“Dick.” She burst out laughing and swatted him.
“Yeah, I’m that, too.”
Chuckling at their banter, Matt shook his head. “Club staff offices are to the left.”
“What’s downstairs?”
“Uh, themed playrooms, the dungeon—”
“Dungeon?” Her pretty eyes went wide, pupils dilating, but Matt wasn’t sure if it was because of excitement or alarm. He thought he’d prepared her for what she’d find here, but then again, maybe not.
“It’s not a medieval torture chamber, dear,” Sloan said with an eye roll and patted her thigh.
Holding her close, Matt pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “The dungeon is an area that’s set up and equipped for BDSM play.”
“Oh, like Christian Grey’s red room.”
Sloan snorted.
“Not the best comparison, but yeah, something like that.”
“Is your playpen down there, too, Kit?” Gina asked, trying to engage with him. He’d been mopey and quiet, which wasn’t particularly unusual, but she didn’t know that.
“Yeah.”
All she got for her efforts was one syllable spoken with a glum sigh.
“You’ll be all right, bassy boy.” Sloan leaned over him and Gina to pinch Kit’s cheek. “Just take it to the alcoves.”
Trying to be inconspicuous, the blonde server who waited on them the last time he was here slipped inside their space—whatwas her name again? The only thing Matt recalled was Sloan making a big deal about her saying y’all.
She opened a bottle of champagne and set platters of the typical club fare on the low table for them to nosh on. Strawberries covered in rich, dark chocolate. Figs drenched in honey. Caviar. Melon balls and pomegranates.
Kit smiled at her, which Matt found odd considering he hardly ever did. “Thanks, Savannah.”
That’s right. Savannah from Denver.
“I’ll be right back to set up your bottle service.” Friendlier than last time, she smiled back. “Will you be having the usual?”
“You know it.”
The fuck?
Was that a grin? Matt could see the dimples in Kit’s cheeks, and hell, he almost forgot the dude had them.
“Wait.” His hand went up, halting the server’s departure. “What do you like, Gina?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m good with champagne.”
“Glenlivet it is then,” Kit said with gusto.
“Of course.” The girl locked eyes with Gina. “Your private bar is stocked, but let me know if you change your mind. I can have the mixologist whip up something special.”
“Hey, what’s with the new fit?” Sloan took hold of Savannah’s forearm before she could make her exit.
A transparent deep plum had replaced the black thong getup.
She didn’t flinch. “Ask your friend. He had them custom-designed, I hear. I just put on what they tell me to.”
