17. Finnian

SEVENTEEN

FINNIAN

Life is weird. One minute you’re an expendable royal spending all your time training with your friends in the elite squad of warriors that act as security for the crown. Then the next, you’re on some kind of prophetic scavenger hunt to save faekind and possibly having hallucinatory visions. This was not on my bingo card for this year, that’s for damn sure.

We’ve been back at the penthouse for a couple of hours, trying to crack the next clue without much luck. The only part we figured out—or think we did—is the when and where based on the very beginning. As Lugh dips low on LOVE’s cascade…veil of waters…

The fact that ‘love’ is in all caps was notable. Adding that to the cascade and veil of water, she has to be referring to the giant art installation that spells LOVE backdropped by a waterfall inside the Venetian. Lugh is the sun god, and if he’s dipping low, it means the sun is setting. So, we need to be in the Venetian’s Waterfall Atrium at sunset.

Beyond that, we have no ideas.

“Ugh, I can’t think of what else to Google that could give us answers.” Taryn sets my laptop down on the couch cushion beside her and collapses back in defeat next to me. “I hate unsolved mysteries. I couldn’t even watch that show when it was popular. Who wants to know about fascinating phenomena that can’t be explained? It’s so anti-climactic.”

I stop scribbling thoughts in a notebook that by now looks like an ink war zone and shoot her a crooked grin. “Are you saying after all these dead-ends you’re in need of a good climax?”

She answers with a coy smile and climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs and resting her forearms on my shoulders. “Now that you mention it, I am full of a lot of pent-up frustration.”

Taryn presses a hard kiss to my lips. “Mmhmm,” I hum in agreement.

“And since we can’t do anything until tomorrow evening…” Kiss. “And we did such a good job solving the first clue today…” She kisses me again, nipping my lower lip at the end that makes me growl in anticipation and my cock harden beneath her round ass. “You could help me work out the frustration or we could go out and you can show me how you celebrate a job well done in this city.”

Tossing the pen and notebook in the general vicinity of my laptop, I grip the sides of her face and take control. I crush my mouth to hers and part her lips with my tongue. I delve inside and stroke her with the force of every deviant thought racing in my mind. A tiny mewl escapes her as she becomes pliant in my embrace.

“Why don’t we do both,” I say, my voice tight with the amount of restraint it’s taking to hold myself back. “Interested?”

She sounds breathy and seductive when she answers, “ Very .”

“Then let’s go, solnyshko . Your fun awaits.”

It’s nearly midnight by the time we get to our destination, but that’s early by Vegas standards. I grab my large duffel bag and walk around the cab to open her door and offer my free hand to help her out. Usually I drive my Rover and use the VIP parking garage, but if this night goes the way I’m hoping, Taryn will be curled into my lap on the way home, sated and sleepy.

She joins me on the sidewalk and stares up at the neon sign that says Devil’s Door. Arching a dubious brow at me, she asks, “You brought me to a strip club?”

I can’t help but chuckle at the disappointment on her gorgeous face. “What kind of male do you take me for?” Placing a proprietary hand on her lower back, I dip my head to speak into her ear. “I brought you to a sex club.”

She barks out a surprised laugh. “Well, color me intrigued. I can’t wait to see what all the rage is about.”

“Before we go in, give me an idea of how you want this to go. Do you want to simply observe and see where the night leads as two consenting adults, or…”

“Or?”

“Or do you want this to be a scene? Meaning we’re exploring things in a D/s dynamic, though a more relaxed version, since we haven’t established anything formal. It’s a way of testing the waters, seeing what calls to you.”

She chews on her lip as she thinks. “So nothing extreme, no whips and chains or any of that?”

“Nothing like that,” I promise. “I’m very good at being tuned in to what a sub is and isn’t comfortable with. But if at any point you don’t want to do something or you’re uncomfortable, say ‘red’ and everything stops. Observe or play, it’s up to you.”

An impish grin spreads across her face. “I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines. I’m down to play if you are.”

Tipping her chin up with my thumb and forefinger, I say, “When it comes to you, I’m down for everything and then some. Come on.”

She lets me tuck her into my side and lead her next door to a place called Hell’s Kitchen. The storefront is designed to look like a café in Italy, complete with painted backdrops in the display windows that don’t allow you to see inside. But once we step through the door, it turns into the Red-Light District in Amsterdam.

