Insufferable asshole, I think to myself as I make my way down the staircase. When I reach the main area of the club, I notice him rising from his bar stool and stalking toward the back where a long, dark hallway beckons. Although I can’t fault him on the kiss, I can’t believe he actually did it. My body is still thrumming from the electric currents that shot through me when his lips made contact with mine.

He’s taller than I pictured, probably around six-four, with broad shoulders, and lean muscle beneath his tailored suit. His messy hair, the color of syrup, and those eyes. In the dimly lit hallway, they pierced me with their golden intensity, but the playful greens and browns danced in them. He had a day-old stubble on his chin, which causes me to lift my hand to my own, feeling the friction.

The man knows how to make my toes curl, which has me wondering what else he can do. My inexperience in this life, in this sordid world Carrick lives in, is evident as I think about what Savvie’s told me. I know Mason. I’ve known him for a long time, but nothing prepared me for the moment Savannah, my best friend, told me she was into spanking and whipping, and even rope play.

I wonder how dark Carrick’s hunger goes. How much of this does he really enjoy? I’ve heard about sadists, the pain they love to inflict, which makes me wonder how any woman can want that.

All men are the same though. Michael was evil, dangerous, and he took and took from me until he left me with nothing but a shell of who I once was. When I learned the truth about him, it hurt me right down to my core that all those years spent together he lied every moment.

But that is my fault.

I almost gave him everything. What’s left is just a broken mess.

“Peyton!” My best friend’s voice comes from beside me, and I realize I’d wandered to the hallway where Carrick had disappeared and didn’t even realize it. Is my subconscious really that desperate for an asshole like him? “What are you doing back here?”

“I’m not sure. I was looking for you, and—” I cut myself off, because for some reason, I don’t want anyone to know what happened between Carrick and me. I don’t know why, but deep down I feel like keeping It to myself. “I wanted to see what the lure was,” I tell her instead, causing those big eyes to narrow in suspicion.

“Uh uh.” Her disbelieving response is expected. “Come on, I’ll get you a drink. I wanted you to meet Eva tonight. She was supposed to go out with us, but . . . Well, she’s rather tied up at the moment.” Savvie smiles as she says this, and I know exactly what she means. This lifestyle has always been a mystery to me. Since my best friend told me about it. Yes, I’ve Googled things she’s mentioned and found myself rather intrigued. I expected to be horrified, but there was something alluring about it. Call it curiosity. I just hope this kitty doesn’t get killed.

Since I’m still so innocent, I wonder if any of the men in here would want to take on a virgin. Someone to perhaps train and mold. Maybe it’s time to test the waters. Surely one man in here would want to have someone pure. Show me the bite of his flogger, or something like that.

“So . . .” I start as we reach the bar, but my words filter into silence when my eyes land on Carrick, who’s back in the club and at one of the booths with a beautiful brunette in his lap. He’s talking to another man I don’t know, but it’s the way his hand is possessively gripping her ass that causes me to falter.

“That’s Carrick Anderson; he’s Mason’s partner. Total gentleman, when you get him on his good side, but if you ever walk into him in a bad mood, it’s like a tornado taking down anything in his path,” my best friend informs me, whispering conspiratorially in my ear.

“He doesn’t look that scary,” I tell her, eventually dragging my gaze away from him and meeting Savannah’s knowing stare. “What?”

“No. Oh, no, no, no. You are not going near Rick,” she tells me, wagging her finger in my face. Even though she’s older than me by a year, you’d think there was a bigger age gap the way she admonishes me. “He is not someone for you. At all. Ever.” She’s adamant, but she knows how stubborn I am.

“Please, what can he do? I mean—” Flitting my eyes to him, I notice his heated stare on me. While keeping direct eye contact with me, he tugs the brunette down, kissing her almost violently. His one hand gripping her ass cheek causing my heart to slam against my chest wildly and my thighs to squeeze together as my core tightens with need. An ache so profound steals my breath, and I want to know what his hands would feel like on my body, on my ass, and even stroking my now wet panties.

