Playing with a Scandal (Players Club Sinners #4)

Chapter 1

Kane

M y body thrummed with anticipation as I entered The Players Club, my thoughts on only one thing: the woman I was going to spend the evening with.

Charlotte .

The heavy oak doors closed behind me, ushering me into a world that operated by entirely different rules than the civilian one I’d just left outside.

I headed toward the lounge, barely registering the muted elegance surrounding me, even though the club’s aesthetics never failed to impress.

Italian marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers that scattered soft prisms of light.

Velvet seating in jewel tones of deep emerald, sapphire, and burgundy created intimate conversation nooks, while the soft sounds of jazz from hidden speakers blended with the low murmur of voices and the occasional sharp crack of impact play from somewhere deeper in the club.

I passed a woman in a black corset perched on a man’s lap, her fishnet-clad legs draped over the arm of a velvet chaise.

She laughed at something he murmured against her ear, the rhinestone collar around her neck glinting in the ambient light.

Nearby, a man in an impeccable three-piece power suit led another man by a leash toward the private rooms upstairs, their power exchange dynamic evident between them.

That’s what I loved about this place. Everyone here knew exactly what they wanted and weren’t ashamed to seek their most depraved desires. No pretenses. No bullshit.

Ten years working for Las Vegas Metro had shown me humanity at its worst. The lies people told without blinking, the violence they inflicted on those who trusted them, and the justice system that moved at a glacial pace while victims waited for closure that might never come.

I’d seen marriages shattered by infidelity discovered during death notifications.

Watched parents identify their children’s bodies.

Sat across from killers who smiled like they were discussing the weather.

Here, I could shed all that darkness. Here, I wasn’t Detective Kane Adair, buried under case files and bureaucratic red tape, carrying the weight of every unsolved crime.

Here, I was in control, which I desperately needed.

A place where the chaos of the world couldn’t touch me, where I set the rules and someone willingly, eagerly, followed them.

Where everything was negotiated, consensual, and clear in a way my day job never was.

Not to mention, the sex was fucking phenomenal.

I scanned the room, my gaze methodically searching.

Years of training made it instinctive—cataloging exits, noting faces, tracking movement patterns.

But tonight, I wasn’t looking for a suspect or a threat.

I was looking for her . Gorgeous auburn hair that caught the light like burnished copper.

Blue eyes that sparked with defiance even as she begged for me to fuck her until I gave her body the pleasure it desperately craved.

Full lips that curved into that knowing smile.

My dick twitched just thinking about how perfect she’d been our first time together, so beautifully responsive under my command, yet with enough fire in her to make every moment of her surrender feel earned.

She hadn’t submitted to me because she was weak.

She’d submitted because she was strong enough to choose it for herself, and confident enough to hand me that power while trusting I wouldn’t abuse it.

Last weekend with Charlotte had been...Christ, I didn’t even have words for the experience.

I’d walked into this club expecting a pleasant evening, maybe a scene with someone new, nothing more than a way to decompress after a brutal week investigating a string of home invasions that had left three families traumatized and one elderly woman in ICU.

My shoulders had been knotted with tension, my mind still cycling through evidence photos and witness statements.

What I’d found instead was a woman who’d made me forget all of it. A woman who’d looked at me like she could see straight through the badge and bullshit to something underneath and made me feel the kind of chemistry and connection I hadn’t experienced in years, maybe ever.

Last week, she’d been standing near one of the demonstration areas, practically vibrating with nervous energy, her gaze darting around like she was searching for something, but wasn’t quite sure what.

A newbie, and every dom in the place had noticed.

I’d watched two approach her, saw her politely decline with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and something possessive had roared to life in my chest.

I’d been across the room in seconds. Mine , some primitive part of my brain had growled.

Not because I had any claim to her—I hadn’t even introduced myself yet—but because I’d recognized something in her.

Something hungry and desperate and good .

She deserved better than a less-experienced dom who might push too hard, take too much, and leave her feeling used rather than treasured.

She’d submitted so perfectly that first night.

When I’d eventually secured her to the St. Andrew’s cross and laid into her with the flogger, she’d taken every strike like it was a gift, her body flushing pink, her cries escalating from surprised gasps to desperate moans.

She hadn’t caved when I pushed her limits.

She’d risen to meet each challenge, fierce and beautiful and so fucking responsive it made my head spin.

And when it was over, when I’d held her through the comedown and she’d looked up at me with those dazed blue eyes, she’d smiled and said, same time next week ?

I’d said yes before she’d even finished the question.

We’d parted ways without exchanging last names or phone numbers, without asking about jobs or families or any of the mundane details that made up a life outside of these walls.

I didn’t know where she lived, what she did for work, or who she was once she walked out those doors.

All I knew was her first name, how her body reacted to my commands and my touch, and the way she’d looked at me like I might be a man worthy of her.

That anonymity was part of the club’s appeal for many members—the freedom to be someone else, to explore desires without the complications of real-life intruding.

But as the week crawled by, I’d found myself wanting more.

Wanting to know what made her laugh when her guard was down.

Wanting to see her in daylight, in normal clothes, doing normal things.

Wanting to take her to dinner and learn her favorite meal and the type of movies she enjoyed and what she liked to do in her spare time.

Tonight, I intended to change that. Tonight, after I’d taken her apart and put her back together, I was going to ask for her number and a date somewhere outside of the club, where I could discover if the connection between us was more than just incredible chemistry in a playroom.

The thought should have terrified me. I hadn’t had a serious relationship in years, not since the job had consumed everything else. But Charlotte made me want to try.

Now here I was, a week later, and I was actually nervous, like a goddamn rookie on his first day. What if our connection had been a fluke? What if the chemistry didn’t hold? What if she’d changed her mind and wasn’t even here?

I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally spotted her sitting at the bar, her fingers wrapped around a martini she wasn’t drinking, the olive still perfectly arranged on its tiny sword.

Her gorgeous auburn hair was swept back into a bun that must have started out the day tight and professional but had come a bit loose as time went on, a few wisps escaping to frame her face in soft, tempting curls.

Her dark blue eyes were fixed on her drink with determined intensity, giving off the vibe that she wasn’t interested in being approached. At least not by other men.

Unlike a lot of women at the club, she wasn’t wearing lingerie or even something risqué.

Instead, she’d chosen a figure-hugging navy-blue dress—simple, elegant, the kind of thing you might wear to a nice dinner.

She’d worn something similar last week, and it had driven me absolutely crazy.

There was something thrilling about knowing beneath that demure exterior was a woman who wanted to be ruined , and I was the lucky man who would see what was underneath that prim and proper presentation.

It made me feel possessive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Protective. Like she was all mine to unwrap, mine to unravel until she forgot her own name.

She hadn’t seen me yet and I walked toward her, my stride unhurried but purposeful.

When I reached her, I didn’t announce myself, just placed my hand firmly on the small of her back, startling her.

Plucking the martini from her fingers, I brought it to my lips and took a slow, deliberate sip, watching her over the rim of the glass.

Seeing that it was me, I didn’t miss the relief that flickered across her features before Charlotte gave me a playful scowl. “Hey, I was drinking that.”

I smirked at her. “Could’ve fooled me.” I set the drink back down on the bar, letting my fingers brush hers in the process. “Go on then. Be a good girl and drink up.”

The flush that crept up her neck was instantaneous, staining her cheeks a delicious shade of pink. Her fingers trembled—minutely, but I noticed, because I noticed everything about her—as she picked up the glass and drank the rest of it in one long swallow.

She set the empty glass down and looked up at me, one perfectly arched eyebrow cocked in challenge. Those blue eyes sparked with a rebelliousness that made my blood heat.