True to its facade, this used to be an empty restaurant that served as the secret entrance to Devil’s Dungeon. But when the Marceau werewolf pack took over ownership a few months ago as part of a deal Tiernan made for their help in capturing Edevane, they decided to turn the space into a store. It was a smart business move. With the proximity to the strip club next door—which they also run now—and the club members having to come through here, there’s no shortage of customers wanting shiny new toys.

Hell’s Kitchen strikes a good balance between the seediest of sex shops and the discreet upscale boutiques, surrounding customers with an air of hedonistic luxury. Dim lighting casts a seductive glow on polished wood floors and velvet displays. Glass cabinets present a myriad of toys in smooth silicone and polished metal, and a lingerie section near the back features mannequins adorned in decadent lace and leather corsets. The scent of exotic spices and vanilla lingers in the air, enhanced by soft, sultry music that creates an intimate ambiance.

“Nice sex shop, Verran. Still not a sex club, though,” she says, her eyes scanning the products.

We’re not using glamours to disguise ourselves since Marceau changed the business to others only, but she’s changed her eye color to match the golden color of the Darks to blend in. She’s no less stunning for it, and yet I already miss the soft lavender that’s uniquely hers in this realm.

“I know that, brat.” I pinch one of her ass cheeks, and when she gasps in indignation, I shrug. “For the rest of the night, if you make a smartass remark you get an ass that smarts. Consider that your warning,” I say with a wink. “The club is downstairs and the entrance is through the back. But first, go pick out something to wear. No street clothes allowed.”

She bites her lip and hesitates. “You’re not going to choose for me? I thought that’s what Doms do with their subs.”

“Some do, some don’t. If this wasn’t your first time in a club, I would likely want to. I might choose something I know you’d feel sexy as fuck in, or I might choose something I know would put you on the edge of discomfort without crossing your boundaries.” My eyes trail down her body, imagining all the naughty possibilities, then rein my imagination in. “But tonight I want you comfortable. Pick some things out, try them on, and when you’ve made your choice, let me know.”

She claps her hands and lets out a tiny squeal of delight before making a bee line for the lingerie section. I wait leaning against a nearby wall as she starts to browse, my attention divided between watching her and thinking about all the things set into motion by my grandmother, Barwyn, and another elder fae I think may have been the one to plant the second clue according to a vision I had when I opened the parchment.

Moira must have spelled the clue to give me another piece of the puzzle, but I didn’t recognize the male. Maybe Barwyn knows who he is. I probably should’ve made arrangements to talk to him after receiving the letter, but I find it difficult to think clearly around Taryn.

Pulling out my phone, I open the text thread with the Woulfe twins, Connor and Conall. They’re wolf shifters, a specialty line within the Dark Fae. They’ve been best friends with my older brothers since they were young, as their father Seamus was our dad’s best friend and senior advisor. For the last several decades, Connor and Conall have been heads of the Night Watch.

Need someone to pay a visit to Barwyn tomorrow. Arrange time when I can meet him at the Manor then lmk. Important.

Taryn passes on her way to the dressing rooms, holding her selections away from me. “No peeking.”

I grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I like surprises.”

She disappears around the corner just as a text comes in from Connor.

copy that. bros sitch?

I scrub a hand over the stubble on my jaw as I contemplate my response. He’s asking if my brothers know about my request, and if not, whether he should tell them.

Not yet. I’ll bring everyone in after I have more info.

Connor gives my text a thumbs up and Conall follows it up with a meme of the teacher from South Park saying “Mmmkay” making me laugh. Not hard to tell which one is off duty tonight.

With that taken care of, I pocket my phone and enter one of the available dressing rooms. They’re fully enclosed with actual doors; no partitions with a foot of open space at the bottoms or thin curtains hanging from a rod. Each small room has a black tiled floor, red cushioned bench, and a full-length three-way mirror on the opposite wall. There are also mirrored tiles on the ceiling. The rooms often need thorough cleaning from the staff between uses, for obvious reasons.

I make quick work of changing out of my casual clothes and into a pair of leather pants I brought in my bag. It’s the only thing I wear in the club other than my black motorcycle boots. Anxious to see what Taryn chose, I wait outside her changing room door and fail at being patient.

