“And why shouldn’t I?” Rachel asked the man, acting much bolder than Shelly had expected.

“Because he’s not your type,” the guy told her in that same smooth I-know-I’m-right kind of voice.

Shelly watched Rachel roll her eyes as she turned away to look back out at the crowd.

Lena took that opportunity to walk over and stand in front of Rachel. “Do you know that guy?”

Rachel shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen him before.” She seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then added, “But guys like him—they’re all the same.”

This interested a drunken Shelly immensely.

Moving to stand beside Lena, she stumbled over her own shoe but caught herself in the nick of time. Straightening up with an amused giggled, Shelly and Lena faced Rachel, looking at her like she held the answers to the universe.

 “What’d ya mean?” Shelly questioned conspiratorially.

Just then, Riley came over with three shots, three lemons, and a salt shaker.

Rachel opened her mouth about to answer when her eyes lifted above their shoulders and zoomed in on the person now standing behind them.

Shelly and Lena turned to see a tall man, at least six-foot-two maybe three, with short dirty-blonde hair, and Shelly knew that all three of them were staring.

It wasn’t that he was dressed in anything ridiculous, like a studded collar or leather shorts. He was dressed in a pristine white dress shirt buttoned and tucked perfectly into charcoal pin-striped pants that narrowed at his waist. Draped around the open collar of his shirt was a crimson tie. However, the outfit didn’t end there. Resting over his arm was a jacket that was being held in place as he stood with both hands in his pants pockets.

Wearing what appeared to be his work suit, he looked so out of place in this club that it was almost more comical than seeing the men and women in the leather and studs.

“Ladies,” he greeted them with the same tone the man at the end of the bar had used.

Shelly muddled through that with her inebriated mind. Ahh, same man.

“I hope you don’t mind. I’d like to dance with your friend.”

Shelly turned to peer at Rachel, and wouldn’t you know it, cool-as-a-cucumber Rachel looked Mr. Incredible over, shaking her head.

“No, thank you. You aren’t my type,” Rachel dismissed.

Lena squeaked and looked to Shelly, mouthing, Seriously? This guy was every woman’s type. Well, every woman but Rachel apparently.

“Is that right?” he asked calmly.

His voice was so smooth and cultured that Shelly knew this guy was educated in some way. Or, maybe, he had just a few less drinks than they had.

Rachel dipped her head slightly and very elegantly for someone who had to be feeling more than a little tipsy. “That’s right. Nice suit,” she told him, almost sounding like some sort of  challenge.

Shelly and Lena were now looking back and forth between the two like a tennis match—only this was better. This was Super Domme, and...well, heck, what does that make him? Shelly was almost afraid to know.

“Nice hair,” he threw back. “Are you sure you won’t take me up on my offer?”

Rachel sharply shook her head once. “I told you. You are not my type.”

Shelly watched as the man moved in closer to Rachel. She was ready to tackle him if need be, and by the looks of it, it seemed as though Lena was also ready to jump up on his back and start hitting and kicking if back-up was required.

However, it wasn’t needed as he merely leaned past Rachel, freeing his hand from his pocket to take the salt shaker. Bending his head, he licked the skin of his hand between his thumb and index finger, and tapped some salt onto it. He then moved the lemon, placing it close by, and picked up the shot glass filled with tequila, gesturing to her.

“Oh fine! If you insist. Hold your hand up where I can lick it.” Rachel instructed, eyes blazing, chin determined.

Fascinated, Shelly watched as he lifted his salt-covered hand to Rachel, daring her.

“Lick.” his deep voice instructed, it seemed he was now giving the orders. He lifted his other hand, and raised the shot to her. “Sip. Suck,” he ended, nodding to the lemon.

Apparently, not one to back down from anything, Rachel leaned forward, eyes locked on the stranger’s. She licked his hand, took the shot he offered, and then picked up the lemon on the bar and sucked.

Shelly heard Lena gasp, and she wondered if her friend was also feeling the crazy sexual tension that was hissing and crackling around them like a roaring inferno.

Then, he spoke. “See? I, too, can follow orders. Sometimes.”

