My eyes follow his line of sight until they reach the woman he is referring to. She’ll do. Although her skin is pale, her red hair is definitely not natural. After I finish looking over her body, my eyes go to her left wrist and I smirk. Lovely little, fake redhead, I’m coming for you.

I don’t bother with unnecessary goodbyes as I stalk my way over to her. I need to let some of this frustration loose, and as soon as possible. My demons claw at my chest cavity, begging for release. Her eyes roam my body and, stopping at the leather on my wrist, she nods in acceptance and puts her cigarette out. I don’t wait for her. I don’t have to. She’ll follow. I stroll through the club with confident movements that would make most spectators weak in the knees. I’m a man on a mission.

As I get to my room and dig out my key, the fake redhead comes up behind me. No words are necessary as she waits for me to unlock the door. I nudge it open with my foot, using my hand to gesture her inside first. I am not a complete asshole. I still have some manners.

Once the door is shut and locked, I shrug out of my leather cut and walk over to the closet. I have no patience for clutter. Thankfully, I’ve learned to separate my club from my extra-curricular activities because, let’s face it, some of my brothers are fucking disgusting. After hanging up my cut, I head towards the dresser.

“What shall I call you?” My hands slide along the cold, polished surface. I don’t bother looking at her yet. I’m studying her to see if she is looking for an emotional connection with her scene mate.

“Sunny, Sir.”

Good. So far, we are on the same page, but I don’t like to be called Sir. “You’ll address me as Tavis.”

“Tavis.” She repeats it slowly, making sure she gets it correct.

“Yes, Sunny. Tavis, not Travis.” My fingers continue to slowly caress the wood. “Drop your skirt and kick it over.”

The sound of her zipper sings in my ears and the demons inside me rustle about. I fling my shades off and dig the contact case out of my pocket. With my back to her, I pinch the blue lenses out of my eyes, and as I place them in their container, her leather skirt lands on the toe of one of my boots. I want her frightened, and what better way to accomplish that than showing her my soulless eyes. “Now, your corset.”

“Yes, Tavis.” She murmurs.

Her breathing picks up as I unbuckle my pants and toe off my boots and socks.

“Corset, Sunny.” My stern voice spurs her to action. “The word is simple. That word is Red. Do you have a problem with that as a safe word?”

“Red is perfect,” she breathes.

As I unbutton my black shirt, I ask her the necessary questions. “Hard limits. Go.”

“Scat, caning, permanent body modification, fire, wax, and needle play are the basics of my hard limits.”

Very good, I can work off that.

“Can I assume breath play is a soft limit?” I ask as I shrug from my shirt and place it neatly over the back of the couch.

“Yes, Tavis. For breath play, I usually respond better if my arousal is at a heightened state.”

We could delve deeper into more limits, but these are the basics needed for an easy, quick scene.

“Pain tolerance, Sunny?” I plan to use a disposable pinwheel on her. My demons are itching to press the utensil down to trail red marks along that beautiful porcelain body. It is one of my preferred tools.

“About average, as long as I’m in a heightened state. I’ll be fine, I assure you.”

I trust no one that uses the term about average to describe pain levels, so I mark that on my mental checklist. I shuck off my jeans and her breath catches again. I don’t wear boxers or briefs. Waste of time, those fuckers are. If I weren’t about to do a scene, I’d chuckle at her wide-eyed expression. I turn towards her, finally giving her the opportunity to see all of me more clearly.

“Good. It’s time I let my demons out to play,” I snarl as I stalk towards her.

***

Chapter Four

Tatiana

I pull a burger wrapper from underneath my passenger seat. Dammit, Piper! She’s always trashing my car. If I didn’t love her free way of life, I’d bitch at her for this. I throw it in the trash bag and stick my head back against the floorboard as I lift the flashlight to shine it under the seat. Starburst wrappers, good god! Where does all this fattening crap show up on her? If I ate this much junk, I’d be a lard ass.

When one of my favorite songs plays on the radio, I reach up from the floorboard and turn the knob so it blares louder. When I pull a Snickers wrapper from under the seat, I reach into my cup holder for my phone and send her a text message while singing at the top of my lungs.

Me: 9:08 pm – Seriously!

Piper: 9:09 pm – U must b cleanin ur car out…

Me: 9:10 pm – uh yeah wtf Pipe!

Piper: 9:10 pm - *shrugs* whoopsy

Whoopsy? Freaking whoopsy? What is she twelve?

I throw my phone onto the seat and reach blindly for the bucket of soapy water sitting outside my car door. Once I grab a wet rag, I clean up the chocolate goo stuck to the track underneath my seat. I’m going to have to take my car and get it detailed. This is ridiculous.

And they say I’m the child. I think Piper takes the cake on this one.

Someone kicking my feet startles me out of my inner bitchfest. Before I look, I already know who it is. I take a deep breath in, slowly let it out, and then reach to turn the volume down on my radio. Scooting backwards out of the car, when my feet touch the ground, I stand and look at him.