Reckless

RECKLESS JAYE PEACHES CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Afterword More Stormy Night Books by Jaye Peaches Jaye Peaches Links Copyright © 2023 by Stormy Night Publications and Jaye Peaches All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC. www.StormyNightPublications.com Peaches, Jaye Reckless Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson Images by Envato/LightFieldStudios and Shutterstock/bogadeva1983 This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. CHAPTER 1 Kat This nightclub is a reckless choice. I realize the moment I arrive that I’m on dangerous territory. I’m not normally this crazy. I’d describe myself as a typical girl, with a job that pays just enough for the rent, bus fares, sufficient thrifted clothes for work, and little else. Yet there’s a ticking time bomb inside of me waiting to go off because on Saturday nights, I come alive with the craving for a little adventure, something to spice up an otherwise dull life. The skimpy dress I’m wearing was borrowed from my friend Brigitte, although she isn’t here with me. She’s in bed with a migraine. If I had any sense, I would have taken her advice and stayed at home. But the dazzling lights and party atmosphere are pure bait for a small town girl like me. I paid a month’s paycheck on the entrance ticket. But this is why I came to the French Riviera, to the glamorous city of Nice. A fresh start means widening my horizons and doing things I thought about at school but never had the courage to explore. What brings me here tonight is curiosity, and I confess, boredom. I’ve never been to a nightclub like this before, and you only live once, so why not be daring? The buzz is incredible, like electricity. I feel the air swirl around me. It’s hot, sticky, and vibrating with music. The floor thumps along too. When the lights flash, I’m blinded by the glare. There are people dancing so close together, they’re a moving crowd of limbs and bobbing heads. The bar is swaying with people too. The cocktail glasses clink on trays as empty ones are returned dry to be replaced by fresh ones. There’s drunken laughter everywhere. Slowly, I navigate a path to the back of the club, where the music is less intrusive and the lights are calmer. Here I take refuge under a wall light, lean my shoulders on the cool brickwork, and allow my skirt to rise a little higher up my already exposed thighs. The sequins glitter as I rock my hips from side to side in time to the beat. On the other side of the room, opposite me, is a curved sofa in an equally curvaceous recess, and in the middle of it lounge a trio of men. They’re dressed snazzily in silky shirts and pants. Gold chains hang from their necks and wrists, and with their ringed fingers, they hold cigarettes loose and uncaring. I notice that the middle one, the one with the darkest looks, knocks the ash off the end, but never draws on it. He has the look of knowing what he wants and being sure of getting it. The way he snaps his fingers at the passing bar attender, orders another drink without having to wade through the crowd, then has one of his friends collect it, tells me everything. Nobody bothers him; it’s as if he’s surrounded by an invisible force field. There’s energy on that side of the room. It’s magnetic, pulling at me—do I want to feel it too? A young man around my age approaches me, his hair damp with perspiration. He’s fresh off the dance floor and swaying slightly. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he says, propping himself up next to me. I note the beer on his breath. I don’t tell him I’ve been saving up to come out tonight, that I have so little spare cash that this one night of indulgence will be my last for a while. If I can’t find a man to buy me drinks, I’ll be broke in an hour. Brigitte warned me to stick with the clubs in the cheaper districts, the ones we’ve visited together, but I want my night of glamour. I bought fake Chanel perfume especially for the occasion. I sniff—the guy really reeks. “I’m not your type,” I say, with as much indifference as I can muster. “Whereas that guy over there, he might be. He keeps looking at me.” I cross my ankles, then uncross them with a flourish of legs and shimmering skirt. I aim my attention directly at him and not the sweat bomb exploding next to me. The young man turns to follow my gaze. He straightens. “If that’s your type, good luck.” He gives a shrug and walks away from me. The comment sharpens my focus and I stare back at the mystery man. I really think I have nothing to lose tonight. It’s now or never, and I’m tired of never. I use the lipstick in my purse and cover my lips with gloss. No mirror is necessary; I know the shape of my mouth. I lick my lips. The man raises a glass and nods. Is this an invite? I tilt my head to one side and smile, then when he crooks a finger at me, I sashay over to him, my eyes fixed on his beckoning hand. My hips do the work, and the little bounce in my step jiggles my breasts. I could be walking into a serious