“That’s it, deflect by putting this all on me.” She tossed her hair. “No matter what you claim, you can’t run from the fact you loved what we did. I know. I was there.”
He howled his frustration. Several spotlights cracked, the bulbs fluttering and then winking out. Before he put his fist through the damn doors, or hugged her, he left.
In the hall, Vespar and Racan stepped to each side to let him pass.
He pointed at each. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
Racan grinned. “How was it?”
Shit. “What did I just say?”
“I forget.”
“Me, too,” Vespar said. “What’s she like?”
Willful. Exasperating. Too bold. Intelligent. Caring. Incredibly warm. Delightfully soft. Fragrant beyond compare. Damn. “Hopeless. We need to whip her into shape. Racan, you do it.”
He fingered his pendant. “You mean threaten her and if that doesn’t work, as it hasn’t, then hurt her to bend her to our will?”
“What? Hell no.” He crowded him. “Draw blood on her or leave a bruise and you’ll have to answer to me.”
A knowing look crossed Racan’s face. “Uh-huh.”
Fuck that. “As you well know, brute force never works.” They’d tried as much with the demons. Those bastards sucked up the torture, proving they could withstand anything. It made them meaner, not easier to control. “Use your imagination.”
“I suppose I could ask nicely.”
Vespar laughed.
Andros wasn’t in a jovial mood. “Didn’t we do that repeatedly when we wanted her to put on the uniform and she kept resisting? We need to find a middle ground.”
Racan lifted his shoulders. “Which is?”
How the hell should I know? The only other woman who’d given him this much trouble was Bethshiba, and she had proved, beyond any doubt, that being polite and accommodating to a female granted her license to steamroll a guy. “Figure it out. Let me know what you come up with.”
“Before or after I put it into motion?”
Before was probably best, but at this point, Andros didn’t want to run the show. “You decide.”
He strode to the office, hoping for some peace. More importantly, the will to help him forget her scent, warmth, and how much he enjoyed being in her arms.
Something he’d never admit no matter how much she demanded, asked, or begged.
…
Vespar
Andros slammed the office door. The ones to Hard Lust creaked behind Vespar.
He looked over.
Several demons set the wooden panels right and fixed the hinges. The music hadn’t missed a beat, literally. Male laughter and female shrieks joined to produce a jarring crescendo. The commotion came from everyone except Megan who wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet or mute when she should be.
Crap. She couldn’t have fled while he, Andros, and Racan were speaking. Then again, knowing her, it wasn’t inconceivable. He stepped toward the doors.
Racan gripped his arm. “Where are you going?”
Vespar shook him off. “Since when do I have to report to you on my whereabouts or intentions?”
“Andros told me to handle her.”
“If she’s still in the club.” He slung his arm around Racan’s shoulders. “Wanna bet she’s not?”
He swore beneath his breath. “Wait. Where could she have gone?”
Vespar pointed toward the door leading outside. “She was remarkably interested in it when I brought her into the hall before escorting her to the study room.”
“Holy shit.” He pushed back his dark hair. “She could fry in that heat.”
“Better find her then, and pronto. Remember”—he poked Racan’s chest—“she’s your responsibility according to Andros.”
He bounded down the hall, ripped open the door, and rushed outside…where he certainly wouldn’t locate her, given she already knew what was out there.
As a rule, Vespar didn’t try to put one over on Racan or Andros. They were the closest he’d had to brothers before, and particularly after, their banishment. However, what Andros had done with her in the club broke the rule they’d all agreed to while she’d studied. They’d promised not to screw around with her for several months. Okay, weeks. Possibly days or hours. He couldn’t recall the exact conversation, only that adhering to it after Andros had had his fun wasn’t going to work.
Vespar’s cock squirmed right and left behind his fly, looking for an exit. His lust mingled with curiosity about mounting a woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, or to demand justice. A first down here. Even the ballsy babes were mostly talk, easily acquiescing to dominant men, caring what they thought.
Megan didn’t give a hoot about anyone’s opinion. She was comfortable in her own skin and had proved it. On her first day, no less.
More eager than prudent, he ducked into the club.
She wasn’t on the table where Andros had enjoyed her. Another server had taken her place. On her knees, she straddled one demon, his cock in her pussy. A second had his dick buried in her anus, while the third used her mouth.
Her wails and the look on her face wasn’t close to the ecstasy Megan had shown when Andros had boned her.
A dull pain settled in Vespar’s gut. Some might call the feeling envy. Not him. He simply wanted her to look into his eyes as she had Andros’s. Maybe it was pride. He didn’t know and wasn’t about to explore his emotions.
At the bar, he spoke to Cecil. “Where’s Megan?”
He frowned at his bow tie. During the ruckus, liquor had flown on it and ate away parts of the fabric. A frequent occurrence in Hard Lust. “Organizing a coup?”
Everyone down here suddenly had a penchant for snark. “Excuse me?”
Cecil dropped his ruined bow tie on the damp counter. Spattered booze destroyed the remaining cloth. “She should be serving with the others.”
They whizzed by, mere shapes without features.
Vespar sniffed. There. Her vanilla-and-cinnamon fragrance. He followed it deeper into the club, past the tables to the BDSM area.
Surely she hadn’t entered here on her own. Given her inclination to fight for female empowerment, this section would have appalled her.
As a demon and male, he was impressed. Several Saint Andrew’s Crosses crowded sex cages, bondage tables and pentagrams, spanking and fucking benches, collar stocks, a torture bar or two for the hardcore, ball gags, anal hooks, chastity belts, cock rings, corsets, muzzles, and countless other toys.