TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 92

CHAPTER 61: HEDONIST CLUB

EMBER’S POV

The club is called Naughty or Nice. The club is called Naughty or Nice.

And based on what I’m seeing through the entrance, “nice” was never really an option.

The venue has been transformed into some kind of Christmas fever dream designed by someone with a very, very dirty imagination.

Red and white lights pulse through artificial snow that falls from the ceiling, catching the strobe lights and

making everything sparkle.

Giant candy canes frame the VIP sections, wrapped in red rope.

The bar is staffed by men dressed as–I’m not making this up–sexy Christmas elves, complete with

pointed ears, tiny green shorts, and abs that could grate cheese.

And that’s just the entrance.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

“Told you,” Queenie grabs my arm, practically vibrating with excitement. “One Night Only is legendary. They

go all out.”

All out is an understatement.

The dance floor is packed with bodies moving to bass so heavy I feel it in my chest.

But it’s what’s happening around the edges that makes my jaw drop.

In one corner, a woman in nothing but red lingerie and reindeer antlers is tied to a giant wrapped present, her partner trailing a riding crop down her thighs while she writhes.

Near the bar, an alpha has an omega on her knees, her head bobbing in his lap while he casually sips his

drink and watches the crowd.

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A raised platform showcases a male stripper dressed like a corrupted Santa–red pants slung dangerously

low, no shirt, a hat tilted at an angle that screams “naughty list material.”

This isn’t a club.

This is a temple to hedonism, and everyone here is worshipping.

“The theme is kinky,” Queenie explains, as if the open blowjob happening ten feet away wasn’t hint enough. “Anything goes as long as it’s consensual. The Summit does this once a year. It’s basically supernatural Sodom and Gomorrah, and I live for it.”

Knox’s hand settles on my lower back, warm and possessive through the thin fabric of my dress.

I’m wearing something Queenie threw at me–a skimpy red thing that barely covers may ass, with a plunging

CHAPTERGA MEDOMIST CLUB

neckline that shows more cleavage than I’ve shown in my entire life.

+25 Points

She paired it with a white fur coat that makes me look like a festive version of something Gale would have

never let me wear.

Which is exactly why I’m wearing it.

“VIP is upstairs,” Knox murmurs against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Private section. Better view.”

“Of course you have VIP.”

“I’m the Lycan King.” His hand slides lower, grazing the curve of my ass. “I have VIP everywhere.”

Nathaniel is already cutting through the crowd, carving a path toward the stairs.

He looks deeply uncomfortable with the surroundings–his jaw is tight and his eyes are carefully fixed straight ahead, avoiding the various acts of debauchery happening on all sides.

Queenie, on the other hand, is drinking it all in with the enthusiasm of a kid at Christmas.

Fitting, I suppose.

We climb to the VIP section, which is somehow even more excessive than the main floor.

Plush couches in deep red. Private bottle service with champagne already chilling.

A perfect view of the dance floor below, where bodies grind and writhe like the music is fucking them

from the inside.

“Drinks first,” Queenie announces, grabbing two glasses of something pink and sparkling. “Then dancing. Then-” She glances at Knox with a wicked grin. “Whatever you two degenerates want to do in the

bathroom. I’m not judging.”

“You’re definitely judging,” I say, taking the drink.

“I’m judging that you haven’t done it already. The man looks like he wants to eat you alive, and we’ve been

here for three whole minutes.”

She’s not wrong. Knox is watching me with those dark, hungry eyes–the ones that make my thighs clench and my brain short–circuit.

He’s dressed in casual dark clothes that somehow make him look more dangerous than his suits do.

Black jeans. A dark gray henley pushed up to his forearms. The sleeves show off the veins in his arms, the

strength threaded through his skin.

He looks like sin.

And he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in this entire club worth seeing.

“Drink,” I tell myself, breaking eye contact before I combust. “Dancing. Fun. That’s what tonight is about.”

I down the pink champagne in three swallows. It tastes like strawberries and a disturbing amount of

CHAPTER REDONIST CLUB

alcoho!

+25 Points

“That’s my girl!” Queenie cheers, refilling my glass immediately “Now come on. The dance floor is calling,

and I didn’t squeeze into this dress to sit in VIP watching you two eye–fuck.”

She grabs my hand and drags me toward the stairs before Knox can protest.

“I’ll be watching,” he calls after me, and the promise in his voice makes heat pool low in my stomach.

The dance floor is chaos.

Beautiful, sweaty, uninhibited chaos.

Queenie and I push into the center of the crowd, letting the mass of bodies absorb us.

The music is so loud I can’t think–can only feel the bass pounding through me, the press of strangers on

all sides, the heat of a hundred bodies moving together in something that feels almost spiritual.

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