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Badlands: The Lion’s Den

By:Georgette St. Clair

ding crop, and from the sound of her throaty moans, she was close to orgasm.

“Newcomer to the scene?” Finn said. The woman jumped, let out a startled squeak, and spilled part of her drink on her chest. His eyes involuntarily flicked to the liquid wetting her shirt and making it cling to her ample breasts, and he felt blood rushing to his groin.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” she chided him as she grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her chest.

He shrugged. “Sorry. Catlike reflexes and all,” he said, delivering the line with a roguish smile. The smile always guaranteed that he got a smile in return, along with a giggle and a fluttering of eyelashes.

Except for her. She just looked up at him with a frown on her face.

He cleared his throat, not quite sure what to do with a woman who didn’t melt under the heat of his gaze. After she’d stood there staring at him for several seconds, he finally decided the straightforward approach was the only one that would work on her. He stuck his hand out, and she took it and gave it a brief shake, after a moment’s hesitation. Her hand was warm and soft, and her touch sent a delicious thrill racing through him.

“I’m Finn. And you are?”

“I’m looking for Krystle,” she said. “Is she working tonight?”

She was a friend of Krystle’s? Aside from the fact that they were both lynxes, that seemed unlikely. Krystle was outgoing, foul-mouthed, and pretty damned kinky. This girl looked like a misplaced Sunday school teacher. She was wearing a big, blousy denim shirt that obscured her lush, curvy body, a calf-length denim skirt, sneakers, and no makeup.

“Where do you know her from?” he asked skeptically.

“We’re…old friends. It’s complicated.”

Interesting. The woman had avoided giving him her name and didn’t want to reveal her connection to Krystle. Either way, he wouldn’t have told her anything about Krystle or where she was. Trust was a rare commodity in the Badlands, earned only through time and familiarity.

“She’s away right now,” Finn said. Krystle sometimes worked as a Badlands guide, working with a team of security contractors who accompanied clients through the Badlands for various purposes, usually illegal. It was lucrative and incredibly dangerous. Finn did it too, on occasion.

At the disappointment in her gaze, he added, “She should be back by the weekend.” That was true. Krystle also worked security at the club, and she particularly liked weekends. That was when they had the most fights.

“Okay,” she said with a small nod. “I’ll come back then.” Then she cast a glance at the BDSM side of the club, with the same look in her eyes that he’d seen earlier.

Curiosity.

Fear.

A little bit of hunger.

He felt a red-hot rush of arousal pour through him, and fur rippled on the back of his neck. He heard the hitch in her breath as she stared at the main stage. The lion was now kneeling and lapping at the woman he’d been flogging before.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked her.

She flicked a glance at him. “I didn’t,” she said. After a long pause, she said, “Flora,” with seeming reluctance.

“Well, Flora, you don’t need to leave right this minute,” he said. “I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t offer you the guided tour.” In the back of his head, faint warning bells chimed. His reaction to this woman was so strong, so instinctive, that he should be running in the other direction.

Then again, he’d grown bored with the hookup scene recently. Hadn’t felt inspired enough even to bother pursuing any action in weeks. Well, months, if he was being honest with himself. It couldn’t hurt to get to know her a little better. Maybe she’d be up for a quick fling.

Even as he thought that, he saw a lion shifter checking out Flora’s boobs, and he felt his claws shoot out of his fingertips in an instinctive rush of anger. He forced them to retract.

One taste of her wouldn’t be enough…

Her gaze swept the club, and then she looked back up at him and nodded.

“So what do you do here?” she asked him.

“Security. My brothers own the club. Sometimes I work here, sometimes I patrol our territory.”

A cry of pleasure rang through the air, and she twisted around to see the woman on the spanking bench jerking at her restraints and shuddering in orgasm. Flora’s eyes widened in surprise.

“So, your first time inside this kind of club?” he asked.

“What?” she said, with a look of mock hurt. “I thought I blended right in.” Then she glanced down at her blousy, figure-concealing outfit. “Maybe if I was wearing something tighter. And more revealing.”

“You’re fine just the way you are,” he said. At her self-deprecating laugh, he added, with more heat than he’d intended, “That panther who was hitting on you sure thought so.”

“I think the tequila might have helped him along a little bit,” she said. So, she was a hottie who had no idea how hot she was. That made her even more attractive.

“Anyway,” he said, pointing to the play area. “That is called a St. Andrew’s Cross. We also have the spanking benches and the whipping horse – those are very popular.”

“So I see,” she said, and then flushed in embarrassment and looked away quickly.

Finn stifled a groan. He was rock hard now, and every time he moved, the friction of his jeans rubbing against his cock threatened to send him over the edge.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate on the equipment in the club.

“That is an ob-gyn chair,” he continued. He pointed at a bed that dangled from four chains. “Floating bed.”

“So what are the rules?” she asked. “I mean, are there any rules?” She was watching a woman being bent over a pommel horse and spanked with a paddle.

“Absolutely. Consent is number one. Everyone has to establish a safe word before they start a scene. At any time during a scene, if they say the safe word, anyone else involved in the scene must stop immediately. And anyone who violates that will be removed from t

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