “Umm…. What did I miss?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I should have figured this out from the website or the lobby or, hell, even the damn transparent elevators. This place isn’t my speed. Not by a long shot.”
“But you haven’t entered the club. All you’ve seen is the reception area and hallway.”
Naomi pointed at an elaborate floral arrangement in the center of the room. The explosion of tropical flowers included fresh orchids and lilies. “That cost more than my weekly paycheck. It’s being used to decorate a bathroom.”
To her surprise, Kim glanced at it and nodded. “Our wages combined wouldn’t quite cover the price. They keep changing the décor at the club to keep things fresh, and this past week’s hasn’t been one of my favorites. We haven’t been open long, and management must be trying to lure the fancy-pants crowd with glitz. You see, this room is for newbies. Members have separate entrances and changing rooms closer to their preferred play areas on the lower levels. Those are a little less…intense.”
Encouraged by the moment of camaraderie, Naomi found the courage to ask, “Okay, be straight with me. If I go in, will I be the only female who’s not rich, thin, and WASP?”
The monitor batted her lashes. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
The fake affront earned her a choked laugh. “Pretty bad, hu
h?”
“Nah.” Kim waved her hand in the air. “Because of the fee structure, most of the members are made of money. On the flip side, we’re in Las Vegas.”
“And?”
“It’s a diverse city full of high-calorie food. Women with healthy waistlines from a variety of ethnic backgrounds stumble in on occasion. I understand why you’re nervous, but you won’t stand out at all. Well, you will because you’re tall and gorgeous, but not for any other reason.”
Glancing down at the outfit she’d cobbled together, Naomi frowned. She felt about as attractive as the Hulk.
Jumping to her feet, Kim pulled a red, pre-tied bow tie from her pant pocket. The word RESERVED in large, black print adorned the front-facing bow. A silver ring dangled from its center like an overlarge pendant. “I’m beginning to understand why we have such specific instructions. Let me help you put this on.”
By the time Naomi finished processing the information, the accessory circled her neck. Kim pulled a leather leash out of her other pocket and clipped one end to the ring. She magicked a swath of black cloth from inside her vest before Naomi could object to the recent additions to her outfit.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing?”
Kim’s cheeks dimpled. “Our instructions are you should be blindfolded and chained in the public dungeon until your Dom arrives. Don’t worry. No one can approach you other than a monitor until the collar comes off. It’s one of the club’s rules. I will throat punch any creepy dude who so much as sniffs your hair.”
At her current level of nervousness, the image threatened to provoke hysterical laughter. Depending on the hypothetical assailant’s height, her protector might not even reach his neck. “Hold on. Rewind. Why am I being blindfolded?”
“It makes sense.” Kim pressed the cloth into Naomi’s icy fingers. “Clearly, it’s been a while since you’ve visited a BDSM establishment. You’ll be a lot less anxious if you can’t see what other people are doing or wearing.”