Tempted

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Temptation hung like a thick mist in the club, calling to the desperation seated deep inside him.

Demetrius swallowed back the shot of whiskey and slammed his glass on the table. Heavy bass pulsed around him, lights flickered over bare skin, strips of leather and dangling chains, and bodies ground against each other in time to the thumping music.

He couldn’t remember where he was—LA, Houston, Atlanta?—but he didn’t give a rat’s ass. One human city was just like the next, and sleazy clubs like this that fed the deviants on the fringes of society were easy to find. Yeah, he was in the mood for pain tonight, and right now he didn’t care if it was he or the brunette in the skimpy dominatrix getup across the dance floor who got to dole it out.

She shot him an I’d-hit-that look and smiled when he nodded her over. As she turned away from the two shirtless losers in dog collars she’d been talking to and headed his way, lights rippled over her cleavage, her long legs, her dark brown shoulder-length hair. A scar marred her upper lip and her makeup was way too heavy for his taste, but that was okay. He wasn’t beautiful either. So long as she wasn’t petite and pale and perfect, that was all he cared about.

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