John parked his bike in a public lot about a five-minute walk away from Club Thorn, his pulse spiking when checked his watch and realized that he only had two minutes to make it to the club. Taking off his helmet and gloves and locking them in the storage box on the back of his bike, he took off at a jog toward the club.
If he hurried, he should be able to make it.
John was in excellent shape, and the short run didn’t so much as wind him. It was a little weird to be running in his uniform without chasing a suspect, his knee-high boots not exactly made for running, but he made it work.
As he walked up to the front door of Club Thorn it occurred to him that this really wasn’t the kind of place where he should be wearing his uniform. There were all kinds of rules about wearing the uniform off duty, and John was breaking them hard. His department chief would murder him if he ever found out he’d worn his uniform to a sex club—but it was too late to change now.
Walking inside, John looked around for Carter but the werewolf was nowhere in sight. He headed toward the desk at the other end of the room. Max, the same guy who’d been behind the reception desk last time John was there, whistled at him appreciatively.
“Looking good,” Max said, looking John up and down with a lecherous grin. “That uniform looks legit.”
“Thanks,” John said, deciding not to mention that it very much was legit. He shifted, Max’s naked appreciation making him squirm. He was well used to people ogling him in his uniform, but not this blatantly.
“So are you meeting someone?” Max asked, checking his computer. “I still don’t have your name on my list.”
John crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.
“Yes, Carter Peterson. He said he’d be here at quarter past.” Just as he finished the sentence, John heard the door opening behind him. He turned around and saw Carter walk through the door.
Holy fuck. John licked his lips and swallowed, taking in the sight in front of him. Carter had dressed up for the occasion, and he looked amazing. Buttery soft leather pants clung to his muscular legs, tucked into a pair of massive knee high boots, and there was a bulge in his crotch that made John’s mouth water. Carter also wore a fitted leather jacket, zipped open to reveal a pumped chest and rippled abs, and a leather harness that framed his pecs like they were a piece of art.
“John, you made it,” Carter said, looking happy to see him. He moved through the foyer until he was standing in front of John, looming over him like a vision of leathered up perfection.
“Hey,” John said, his tongue feeling big and clumsy in his mouth. He couldn’t believe how hot Carter looked. It was like something out of one of his dirtiest fantasies.
Carter grinned, grabbing John by the back of his neck and pulling him under his arm and turning to Max.
“Is the room ready?”
“Yes, Mr. Peterson. They just finished cleaning it. You can go right on up.”
“Great. Come on, John. Time to have some fun.” Carter steered John past the desk and into the club proper, bypassing the bar and lounge area and heading right up the stairs.
John would have stumbled if not for the steadying hand on his neck. He leaned into Carter’s body, turning his face into the soft leather jacket, breathing in the scent of leather and man. John didn’t have a leather fetish, but he had to admit that seeing Carter all dressed up in it was making his balls feel tight and heavy.
“You didn’t tell me you were a motorcycle officer,” Carter said, his voice low and heated. They’d reached the top of the stairs, and as they walked down the hall Carter’s hand slid down from John’s neck to cup his ass. John shuddered at the feeling of Carter’s massive hand groping his cheeks.
“Well, I am,” John said, his cock pressing against the front of his breeches and making them bulge obscenely. His leather jacket felt incredibly warm, and John was sweating heavily.
He needed to get undressed, stat.
“It’s fucking hot,” Carter said. He spun John around and pressed him against the wall, leaning down to ravage his mouth in a savage kiss. John reached up and clutched at Carter’s body, hands sliding under his jacket and feeling the contours of his pecs, his hips thrusting forward to press into Carter’s powerful thigh.
It wasn’t until Carter pulled away with a smirk that he realized someone was watching them. It was a woman, wearing a business skirt and white blouse, looking at them with an amused expression on her face.
Carter just grinned at her, standing up and pulling away from John. Leaning against the wall, John brought his hands down to cover the bulge in his crotch, his face beet red from embarrassment.
“Is the room ready, Melissa?” Carter asked, grabbing John by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him close. John stared up at the massive man in front of him, yelping when he was bodily spun around and held against the werewolf’s muscular chest.
Carter’s arms came down on either side of John’s head, thick forearms landing over his chest like the restraints on a rollercoaster.
“Yes, Mr. Peterson. You can go right ahead. Enjoy, and give me a call if you need anything.”
“Will do,” Carter said. He pushed his thigh between John’s legs and used the thick limb to hoist John up in the air, shifting his grip so that he had John in a bear hug. He carried John down the hall and into the fourth room on the left.
John wondered what type of room Carter had reserved for them, his stomach tingling with anticipation.
“Here we go,” Carter said, shifting his grip so that he was holding John pinned to his chest with just one muscular arm, and pushed the door open.
