Chapter 2: Virgin Sacrifice at the Shadowed Bar
The silence Steiger left in his wake was a tangible thing. Anni watched him disappear into the crowd, a ghost of his own discomfort. She exhaled slowly, the martini glass cool against her palm. Her phone lay face-up on the bar, a dark rectangle of potential. She could feel the buzz of the texts she’d sent to Alex vibrating in the air around her, a thread of control pulled taut across miles.
Before she could decide her next move, a fresh glass appeared beside her empty one. It wasn't her martini. It was amber liquid, two ice cubes, no frills. She didn't need to look up.
"Whiskey. Neat. Your brand, I believe," Thomas said, sliding onto the stool Steiger had just vacated. His scent, sandalwood and something sharper, invaded her space.
"I didn't order this."
"I know. I did. For you." He leaned in, his elbow on the bar, his body angled towards hers. The strobing lights from the main hall caught the silver in his hair. "Saw you with the old guard. Quite the performance. Were you auditioning for a new sugar daddy, or just practicing your witchcraft?"
Anni picked up the whiskey, swirled it. The ice clinked. "Neither. I was following orders."
"Ah." The single syllable was loaded. He took a sip of his own drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "From the absent king. And how did the loyal subject fare?"
She ignored the question, taking a measured drink. The whiskey was smooth, burning a path of warmth down her throat. "He followed orders too. For a moment."
"But he ran."
"He ran."
Thomas chuckled, a low, unkind sound. "Of course he did. A man like that looks at a feast and thinks he'll choke on the bones. He doesn't understand the first thing about real hunger." His gaze dropped to the still-exposed curve of her breast, the glint of metal just visible. "Or how to properly savor a meal."
Anni’s phone lit up. A new message from Alex. She tilted the screen slightly away from Thomas, but he saw her eyes flicker to it.
He smirked. "Let me guess. A new mission? A different target?"
She read the text, her pulse quickening.
He left. Pity. Find Thomas. Tell him he’s been patient. Show him what happens to good boys who wait their turn. But only your mouth. Nothing else. And record it.
The command was a live wire shoved into her gut. She looked from the screen to Thomas, who was watching her with the predatory patience of a man who already knew the outcome.
“Well?” he prompted, his voice dropping to a murmur that cut through the bass thump of the music. “What does my old friend have to say?”
Anni locked her phone, the click final. She finished the whiskey in one hard swallow, the heat of it spreading through her chest. “He says you’ve been patient.”
Thomas’s eyes darkened, the playful glint hardening into something focused and intense. “I have.”
“He says to show you what happens to good boys who wait.”
A slow smile spread across his face, transforming it. “And how does that happen, Anni?”
She stood up, her movements fluid despite the alcohol buzzing in her veins. “Not here.”
He was off his stool instantly, a step behind her as she wove through the crowd, away from the main bar, past the restrooms, towards a dimly lit hallway that led to the club’s private tack rooms and offices. The noise of the party faded into a muffled hum. The air smelled of saddle soap and old wood.
She pushed open the door to a small, unused office. A desk, a filing cabinet, a single lamp with a green glass shade casting a pool of sickly light. She turned to face him as he followed her in and closed the door. The click of the latch was deafening.
“Show me,” he said, his back against the door.
Her mouth was dry. The submissive space in her mind, usually a quiet, welcoming room, felt suddenly vast and echoing. She reached into her clutch, pulled out her phone, and opened the camera app. She set it to record, propping it carefully on the filing cabinet, angled to capture the space before the desk.
She turned to face him. The latex felt tighter, constricting. “Rules,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Only my mouth. You don’t touch me unless I say. You don’t come on my face or in my hair. You come in my mouth. And you hold the back of my head. You control the pace.”
Thomas watched her, his chest rising and falling a little faster. “And if I break a rule?”
“Then it stops. And you tell Alex why.” She said it flatly. It was the ultimate deterrent.
He nodded, once. “Understood.”
The formality of it was a bizarre counterpoint to what was about to happen. Anni took a step towards him, then sank to her knees on the rough industrial carpet. The position was familiar, grounding. She looked up at him. He was unzipping his trousers, his hands steady.
