Page 7 of Ruin

I am completely out of my league.

“If I do push you?” Was I mad? Apparently. My voice came out breathy and sounded nothing like me at all.

Or maybe it was me, this unexposed part like the underside of my wrist. Undiscovered and waiting sins filled my mind, flushing my face as I stood in a BDSM shifter club on the outskirts of Melbourne’s underbelly.

With the man I barely knew who craved my submission.

In a place where I had no friends.

But I wanted to try it his way. He fascinated me, and though I had a good idea of how dangerous he was, I couldn’t stop. Damon Blake drew me to him as a moth to the flame—and look how that poor sucker turned out.

He uttered a soft, deep laugh. Sexy as all hell, the sound turned mocking when his lips curled upward in a cruel smirk that left me legless. I clung to my barstool and tried not to whimper.

“I like to punish unprotected things.” He leaned closer until his lips brushed my skin, setting every nerve ending aflame. “And, Kiera, you’re one of them.” Smiling against my mouth but not quite kissing me, he placed a single key with the room number attached to it on the bar in front of me.Two.

Not daring to move lest he step back and break the contact that already coated my thighs with a slick sheen of arousal, I froze in place, staring at the key. “What’s this?”

His tongue flicked at my ear, caressing the whorls of skin there. “Take it and find out.”

Welp. That’s not ambiguous at all.

Damon disappeared into the crowd, leaving me swaying on my stool. The club’s general cacophony bombarded me in a mess of beats and chatter and laughter and moans. So many emotions and scents mingled, and my cat thought she was in heaven.

The bartender’s dark eyes caught mine and held. He glanced down at the key before me, fingers flexing on the bartop. Sharp, razor-cut black hair hung over one side of his face. His knowing smile hit me like a drug.

Next to me, a girl perched on a stool that matched mine moaned. Her legs spread in my periphery, and I didn’t need to look sideways to know that her partner’s hand was beneath her skirt. Suddenly overdressed or underdressed all at once, I clenched my thighs together as heat gushed there. I was going to drench the bar seat, and by the look in the barman’s eyes, he knew exactly what I was doing.

Is orgasming on a bar stool a punishable offense?

Some part of me wished it was, wished Damon was still here to tease me … or worse.

How many others had already come all over the chair I sat on tonight?

Winking, the bartender slid a shot of vodka and a second slice of lime across to me. “In case you need it.”

I nodded somewhat frantically, downing the clear shot and sucking on my lime wedge until juice ran down my chin.

The bartender leaned forward to flick the droplets aside until they slid into the mess between my thighs. I blushed, the combination of alcohol and body heat whirling around me in a heady mix.

He laughed softly. “Take your key and go to your master, little sub, before someone else claims you.”

Holy furballs, the man could flirt. My nipples tightened beneath the thin material of my dress. I took a last fortifying suck on my lime. My skin flushed, hot and icy and prickly and uncomfortable as I scooped up the key instead of the barstool. A quick peek through my lashes assured me the barman was still watching me.

His knowing look became a sinful smile full of promise. I shifted away from his dark gaze and headed for the room where my own twisted master awaited.

****

In the end I didn’t need my key as the door stood ajar to room number two.Dungeon twowould’ve been more apt. I slipped through the gap in the door, clutching my purse in front of me. Dim lights illuminated an almost bare room.

Off to one side sat a chaise lounge double the usual width and a little longer. Velvet pillows were piled at one end and blankets at the other. The concrete floor was completely unadorned. Small slits covered the center of the floor. I stared, trying to work out what they were. The ceiling above yielded chains attached to large rings suspended above my head, cuffs attached the ends closest me. One wall held an array of whips.

I tilted my head to one side, working it through before my lightbulb moment made me blanche.

Oh my fucking furballs, they’re drains.

This room was meant to be hosed down after use.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around me tightly.

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