Page 1 of Room 13: Bred By the Bears

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Most people,I assumed, join Club Sin for one of two reasons. The first was to find a partner with like-minded kinks to take the next steps outside of the club into forever partners. The second were unfulfilled in their partnerships with people whoaren’tlike-minded. They joined because they were ashamed of the things they liked and assumedly feared rejection from their mate. And then, there were people like me who didn’t fit into any category.

I had no qualms openly discussing my preferences. However, if you told an average man on the street that you frequently masturbated to fantasies of men putting babies in you or telling you how badly they wanted to fill you with their seed or to shove a baby in you, they’d think you were desperate. Attempting to lock someone down by any means possible. And they’d run the other way.

Which was why a club that catered to every imaginable kink was my perfect solution. My membership came up for renewal at the end of the year, and honestly, I was considering allowing it to expire. While many men had no qualms about dirty talking while they railed you bareback, it wasn’t enough. Someone telling me to take their cum, or having condomless sex, barely scratched the itch. It was deeper than that. Animalistic. Primal.

I needed someone to bend me over, bite my neck, and truly breed me. As if I were a bitch in heat and they were helpless to the scent of me. And, so far, nothing had come even close to that fantasy. No matter how many kink apps I searched, or how many of these clubs I patronized.

At least Club Sin catered to a more highbrow clientele. Billionaires, politicians,mafiosi. Everyone was another pervert exploring their deepest, most hidden desires. They happened to be some of the most elite movers and shakers in New Orleans.

“There is a triad in the formal lounge you might be interested in.”

Chantilly sidled up next to me as I waited to place a drink order. As my de facto den mother, despite us being about the same age, she was constantly on the lookout for anyone that may fit my requirements. They were few and far between. I almost always settled. But Chantilly kept her ear to the ground for me. At all times.

“I think I’m just going to hang out tonight,” I told her, smiling at the bartender to get his attention. “There’s a plug and vibrator demonstration on the main stage tonight, I plan to check out. Who knows, maybe they’ll need a willing volunteer.”

God, I was pitiful. The amount of coin I threw down to be part of this club, and I was hoping to get off with some fancy new vibrators instead of with a hot cock inside me. I needed to get my priorities straight.

“Trust me on this one, Meelee.”

My name wasme ell eh, the French pronunciation ran the syllables too closely together and even the Creoles struggled with the complex inflection. I gave up correcting Chantilly and just rolled with it. Even if the name grated on my last nerve.

“No, girl, you’re not hearing me. The one named Ryker. He’s in a suit.”

“The men who aren’t naked, or in leathers, are typically in suits, Chantilly.”

She pulled my arm and wrapped hers around it as soon as the bartender passed me my Negroni. She walked us toward the back of the mansion at a pace that would rival the English garden parades of Austen’s time. Of all the Club Sins I’d visited across the country, I didn’t think any of them could hold a candle to New Orleans. Sure, New York City had its sleek, industrial vibe and Chicago was an art deco feel to the nines. But there was something enticingly ironic about a former plantation turned into a sex club that oozed opulence and sin alongside old southern charm.

“He’s in a Pavonne embroidered suit.” The sentence hung in the air, weighted with anticipation. The way Chantilly said the words I knew she expected me to know what that meant but I didn’t. I barely paid attention to the female designers, and that sometimes felt like a requirement of my job as an interior decorator. And to be honest, I was more of a boutique kind of person. Eclectic, funky, one-of-a-kind pieces no one else had. Like bespoke suits, I guess but less bougee.

With a frustrated huff, she continued, “There is onlyoneman in New Orleans who has an exclusive partnership with Pavonne. My daddy. I gave him a quick text and mentioned I noticed his handiwork out on the town today on an obscenely large man who looked like he’d just come down the mountain from hibernation. You know what he said to me?”

I didn’t have to ask. She’d steamroll right through any commentary I provided. We had, though, stopped in the middle of the main thoroughfare to take club members from reception to the lounges and the elevators taking them up to the playrooms.

“He said, button—that’s what he calls me—anyway he said ‘button you stay the hell away from that man. And his friends. They’re nothing but trouble.’ He heard him while in the shop. They’re new in town. Come here from Bogue Chitto. They’re down here on business. Not sure how long they’ll be staying. Daddy heard him on the phone talking to someone about this club. File says they’ve been members for three years, but they don’t come to New Orleans often. Sponsored by someone named Odin, Club Sin, New York.”

Her dad, I’m certain, did not know she moonlighted here. There was a very strict policy surrounding discussion of members outside the club. And typically, the rule was not to approach one another out in the “real world.” Still, I was shocked she’d been there as long as I had, and no one had outed her yet.

“Youwentinto theirmember files? Chantilly St. Cyr, you’re fixin to lose your job.”

We were on the move again. Chantilly nodded politely at each person, couple or group who waved or nodded at us on our way. I swear the woman knew everyone. Not just the new members or those requiring special accommodations.

“That’s where you’re wrong my little friend. It is my jobto knowabout every member who comes in here. What they like. Anticipate what they might want. And these three? I promise you are exactly what you need.”

We stood at the threshold of the main lounge. People were gathered in various groups all around the large area. But there was absolutely no missing the three men Chantilly dragged me back here to see. Bespoke suits aside, they towered over everyone, even seated. If not for their varied skin tones, I would have mistaken them for triplets. Bulky muscles that looked offensive being constrained by such fine fabrics, trim waists highlighted by well-tailored pants and shiny belts, with thick thighs that seemed barely contained by the wool constraints.

“Armel—the one with hair like a smoldering campfire, listed Primal on his membership. That man…” She pointed to a man with a tan so deep he must have spent all day working the land. He wore no suit coat, but a white shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of pressed black pants. Both highlighted every sinew and muscle he had. The man could have been carved from marble. His muscles had muscles. “His name is Obsidian.” Chantilly pulled me from my musings, “Mmm, Obsidian. He’s listed as an Alpha. Girl, he can boss me around all fucking day and twice on Sundays. Hell, I’ll block out the whole damn day.”

She bit her knuckle and turned so her back was to the three of them sitting in high back leather club chairs near the bar.

“And then there’s that delicious specimen of a man with those come fuck me wolfish eyes and that smoldering sunset hair? He, my dear, is your breeder, and his name is Ryker.”

It felt as if she said his name, and released some kind of magic spell in the air that made the three of them notice us simultaneously. Obviously, Chantilly had no magic spells. But they must have sensed us looking at them, as all three of them looked our way as if one of them had told the others to turn around on the count of three.

The blunt force of their attention knocked the air out of my lungs and collected a ball of heat deep in my core. I stood at the threshold of the room, helpless to move. The low lighting played tricks with my sight. I could have sworn I saw the one she called Armel sit up straighter in his chair and scent me. And when I shivered? All three of them cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

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