MisplacedLessons by Mari Carr and Lexxie Couper Page B

for him to join her. If he wouldn’t take her to the club,
she’d simply have to take herself and hope he’d follow. She didn’t intend to
play with anyone other than Andrew, so if he didn’t come, she’d take a look
around, then return home with her curiosity satisfied.
    When she emerged from the taxi forty-five minutes
later—idiot man got them lost twice—she stood on the sidewalk for a minute
studying the inconspicuous building with a small, tastefully done sign that
declared she had indeed made it to Velvet Chains. No wonder the cabbie had
struggled to find it. It certainly didn’t stand out in any way.
    Taking a deep breath, she bolstered her courage and walked
in the front door.
    A man with a clipboard greeted her inside. “Name please.”
    Amy hadn’t anticipated this. “Um, I’m Amy Wesson.”
    The man consulted his list. She needed to act fast, so she
added, “I’m a guest of Andrew Shaw.”
    The man glanced up, taking in her attire. “Mr. Shaw isn’t
here this evening.”
    “I know. I’m meeting him here,” she lied. Hopefully Andrew
would take her up on her invitation to continue their sex play at the club.
After all, they’d already initiated his bed, the shower, several floors in
different rooms, the kitchen table and the couch at his house. The change of
scenery would be fun.
    “I’m sorry, but he doesn’t appear to have called ahead to
give us your name. I’ll have to phone him to confirm.”
    She didn’t want to interrupt—and potentially ruin—Andrew’s
business dinner. “Um. He really is expecting me.”
    The man nodded. “I understand. It won’t take me a moment to
confirm this.”
    She was about to tell him to forget it when there was a loud
disturbance at the front entrance. The doorman’s face flushed with anger and a
fair amount of annoyance.
    “Master Turner. I told you earlier. You can’t come in here
intoxicated.”
    The newcomer was dressed head to toe in leather, with
slicked-back jet-black hair and an earring. Amy had to work hard at restraining
her laughter. The guy appeared to have bought into every stereotype in terms of
what a big, bad Dom should look like. He and the doorman began arguing, so Amy
stepped into the shadows. When another man, the bouncer, arrived, she took the
opportunity to move into the club. With any luck, the doorman would assume she
left during the altercation and forget all about calling Andrew.
    In the hallway she spotted a bathroom. She quickly stepped
inside, grateful for a private place to calm her nerves. She walked to the sink
and took in her flushed cheeks. She always blushed something fierce when she
got anxious. Time to calm down. Best to lay low in here for a little while
before venturing out. Just in case the doorman came looking for her.
    Glancing at her purse, she grinned. Andrew had given her an
order. Maybe she’d get submissive brownie points for following it. Stepping
into a stall, she pulled the lube and plug out of her purse. It took her
several minutes to prepare herself and the toy, to get it into place and manage
to stand upright with the bloody big thing in her arse. Walking naturally was
going to be a challenge.
    She giggled to herself.
    You’re not in Oz anymore, Amy.
    Returning to the sink, she washed her hands then checked her
appearance in the mirror. The color in her face had faded back to normal. She
touched up her eyeliner and lipstick then took one more steadying breath as she
tried to bolster her courage.
    She peeked out into the hallway. There was no sign of the
doorman or the bouncer, so she walked toward the sound of music. Her eyes
widened when she entered what appeared to be the heart of the club. It
resembled a nightclub, with tables and chairs scattered throughout the room,
facing a stage that was set against one long wall. That was where the
similarities ended.
    The room was fairly dim, with most of the light provided by
the stage lights that focused on a performance unlike anything Amy had