PLAY ME: A Kinky Reads Title

by Dukey, Ker

  I was wrong.

  She indicated she was looking for something more aggressive. Darker. A fantasy too wild for most people’s imaginations. Desperation bled through her words, which was the only reason I considered it. But there were so many hoops that needed jumping through before I even remotely agreed to anything.

  Rape fantasy.

  I’d been prepared to tell her no, but she pinged my email again, all but begging for me to hear her out and consider her request. After running it by two of my best friends—one of whom is a detective—I decided I’d at least entertain her with a meeting, and we’d go from there.

  Please don’t judge me.

  I can’t help but think about the email she sent me tonight. Just those words. Please don’t judge me. As though maybe she’s having cold feet. One way or another, this evening, we’re going to talk it out. There’s so much I need to know before I think about saying yes.

  For one, is she attractive?

  It’s a shitty thing to think, but I’m not sure I could do this type of role-play with just anyone. And since this isn’t necessarily the safest or most ethical thing my club could be associated with, it needs to be handled by me. I need to be the one in this roleplaying scenario with her.

  If. If. If. If.

  If she’s my type. If she’s mature. If she’s sane. If she’s clean.

  God, so many fucking ifs.

  Someone walks through the door, and I zero in on the woman. Completely my type. Tall, blonde, fucking hot with huge tits. I’m about to wave her over to me when she smiles at a man. He pulls her in for a hug and they kiss.

  Damn.

  That would be too easy.

  A couple of guys walk in, and I notice Bruce, one of my bouncers, shaking his head at a woman. I narrow my eyes. A curtain of light brown hair hides her face as she fumbles around in her purse. Her body tenses when she senses eyes on her. She snaps her head in my direction. For a brief moment, panic lights up her green eyes that seem to glow. Bruce says something to her, impatience in his demeanor, and her neck blazes bright red. She’s back to digging around in her purse.

  He thinks she looks young.

  And she does, considering most women who come through here have makeup caked on. This woman may not have makeup on, but I saw a glint in her eyes that said she’s seen things. Hard things. Awful things. Terrifying things. This isn’t the sort of place that evokes cold, hard panic. Embarrassment perhaps. Not panic. But in one glance, I saw it. The fear.

  She thrusts her ID at him, and he inspects it for a long moment. I watch her full lips move as she says something to him. Then, they both look my way, and he points to me.

  Fuck.

  Nope.

  If this is Violent Q, the answer is already no.

  Not for what she wants. This type of role-play requires mental strength, not to mention physical as well. I’m sure I can offer her a mixture of some submissive or humiliation role-play, but what she wants, I cannot do.

  As she pushes through the crowd, her hesitation melts away, the brief, fearful glimpse shed at the door. She lifts her chin, hardens her stare, and presses her lips together as she squeezes through people. Because of her plainness, she’s barely noticed or acknowledged.

  I see her, though.

  Not just the tougher person she’s projecting, but the one she’s trying to hide. It’s clear she’s both, whether she wants to admit that or not.

  She stops right in front of me, her green eyes glimmering with an inner fire. It lights up her whole face. Her lips part as she readies herself to speak. Gently, I lift my hand with a slow, steady movement and brush my thumb across her bottom lip. She blinks in surprise at my touch.

  “Not here,” I say, my voice gruff. “Come to my office.”

  Her brow furrows, but she nods. I turn on my heel and make my way out of the main club area into the hallway that will take us to my office. Her presence can be felt behind me, which I find unusual. I’m not sure if it’s her requests, or her, but something has the hairs on the back of my neck alive with awareness. She gives off the illusion of heat, and I feel it burning hot against my back. The most surprising of all is the way my dick twitches with interest. At the very least, we could have fun together, even if I can’t give her what she wants.

  Not my type…

  My dick doesn’t agree.

  I cast a glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s still following me. Plain fucking Jane. Even her outfit screams matronly schoolmarm. Long brown skirt, brown boots, and an oversized cream sweater that hides her shape. She could have tits, but it’s hard to tell in the shitshow she’s wearing. I give her a forced smile before turning back around.

  “I’m Joshua,” I tell her when we make it to my office door. “Joshua Tuck. Pleased to meet you…”

  “Violent Q,” she utters, darting her eyes away from mine.

  I wait for a beat. When she doesn’t elaborate, I let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I can help.”

  This gets her attention. All nervousness and uncertainty bleeds away as anger sets in, morphing her plain features into fiery ones.

  “Why not?” she demands, her throat burning red again.

  Red’s a good color on her.

  “Because, in order for us to even consider your request, there needs to be trust. If you can’t even trust me with your name, why are we here?”

  “Quinn.”

  I lift a brow.

  “Quinn Washington.”

  “How old are you, Violent Quinn?”

  Her nostrils flare. “Twenty-seven.”

  I hold her stare for another moment before punching in the code to my office and pushing into the room. She follows me inside, eyeing the office warily.

  “Have a seat,” I instruct. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No,” she practically hisses at me as she sits. She takes a deep breath and straightens her spine. “No thank you. I don’t drink.”

