Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I’m warmer now, my limbs lazy post adrenaline. I lean into him more, and that’s when I realize what that long ridge under my butt is.
His dick. He’s hard. And big.
“You didn’t come,” I blurt. Post-scene, I apparently have no filter. Another reason I never wanted a top to stick around.
“That’s okay. Tonight’s about you, little bird.” And he makes no move to do anything but hold me.
And it’s perfect.
8
Inara
When I leave the club, the night air is fresh on my face. The clubs have closed, and the coffee shops still have a few hours until they open. The city sleeps. It’s well past midnight and into the small hours where shadows hide so many horrific deeds.
My mentor, also a detective, had a saying, “At three a.m., no one is up to anything good.”
But I feel good.
After the scene, I fell asleep in the dom’s lap and woke up an hour later feeling sore but like I’d slept a year. He left a bottle of water and painkillers, plus arnica cream. I used the last sparingly. I want to keep my bruises. I’ve earned them.
When I went to leave the club, the front desk attendant told me there was a car waiting for me. I assumed it would be a taxi, but the car was sleek and black and pristine, like a hired car a rich businessman would use to travel the city.
In the darkness of the backseat, I catalog my souvenirs from the scene. There are red marks on my arms. It’s warm enough in this nice car that I can slip off my coat and admire the beautiful lattice from elbow to wrist. It’ll fade by tomorrow, but I’ll still have my other marks. My hip is sore, twinging with every movement. And when I press my boots to the floor, my cropped arches scream beautifully.
I lose track of time, and when I look up, we’re a block away from my townhouse.
“Stop here,” I tell the driver, pointing to the bodega on the corner.
“Here? Miss, are you sure?”
“Yes.” My apartment is right around the corner. I’ll be fine to walk.
“I can run in for you,” he says. “It’s not safe.”
Two young men are standing on the curb, dark hoodies shadowing their faces. The street light glints on the right’s lip ring as he and his buddy move off.
“It’s all right. I have pepper spray.”
“I’ll wait for you, then,” he says.
“No need.” I unzip my coat to access my purse. I pocket my pepper spray and reach for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“No charge. It’s been covered.”
That gives me pause, but I nod and slip out. Energy thrums through me, and my stomach has woken up enough to remind me I skipped dinner. The shop has a lovely rotisserie in the window, showcasing a giant skewer of meat. There’s nothing like a late-night kebab.
On my way inside, I pass a lady huddled in her sleeping bag between stacks of her belongings.
I order my kebab and eat it right away, wandering the shop. Remembering my empty fridge, I grab a few frozen dinners, oat milk, bread, and a jar of peanut butter. At the counter, I throw in a few apples and bananas so I don’t get scurvy.
When I exit, the hired car’s still parked on the curb. I ignore it and head to the left, toward my townhouse. The lady is awake, and I hand her my remaining cash.
I turn the corner, and the car follows. It creeps along beside me like a needy Labrador. The driver sticks his head out of the window.
“Miss, I was paid to take you all the way home.”
I stop. “Who paid you? The club?” I’ve never heard of a BDSM club doing that before, but Club Empire is in a league of its own with its high-class clientele. Maybe it’s a perk they offer.
“I can’t tell you that,” the driver says. Alarm bells go off in my head.
He sees my narrowed eyes and shakes his head.
“Look, I know it sounds suspicious, but it’s a free ride. At least let me—”
There’s a shriek from around the corner. I drop my grocery bags and race back to the shop. The lady on the pavement is screaming, hanging onto her bag as one of the young men in a hoodie tries to wrench it away.
I rush him, shouting, “Police! Get away from her.” I push his shoulder, sending him off balance down the sidewalk. He staggers to his feet. His hood falls back, and he turns, twitching, to stare at me with dead eyes. He’s hopped up on something.
“I have pepper spray.” I hold it up. I can defend myself, but I’m hoping he’ll realize his easy target isn’t worth it.
Someone slams into me from behind. I go down, hard, but my self-defense training kicks in, and I use my body as a fulcrum, launching my attacker off of me.