Primal Pursuit

“Or,” I start, “we can do what I’ve got planned. It’s that or go home.”

She’s clearly in thought, weighing her options. Go home or go with me. So, I give her a little nudge.

“It’s easy. We do this or we don’t. If we don’t, I’m out of here. Want to walk on the wild side or sit at home? Your call.”

Poppy stares at me with dislike. “You’re a genuine bastard, aren’t you?”

“And you fucking live for it, whether you admit it or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

I straighten, unlock my car, and get in, retrieving and tucking away my gun.

She stands there for the longest thirty seconds of mylife, not moving. Then she hurries around and gets in next to me.

“Yeah,” I say, starting the ignition, “I do.”

At first, I was going to take her straight to the tattoo parlor.

It’s fucked up, planning to tattoo someone else, but here’s the thing.

Rabbit will do it.

I know it.

Feel it.

If I’m wrong, she’s got her safe word, but first…

“Davian, this is a strip bar.”

“Gentleman’s club. Think Myth but way less classy.”

We’re near Downtown, on a small street with a few clubs. Some are owned by the Dark Sovereign, but I’m not taking her to one of them. We’re going to a sleaze-joint, one that’s far below the class of Myth—one where the Elites wouldn’t be caught dead.

I, however, do frequent these types of establishments. It’s an excellent place to get information on people. Especially from the girls. And a lot of the lowlifes I’m contracted to kill come to places like this. Either they do, or their friends. Or enemies.

But apart from that, there’s a very sleazy sex store, complete with the downstairs hardcore fetish section of German latex full-body suits, antique gynecological chairs, toilet chairs, piss pants, adult diapers, dolls, hardcorewhips and paddles. Butt plugs, vibrators, dildos. You name it, they have it.

A lot of what they have isn’t my thing, but there are people who love it, and sometimes gifts of a certain nature grease palms better than cash. It always pays to know the people you get information from. And considering I’m into hard-edged play, I don’t judge.

I think I’ll end our visit here with a trip to that store.

“Come on, Rabbit. Let’s see if this floats your little cotton-tailed boat.” I get out of the car and wait for her.

To Poppy’s credit, she gets out of the car, suddenly slightly unsure, extremely curious, and a little on edge.

Everything, all her reactions, are unexpected in the most delightful ways. And this is no different. With Myth, sure, she had her little mission, but the place has its veneer of class. This place is the real down and dirty deal.

The trash music is the first thing that hits, along with the stale and fresh smoke. There are no modern-day laws for this place.

I get a Negroni for her and a whiskey for me before guiding her up to the pole, where a long-legged girl gyrates. She’s naked, waxed pussy on display. I haven’t sampled it, but I do know her. She looks through her parted thighs and winks. “Hi, hon.”

And next to me, Rabbit goes stiff. “Regular, are you?”

“Something like that,” I say, taking a seat and tossing back my whiskey. Then I pull her on my lap, legs parted, skirt demure, my hand up on her thigh beneath it.

I stroke her wetness as Candy or whatever the fuck her name is dances on the pole for us.