  Interesting.

  I sit down in my chair across the desk from her and lean back, watching her. Now that we’re alone, she’s not as panicked. Coiled and aware. She reminds me of a panther ready to attack if the enemy so much as steps across the boundary line.

  “Explain what it is you want from me,” I say, my voice level and calm.

  “I already did in the email.”

  “I need to hear you say it.” Then, in a gentler tone, I say, “Trust. Remember?”

  She lets out a heavy sigh and relaxes. “I have certain needs no one has been able to fill.”

  “They haven’t met your expectations?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I lift a brow, imploring her to continue.

  “I never gave them a chance,” she grumbles.

  “Why’s that?”

  “We never made it this far.”

  “How far?”

  She waves a hand in the air. “This far. No agreements have been made.”

  It grates on me that she’s been trying this with others.

  “Why have no agreements been made?” I ask, scratching at the stubble along my jawline.

  “It just didn’t…” She frowns. “Each time, something felt off.”

  “The person?”

  “Maybe…I don’t know.”

  “I have a question for you.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “N-No,” she stammers out.

  Lie.

  “Hmmm…”

  “No,” she huffs out. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  I rake my gaze along her front, lingering at the softest swell beneath her sweater showing the promise of tits. She squirms under my stare. Licking my lips, I dart my eyes to meet hers.

  “Sure about that?”

  “Positive,” she practically growls. “I won’t be afraid anymore.” Then, as though she can’t believe her words, she presses her palm to her mouth. Oops. Didn’t mean for that to slip out.

  “Good,” I say, letting it slide for now. “I have owned this estab
lishment for nearly a decade and wouldn’t feel right if my clients were afraid. My momma would beat the shit out of me if she thought I intimidated any woman.” I smirk. “If it makes any difference, I’m in the business of pleasing my clients, not terrorizing them.” A chuckle escapes me. “That is, unless they request it.”

  “I’m not exactly sure I know what I’m requesting,” she mumbles. “I just know I want—no, I need it.” She swallows thickly. “Just tell me what happens next.”

  “Before we proceed, you need to get comfortable around me. I, for one, won’t feel comfortable talking about forcing you to do anything if you’re afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid—”

  “Dinner. My place on Friday.”

  “No,” she rushes out.

  I cock my head. “No?”

  “I mean, I’d prefer it at my own home.”

  Intriguing.

  “I would know where you live,” I taunt.

  She bristles, then steels her features. “I’d find out where your momma lives and tell her about your intimidation tactics.”

  Maybe not so weak after all.

  “Dinner at your place on Friday. We can discuss more then.”

  Like why the hell she wants this in the first place.

  “Okay,” she murmurs. “So…we’re done?”

  “For now.”

  Her hand shakes as she lifts her purse and stands. I rise and follow her to the door. Stepping quicker so I can open it for her, I startle her. One second, I’m reaching for the door, and the next, I’m pinned to it with an elbow to my throat.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Green eyes flared with fury burn into me. “What were you doing?”

  “Opening the door for you.”

  She still doesn’t release her hold.

  “You’re not as afraid as you think you are,” I whisper, then snag her by the throat and whip her around, pinning her to the door.

  Her eyes widen in surprise, her lips parting slightly.

  “You’re in control,” I rumble, dropping my gaze to her plump lips. “With me, you’ll always be in control.”

  Her pulse jumps in her throat against my thumb.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” she chokes out.

  I caress her neck with my thumb. “Do you want me to?”

  Her answer should be automatic. I can tell she wants to shake her head at me. But something stops her. The need. I see it just below the fear and hidden strength. Pulsating and aching.

  “I want to come to an agreement,” I admit, my mouth close to hers. “What’s allowed and what isn’t. Hard limits. Maybes. Your desires and your fears. I want it all laid out so we can custom fit your fantasy to the one you crave—the one deep down inside you have yet to voice. Is that what you want, Quinn?” When I lean closer, my lips nearly touching hers, her eyes flutter closed, and she gasps.

  “Yes,” she breathes.

  I release her neck and step backwards before shoving my hands in my pockets so I don’t do something stupid like kiss her.

  Confusion mars her pretty face. And she is…pretty. Really pretty. At first glance, she hides behind her plainness, the desire to blend in nothing but a costume. Beneath the surface, she is fire, strength, resilience and desperation. Desperate to sate a need within her.

  “Friday,” I remind her. “Email me your address.”

  “Friday,” she parrots, her throat splotchy red from both my handling and her response to me.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Quinn. I want to help you.”

  She doesn’t ask why, and I don’t offer.

  But the answer is…because.

  Just because.

  “Goodnight, Joshua.”

  “Night, Violent Q.”

  At least I know she can live up to her nickname.

  2

  The present…

  The tapping of my pen against the table finally irritates my assistant to the point where he darts forward out of his chair and slams his hand down, capturing it beneath his palm. “Quinn, why are you so distracted?”

  Frowning, I exhale and collapse back in my chair. “I have a lot on my mind, and a business to run,” I remind him.

