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And if not, why the hell was I lied to?

IMMIE

“So, let me get this straight, you guys are actually taking me to a sex club?” Marlie asks with wide, excitable eyes.

Fern smiles from ear to ear. “Yes!” Who would have thought the blonde-haired, blue-eyed little ballerina would be such a bad influence. “Fen got us in. But I’m pretty convinced Miko had something so do with it,” she says, fiddling with the hem of her dress. “But ultimately, you have Immie to thank for it. She suggested it to begin with.”

Marlie’s eyes round to saucers. “Really?”

I nod bashfully, ashamed to admit why. “We only have tickets for the club above, but I’m hoping we can sneak into the sex club below.”

Marlie flops back on Fern’s bed. “You guys are so cool. My life is better for having you in it.”

I throw my head back on a laugh. “Are you always like this?”

She turns her head to face me. “Like what?”

“Optimistic. Grateful,” I point out.

She chuckles. “I live in a two-bedroom trailer with my father. The fact that I’m even here in a bedroom bigger than my entire home is reason enough to be grateful, and as for optimistic, I’m optimistic for the best night possible. I want to see some dick.”

Fern splutters on her drink. “My brother is your boyfriend.”

Marlie doesn’t say anything, but she makes a low, committal hum in the back of her throat, and Fern glances at me with uncertainty.

Instead of prying, I take the time to check my reflection in the mirror. The skimpy red dress is not my normal style, and the red lipstick is far from my go-to, but with Marlie’s help, I feel older, sexier, and confident, like the internet search results said I would.

Tonight is going to be a good night; I can feel it in my bones.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

JENSEN

The ball is everything I imagined it to be. Full of pertinacious assholes who think they’re better than everyone else.

“The best part was, he was married to the girl’s mother.” The old bastard at the table laughs on a deep chuckle that makes his stomach wobble.

My knee bounces with an anxious need to get back to my little nightmare. I glance at the door again; I should just walk out and leave Amanda here.

When my phone pings with a message, I fumble with it to pull it from inside my jacket pocket.

Little Nightmare: Do you like my lipstick?

Little Nightmare: (Photo)

Immie’s face fills the screen. Her bright-red lips are parted, and my cock twitches with need. I imagine my thumb pushing down on those lips before my cock forces its way inside her, pushing in and out rough enough to leave lipstick marks on me but not enough to hurt my girl.

Me: I want your lips wrapped around my cock.

Little Nightmare: Me too.

Jesus. I brush a hand over my head.

Me: Behave.

Little Nightmare: Always, Daddy.

I tuck my phone away and glance around the table in an attempt to look interested in the conversation playing out.