Heat Up the Night

Heat Up the Night

Skylar Kade

Can they find love without losing themselves…

Tovia Douglas has devoted her adult years to sheltering her mentally ill mother and ensuring her sister's independence. When Tovia turns 27, those lost years come into sharp, painful focus and she decides it's time to start enjoying life, starting with a little mental vacation through submission at her local kink club.

Keilor Branson grew up believing in love at first sight. He just figured his other half would feel it too. Instead, feisty new submissive Tovia runs from their emotional connection. Determined, Keilor must chip away at her walls and prove that love is worth the risk.

When family troubles lead to Tovia's change of heart, their roles are reversed. Now she must prove to her man, her Master, that while love isn't always perfect, they are perfect for each other.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

HEAT UP THE NIGHT

Shades of Naughty Collection

Copyright © 2013 SKYLAR KADE

Cover art by Amanda Kelsey

Edited by Trinity Scott

ISBN: 978-1-936387-63-2

All Romance eBooks, LLC Palm Harbor, Florida 34684

www.allromanceebooks.com

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First All Romance eBooks publication: May 2013

Are you happy…really happy?

Her best friend’s innocent question rang through her head, as it had for months now. It rang so loud that, as Tovia Douglas swept out of the kitchen and into the casino, it simply blended into the clanging bells and flashing lights that assaulted her. Even after too many years working the strip, she’d never quite gotten used to the sensory shock. Maybe she should have spent more of her free time outside her house.

She shook away the thoughts, taking care not to unsettle the full drink tray she balanced on one shoulder as she weaved around the patrons in various stages of inebriation.

“Hey, Frank, it’s our redheaded Grecian goddess!”

She pasted on an extra friendly smile and set the martinis—“shaken, not stirred,” no kidding—down next to the nickel slots.

“How’s your evening, doll?”

Doll, really?
Tovia inched her grin wider. “Oh, it’s just dandy. You two just relax and flag me down if I can get you anything else.” She leaned down just an inch or two as she spoke, wishing she could roll her eyes at their oh-so-predictable leering down the front of her single-shouldered white blouse.

But she appreciated their predictability when each businessman slid a tenner onto her tray with a leering chuckle, their meaty fingers brushing across her hand.

She spun away, taking care to keep her drink tray level. Her first night at this job she’d collided with a guest—okay, the drunk asshole stumbled into
her
—but after the ass-chewing her manager had doled out, she’d been extra cautious.

Before she could take a step, a hand brushed across her ass. The urge to overturn her tray on his head flashed through her mind like fire. Instead, she ignored the violation and darted away.

Her ass burned where he’d touched her. The other servers told her she’d either get over it or not, but if she managed to flirt through the indignation, the tips would be worth it, especially if she was promoted into the private gambling rooms.

Besides, it was all one could expect from the rougher sex.

Mentally tallying her tip count for the week, she briskly served a gawky group of young men, giving their ringleader a sweet smile when he held out a crumpled five for her to take.

Bold grin firmly in place despite her aching cheeks, she delivered the remaining drinks to the Pai Gao tables and heaved a sigh of relief when her shift ended. In the server’s hallway she passed Daphne, her replacement, and slipped her a sassy wink. “Watch out for the two suits at the Zeus’ Gold nickels—they’re handsy.”

Daphne tossed out a grateful nod then breezed into the casino clamor with a practiced ease Tovia only hoped to emulate.

With an unfeminine groan of relief, Tovia slipped out of her wedge heels and padded down the tiled hall in her stockinged feet. All she wanted was to get as far away from her day as she could. Between her mother’s newest obsession—her sister Rachel’s first boyfriend—and a handful of especially trying casino patrons, she was beat.

Or she would be, in an hour. Hopefully.

In the changing room, Tovia grabbed for her purse and turned on her cell phone while she wiggled out of her work shirt. It was supposed to evoke images of Grecian togas, but the billowing white top with its single sheer sleeve made her think more of ugly wedding dresses than anything else. But she couldn’t argue with success—her tips had definitely risen when they’d switched away from their old black T-shirts. She suspected, maybe, the deep V-neck had something to do with it.

She snorted and chucked her balled-up top into her gym bag. Her phone chirped, and Tovia’s heart galloped ahead. She hoped Sammy had texted her. Her best friend since childhood, Samantha Leonard had always lived what Tovia thought to be half of a stereotypical Vegas life. If Sammy wasn’t partying or eating at world-class restaurants or clubbing somewhere in the city, she was volunteering at the local animal shelter.

For years Tovia had humored her friend, lived vicariously through her exploits, all up until Tovia’s twenty-seventh birthday. At dinner, her normally flighty friend turned to her, in all seriousness, and asked The Question.
Are you happy…really happy?

With anyone else, Tovia would have ejected an enthusiastic
yes
, but Sammy had known her too long to accept that line of bullshit. In the safety of Sammy’s apartment and wrapped in the comforting bubble of a bottle of wine, she’d broken down and begged Sammy to forcibly remove Tovia from her boring, predictable life. She didn’t know what she wanted, which was exactly the problem. Between one obligation or another, she’d never bothered to explore her own needs.

Sammy’s text flashed on the screen.
We’re good to go tonight. He’s excited to meet you!

Tovia’s stomach lurched from nerves and apprehension. Six months ago, Sammy had talked her into becoming a cocktail waitress. Four months ago, she’d held Tovia’s hand as she got the belly button piercing she’d wanted since she was sixteen. And one month ago, Sammy had made her over and thrust Tovia into the luscious, kinky world of Apogee.

