Page 80 of Twisted Royals

“This.” He tapped a fingertip against the monitor displaying the area outside the club’s front door.

I looked at the image and could feel my brows knitting. What the hell? Some woman was not only standing in the middle of the street, she was twirling in circles. How she managed not to fall flat on her face considering the height of the stilettos she was wearing was rather impressive. And if the body beneath the ill-fitting trench coat she was wearing lived up to the golden hair flowing down the pirouetting princess’ back, then… wait. Leaning closer, my fingers found the toggles that allowed me to zoom in.

“I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Mike asked, laughter disappearing as he pushed his way into my personal space since I was now evidently blocking his view.

“Nothing.” I slid the toggle a bit up and to the far left before straightening.

His expression telegraphed his disbelief of that statement, but I didn’t feel the need to enlighten him. “I’ve got rounds to make.” I headed for the door again, ignoring his grumbled expletive when discovering I’d rendered the camera’s view useless. I was hoping it would remain so until I had positive proof of what my mind thought my eyes had seen.

Instead of taking the longer route through the main floor of the club, I stepped into a corridor few were aware existed. Despite the dim lighting, I could see enough to select the correct number on the screen. I spoke very briefly, pocketed my phone, and arrived at my destination in a matter of seconds. Pressing my finger to the keypad, a panel hidden in the wall of yet another office slid open, leaving a final door separating me from the front of the club. Stepping through, I caught a flash of artificial pink and purple strands swirling with blonde curls reflected in the mirror mounted in the corner of the ceiling. It provided a clear view of the lobby and let me know I’d arrived at the same time the little ballerina had. Instead of continuing to the lobby, I chose to lean against the wall and observe her in the mirror.

“Welcome to Revelation,” Jeanette said, a distinct note of amusement in her tone.

I couldn’t blame her for the little lapse in professionalism. Our newest guest might as well have been deaf for all the attention she gave the greeting. While no longer spinning like a top, her head was on a swivel as if she couldn’t decide where to focus. If it hadn’t been for her smile and widened gaze, I might have questioned if she was going to run right back out the door.

If she was this impressed with the décor, I couldn’t wait to witness her reaction when seeing the inner sanctum. Revelation was indeed a BDSM club, but the décor in the lobby wasn’t any more revealing than many a painting hanging in the Louvre. While one could find a tasteful nude in any museum, here, once the proverbial curtain was pulled aside, guests would discover far more than uncovered flesh was revealed. That is, of course, if one made it past the front desk.

“May I help you?” Jeanette tried again.

Her crisp, yet friendly offer seemed to do the trick. The woman gave a little laugh as she turned to Jeanette who was serving as tonight’s receptionist.

“Sorry, it’s just so…”

I waited for her to say something along the lines of shocking, horrifying, or at the very least naughty and was surprised when she threw her arms wide and proclaimed, “awesome”.

Though I had no doubt she was not only familiar with lauded works of artists long dead but could identify any masterpiece by title, location and date painted, if I knew anything about her life, and I did, she’d never come close to gazing on anything that lay beyond the door behind her. Then again, maybe I was mistaken? I hadn’t actually seen the woman in question for several years and things might have changed. Though everything in me told me no country, especially one seemingly content to remain untouched by anything that even hinted at “modernity” changed that fast.

Concentrating my gaze on her face as she stepped up to the desk, I knew I was right. Wash the pink and purple streaks out of that mane of gold curls, remove the ridiculous fake eyelashes, scrape away the layers of cosmetics on her face, and take off that off-the-rack trench coat… and you’d be looking into the innocent face of one of the most sought-after women in the world. Unless I was looking at a perfect doppelganger, the youngest daughter of the King and Queen of Emberly Isles was currently standing in my club.

“I certainly hope you can help me. How are you at finding me someone to play with tonight?”

“That’s the fun part of my job,” Jeanette said, treating me to the sound of delicate female laughter her response garnered from our guest. “First, do you identify as a Domme or submissive?”

Despite the thick foundation on her face, the princess’ cheeks stained a soft pink.

“Hmmm, I’ve been bossed around my whole life, and while it would be fun to turn the tables for a change, I suppose that would require I actually know what to tell them to do. So”—she shrugged her shoulders—“I suppose we should go with submissive. At least, I’m thinking the orders issued would be far different than the ones I’ve heard a million times before. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Jeanette assured her. “Do you have a preference of gender? Male, female or perhaps both?”

A grenade could have exploded beside me and I would not have heard it as I concentrated on catching the answer she’d give.

“Is that really possible? Both at the same time?” she questioned.

“You’ll find almost anything you can imagine is possible at Revelation,” my far-too-efficient employee stated.

“I know a female would most likely understand my dilemma and needs… but first, is there something like limits I can ask to be honored? Or is that just in books?”

“They absolutely exist. We practice safe, sane, and consensual play here. Not only will you be able to list both hard and soft limits, you’ll negotiate with your partner before any scene you choose to engage in. There are monitors stationed around the floor and both the owners are very serious about ensuring everyone on the floor is safe.”

“In that case, I believe I’d like to play with a nice man,” my ballerina said but then added a caveat, “but not too nice. Despite any limits, I don’t have time to spend wading in the shallows with someone who tiptoes around and asks permission to so much as touch me, if you know what I mean. Make it a man who isn’t afraid to jump off the Devil’s Spine into the deep end with me and you’ve got a friend for life!”

What the fuck?

If any grain of doubt had remained, her reference just destroyed it. I pictured the huge sets of boulders piled one on top of another. We would climb over each “spine” to reach the “devil’s neck” which extended out over a pool of aquamarine water eighty feet below. Jumping never failed to scare the bejesus out of us, but once your body met the water, your momentum pushing you deep, it had been one of the most exhilarating things we’d ever experienced. Forbidden by parents, of course, but to make the jump served as a rite of passage for those of us brave or stupid enough to take the plunge.

As total surety of her identity flowed over me, I was suddenly far less amused than I was furious. What in the hell was she thinking? What was she doing here? She shouldn’t even be on this continent, much less in the lobby of my BDSM club. If her parents ever discovered where she was, the little princess would probably decide death was preferable to their wrath, much less the ruin she’d face.

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