“Taryn, you have five more minutes before I come in there to help you decide.”

“I’m ready,” she answers through the door. “Should I come out?”

“No, let me in.” When I hear the snick of the lock disengaging, I enter the room, then close and relock the door before turning around to see what she chose. “Jesus fuck.” My duffel hits the floor, and I have to clench my jaw so it doesn’t do the same.

She gives me a saucy grin and places her hands on her waist, popping her hip to the side. “You like?”

“I fucking like,” I grate out, the image of her stealing my breath.

She chose a bra and panty set that combines elegance with daring in the most exquisite fashion. Detailed floral embroidery adorns the sheer, blush pink fabric that makes her umber skin practically glow in contrast. The satin straps on the bralette and high-cut cheeky panties outline her every curve beautifully, and there’s a matching piece that wraps around her midriff, accentuating her waist. The final touches are a choker, thigh garters, and arm bands making her a vision of sensuality and deviance.

Taryn turns to face the mirror and adjusts one of the garters. I step closer, catching her intoxicating scent, something feminine and primal that’s uniquely her. The soft light in the dressing room highlights the swells and dips of her body, the delicate fabric clinging to her in all the right places.

I close the distance, my breath hot against her ear. “It’s taking all my restraint not to act on all the filthy things running through my mind right now.”

She shivers at my words, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. There’s a mix of excitement and apprehension in her gaze, and it drives me wild. I reach around her, my fingers skimming over the lace where her thighs meet. She gasps, her hands reaching back to hold on to my thighs.

“You look fucking exquisite in these,” I murmur, fighting my need to grind my cock against her ass. My fingers slip beneath the sheer triangle, finding her wet and wanting. I chuckle, a dark, deep sound. “Already burning so hot for me, my little sun,” I taunt, dragging my fingers through her slickness.

She moans, her hips pushing back against me, seeking more. But I’m not going to make it that easy. I tease her, my fingers brushing lightly over her clit, just enough to make her squirm and writhe. Her arousal is intoxicating, but I control myself, savoring every second of her need.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Not yet.” I pull my hand away and take a step back, letting her feel the absence of my touch. Watching her body tremble with unfulfilled desire is addictive. It makes me want to edge her for hours until she’s a glorious puddle of need and sweat. By the time I finally let her come, every cell in her body would implode from the sheer force of the pleasure tearing through her.

My balls draw up tight at the image, and I add that to the long list of fantasies I want to do in the very near future with Taryn Emory. But tonight will be just a taste.

“Touch yourself,” I command softly.

She arches a curious brow but obeys, her hand slipping between her legs, mimicking the motions I had started. Her eyes close, and a soft moan escapes her lips. It’s a beautiful sight, but I’m not done yet. I stay close, my presence a constant reminder of what she wants, what she needs, and what only I can give her.

I step in behind her again, my hand covering hers, guiding her movements. She gasps at the contact, her body arching against me. I whisper in her ear, my voice low and rough, “Feel good?”

“Yes,” she moans.

I nip the delicate point of her ear. “Yes, what ? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten how to properly address me in a scene, solnyshko . I wasn’t planning on paddling your ass tonight, but I’m always flexible.”

She drags her teeth over her lower lip, and I can almost see the mischievous idea of pushing back flitting through her mind. But sassy banter aside, my instincts tell me when it comes down to it, she’s not a bratty sub. She’s spent over half a millennium in leading roles and doling out orders. What she truly craves is being able to let someone else lead so she can follow.

“Yes, sire,” she purrs, infusing me with a warm satisfaction.

“Good girl,” I whisper, guiding her hand faster, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She’s close, so close I feel her body tensing, ready to tip over the edge. And just when she’s about to come, I pull her hand away, leaving her on the brink.

“No,” she cries out, her voice filled with frustration and need.

“Patience, solnyshko . You’ll get what you need.” I smirk at her reflection. “Eventually.”

She groans, her body shaking with unspent desire. I step back, giving her space to collect herself, knowing that the next time I touch her, it will be even more intense. After a few deep breaths, she faces me, composed if not a little tense.

Picking up the duffel, I hold out my other hand. “Come on. Let’s see how you do at the main event.”