It was rude to laugh. Novo knew this. She honestly did. But the evening, which had started on a low note and then sunk to sub-basement levels, had suddenly turned on a dime—and was looking more like an adventure than an endurance contest.
“I’m sorry, buddy.” Peyton clapped Oskar on the shoulder. “Just joking.”
Sophy recovered quick and stepped in between the two males. “Yes. Indeed. Well, ah, Peyton…you must tell me all about yourself. Come, let’s sit down together. Waiter!” Sophy called out. “Waiter, a menu for my guest!” She actually snapped her fingers. And then pulled out a chair for herself and one for Peyton. “I want to hear all about what the Brotherhood is like. You must have some amazing stories.”
And there it was. The charm. The batting eyes. The touch on a male’s forearm.
In response, Peyton looked back and forth between Sophy and Oskar—but Novo couldn’t tell whether he was taken by her sister or not. And God, that would be…really sucky. Even though she had no claim to him at all.
A pit formed in her stomach—except almost instantly, she thought, nope. If her sister wanted to pull another Oskar here, the joke was on Sophy. There was no way in hell Peyton was going to mate a civilian: in spite of the fact that Sophy was beautiful, and certainly had the social aggression to try and take a further step up, there was nowhere to go on that staircase for her.
Paradise was much more his style as the daughter of the King’s First Adviser.
“Peyton?” Sophy prompted. “So? Will you sit down with me?”
Okaaaaaaay, wiener references aside, the night was once again taking a torpedo into its hull, and Novo glanced over her shoulder at the way out. Time to go. Hey, if Peyton wanted to get to know her sister better—hell, if he wanted to fuck her just because he could? More power to him—
“No, we’re not staying.”
Popping her brows, she turned her head back around—to see Peyton picking up her leather jacket from the back of her chair.
“Come on, Novo,” he said. “I’m taking you out on the town.”
“You can’t leave,” Sophy protested. “Wait, you can’t.”
Peyton leaned in and looked the female right in the eye. “I can do anything the fuck I want, sweetheart. And what I am not going to do is play windup toy for you as you ignore the poor SOB you’re mating and disrespect your sister. I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I gave up lying a couple of nights ago, so that’s a no-go. And I’d wish you a happy life, but that is not what you’re heading for.” He pegged Oskar with a hard stare. “And neither are you, my friend. If you have any brains left, you’ll either leave her or blow them out. Good luck.”
Novo was so stunned, she let herself get escorted out. But come on.
Come on.
The two of them strode past the other humans eating full meals and entered into the tea room section of the place. And then they were out into the cold.
She started giggling as soon as she hit the night air.
Putting her fist up to her mouth, she stuttered, “That was awesome. That was fucking awesome.”
Peyton indicated the way forward. “My car is over here.”
Taking her elbow, he led her over to a—oh, wow, nice—blacked-out Range Rover and opened things up so she could slide into the back.
“Oh, my God, you did that.” She was still laughing and talking to him even as he closed the door and went around. “You fucking did that.”
There was a doggen behind the wheel, a young one, and he twisted around in his seat. “I’m sorry, madam? Whatever did I do?”
She batted her hand through the warm, new-car-smell air. “Nothing. I was just—I was talking to him.”
Peyton got in and ordered, “Drive.”
“Where may I take you, sire?”
“Anywhere, I don’t care.”
As they pulled away from the curb, it was clear that Peyton was not laughing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Who is Oskar to you?”
Well, that double-tapped her happy-happy, joy-joy. And now she became just like him, serious as hell.
When she glanced at the driver, Peyton said, “He is discreet.”
“Just because your servant won’t talk to anyone else doesn’t mean I’m all about discussing my personal business around him—or with you.”
“So you admit that you and Oskar were together.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah. Especially because he was staring at you the whole time. He’s getting mated to that nightmare female in how many nights? And he only has eyes for you. What did you do, dump him when you got bored and he dated her because that was as close as he could come to having you?”
“Try the other way around,” she said in a low voice.
“What?”
She turned to the window and looked out. They were passing by other restaurants that were locally owned and operated; in this neighborhood, there were none of the commercial chains that were closer to the exits of the Northway or the skyscrapers of downtown. And through the fogged-glass fronts of the eateries, she saw humans on dates, families gathering, waiters and waitresses hustling food and drinks on trays.
“He left me for her,” she heard herself say.
Okay, she needed to stop—
“What the fuck was he thinking?”
Novo told herself not to be complimented. Hell, Peyton had to be saying that just because he was hoping to get some later.
“I mean, your sister is fake,” he continued. “I’m sorry, I know she’s your blood, but that is one of the most transparent females I’ve ever met in my life—and I’m in the glymera, for godsakes. We invented that kind of horror.”
Novo pivoted back to him. She couldn’t help it.
Peyton was sitting deep in his seat, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused as if he were reliving the whole scene.