He demands my attention, holds my curiosity, and I’ll be damned, but he makes me want him.

“He’s intolerable. Should he be doing that in the middle of the club?” I ask, meeting Savvie’s gaze.

She shrugs it off as the barman sets glasses down in front of us. When she finally takes a peek at her boyfriend’s partner, she smirks. “He’s a little . . . overbearing.”

I think for a moment before voicing my opinion. “That’s not the word I’d use,” I respond. Lifting the drink to my lips, I take a long sip of the minty cocktail. The alcohol hits my bloodstream, the ice causing the glass to frost over, but nothing can cool me down from the way Carrick has turned me molten.

“And what is the word that you would use?” A deep, smooth voice comes from behind me, causing me to pivot into the solid chest of Carrick Anderson, my drink drenching both of us in sticky, clear liquid.

“Shit!” I lift my gaze, meeting his burning one as he smirks.

“I wanted to get you wet, but that’s not what I had in mind.” His tone is playful yet commanding, and I can’t look away. The man is every bit as handsome under the lights of the club than he was in the darkened hallway where he stole a kiss from me.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I bite back, but the falter in my voice is enough to tell him I don’t mean a word I say. I want him to be that. I want him to take me right here on the bar.

Calm down, Pey. You’re like a bitch in heat.

“Okay, you two.” Savannah rescues me from the searing torment of Carrick’s penetrating gaze. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” She tugs on my arm, but before we can leave, Mason saunters up to us, taking in the scene before him.

“Hi, Pey,” Mason says in his thick accent while he leans in to brush a kiss on my cheek, then turns to Savannah. “I need you, Sav. There’s a girl who needs some support in the rope room. She’s tensing up too much,” he orders. “I’m sure Rick can show Peyton to the change room to get cleaned up.”

“I can certainly do that.” Carrick’s words drip with desire. His hungry gaze never falters as he regards me. “Let’s go, Kitten,” he says, turning on his heel, walking toward the staircase I’d earlier descended.

“I’ll be okay,” I tell Savvie before rushing to keep up with the man who I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of. The way his slacks hug his thighs, the roundness of his ass taunting me as I take each step behind him. Once we reach the top, he holds out a hand to me, and I allow mine to slip into his. The gesture is slight, a gentlemanly one, but his grip on me is more than friendly. As if he’s trying to hold on and not let go.

He doesn’t say a word as he shoves open a door to a cloakroom. It’s plush, elegant with walls of soft cream. The chandelier shines an intricate pattern against the surfaces. The gleaming drops of glass hanging from the ornate fixture flash with a gentle golden light as we step inside the bathing room. There are cubicles which have doors the color of raven’s feathers, and they’re all shut. A black pincushion sofa of what looks like smooth velvet sits in the center of the space, and sinks line a wall of mirrors.

“You can wash up. I’ll grab something for you to wear,” he says. Releasing my hand, he leaves me in the immaculate room. The mirror on the wall reflects my wet T-shirt, showing off the pink bra underneath. Great. He’s probably got an eyeful. I pull off the wet shirt, dumping it in the basin.

Opening the tap, I grab some paper towel and wipe the sticky alcohol off my skin, leaving me glistening. I don’t hear him when he finally returns. Instead, I feel him behind me. His heat cocoons me, causing me to want to melt into it, but I don’t.

“This should fit,” he whispers in my ear. When I glance at my reflection, I meet his softened yet commanding gaze. His eyes are the color of warm honey, shimmering with longing, which makes me curious as to what he’s hiding. Their golden depths hold pain, so much agony it causes my heart to lurch in response. He sets a black shirt on the counter beside the basin without touching me, and I want to sigh in relief and disappointment. But then he lifts his hand, his knuckles brushing along my bare arm in a white-hot trail. Goosebumps dot my skin. A tingle shoots through me.

The air is electric. My nipples harden against the soft lace material of my bra. He drops his eyes to my chest, and I watch as the color darkens to a hazel shade as he takes me in.

