Chapter 5
Austin
A red light catches us before I can turn onto Caro. I have to slam on the brakes.
“Hey, calm down.” Lyle leans back in his seat, eyes half-closed like we’re on a leisurely drive along the coastal highway, and not about to pounce on the most difficult bounty we’ve hunted in our five-year-long partnership.
“Did I read that text right?” I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the red light, willing it to change. “Did she really say, Come and get me at Low Vice…Daddies?”
Lyle chuckles. “Yep. I guess she’s a brat.”
“She isn’t a brat, she’s a bounty.”
He gives me a look that clearly says, why not both? Then he leans back, tugging his baseball cap down over his eyes.
“Are you napping?” I jam down on the gas just before the light turns green.
“Trying to.”
I grumble under my breath for the remaining time to Low Vice. Some of my ire is directed toward partners who think they can sleep on the job. Some of it is directed toward brats.
Most of it is directed toward brats.
She has no reason to call us Daddies. We haven’t established any sort of power play agreement, we haven’t even met in person.
Yet my hand already twitches, eager with the idea of spanking her naughty ass.
We reach the Low Vice parking lot. It’s hidden behind the building so that the vanilla Club Vice patrons don’t accidentally stumble across it. Low Vice is the kinky side of Vice, and one of San Esteban’s best-kept secrets.
We get out of the car. I slam my door shut. “How did she know?”
“Know that we’re daddydoms?” He shrugs. “Who cares? She knows, so what are we going to do about it?”
I don’t fucking know, so I say nothing.
Lyle puts on a rare burst of energy and hurries to the door. We’ve both been dragging for days, constantly searching for Ariel and following leads to dead-ends. But stick Lyle in the Low Vice parking lot and he perks up like a dog hearing the word “walkies.”
We get to the door, where a tall bouncer named Tag waits.
He gives us a low whistle. “You two look…different.”
I can imagine. We’re still in our Ironwood gear—black pants, black t-shirts. We usually dress nicer for Low Vice. At least, our clothes would be clean.
“Yeah. Rough couple of days. We just need to relax for a bit.” I don’t want to tell him we’re on the job. He probably wouldn’t like the idea that we’re here looking for a bounty, and I don’t want to cause trouble for him or for the club. So we’ll do this quiet.
“Well, have fun.” He opens the door to let us through.
The entire place is lit by red and green Christmas lights which reflect off the black walls.
It’s fairly crowded, too. I thought it might be quieter on Christmas, but nope.
Seems like a good number of people are eager to shed the stress of the season by getting their freak on.
Two men sit in a booth, their hands under the table and expressions of bliss on their faces.
A woman in a red dress, thigh-high red boots, and a Santa hat leads a man and a woman around, leashes attached to their collars.
Her subs are wearing Christmas elf ears and forest-green, pleather booty shorts.
No time to enjoy the view; I need to find our bounty. I pull up my mental image of Ariel Capulet. Blond hair, green eyes. Five-foot-six, with a curvy body I couldn’t help but salivate over.
I’ve seen her all but naked, getting herself off against a baseball bat, touching herself, posing with lust in those eyes.
I wonder what she looks like in fetwear, if she’s wearing it here.
She’s a job, though. A bounty. A mark. We have to bring her in, not ogle her in the city’s number one kinkster haven.
Only loud enough for Lyle to hear, I mutter, “Where the fucking fuck is that little brat? I swear to fuck, I’m going to—”
Lyle elbows me. “There she is.”
I follow the line of his gaze to the Saint Andrew’s cross in the far corner.
There’s our mark, bound facing forward, stripped down to her lacy pink bra and panties, a ball gag in her mouth.
Her jade-green eyes shine with gleeful anticipation.
Her play partner draws back his flogger, ready to swing.
* * *
Lyle
What. The. Fuck.
I can’t look away. I want to, but I don’t want to. Ariel Capulet, our bounty, is getting her tits flogged by none other than our buddy Quentin.
I want to rip the flogger from his hand. Or maybe film the entire scene.
Austin looks like he’s ready to burn the club down.
“Hey, take it easy.” I nudge him. “She’s tied up and captured for us already. Like a Christmas gift.”
Quentin brings back the flogger and strikes her breasts. Ariel jerks and squirms against the cross. Seems like it doesn’t hurt her much; Quentin’s going easy on her.
Her cheeks are pink, her chest heaves. Her green eyes shine with excitement every time the flogger makes contact.
In one hand, she holds a rubber ball matching the one in her mouth. Her “safe word” is likely dropping the ball. But she squeezes it tight, even when Quentin pauses to check in with her. He leans forward and whispers in her ear. She nods, her eyes smiling up at him.
Quentin notices us and turns to nod a silent greeting. He’s a good Dom, always patient with his subs. Never finds anyone to play with for long, always moving on to the next woman, the next experience.
He flogs Ariel a few more times, then leans back and surveys the pink marks left over her chest. He left her bra on, and I want to know how pink her skin is beneath it.
I want to know what those hard nipples look like. What they would feel like against my tongue and teeth.
“You may spit out your gag.” Quentin holds his hand up and Ariel pushes the ball out of her mouth. He captures it in his palm. It’s a beginner’s gag.
“Thank you, Sir.” Ariel grins at him. “That was a most instructive lesson. Are you already finished?”
She’s studiously ignoring Austin and me. I want to claim her attention, but it would be shitty protocol to step in while she’s still in a scene with Quentin.
“I need enough time for aftercare.” Quentin gives her a smile. “I have somewhere else I need to be—”
Austin interrupts him. “We can take it from here. I don’t think your sub is quite done.”
Quentin gives Ariel a questioning look. “Are you willing to scene with these two? They always work together. Seems a bit advanced for a beginner, but you’ve proven yourself so far, sweetheart.”
My jaw grinds at the sound of him using a pet name on our girl.
Our girl.
I’m so gone for her already, it’s ridiculous.
“I’m willing.” She nods to emphasize her agreement.
“Do you want her gag back in?” Quentin asks.
“No.” I motion he can toss it. “I want to hear what bratty things she has to say for herself. We’ve been trying to find her for weeks.”
Quentin’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I didn’t mean to overstep, if she’s your partner—”
“No. It’s more of a professional issue.” Austin’s tone is short, but he isn’t looking at Quentin—he’s looking at Ariel.
“All right. Good to see you two.” Quentin shakes our hands. He turns back to Ariel. “Behave—these two won’t go as easy on you as I did.”
He passes the flogger to Austin. Austin gives the flogger an experimental swing before taking the rubber ball from Ariel’s hand.
“You called us ‘Daddies’ in that text you sent.” I fold my arms across my chest and face down Ariel. “Did you mean that, little brat? Do you need some daddies to make you behave?”
She rolls her lips between her teeth, thinking.
Austin continues swishing the flogger around to get a sense of its weight and heft. “We’ll start as soon as you say it. Go ahead, princess. Say we’re your daddies.”
Her hesitance goes on so long, I think Austin’s going to walk away.
Then I realize—she’s still messing with us. I lean in and get close to her ear. Fuck, she smells good. Feminine sweat, sweet chamomile. I whisper, “Say it, brat. Or we walk away.”
Her eyes widen. She nods. Whispers, “Daddies. You’re my daddies.”