Chapter 39: Nice Guys Spew Drinks

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Adam

Mac bounces up and down in the limo to EMD music. She's got her go-face on like she's ready to go live onstage. She looks fierce and I fucking love her.

She chugs a water and tosses two at me.

"Pre-hydrate, baby."

"Damn, Shorty. Are we hitting the club or a half-marathon?"

"One way or another, we are sweating all night," she whispers, as the limo rolls up to the velvet rope at Denizen.

As she tries to scoot toward the door, I pull her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her tiny waist. "I'm down for an all-nighter, but I'm taking you home in two hours."

"That should be enough time here." Her mouth twists, the way it does when she says one thing but means another. Before I can ask what she means, our security guy Mason opens the door.

We didn't bring John—didn't want him at the hospital with us, but he arranged for a guy to be on call if we needed him. I slide out from underneath her and hop out. There aren't many paps here—they are spread thin on a Thursday night to cover all the LA clubs—but the few that are loitering on the sidewalk snap to and shout Madam! 

Mac pulls me over to them, as Mason and the bouncer give them their warning clearance and Mac preens on my arm, while I try to look a little bored, which I figure is a better option than looking like I want to bend her over and fuck her from behind, which is what I really want to do. With her in those boots, I've accepted the fact that my hard-on is a permanent state tonight until I come inside her at least twice. Maybe three times.

She laughs when the paps goad her to show her left hand. "Looking for a ring?" She releases my hand and flashes her bare left hand. "No way." She leans in conspiratorially. "Off the record...the only Madam ring there will ever be is Adam's cock ring, but it's...impressive."

The flashes go wild as I grin and shake my head at her and she leans in to kiss me on the cheek. "Bad girl," I whisper in her ear.

"What'd he say?" one of the paps shouts.

"Too dirty to repeat." She waggles her fingers goodbye as they laugh.

Once inside the club, we melt into the dark anonymity of the floor. The lights are strobing and the sound is lit and the throng moves like one organism. I pull Mac's ass to me and give her the feel of my cock pressing against her as we drop down low together. I'm never much for the choreographed moves—thankfully Soundcrush doesn't do much of that, except for the subtlest stuff in a video—but it's like I told Mac. Club dancing is basically fucking with clothes on. And I like to fuck Mac. So obviously, I like to dance with Mac, too.

She makes it easy for me, my cock automatically follows where her body leads. She reaches behind and grabs my hips; I put my hands on all of her bare skin—shoulders, back, stomach, thighs—feeling it grow slick as we heat up.

Just when her arms come around my neck and her head rolls back and I think she's really giving herself over to the music and the feel of my hands on her, her head snaps up and she reaches down in her boot, pulling her cell phone from it. She must have felt it vibrating. She holds it up to check, and I can easily see the screen over her shoulder.

To my surprise, it's Trace:

Well?

Mac texts back rapidly.

Just got here. Haven't found her yet.

Trace: WTF? She just texted me 10 minutes ago and said she was in VIP.

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