Rachel glared at him and narrowed her eyes.

Shelly was shocked at this whole other side of Rachel. In fact, she was starting to think that maybe she was hallucinating her very own superhero and Super Domme was what she had come up with.

Rachel stepped forward and tilted up her chin to the man, further investigating their battle of wills. “Once again. No, thank you,” she said strongly.

Suddenly, it felt like the man realized the underlying message in Rachel’s response.

Lena gripped Shelly’s arm tight like they were watching a great movie, and then they both froze as he dipped his head in retreat.

“Very well,” he turned as though to walk away. But before he took a step, he looked over his shoulder and told Rachel, “By the way, I think I am exactly your type.”

With that, he walked through the crowd and out of the club.

* * *

Shelly watched Rachel blink twice, and then she seemed to pull herself out of some kind of moment.

Well, hell, Shelly thought, that’s how I felt when Josh was all up in my space. Mesmerized, intoxicated, hot, and bothered.

But Rachel had said no and had clearly shown that she was not interested. As Shelly looked across the club at the auburn-haired man, she had to wonder just what was so appealing about that guy over Mr. Incredible.

Lena took that opportunity to reach over and grab their shots. Handing one to Shelly, they both passed on the licking and sucking and went straight to downing the fiery liquid. As it burned a hot liquid trail down her throat into her tummy, Shelly felt a giddy buzz come over her.

“One more dance?” she asked Lena and Rachel.

Lena had a pinched expression on her face from the shot, and Rachel was now laughing at her.

“Sure, one more dance, and then in a cab to head home,” Rachel told them both.

Shelly followed them out onto the floor, thinking to herself with a giggle, Yes, Miss Rachel.

* * *

Josh woke up to a loud knock on the front door.

Rolling over, he looked at the clock and saw it had just turned 1:45 a.m. He was going to ignore it until the knock happened again, and this time Mutley sat up, barking.

Great. Now, I have to get it.

Getting out of bed, he grabbed a T-shirt and walked toward the obnoxious knocking. When he got there, he opened the door and found Shelly standing on his doorstep in an electric-blue skintight tube dress. She had a jacket dangling from her fingers, her hair was a mess, and she smelled like a bottle of tequila.

“What are you doing here, Shelly?”

She wobbled a little, so Josh reached out his hand and grasped her shoulder to steady her. She smiled up at him, her face lighting up, but her bleary, bloodshot, sad eyes detracted from it.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” she slurred. “I lost your number...the...the way you told me to, but I re..rem..remembered how to get to your house.”

Fantastic, Josh thought as she swayed again.

“Shelly, where were you tonight?”

She moved a step closer and looked up at him. “You were so easy to fall for.”

Josh shook his head. Shit. Not like this. Of course he wanted to hear this, but not now, not when she was drunk.

He was about to say something when suddenly she swayed in the opposite direction.

“I be okay, Josh,” she told him in the worst English imaginable. “Josh?”

“Yes, Shelly?” he asked patiently.

“Can I come inside?”

This was so not what he wanted right now and definitely not how he had wanted to show her his place.

“I’m going to drive you home, Shelly,” he told her.

“Why?” she whined, frowning.

“Because you and I are over, remember? We just had a fling?”

“Fling schming,” she told him with a goofy grin. “You’re sexy.”

That’s it. Josh reached back, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the small side table, shoved his bare feet into some sneakers by the entrance, and then moved toward her, shutting the door behind him.

Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her to the truck and opened the passenger-side door. He slid her inside and closed it with a firm hand. Walking around to his side, he saw her looking out the window at him with a sappy look.

Boy is she toasted, Josh thought. She’s going to hate herself in the morning.

Getting in the truck, he started it and made his way to her place. She took that opportunity to start talking.

“I wished you were with me tonight.”

Josh took a deep breath and asked, “Where were you?”

“Whipped.”

“Huh?” he asked, thinking he had misheard.

“At Whipped. With Super Domme.”

Josh was beyond confused and suddenly worried some guy had been harassing her—or maybe she had been harassing some guy. In that outfit, any guy would welcome it.