A sex club.

Okay, she was being overdramatic. As Sammy had drilled into her head, it was a
kink
club. A
BDSM dungeon
. Yes, sex was allowed, but calling it a sex club was “just so plebian.”

Somehow, Sammy had made the statement sound haughty even as she’d been naked and halfway tied up.

She pointedly exited out of the texting app, not wanting to see any of the four messages her mother had left during her shift. She didn’t need to read them—each was written in Amelia Douglas’s tongue of guilt, with an acquired accent of emotional manipulation.

Learning that language had been courtesy of Sammy as well, and about a decade too late, in Tovia’s opinion. After all, she was twenty-seven, living at home, and still playing referee between her mother and sister. Never mind the fact that Tovia’s mother still thought she worked at the Rio Hotel’s buffet as a waitress and would just keel over if she found out the truth. Some variations of
but all those men leering at you…selling your body…you deserve more respect than that…

If she discovered the job change was partially impelled by Tovia’s need for a down payment on her own place—yeah, she didn’t want to go there. Not tonight.

Tovia craned her neck left and right to work out the knots, rolled her shoulders, then slithered into her almost-too-beautiful-to-wear emerald leather corset. With her work uniform hotpants, she was ready for Apogee.

Her heels got chucked into her bag atop her work shirt, and she snagged her most comfortable flats from the bottom of the pile. When serving on the casino floor, she enjoyed towering over most of the patrons in her four-inch wedges, but at the club she preferred flats. When her knees went weak from whatever a Dom was doing to her, she didn’t want to worry about twisting an ankle.

Shrugging into her knee-length pea coat, Tovia prayed this week would bring her the blissful peace she sought, even though that hadn’t really worked since her first week at the club. Nothing had. Still, she forged out of the room, thinking all the positive, lusty, kinky, submissive thoughts she could.

She headed for the employee parking lot, pulling her coat collar up around her face to ward off the cold Las Vegas night. The cold bit into her aching muscles, reminding her just how tired she was, body and soul.

Something had to give, and soon. She crossed her fingers. Maybe tonight, this Dom could replicate whatever black magic Master Keilor had performed on her, without drowning her in subspace.

The flogger lashed across her back, and tears sprang to her eyes. Not pain. Frustration. She bit back her safeword, determined to see this through. A quick one-two X across her back warmed her skin, but didn’t touch the ball of ice lodged in her chest. Her unbound hands clenched around the handlebars embedded high into the navy-painted wall.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Sammy watching the scene with a look of clinical dissection. Could the whole club see what a miserable submissive she was, or did Sammy alone see what Tovia was trying to keep hidden?

A sob choked her throat but she swallowed past it as Master Mike pressed his leather-clad legs against hers, his shirtless body cool against the stinging heat of her back.

By all accounts, she should be a molten puddle of lusty submissive. Master Mike had damn well earned the title, and had a smokin’ hot body to boot. Eyes that would make Matt Bohmer jealous and just enough stubble to threaten beard burn in all the right places.

But all Tovia wanted to do was squeeze back into her corset and drive home. Maybe snag In-N-Out on her way home as a consolation prize before sneaking in the door and praying she didn’t wake her mother.

“You’re not at all with me, are you?” The gentle rumble broke through her pity party. Mike’s smooth fingers brushed across the nape of her neck and up her arm. His touch was comforting, soothing, offering her absolution.

Tovia swallowed around the lump in her throat. No crying in public. “Apologies, Sir.”

He reached up to her hands, using his own to uncurl her fingers from the metal bars. “Never apologize for something like that, darlin’. You make a wonderful bottom, and whatever Dom can break through your determined distraction will be a lucky man indeed.”

She blushed, partly from his compliment and part from embarrassment. She appreciated his sentiment, but didn’t believe it for a minute and figured after her horrendous twenty minutes being played—her third in as many weeks—the membership of Apogee had written her off as impossible.

As dutiful as she’d seen him with other, better submissives, Mike wrapped her in a blanket and carried her over to a plush couch situated in the corner. Tall ferns and palms offered just enough privacy from the rest of the club that she closed her eyes and indulged in a moment of despair.

Mike settled her on the couch next to him and slung an arm over her shoulder before offering her a chilled bottle of water. “It’s not all that bad, Tovia.”

She looked up at him, wishing his rakish blond hair appealed to her. His wry smile would be a delight to kiss, a wonder to wake to. But he did nothing for her beyond pure aesthetic appreciation. “You’re a member here.” She dropped the formalities, tired of this farce. She was no submissive. “You’re here every Friday and Saturday that Sammy and I visit.” His cheeks flushed and his gaze darted over to her friend, who was flirting with Nikos Mystrapolous, one of the club founders. Not flirting, per se. Just being her normal bubbly self.

Then it clicked. “Oh my God,” she hissed. “You have a thing for Sammy!”

He groaned and dropped his head back onto the leather couch with a curse.

Well that explained why he’d been so nice to her. Not willing to let him off so easily, she nudged him in the ribs. “Go talk to her. I don’t really need all this coddling.”

“You know damn well I won’t leave a submissive without proper aftercare.” He threw a half-hearted glare, but that didn’t deter Tovia.

“Go talk to her. Sir.” Then she stuck out her tongue, teasing the man just to the edge of being bratty.

“You heard the woman, Judson. She doesn’t want aftercare.” The syrupy, teasing drawl shivered up her spine.