Ready for chapter two, how about you?

Oct 31, 2024 12:21 pm

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Howdy, y'all...


Resist is back in the arms of its mother, I'm so very deep in edits that I'm at the point where I'm regretting all of my life choices, wondering what made me think I should be an author when I can't command basic English, and crying into my pillow at night... so obviously that means its time to share another unedited chapter with y'all to distract us both from my editing cave pain... it's dark in here, guys. Send gin. And Cadburys. Or Stover Mallows. Or... I dunno, an elephant tranquilizer...


Chapter 2

Cora


Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.


I forgot this place doesn’t serve alcohol.


It’s been a while since I’ve been through the doors of Protocol, but it hasn’t changed much at all. It still says luxury even though it’s not an exclusive or expensive club. The floor can’t be real marble, can it? Either way, it looks clean enough to eat off.


The black and gold decor has changed, or at least been updated. There’s a vague scent of fresh paint in the air that suggests a recent refurb.


Why am I even here?


A sigh slithers through my nostrils on a long, slow breath as I stab at my frozen mocktail with my quickly deteriorating paper straw. I’d much rather dig my thong out from between my ass cheeks but that’s not something I want to do surrounded by all these people.


I can’t flee, either. This outfit fucking squeaks like a wheel on a bike that needs a good oiling. It would certainly draw attention if I took off on these way-too-high heels because I’m likely to roll an ankle, or go flat on my ass.


Phoenix’s idea of bringing me ‘something to wear’ was a skin-tight cat suit. It’s black pleather, with a red V-shaped chevron stripe over my tits, another stemming from my belly button, and a stripe on my biceps and each calf.


It has a deep, plunging V-neckline.


And by deep, I mean it goes aaaaaaaall the way down to my navel, with a decorative ‘chain’ across my titties barely holding the damn thing closed.


I look like a curvy fucking superhero stripper.


Not that there’s anything wrong with superhero strippers, but when I woke up this morning I didn’t think I’d be here, with a zipper chaffing my labia.


Yeah. A fucking zipper.


We’re trying to ignore the zipper between my thighs.


It’s staying shut.


It’s no coincidence she’s given me an outfit with a crotch zipper to wear when she was just talking about my vag being sealed shut.


Bitch.


Speaking of Foxy, she’s performing downstairs in the Club Protocol dungeon.

Is it really a performance? Should I call it that? I think so, right?


I’ve seen her with her floggers, the combination of movement and timing with the skill of inflicting pain on someone and keeping the whips to safe parts of the human body, yeah, it’s definitely a performance.


Thor makes his way behind the bar next to two bartenders I don’t recognize. If I don’t move, maybe he won’t make it a thing.


“Cora?”


On second thought...


I spin my stool toward him and give him a warm smile. “Hey Thor. Long time.” I raise my half-empty glass at him.


His jaw drops. “That’s it? Disappear off the face of the earth for a million years and all we get is a ‘long time’?”


He hops over the bar, landing a few feet away from me and drawing the attention of nearby kinksters.


“A million years?” I place my drink on the bar. “A little dramatic, no?” I stand, knowing he’s going to want a hug. And actually, I kind of do, too.


He scrunches up his face. “You’ve been gone so long I’ve landed myself with a fiancée, and a twelve year old son.”


His words filter into my ears but it takes a long beat for me to realize what he’s actually said.


“Wait, what?” I blink at him slowly at first but my eyelids flutter like they’re processing this news as well. I can’t say I ever had Thor pinned as the fatherly type... or the relationship type either, now I think about it. He was always the ladies’ man, enjoying dipping his quill in many ink pots, and never being tied down.


Before I can say another word he has pulled me into a giant hug, his warm arms bracing me against his giant wash-board chest. “I heard about your dad.” He squeezes tighter as my throat burns and eyes well.


“I’m so sorry for your loss, Cora.”


I hold onto him for longer than is probably considered okay. He has a fiancée, and if she’s here I don’t want to give her the wrong idea, but at the same time, there’s something healing about having him squishing the fuck out of me.


“Thanks.” I sniff and take a step back. “Sounds like we need to catch up soon.”

He nods. “You should come in some day when it’s quiet. We’ve all missed you around here. You could meet Adi.” The blush creeping into his cheeks tells me that’s his fiancée.


“I’d like that.”


“You heading downstairs?” He glances at the red band on my wrist indicating I’m not in the market for a playmate, and his eyebrows jerk upward. “Did the gossip train forget to mention something?”


I roll my lips. “She didn’t. I just don’t feel very peopley right now. I’m here under duress.”


He chuckles as he climbs back behind the bar to take someone’s order. The place is filling up. It was fairly quiet when we arrived, but it’s clear that Club Protocol is making its mark here in the Twin Cities, and I couldn’t be happier for the team. They’re good people as Dad would say.


I take an astronomically long time to finish my drink. Foxy has already texted me twice asking me why the fuck I haven’t made it down the spiral staircase and into her lair of depravity. Her words, not mine.


When another drink lands in front of me, I stare up at Thor with a scrunched up face. “I didn’t order a refill.”


He swipes the empty glass and slides my fresh glass toward me. “I know you didn’t. Sterling did.” He grins at me like he knows something I don’t.


