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Steelport never slept, but this place didn't even pretend to. The club was buried under an abandoned data center in the old Deckers territory—black walls, red neon bleeding from UV strips, bass so low it rattled teeth. No Saints purple here; tonight was neutral ground. Or as neutral as anything got when Kinzie Kensington decided she wanted to play.
Boss leaned against the bar, leather jacket open over a black shirt that was already half-unbuttoned from earlier "negotiations."
He watched her across the floor. Kinzie looked... different. Still the same red hair pulled into that severe ponytail, same freckles scattered like static across pale skin, but the outfit was new: black latex corset cinched tight, thigh-high boots, fingerless gloves that left her typing fingers free. A thin silver chain ran from a collar at her throat to a discreet cuff on her left wrist. Not flashy. Efficient. Very her.
She caught him staring and raised one eyebrow. "You gonna stand there gawking all night, or are we doing this?"
Boss pushed off the bar, closing the distance in long strides. "Thought you'd want to run diagnostics first. Check the rigging, safeword sync, all that paranoid shit you love."
"Teacup," she said flatly, the word dropping like a killswitch. "Still the safeword. Still means everything stops. You remember the rest?"
"Yellow to slow down. Red to end it. And if you say 'reboot,' I'm supposed to untie you and go get tacos." He smirked. "Got it memorized."
Kinzie's lips twitched—almost a smile. "Good. Because I don't do half-measures, and I don't do sloppy Doms who forget protocol."
She turned, leading him toward the back rooms. Private alcoves lined the corridor, heavy velvet curtains half-drawn. Moans and the sharp crack of leather leaked out. Kinzie didn't flinch. She never did.
The room she'd reserved was small, clinical almost—black padded bench, wall of impact toys, suspension points in the ceiling. A laptop sat open on a side table, screen glowing with green code. Of course she brought work.
Boss raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Multitasking is a skill," she said, already shrugging out of the corset with practiced efficiency. Underneath: black lace, practical, no frills. "You want performative bullshit, go watch one of the show subs. You want me? You get the real version."
He stepped in close, fingers brushing the collar. "Then let's skip the warm-up."
Kinzie exhaled, sharp. "Hands behind your back."
Boss laughed low. "Thought I was topping tonight."
"You are." She met his eyes, unflinching. "But I set the parameters. Always."
Fair enough.
She guided him to the bench, pushed him down chest-first. Cool leather against skin. Kinzie moved fast—cuffs on his wrists, clipped to anchor points. Not tight enough to bruise, but firm. Testing. He flexed once, felt the give. Solid.
She straddled his lower back, weight deliberate. One hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head back just enough.
"Color?" she asked, voice clinical.
"Green." His grin was audible. "Very green."
Kinzie leaned down, lips brushing his ear. "Good. Because I've been thinking about this since that simulation in the White House. You, helpless. Me, in control of something that isn't ones and zeros for once."
She reached for a flogger—soft suede tails, not the stingy kind. First strike landed across his shoulders: warm-up, testing. Boss hissed through his teeth, more surprised than pained.
"Too light?" she asked.
"Harder."
Another strike. Sharper. Heat bloomed. Kinzie's rhythm built—methodical, like debugging code. Strike, pause, read his body, adjust. No wasted motion.
Boss groaned when the tails caught the sensitive skin under his arms. "Fuck, Kinz—"
"Quiet." Her hand cracked across his ass—palm, not toy. "You don't get to talk unless I ask a question."
He laughed breathlessly. "Yes, ma'am."
She rewarded that with a harder lash. Then fingers—cool, precise—sliding down, teasing, spreading. Lube appeared from somewhere (she always planned). One finger, then two, curling just right. Boss bucked against the bench, chains rattling.
Kinzie's other hand pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning. "Stay still. I'm not done collecting data."
She worked him open slow, deliberate, until he was swearing under his breath and pushing back for more. Only then did she pull away, leaving him empty and aching.
"Turn over."
The cuffs allowed it—just. She re-secured him spread-eagled, cock hard against his stomach. Kinzie stripped the rest of the way—efficient, no show—then climbed on, straddling his hips. No preamble. She sank down in one smooth motion, taking him deep.
Boss's head slammed back against the padding. "Christ—"
Kinzie rocked once, testing angle. Then she started to move—slow rolls at first, building to sharp, punishing rides. Every time he tried to thrust up, she stilled completely.
"Control," she reminded him, nails digging into his chest. "Mine."
He gritted his teeth. "You're killing me."
"Good." She leaned forward, teeth grazing his throat. "I like
watching you fall apart."
The pace turned brutal—her riding him like she was chasing a high score, clit grinding against his pelvis on every downstroke. Boss's hands flexed uselessly in the cuffs, body straining. Kinzie's breath hitched, composure cracking. Her thighs trembled.
"Touch me," she ordered suddenly.
He couldn't. She knew that. Instead she grabbed his bound hand, forced it between them so his knuckles brushed her clit. She used him like a toy—grinding down, chasing her own release while keeping him pinned.
When she came it was quiet—sharp gasp, body locking tight around him. No theatrics. Just raw, shuddering intensity.
Only then did she reach down, stroking him fast and rough. "Now you. Come for me."
Boss didn't need telling twice. He arched, swearing her name as he spilled inside her, vision whiting out.
Kinzie stayed seated a moment longer, breathing hard. Then she dismounted, methodical again. Unclipped cuffs. Checked wrists for marks. Grabbed a blanket from a nearby shelf and draped it over him without comment.
Boss caught her hand before she could pull away. "You good?"
She looked at him—really looked. Something soft flickered behind the sarcasm. "Yeah. You?"
"Never better." He tugged her down beside him. "But next time? I'm topping. And you're not touching that laptop."
Kinzie snorted. "We'll see."
She curled against his side anyway.
The club thumped on outside. Inside the alcove, for once, everything was quiet.