“Are you affected by me, Kitten?” His words feather over the sensitive skin of my neck, causing a slight tremble to trail through me. My stomach tightens, swirling with desire, twirling wildly as if a hurricane is about to pull me into the eye of the storm and I have no way of stopping it. I want to retort. I want to answer back with an angry bite, but I can’t, because when I open my mouth to form words, I can’t find them.

His hand comes up as he tenderly strokes the curve of my nape, moving my hair to the side. It allows him access to the most sensitive part of my neck. Just behind my ear. The movement is so light I’m sure I’m imagining it, but my eyes are glued to his touch in the reflection. The skittering of an electric current shoots down my spine, and I pull my lower lip between my teeth, biting down to keep from moaning out loud.

“Or am I the only one who feels this delicious poison trickling between us?”

Once again, he only breathes the words. They’re carried along my flesh like a map leading directly to the apex between my thighs. My fingers grip the material of the shirt he set down, and I finally clear my throat.

I’m about to answer when his finger reaches up, finding my lips and pressing against them to shush me. He places his other hand flat against my stomach, fingers fanned out, his pinky just touching the waistband of my jeans.

“This isn’t a good idea, Carrick,” I tell him, even though his finger is still positioned on my mouth. His hand inches down. I tremble. I’m needy and wet. With deft fingers, he unbuttons my jeans, slipping his hand beneath the material but keeping it above my panties.

“Tell me no, Kitten,” he murmurs in my ear as he strokes me slowly, tentatively. His movements are nothing like I’d expect a domineering asshole to be. “Please tell me to stop,” he urges me, implores me with a pained growl.

“I-I . . .” My words are decimated when his finger trails over my clit. He presses down, and I’m beyond reason. My hips buck against his hand. I’m drenched. So fucking turned on I’m ready to bend over and beg him to take me every which way.

“Peyton,” he chants my name, as if he’s a sinner asking for salvation. Repenting for much more than his ministrations on my body. He’s playing me like a musical instrument. As if he’s the master, attuned to my moans, knowing what to press to draw out my whimpers. Which button to push to cause me to cry out as an orgasm rocks me to my very core, and he’s not even entered me with his cock or his fingers. I turn to putty in his hands. Nothing ever felt like that with Michael. It was a chore for him to kiss me most times, which is why I’m still a virgin.

We stand there in silence for what feels like hours, but when I open my eyes, I don’t care how long I’ve been in his arms, because I want more of what I can’t have. He’s a bad idea, but I’ve been known to make stupid decisions. “Carrick, this . . . This . . . It can’t—”

“It’s already happened, Kitten.” He pulls his hand from my jeans. Turning me around, he trails his finger, wet with my juices, over his full pink lips. I watch in awe as he slowly licks at the arousal. “This” — he gestures between us with his index finger— “is happening because you no longer have a choice but to be mine.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m no submissive, Carrick. I came here to experience it, not to be owned. You can’t just lay claim to me because you made me come,” I return hotly. Grabbing the shirt he left for me, I shrug it on and storm out of the room, leaving him glaring at my back. Once the door shuts, I lean back, inhaling deeply.

“Are you okay?” Savannah’s voice startles me back to the present when I almost walk into her, and I nod, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay. “What did Rick do?”

“Nothing. He didn’t do a thing. I need a drink,” I tell her in frustration at my stupidity. I’m such a slut for Carrick. One moment I’m telling him no, the next he’s stroking me to orgasm. Heading down the stairs to the main area of the club, I reach the counter to find the barman whose name tag reads Dylan.

He glances at me, offering me a friendly smile. “What can I get you?”

“Tequila. Make it double,” I tell him.

He nods, smirking at Savvie who’s standing beside me, waiting for my confession. She knows me too well, and sometimes I feel as if I need space. Just time away from everything and everyone.

“He didn’t do anything that I didn’t want,” I tell her without looking at my best friend. I can’t see the I told you so look on her face. She doesn’t respond. Dylan sets two shots on the counter, and I pick one up, clinking mine with hers, we down the shots in one gulp. If there’s one way of getting rid of these emotions, this pain, it’s to meet the bottom of a bottle of tequila.