Page 129 of The Sun & Her Burn

“Oh, I agree,” he growled, cupping me hard through the lace and nipping at the love bite on my neck again. “How do you want to play this?” he asked me, and I loved that he was letting me set the stage.

Sebastian wasn’t a total Dom like Adam, but he had a dominant streak that ran parallel with his submissive one, and it felt like a gift to be given the reins.

“Speaking of gifts,” I said coyly, feeling inspired. “Do you think that woman has a pen and paper hidden anywhere in that little dress?”

Sebastian’s answering grin was sly. “I’m sure we can find out.”

25

ADAM

Bacchanalia was not my favorite club, but it was serviceable.

I much preferred Club Dionysus in London now that it was under new management, with its large exhibition space and a beehive of small, private rooms filled with kink-specific equipment.

Or maybe it was just that, even with masks at Bacchanalia, the club was too filled with people I knew to be thoroughly enjoyable.

I sat alone in a small black velvet booth sipping scotch while I watched a Domme punish her male sub over a spanking bench on the main stage when yet another person stopped in my periphery to chat.

“Sod off,” I growled, done with niceties for the night after a dozen others had come by to talk shop while I was clearly trying to brood and let off steam.

“Excuse me, sir,” one of the barmen apologized. “I only came to deliver a note.”

I winced at my rudeness and slipped a fifty-dollar bill onto his tray before I took the heavy card stock from it. “I apologize for my shortness.”

The slim man just ducked his chin and retreated from the table, leaving me to my scotch and the envelope.

I kept my eye mostly on the stage as I opened the note, expecting to see a summons from John-Julian, the proprietor, perhaps, or an invitation from a couple playing in one of the rooms even though I wasn’t known for my participation. Sometimes couples just liked to show off, and I was often a willing voyeur.

But this was not from some random couple.

Lord Meyers,

A gift awaits you in Private Room C. Please wear the mask hanging on the door before you enter and do not come unless you are ready to play. Be prepared to pay a toll for the honor.

Xoxo,

S&L

As if Iwas in any doubt of who had written the message, along with an old-fashioned bronze key, there was an enclosed Polaroid photo of a man and woman on their knees with their heads bowed. One dark and masculine, one blond and feminine, both collared with red string that ended in paper tags that I could barely make out readFor Adam Meyers’s Use Only.

I hissed as my cock hardened too fast in my trousers, the length of it crushed against my zipper, my head light from the rush of blood down south.

Fuckme.

They had found a way into my club.

Into my dirty sanctuary.

And trussed themselves up like fat Christmas geese for me to devour.

I closed my eyes so tight stars burst beneath my lids, and I fought to breathe through the tightness of desire in my chest.

Was there any way I could resist this summons?

Any way to say no yet again when all I wanted was the two people waiting for me on their knees in Private Room C?

No.