He freed himself, already hard, thick and flushed in the dim light. She felt a genuine, sharp pull of desire low in her belly. He was beautiful in a functional, aggressive way.
“Go on,” he said, his voice rough.
She leaned forward, letting her tongue snake out first, the silver stud cool against her lip. She licked a slow, flat stripe from the base to the tip, tasting salt and skin. He hissed. She took him into her mouth, slowly, letting her lips stretch around his girth. She felt him twitch against her tongue. She began to move, a gentle, teasing rhythm, using her tongue to swirl around the head, her hand wrapping around the base to control the depth.
“Fuck,” Thomas muttered, his head tilting back against the door. “Christ, Anni.”
She increased the pressure, taking him deeper until she felt him bump the back of her throat. She relaxed her jaw, letting him push past the resistance. His hands came up, his fingers threading into her hair, but he didn’t pull. He just held, his grip firm.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Such a good fucking mouth. All that sass, and look at you now. On your knees for me.”
The filthy talk sent a jolt through her. She moaned around him, the vibration making him curse again. His hips began to move, small, shallow thrusts that she matched. The rhythm built, becoming less tentative, more urgent. His grip in her hair tightened, guiding her now, setting a harder, faster pace. She could hear the wet, sucking sounds, her own ragged breaths through her nose, his low, ragged groans.
“Look at me,” he grunted.
She opened her eyes, her gaze swimming up to meet his. His face was a mask of intense pleasure, his jaw clenched. Seeing him like this, witnessing the effect she had, was its own powerful drug.
“You’re a fucking natural,” he spat. “All that power out there, and in here you’re just a perfect little cocksleeve. Isn’t that right? Tell me.”
She couldn’t speak, her mouth full. But she nodded, her eyes holding his, and moaned again, deep in her throat. The submissive admission, forced and true, sent a shock of humiliation and arousal straight through her core.
His thrusts became erratic, forceful. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice strangled. “Gonna fucking fill that pretty mouth.”
She increased her suction, her tongue working relentlessly. She was wet between her own legs, the slickness soaking through the thin material of her leggings. His fingers clenched in her hair, holding her firmly in place as his hips stuttered forward one final time. He came with a guttural shout, his body shuddering. She took it all, swallowing convulsively, the bitter taste flooding her senses. She kept working him with her mouth and hand until he was spent, sensitive, finally pushing her head back gently.
She released him, sitting back on her heels, catching her breath. A string of saliva connected her lip to his softening flesh before it broke. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Thomas leaned against the door, zipping himself up, his breathing heavy. He looked down at her, a complex mix of triumph, awe, and residual lust in his eyes. “Fuck,” he said again, softly this time.
Anni stood, her knees protesting. She walked to the filing cabinet, stopped the recording. The file was sent to Alex automatically. She turned back to Thomas. The dynamic had shifted, the air charged with something new and dangerous.
“Good?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
He reached out, cupped her cheek with a surprising tenderness. “Better than good.” His thumb stroked over her cheekbone. “Now I know what he has. What he keeps on such a tight leash.”
The words were a violation, deeper than the physical act. She pulled her face away. “It’s not a leash. It’s a choice.”
“Is it?” Thomas challenged, his gaze dropping to her phone. “Or is it just a prettier cage?”
Before she could answer, her phone vibrated. A new message from Alex. She read it, and a cold splash of reality washed over the heat in the room.
Good girl. Now get out of there. Hartmann is looking for you. He’s drunk and talking about the stock barn. Meet him there. Alone. See what he wants. Keep recording.
She looked at Thomas, the afterglow evaporating. “I have to go.”
He saw it in her eyes—the switch back to mission, the subservience to a distant command. A shadow of disappointment crossed his face, then was gone, replaced by his usual cynical mask. “Of course you do. The king calls.”
She didn’t dignify that with a reply. She straightened her top, smoothed her hair, and left him in the dim office, the taste of him and the weight of his question lingering on her tongue as she stepped back into the noisy, revealing light of the party.