Revealing the Monster (Playing with Monsters #4) - Amelia Hutchins Page 0,40

perfectly aged and exactly what I wanted for tonight. Good job choosing it, Morris.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” He smirked as he glanced toward Lucian, causing my eyes to narrow on the way he watched him.

“Lucian helped you choose, didn’t he?” I asked pointedly, noting the color was draining from Morris’s face. “It’s okay. I’m not going to punish you. Next time, you listen to me. This is now my portion of the club, and every little thing will be what I expect of you. If not, I will ask him to claim your fucking soul or withhold my pussy until he does. Do you understand me, Morris?”

He blanched, knowing I wasn’t human either. In fact, the entire staff had watched me walk through the club covered in demon entrails with my wings out more than once in the last week alone. Morris didn’t answer, choosing to look at Lucian for help. My eyes slid to black, and darkness spread over my face as the furies peered out at what had offended me. Sliding my gaze to Lucian, his lips jerked into a devilish smile that made my back itch to free my wings.

I refused to fail his test, which would undo everything I’d planned for tonight. I’d spent hours on my knees, learning to serve his stuffy ass while controlling the furies within me. I was literally the worst submissive in the history of them, but I’d learned from Lucian. I could withstand an orgasm for hours, and while I didn’t come on demand, which was one of the stupidest things a man could think he controlled, I still tried!

The lights dimmed, forcing my attention to where each lighting sequence was tested with satisfactory results. Smiling in triumph, I nodded toward Lucian’s men guarding the staircase. All the lights went off as my heart thundered in my chest.

I stepped back as the lights above the tables turned on, allowing the clients to find their seats. It was showtime, and I had something to prove to the master. Everyone here called Lucian, The Master of Chaos, and I was his mistress.

Chapter Eleven

Some people enjoy being center stage, and then there are those who prefer the shadows. Tonight, I will own the shadows. ~Lena

The patrons entered and were escorted by hostesses, who took them to their assigned seats based on their previous performance and stature within the club. Once everyone was seated in their designated sections, the serving girls and men exited the hall with silver trays adorned with dangling gems, making them easy to spot in the darkened club. Boxes of assorted goods were placed on all the tables, along with a chalice of whiskey. The servers stepped back, awaiting approval from our visitors.

Each table had an assigned server, easily traded to meet the needs of each client, should they find one unacceptable. I had Devlin gather intel on the more lavish, snobbish guests to know every detail of their pleasure, likes, and dislikes. According to Devlin, it was far more than Lucian had done for his patrons in the past.

I took a quick glance through the crowd and nodded for the music to start. It began through the speakers embedded in the walls and ceiling, and I smirked as I heard Devlin’s strangled laughter. He assumed it was the beginning of a shit-show, purely based on my music choices. The Kid Laroi’s Without You, played as smoke filled the stage, but the moment he sang “can’t make a wife out of a hoe,” the music changed.

A smile played on my lips as E-Girls’ Ruining My Life, boomed through the room as dancers appeared from thin air; at least, that’s how the guests would perceive their arrival. Only a few people would be able to see the fae that had glamoured them into place. I turned to where the fae I’d requested stood, smirking as they took their seats when the girls began dancing.

The dancers were dressed in thin black lace crisscrossing over their chests, wrapping around their torsos and connecting to their lace panties. They swayed hypnotically, their siren song driven by the hum of their bodies. The moment the song ended, they dropped to their knees, slowly rocking their hips.

The ethereal sound of Kim Dracula’s Paparazzi, set the stage and the room’s mood. Swings lowered from the ceiling, draped in nude, glitter-dusted men and women, posed in provocative positions, legs open, their hands roving their bodies with the beat of the song. When the swings were in position, the next