“She didn’t pay any respect to him,” he said. “That’s her future hellren. She should be concerned about him over anyone, especially some asshole like me she doesn’t know. But she sized up my clothes and decided…well, anyway. And Oskar deserves what he gets if he picked something like that over a female like you. I mean…you’re so strong and beautiful and smart. You’re a real person.”
Novo blinked once. Twice.
And decided she really wanted to fuck Peyton. Like, right now.
She leaned in to the driver. “Take us to The Keys. Do you know what that is?”
The doggen shook his head. “No, madam. I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Take a left up here. I’ll tell you where to go.”
Peyton’s blood thickened and his cock got hard the instant Novo said the word “Keys” and he almost didn’t think he’d heard right. But then her efficient directions took them to the unassuming entrance of Caldwell’s most notorious sex club.
Hell, from what he understood, the place was well known even down in New York City.
“Am I dressed appropriately,” he asked as the Range Rover came to a stop.
“We’ll get a mask from Staff.”
Novo got out her door and he did the duty on his side. Leaning back in, he told the driver to park and wait.
He had no idea how long they were going to be in there. Or what was going to happen next.
Before he straightened, he tucked his erection up so it lay flat on his lower abdomen and closed his suit jacket. Meanwhile, Novo left her jacket behind so she was just in that muscle shirt and those leather pants, which—oh, God, he wanted her so damned bad.
Especially as she walked ahead, her strides taking her to the head of a wait line that was at least fifty people long.
There were two guys standing at an unmarked door, and as she flashed a key, they let her in immediately—and he was waved through clearly because he was with her. Inside, he could catch the scent of sex, and hear music, but he couldn’t see past heavy curtains that delineated a kind of anteroom.
Hello, naked lady.
From out of the shadows, a woman with both her breasts painted red and nothing on her lower half emerged to offer them masks that were black and reminded him of The Phantom of the Opera. Once they were in place, Novo pulled the curtain back and walked forward.
And once again, Peyton followed…only to stop just inside the barrier.
Hieronymus Bosch, he thought as he resumed making his way into the vast, dimly lit space. That was the only thing that came to his mind.
As music pumped through speakers he could not see, his eyes were overloaded with images of naked, contorted bodies. Some were strewn over benches and sofas. Others were in Lucite boxes. There were sunken pits where writhing forms twisted and turned into human fists and lineups of women and men face down or up on tables with all kinds of people covering them.
This would have been quite the scene for him a couple of years back.
Hell, he had been living it on a smaller scale as recently as a week or two ago.
And it wasn’t that it didn’t interest him. He was curious how it all worked, although that was more like a huh than any sort of erotic impulse.
There was only one person he wanted to fuck, and she was taking him deeper and deeper into the club.
“Does this turn you on?” Novo asked as she looked back at him.
Enough, he thought.
Snagging her arm, he whipped her around and slammed her body right into his own.
“You turn me on,” he growled.
With a roll of his hips, he ground himself against her and it was then that her eyes got hot behind that mask. And he couldn’t not respond to that. He grabbed her by the ass—hard—and pushed her up against a wall. Clamping a hand on the front of her throat, he squeezed just enough to make her have to work for air.
“Is this what you want?” he said harshly. “Do you want it hard and where people can see?”
“Fuck you.” She bared her fangs and hissed at him. “And yeah, I do.”
Her hand shoved itself between them to find his cock, and she didn’t so much stroke him as rough him up—and he loved it.
Sweeping his hand to the front of her muscle shirt, he peeled it down so that it trapped her arms. No bra. Fuck, yeah…no bra. He held her in place by the throat and went for her nipple, nicking her with his fang so he could suck her blood while he suckled on her. In response, her fingers raked into his hair and one of her legs lifted and wrapped around his ass.
Why the hell wasn’t she wearing a skirt?
Screw the preamble, they were both panting for it. So he turned her to face the wall, jerked her hips out, and took out the switchblade he always carried with him in his breast pocket.
“Don’t move.”
When she looked back at him, he released the blade and waited until she nodded. Then he ran his free hand up and down her crack, rubbing the leather, stroking her sex through the pants. That didn’t last long. Taking the razor-sharp blade, he cut into the seam that went right up the center of her, put the knife away, and slid four fingers, two from each side, into the hole he’d made.
It was a clean jerk.
And underneath, her bare, hairless sex was open, ready, wet for him.
He sprung his cock so fast, he ripped his own fly. And then he entered her on a single, powerful thrust that drove her face-first into the wall. She called out something, maybe it was his name—over the din of the music, he had no clue—and braced her arms as she spread her legs farther apart.
Peyton rode her like an animal.
Fuck his fancy clothes. And fuck the people who were watching them, too. He didn’t care about anything but coming inside of her. Filling her up. Doing it over and over again until he leaked out of her in rivers of come.
Halfway through, he realized he was marking her.
Somehow, along the way, he had bonded with her.