Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) by Lora Leigh
Authors: Lora Leigh
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never, at any time, had the basement portion of the club been invaded.
Not that one of the clubs had been raided in years. The influx of differing lifestyles and cultures into Atlanta, and the metropolis atmosphere, had eased the controversy over them. There were more extreme bondage clubs in the area, but Drage’s ability to provide a club for the more extreme as well as those wanting to play along the periphery had drawn in all types.
Now the three clubs, Diva’s, the Roundtable, and Merlin’s, could be some of the most popular clubs in the state.
She moved through the Saturday night crowd slowly, feeling the hard pulse of the music thrumming around her as her gaze probed the crowd.
The slow, sensual beat of Gavin Froome’s “Plane Jane” met her, but Morganna knew the house mix could swing justas quickly into the Cure, Depeche Mode, or any of the hard Goth, techno, or tribal beats.
It raged from current to classic at the drop of a hat and filled her blood with the need to dance. She loved dancing, moving, feeling her body come alive to the music. As did most of the other women and a few of the men who moved between the three clubs like a wave, the faces changing through the night as the club-hopping thrill took them over, though there were regular all-nighters specific to each club.
And there were new faces nightly. Plenty of them. Women dipping their toes into the open sexuality afforded them. Men playing at being Doms, finding a vicarious thrill in the openness of the women they found there.
Alcohol flowed like water, and drugs were the dirty little under-the-table side benefit. There was no evidence that the owner supplied the drugs or condoned them. Bouncers made a habit of throwing out the less secretive dealers and users, but for the most part, drugs were easy to come by.
Dressed now in snug leather pants and a half corset with black thin leather cups that covered her breasts, and high-heeled black leather boots, Morganna swayed sensually to the music.
Cinched low on her hips, nearly to her thighs, was her favorite wide black leather belt. She hooked her thumbs into it as she made her way to the bar and her first drink of the night before she let her body go, her gaze staying centered on the crowd.
She had perfected the ability to dance, letting the pulse of the music pound through her, as she watched the crowd and picked up probable victims of the drug she and her team were searching for.
“Morganna, darling. Gorgeous outfit.” One of the younger regulars stopped her as she made her way to the bar. Cletus Tomas was a quarterback for the university. A gentle giant with a taste for female Dommes.
“Thanks, Clete.” She reached up and patted his cheek, smacking a kiss toward him for the boost in confidence.
“You gonna dance with me, baby?” His wide face creased into a smile, his black eyes dancing with good humor as he stared down at her from his near-seven-foot height with a reverence that never failed to make her laugh.
“Maybe later, sweetie,” she yelled over the music. “I need a drink and a chance to settle in first.”
He winked as his gaze went over the black leather pants and half corset. At the side of her belt she wore a pair of silver handcuffs and the small leather pouch that carried her essentials.
“Save me a dance then, beautiful.” He winked at her slowly. “I could let you learn to use those handcuffs if you like. Just say when.”
“They wouldn’t fit you,” she laughed back. “Go play, Clete. I’ll catch up with you later.”
He threw his hand up in a farewell as he moved through the crowd, his wide body parting the ocean of humanity like an unerodible boulder.
She shook her head before moving to the bar, sliding in quickly as a bar stool was vacated before smiling in triumph at the line waiting to do the same thing.
“Lawry, I need a drink,” she called to the bartender. “The good stuff.”
Kentucky whiskey. Something to calm the pulse of fury moving
Not that one of the clubs had been raided in years. The influx of differing lifestyles and cultures into Atlanta, and the metropolis atmosphere, had eased the controversy over them. There were more extreme bondage clubs in the area, but Drage’s ability to provide a club for the more extreme as well as those wanting to play along the periphery had drawn in all types.
Now the three clubs, Diva’s, the Roundtable, and Merlin’s, could be some of the most popular clubs in the state.
She moved through the Saturday night crowd slowly, feeling the hard pulse of the music thrumming around her as her gaze probed the crowd.
The slow, sensual beat of Gavin Froome’s “Plane Jane” met her, but Morganna knew the house mix could swing justas quickly into the Cure, Depeche Mode, or any of the hard Goth, techno, or tribal beats.
It raged from current to classic at the drop of a hat and filled her blood with the need to dance. She loved dancing, moving, feeling her body come alive to the music. As did most of the other women and a few of the men who moved between the three clubs like a wave, the faces changing through the night as the club-hopping thrill took them over, though there were regular all-nighters specific to each club.
And there were new faces nightly. Plenty of them. Women dipping their toes into the open sexuality afforded them. Men playing at being Doms, finding a vicarious thrill in the openness of the women they found there.
Alcohol flowed like water, and drugs were the dirty little under-the-table side benefit. There was no evidence that the owner supplied the drugs or condoned them. Bouncers made a habit of throwing out the less secretive dealers and users, but for the most part, drugs were easy to come by.
Dressed now in snug leather pants and a half corset with black thin leather cups that covered her breasts, and high-heeled black leather boots, Morganna swayed sensually to the music.
Cinched low on her hips, nearly to her thighs, was her favorite wide black leather belt. She hooked her thumbs into it as she made her way to the bar and her first drink of the night before she let her body go, her gaze staying centered on the crowd.
She had perfected the ability to dance, letting the pulse of the music pound through her, as she watched the crowd and picked up probable victims of the drug she and her team were searching for.
“Morganna, darling. Gorgeous outfit.” One of the younger regulars stopped her as she made her way to the bar. Cletus Tomas was a quarterback for the university. A gentle giant with a taste for female Dommes.
“Thanks, Clete.” She reached up and patted his cheek, smacking a kiss toward him for the boost in confidence.
“You gonna dance with me, baby?” His wide face creased into a smile, his black eyes dancing with good humor as he stared down at her from his near-seven-foot height with a reverence that never failed to make her laugh.
“Maybe later, sweetie,” she yelled over the music. “I need a drink and a chance to settle in first.”
He winked as his gaze went over the black leather pants and half corset. At the side of her belt she wore a pair of silver handcuffs and the small leather pouch that carried her essentials.
“Save me a dance then, beautiful.” He winked at her slowly. “I could let you learn to use those handcuffs if you like. Just say when.”
“They wouldn’t fit you,” she laughed back. “Go play, Clete. I’ll catch up with you later.”
He threw his hand up in a farewell as he moved through the crowd, his wide body parting the ocean of humanity like an unerodible boulder.
She shook her head before moving to the bar, sliding in quickly as a bar stool was vacated before smiling in triumph at the line waiting to do the same thing.
“Lawry, I need a drink,” she called to the bartender. “The good stuff.”
Kentucky whiskey. Something to calm the pulse of fury moving
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