Novo pivoted back to him. She couldn’t help it.

Peyton was sitting deep in his seat, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused as if he were reliving the whole scene.

“She didn’t pay any respect to him,” he said. “That’s her future hellren. She should be concerned about him over anyone, especially some asshole like me she doesn’t know. But she sized up my clothes and decided…well, anyway. And Oskar deserves what he gets if he picked something like that over a female like you. I mean…you’re so strong and beautiful and smart. You’re a real person.”

Novo blinked once. Twice.

And decided she really wanted to fuck Peyton. Like, right now.

She leaned in to the driver. “Take us to The Keys. Do you know what that is?”

The doggen shook his head. “No, madam. I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Take a left up here. I’ll tell you where to go.”

—

Peyton’s blood thickened and his cock got hard the instant Novo said the word “Keys” and he almost didn’t think he’d heard right. But then her efficient directions took them to the unassuming entrance of Caldwell’s most notorious sex club.

Hell, from what he understood, the place was well known even down in New York City.

“Am I dressed appropriately,” he asked as the Range Rover came to a stop.

“We’ll get a mask from Staff.”

Novo got out her door and he did the duty on his side. Leaning back in, he told the driver to park and wait.

He had no idea how long they were going to be in there. Or what was going to happen next.

Before he straightened, he tucked his erection up so it lay flat on his lower abdomen and closed his suit jacket. Meanwhile, Novo left her jacket behind so she was just in that muscle shirt and those leather pants, which—oh, God, he wanted her so damned bad.

Especially as she walked ahead, her strides taking her to the head of a wait line that was at least fifty people long.

There were two guys standing at an unmarked door, and as she flashed a key, they let her in immediately—and he was waved through clearly because he was with her. Inside, he could catch the scent of sex, and hear music, but he couldn’t see past heavy curtains that delineated a kind of anteroom.

Hello, naked lady.

From out of the shadows, a woman with both her breasts painted red and nothing on her lower half emerged to offer them masks that were black and reminded him of The Phantom of the Opera. Once they were in place, Novo pulled the curtain back and walked forward.

And once again, Peyton followed…only to stop just inside the barrier.

Hieronymus Bosch, he thought as he resumed making his way into the vast, dimly lit space. That was the only thing that came to his mind.

As music pumped through speakers he could not see, his eyes were overloaded with images of naked, contorted bodies. Some were strewn over benches and sofas. Others were in Lucite boxes. There were sunken pits where writhing forms twisted and turned into human fists and lineups of women and men face down or up on tables with all kinds of people covering them.

This would have been quite the scene for him a couple of years back.

Hell, he had been living it on a smaller scale as recently as a week or two ago.

And it wasn’t that it didn’t interest him. He was curious how it all worked, although that was more like a huh than any sort of erotic impulse.

There was only one person he wanted to fuck, and she was taking him deeper and deeper into the club.

“Does this turn you on?” Novo asked as she looked back at him.

Enough, he thought.

Snagging her arm, he whipped her around and slammed her body right into his own.

“You turn me on,” he growled.

With a roll of his hips, he ground himself against her and it was then that her eyes got hot behind that mask. And he couldn’t not respond to that. He grabbed her by the ass—hard—and pushed her up against a wall. Clamping a hand on the front of her throat, he squeezed just enough to make her have to work for air.

“Is this what you want?” he said harshly. “Do you want it hard and where people can see?”

“Fuck you.” She bared her fangs and hissed at him. “And yeah, I do.”

Her hand shoved itself between them to find his cock, and she didn’t so much stroke him as rough him up—and he loved it.

Sweeping his hand to the front of her muscle shirt, he peeled it down so that it trapped her arms. No bra. Fuck, yeah…no bra. He held her in place by the throat and went for her nipple, nicking her with his fang so he could suck her blood while he suckled on her. In response, her fingers raked into his hair and one of her legs lifted and wrapped around his ass.

Why the hell wasn’t she wearing a skirt?

Screw the preamble, they were both panting for it. So he turned her to face the wall, jerked her hips out, and took out the switchblade he always carried with him in his breast pocket.

“Don’t move.”

When she looked back at him, he released the blade and waited until she nodded. Then he ran his free hand up and down her crack, rubbing the leather, stroking her sex through the pants. That didn’t last long. Taking the razor-sharp blade, he cut into the seam that went right up the center of her, put the knife away, and slid four fingers, two from each side, into the hole he’d made.

It was a clean jerk.

And underneath, her bare, hairless sex was open, ready, wet for him.

He sprung his cock so fast, he ripped his own fly. And then he entered her on a single, powerful thrust that drove her face-first into the wall. She called out something, maybe it was his name—over the din of the music, he had no clue—and braced her arms as she spread her legs farther apart.

Peyton rode her like an animal.

Fuck his fancy clothes. And fuck the people who were watching them, too. He didn’t care about anything but coming inside of her. Filling her up. Doing it over and over again until he leaked out of her in rivers of come.

Halfway through, he realized he was marking her.

Somehow, along the way, he had bonded with her.

Saxton couldn’t wait to leave the Audience House. His sense of responsibility and duty to Wrath ensured that he got all his work done, but the instant he could, he was out the back door and dematerializing to Minnie’s.

He entered through the seam in the weather stripping, but as he did, he was aware of a great deal of resistance. And as soon as he was fully re-formed, he understood why.

The explanation was lying on the floor, head under Minnie’s sink, long legs stretched out, arms cocked and working at something in there.

“Okay, this is a fantasy of mine,” Saxton drawled. “Who knew I wanted you to cosplay being a plumber?”

There was a clank and then a curse. And then his hot pipe-worker was sitting up and wiping his forehead on his arm. Wow. Hanes T-shirt and blue jeans. Muscles underneath. Male everything, everywhere.

Be still my heart, Saxton thought.

“You’re back,” Ruhn said with a smile.

Saxton put his satchel down on the counter and took off his cashmere coat. “I am indeed. And you are dirty and sweaty.”

“I’ll take a shower—”

“Don’t you dare.”

Saxton walked over and got down on his knees in between Ruhn’s legs. Running his hands up those corded thighs, he made quick work of the button fly—and then he brought his mouth to what he’d been thinking about all night long.

Ruhn’s explosion of breath was followed by a loud series of flopping bangs.

Then the male dropped his monkey wrench.

Whatastinkingpity.

“Saxton…” There was another gasp. “Oh, God, yes—”

Saxton looked up. Ruhn was rubbing his head as if he’d knocked it against the lip of the counter—but the male didn’t seem worried at all about the bump at his temple. No, his eyes were full of wonder and heat. Indeed, there was always a degree of surprise behind Ruhn’s erotic passion, as if he couldn’t believe his body was capable of feeling like it was. And Saxton loved that. The surprise and joy, the powerful instinct and urgency—all anchored by a sense that it was a first time, every time.