The club pulsed with low, intimate energy—velvet shadows danced along the walls beneath the dim, golden glow of pendant lights. Jazz curled through the air like smoke, soft and slow, weaving between murmurs of conversation and the occasional clink of glass, or the subtle jingle of a leash. Everything smelled of leather, expensive whiskey, and cologne layered in dominance and quiet restraint.

You knelt contentedly between Ghost’s legs, nestled close against the heat of his thigh. The leather collar around your neck grounded you, and the leash, looped loosely in his gloved hand, was a silent tether—a promise that he held you steady, even when you squirmed. You grinned up at him, eyes bright, shoulders relaxed, your bubbly energy bubbling just under the surface.

Ghost, ever composed, leaned back into the leather couch with the ease of someone completely in control. His half-mask caught the light, casting his gaze in shadow, though you could still feel the weight of his attention—sharp and deliberate whenever it swept back to you. A small lift of a brow. A curve at the corner of his mouth. Warnings that came without words, laced with amusement.

You bounced lightly on your knees, an almost childlike energy emanating from you. Your focus was split between Ghost and the other Doms, but your expression was one of playfulness and curiosity. You were careful, knowing your boundaries, but it was hard not to test them occasionally. Mischief was second nature to you, yet you never crossed the line, always staying within the confines of the rules that Ghost had set.

Across from him sat a broad-shouldered Dom in a dark vest, his own pup curled at his feet like a statue—still, poised, the perfect image of obedient silence. The other pup occasionally nudged their master for attention, but the Dom paid no mind, his focus instead on the rhythm of their conversation.

“You ever take yours to that place down by the harbor?” the Dom asked, tipping his glass slightly. “The one with the private rooftop lounge. Quiet. Good for correcting bad habits.”

Ghost’s gaze flicked from you to him with the barest tilt of his head. “Haven’t needed to. Mine responds before we get to that point.”

The other man huffed a laugh, nodding toward you. “Lively one. Must keep you on your toes.”

“They know when to stop,” Ghost replied, giving your leash a slight, casual tug that straightened your spine. “They like dancing close to the line.”

You looked up through your lashes, flashing a soft, mischievous smile. Not defiance—never that—but just enough spark to test the boundaries you knew so well. The other pup didn’t even look up, trained to stillness, but you were different, and Ghost let you be. To a point.

His fingers brushed along the leash again, almost idle, though the gesture buzzed through you like static.

You shifted slightly, a mischievous glint in your eye as you leaned forward, testing the space Ghost would allow you to move. Inched a little further until the leash pulled taut. The other Dom watched intently, an eyebrow quirked in silent amusement, their fingers tightening around the leash of their own pup as if to issue a quiet warning.

“Behave,” he said quietly, voice sharp. You paused. Ghost was rarely shaken, but the presence of so many other Doms in the club sharpened his edge—made him want you to be just a little more obedient, a little more still.