  Wayne has been my assistant and friend since I hired him three years ago. He and his husband, Luke, have become family to me, yet my secrets are still kept locked away inside the vault of my mind. I’ve told no one about what happened to me all those years ago, nor what I was planning to do to help myself fully heal from it.

  “I’ve never seen you this way,” he says. “Is there anything I can help with?”

  Smiling over at him, I stand and round the desk, holding out a folder. “You can run your eyes over the marketing proposal for our meeting with Harose Records next week. This is a huge opportunity for our company. I don’t want to mess it up. It’s not often they outsource for marketing.”

  Nodding and offering me a tight smile, he takes the folder and gets to his feet, but doesn’t leave. “You’re going to have to trust someone with what’s going on up there some time,” he says, tapping a finger against my forehead. “It’s not healthy to keep it all inside.” His hand drops to my shoulder, squeezing. “I’m here for you whenever you’re ready.”

  Placing my palm over his hand, I tilt my head to rest there. “I know, and I love you for it.”

  “Love you too.”

  When the door closes behind him, I close my eyes, a heavy sigh deflating my chest.

  My focus is off today because I can’t stop thinking about the meeting with Joshua tonight. It felt like fate when I saw him at Harose Records a month ago. Old memories had been tormenting me after a fire scare at the office a few months back. Firetrucks arrived followed by a police cruiser. All the hidden demons inside me crept from the darkness, sending me spiraling back to that dirt road. I’d thought I was past the fear, but it slammed into me like a freight train, robbing me of breath when the officer stepped out and asked to speak to me.

  No…no…no.

  I know the monster who robbed me of so much isn’t every officer. There are good, honest policemen out there, but no matter how much I rationalize this to myself, the uniform, the cruiser…it all brings an overwhelming weight of anxiety I can’t shake.

  An alert on my laptop pings, reminding me my therapy session is in an hour, and I laugh out loud. I thought I was past this broken girl feeling, but here I am back in therapy trying to regain control.

  “So, he’s the one you’re choosing?” Dr. Angelina Vance asks.

  Gripping the armrests of the chair I’ve sat in for an hour once a week for the past eight weeks, I think about Joshua. About the day I went to Harose Records to meet Mr. Hayes about an opportunity he had for my company. A company I built from the ground up and made a success in a very short time.

  I sat in the reception area waiting for him, arriving thirty minutes early like always. That’s when I saw him—Joshua—laughing with another man about the band Berlin Scandal. I’d managed to watch them through the leaves of an oversized plant. His laugh was captivating and would draw anyone’s attention. He hasn’t changed since I first saw him years ago at my college graduation. He was there for his little brother, Rocko. I was intrigued to finally see the infamous club owner brother who catered to people’s sexual kinks. My eyes became transfixed on the way his sleeves were rolled up his forearms, a fancy watch decorating his wrist. A crisp shirt, tight in all the right places. A suit jacket held by the collar in his fist. Slacks covering tall, firm legs. And damn, that ass. Blue eyes sparkled with amusement. I felt utterly captivated by him. An ease came over me, allowing me to just breathe and be in the moment.

  And then he was walking out, and my impulse to run after him was insane.

  That’s when I knew it was meant to be. I hadn’t seen Rocko since graduation, but he was never the same after the night he saw me in the aftermath. He begged me to tell him what happened, who hurt me, but I shut down. Fear, anger, and guilt ate away at the girl I used to be. I became some
one new. Someone my once best friend Amy didn’t recognize. We all drifted apart. I don’t even know what they’re doing with their lives now.

  “Quinn?”

  I look up from my lap. I’d become lost to my thoughts. “I think he’s the one,” I state.

  “You know I don’t recommend this route. It can be a dangerous set back if things don’t go as planned.”

  “I know your concerns.” I smile.

  Nerves ricochet through my body, rattling my bones as I pace the dining room floor. I can’t believe I invited him to my home without the contract in place. Maybe we should have done this at his office or somewhere with other people. I’m not afraid of him, but the nagging warning never invite a stranger into your home dances with flashing lights in my mind.

  “Asked for it. Idiot.”

  I hate that the thoughts are even there, that the rules have been told to me over and over. In our society, women are blamed and made to take measures to prevent sexual assaults. Like the attackers need us to help them not to rape. My inner thoughts pop like a pin in a balloon when the doorbell rings through the house. I brush my palm down my blouse and go to answer the door.

  Blue, piercing eyes track over my body before words leave his mouth, a slight tug of his lip giving away his amusement. “Nice shirt.” His voice is deep, but soft like velvet over silk. I know he’s mocking me for my attire. My blouse is floral and picked from the older lady section of Macy’s. It’s also buttoned up to my throat, cutting off my airway.

  “Seven on the dot,” I state, allowing him to enter.

  “Time management is important. It’s rude to be late,” he says, slipping out of his jacket.

  “I’ll take that. Please, go make yourself comfortable.” I suck in a couple needed breaths when he hands it to me and looks around.