But the cold world outside was deprived the warm pleasure of it all.
Rows of half-moon fixtures spilled hazy maroon light across the soundproof walls. Low, bass-heavy music threaded through ceiling-mounted speakers. The carpet’s design was busy, almost dizzying.
The scent of this room—a nearly noxious cocktail of patchouli, amber, musk and fake Omega pheromones—stung my nostrils. Maybe the club thought the artifice would entice Alphas enough they’d forget the sex workers were Beta.
I couldn’t care less if the person tied up was male, female, Alpha, Omega, Beta or a damn alien. All I cared about wasfeeling something. My body kept betraying me. It kept doing nothing when it should be doing everything. I needed the feel of my dick hardening, wanted to throb painfully when I couldn’t release the pressure fast enough. If riding my bike was oxygen, then sex was water. Without one, I’d die instantly. Without the other, I might make it three or four days. Somehow, I’d made it months. Unless I was dead and didn’t know it.
Fallon, a fucking zombie.
I’d given up on private dances, given up on the illusion of seduction. Hell, I’d given up on my normal club. It was fucking embarrassing to gain a reputation for walking out without touching, without finishing, without feeling one goddamn thing.
Two weeks ago, I’d almost gotten a hard-on in this very room. I dared my dick to fail me today. It had to start working. Tour logistics and run-throughs were already gearing up. Jesus, I still hadn’t worked out the details of the big stunt. The one that would push us further than ever. Fuck, wecoulddo it the way it was already laid out. Might be our last ride, out in a blaze of glory.
The Beta woman stood in the center, arms stretched above her head, wrists bound by padded cuffs that hung from a chain in the ceiling. Her breathing had already quickened, though I hadn't yet touched her.
I liked to watch for a while.
I liked to study each curve.
I liked to plan my attack.
And she was beautiful prey, deserving of a focused predator.
Moving slowly, I circled her once, maintaining distance. Her back was stunning, tattooed flowers trailing down her spine in rich hues. Long limbs. Elegant neck. Wide eyes framed by thick lashes. Seductive, permanently pouting lips. Flawless tanned skin that took on a rosy hue thanks to the lighting. She waseverything desirable. Everything warm. Everything I usually wanted. Yet I wasn’t myself tonight. I couldn’t decide where to start. It felt like I was solving a problem, like what speed did the rider need to reach to get enough air and distance to make it to the second ramp. I was still analytical Fallon; I wanted to get out of my head and give myself over to carnal desires.
"Don’t you want me, baby?” She tried to sound confident, but I heard the tremor in her voice. This woman was weak and undesirable. But she was also here, accessible, and paid for.
"Patience," I replied, the word barely above a whisper. The acoustics were exception in this room—designed to amplify every breath, every rustle of fabric, every moan of pleasure. I wanted her sounds of ecstasy, but not her words. Her words meant nothing to me.
She writhed and let out a frustrated huff. I smiled softly, finally feeling that familiar urge to satisfy myself. It fluttered like a dying, desperate bird. If I didn’t force it to fly soon, the wings would go still once again.
Unbuttoning my jacket, I shrugged it off then slung it over my right shoulder, holding it there with one crooked finger.
Slowly, I moved with purposeful steps towards the wall display mounted near the room’s pitch-dark exit. Rows of titillating choices—their purposes ranging from torture to intense pleasure. I debated the nipple clamps attached to a ball gag. It could be adjusted so that every movement of her head tugged the clamps. Then there was the vibrator with the ribbed tongue attachment. Something simpler though…something to initiate this session.
Eventually, I exchanged my tailored, double-breasted blazer for a whip—leather, supple, with soft tassels that would tease rather than hurt. My gaze lingered on the door’s obsidian knob—it’s roundness nearly lost against the void of black, glossy paint—and part of me debated wrapping my fingers around the sleek surface, turning it, and leaving the room.
But no. I wasn’t going to tuck tail and run again. I wouldn’t get a reputation at this shitty whore house for being a limp dick loser who can’t get it up.
I unfastened four of my shirt buttons with one hand, putting my chiseled chest on display. Then I turned from that midnight exit and I moved my body. I took fluid, mesmerizing steps, watching as the woman’s eyes roved over the length of me. Her gaze was hungry, achingly needful.Fuck, when had that look grown tiresome to me?Even as she batted her lashes and licked her lips, I couldn’t chase away a feeling I could only compare to utter boredom.
When I stood half a foot away, she instinctively strained against the cuffs. The metal links of the chain clinked softly above her head. I felt my gaze darken, even as the apathy invaded my bones. I’d find a way to enjoy this, even if I had to push myself and this woman to the very brink.
Inch by inch, I glided the tassels of the leather whip up her left calf. Her skin pebbled in the wake of the slow stroking and she moaned when my movements stayed, the whip lingering at the hollow behind her knee. I stepped closer, narrowing the gap between us. So close that her breasts hovered mere centimeters from me. She glanced down, noting our nearness, and she leaned as far as the restraints would allow.
The very tips of her hard nipples grazed the bare skin of my chest. Her eyes came to life, bright and shining with anticipation.
“You’re so damn warm,” she breathed out, disrupting my state of mind. I should have told her to stay quiet the minute I secured the handcuffs. It was an easy misstep to correct.
“Don’t talk,” I commanded.
“Make me. You’re man enough, aren’t you?” she challenged. The minute she talked back and tested my authority, my dick twitched.
I didn’t like her voice. High, simpering. Trained to please. She was a lump of clay, molded easily by any man’s hands. Enjoyable on occasion, and that was the width and breadth of her value. But… the way she’d just talked back to me shot through my core and down to my cock.
I moved the whip upwards, traveling between her inner thighs and flicking the tassels sharply against her shaved pussy. The sheer babydoll was split down the front and short enough that with arms lifted, her body from hips to feet was fully exposed. I snaked the tassels beneath the fabric’s hem, tracing up her stomach, around her bellybutton, and terminating below her tits. I brought the whip lower again, circling her body and letting the tassels whisper against her delicate skin. Once I stood behind her, I trailed the tassels down the crack of her ass and dipped the whip’s tip between her thighs. She parted her legs, offering easier access, letting me tease her folds with gentle brushes and slaps.
She vibrated with longing as torturous whimpers escaped her mouth. She said nothing, yet her body language screamed for me to do my worst. But I was losing my desire for her already. It had been a flash bomb, hot but short-lived.