I stare at the orange liquid. Thor’s blood orange punch is delicious. I’m not mad about the refill, though I do question the intentions. I am, after all, wearing a red band around my wrist, and no means no, not “try to convince me otherwise.”


As though he’s reading my mind, Thor’s smile shifts into a smirk. “Calm your tits, C. He’s one of ours.”


I flick through my memory files as I drag my finger around the rim of the glass collecting tiny particles of orange flavored sugar as I go. I don’t recall a staff member called Sterling, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t exist.


Foxy may be my girl, but that doesn’t mean she introduced me to everyone.


“House Dom?” I tip my head, he shakes his.


“Switch.”


Thank fuck for that. There’s nothing I hate more than the idea of a fucking footstool. If you need something to put your feet up, go fucking furniture shopping.


Okay, I know. Not all doms like their submissives turning themselves into a piece of furniture. But also, the idea of giving complete control of my body to another human being makes my skin crawl.


No, thank you.


Though I have had my fair share of men bent into a table shape under my feet over the years.


Some people are born to submit, I was born to dominate.


Some people are born to surrender, I was born to resist.


“And our DM.” Thor drops that little nugget of information on me with a gesture of his head to my right.


I lick the sugar off my fingertip before taking a long sip of my citrusy drink.


Thinking I’ve left enough time for this Sterling person to stop staring at me, I turn my attention in his direction.


The casual way he’s sitting on his barstool is betrayed by the shrewdness in his stare as he skims his gaze across the crowd.


As Dungeon Master, or DM, he’s responsible for creating a safe play space for everyone within the doors of Club Protocol. It’s not a small responsibility. He must be good at what he does for Slade to have hired him.


That doesn’t explain why he’s sitting up here with me at the bar instead of downstairs where the action’s happening.


I stare back at my drink, my cheeks heating at the fleeting sizzle that passed between us as our eyes met.


He’s gorgeous. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and wearing the shit out of a suit that probably cost a small fortune.


I bet he smells delicious, too.


An ember flickers to life between my thighs waking up a piece of me that has been dormant for long enough that it takes me off guard. But when I look back down the bar to raise my glass to the mysterious man who just bought me a drink, he’s gone.


I feel him before I see him, his proximity, his warmth, his very essence. He’s behind me, close enough to confirm that he does, in fact, smell fucking delicious. Warm, spicy, with subtle notes of citrus which admittedly could be my drink.


Fuck.


It’s a heady blend.


He doesn’t touch me, but his face is close enough to my ear that his breath sends sheets of goosebumps down my neck.


Another ember sparks in my core.


“You should come downstairs.” They’re the only words he says to me, and when I turn to ask why, I’m met with his back walking away from me as he makes his way toward the staircase.


Eyes wide, I look back at Thor.


“I might have told him you’re single.”


Of course he did.


“I’m wearing a red band, Thor.”


He nods. “And Ster will respect that.”


“Shouldn’t he be focused on making sure downstairs is safe for everyone instead of...” I huff out a breath. “Whatever that was?”


Thor nods. “He has a good team, his second in command is downstairs, and it’s just as important to make sure things up here are safe too. People up here go down there.”


I know this, it makes sense, but something about a handsome man buying me a drink for the first time in... A while... has me off balance.


Temptation’s brewing inside me, making my feet itch to take the staircase downstairs to see him again. But instead, I sip my drink at a pace that from the eye roll Thor throws my way suggests is too slow.


When I’ve all but made the decision to head home, my phone lights up with a text from Phoenix.


           Foxy: Get your sexy ass down those stairs before I come up and drag you.


“She’s told me to throw you over my shoulder if you don’t go down there in the next two minutes.” Thor jerks his chin at my screen. “And I’ll happily do it.” He grins.


“No need.” I slide off the stool, the material giving a little squeak to remind me I’m in a rubber fucking cat suit. “I remember the way.”


Thor watches as I slowly stride toward the mouth of the staircase. My ankles wobble with damn near every step but I don’t trip, fall, or even stumble. Maybe I can handle heels this high after all.


When I make it to the bottom of the staircase without falling on my ass, I’m convinced I need to buy a ticket for the lottery, because there’s no way Lady Luck isn’t shining on me tonight.


“You came.” It’s the same low, gravely, gruff voice of the man who bought me a drink upstairs.


I turn to face the voice, my breath stuttering at the magazine-cover-stunner staring back at me. He’s even more handsome up close, and the embers deep inside me stop flickering one by one and instead blaze to life all at once.


Fuck.


He extends his hand toward me. “Sterling Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you.”


Don't forget to preorder Sterling and Cora here!


Until next time, don't do anything I wouldn't do,

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Have you joined my reader group yet? If not, then head over to: Margaritas, Men and Mischief with Lasairiona. As the name suggests, it's a place for my readers to chat about all things romance - with a healthy dose of sarcasm, sharp wit, conversations comprised entirely of GIFs, sneak peeks, giveaways and a plethora of memes. It's one of my absolute favorite places on the internet and I'm really enjoying getting to know readers that bit better over there. Don't be shy - we don't bite... much! Come on over!

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Justin

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