Leighton
I rinse my plate and put it in the dishwasher, adding the fork and knife I had used to the basket. Closing the door, I press the rinse cycle since it’s not full enough to run the wash cycle. The rest of the kitchen is pristine, and it doesn’t need more attention. It’s the side benefit of eating a microwaved meal.
Of course, I did actually dirty a plate rather than eating straight from the plastic tray. For some reason, I feel a little more accomplished at taking care of myself when eating from an actual plate even if my entire meal only took three minutes and thirty seconds to prepare.
Regardless, I’m at least eating consistently and getting decent rest, which is part of my new plan to take better care of myself.
It’s been thirteen days since Sam’s transplant, and we’ve all finally settled into a good routine. We set up a schedule between me, August, and my father so Sam is never alone at the hospital. We decided each of us would do two nights in the hospital with him while the others alternate those two days. The next person would then do two nights while the others covered the days. It essentially gave each of us two nights on and four days off night duty, which is frankly the hardest. That’s because Sam mostly sleeps through the night while whoever pulled that shift struggles to find a few moments of rest in a horribly uncomfortable recliner chair.
Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. We may be a broken, dysfunctional family, but we have come together to make sure Sam is never alone.
Returning to the idea of trying to take better care of myself was a necessity after I almost collapsed following Sam’s transplant. The seven days he’d completed chemotherapy prior to it were a hell I don’t want to go through again. To be honest, it was my own fault. August repetitively tried to get me out of the hospital to get some rest, but I refused. He also tried to get me to eat, but I wasn’t interested. Kind of hard to have an appetite when my child is vomiting from the drugs they’ve pumped into him. My body was so worn and broken down after that week, I’d known if I didn’t change my habits I wouldn’t be any good to Sam over the rest of his hospitalization.
I still haven’t figured out how to eat all that well, but I’m trying. All of us are basically consuming hospital food since we spend so much time there. In the evenings, it’s usually only one of us at August’s house so it’s not worth cooking a full meal. As such, the freezer is stocked with microwave meals and frozen pizzas, but we’re all getting sustenance at least.
Best of all, everyone seems to be getting along, which is good for Sam’s sake.
Well, August and I are getting along. Sort of. We’re actually nice to each other. We have conversations. Sometimes, we even laugh. Still, there is a distance between us—a line that’s been drawn that we can’t cross—and I know it has everything to do with the fact I kept Sam from August all these years. I figure it’s going to take quite a while for him to reconcile that, but I never expect him to let me be anything more than just a co-parent.
My dad and August are a different matter, though. They’re still very stiff and awkward around each other. August hasn’t forgiven my father for not coming to Vegas right away. In August’s mind, there should have been no choice to make. Dad should have left Denver for Sam without hesitation. My dad has tremendous guilt about the choice he made not to come at first. I know this because he told me so. But that’s between him and Sam and no one else. It’s not for me or August to judge my dad’s actions as I know he’s doing the best he can. On top of that, he ultimately gave up his safety to be there for my son, and that’s all that matters.
Sam told me the other day that he had a good talk with his grandpa about it. The bottom line is Sam is cool with the fact it took Dad a few days to decide to brave the scary world.
“He’s here now,” Sam had told me. “And there’s nothing else I want.”
God, my kid is amazing. Loving, forgiving, and wanting nothing more in this world than to just have his family around him. I’m lucky to have him as a son.
I consider the evening ahead of me. My father left over an hour ago for his shift to stay with Sam. He’ll be relieving August, who was up there for a bit this afternoon. I’d been there this morning until August arrived, then actually took a few hours this afternoon to come home and clean. While August keeps a nice house, he’s added two house guests, so it just needs a bit more vacuuming and dusting than normal.
At any rate, I’ve had a full day and I’m tired. My options are to watch TV or read a book. I have no clue what August will be doing this evening, but it’s pretty much his routine to never show up until after nine or ten PM, so I have the house to myself for a while. I don’t ask where he goes. Although, admittedly, I’m a little curious. Because he doesn’t offer the knowledge of where he spends his time in the evenings, I figure it’s information he doesn’t want to share. My best guess is he has a girlfriend whom he’s spending what little free time he has with.
I hate the fact that August potentially having a girlfriend bothers me. It’s not like I expected him to pine away for me. He should have moved on, even if I never had the chance to do so because my life was all about secrets and hiding.
I let out a deep sigh. I hate that it’s so complicated between us, but it doesn’t do any good to fret over it. It is what it is.
Maybe I’ll take a bath. A long, hot, and relaxing soak will do wonders to help me get settled for a good night’s sleep.
Several days ago, August told me I could use the bathtub in his master suite if I wanted. While the guest bathroom I normally use has a tub, it is nothing compared to the one in August’s. His is monstrous, round, and sunken into the floor with steps that lead down into it. It’s big enough to host a party in. Plus, it has whirlpool jets.
I’ve taken advantage of it on a handful of occasions since I’d moved into his home.
Moving through the house, I scan as I go to see if anything needs picked up. I head into August’s bedroom, which surprisingly has nothing out of place. I’m slightly impressed he makes his bed every day, doesn’t throw his clothes on the floor, and cleans up his sink after he shaves. I can attest from living with two members of the male gender that they tend to be sloppy in general.
I fill the tub with steaming water, intent on using the jets to work on some of the sore muscles in my back. Sleeping on the hospital recliner is hell on the spine. When the tub is full, I slip off my clothes, pile my hair on top of my head, and settle in for a nice long soak.
I consider my future. Surprisingly, I genuinely like it here in Vegas. Whereas mid-October in Denver would be quite nippy, the warmer climate of Vegas agrees with my body. I like the desert—the brown mountains and arid weather. As soon as Sam gets out of the hospital, I think I’m going to start searching for a job. While I might not like admitting I’d like to live here, I believe the fact I’m considering employment speaks for itself.
Really, though, it has nothing to do with whether I like Vegas. It’s that Sam loves being near his dad as he’s getting to know him. I know August is never going to move to Denver. His job is based here, and it’s too important to him. Conversely, there is nothing holding me in Denver except my dad if he decides to return. His employer is holding his job for another few weeks—unpaid, of course—and then he’s going to have to decide what to do. The government has been silent. No communications from Dad’s handler, which sends a clear message… we are on our own.
As I weigh the pros and cons of moving from Denver to Vegas permanently, I shave my legs and slather a vanilla bean body wash over my skin with a washcloth. I turn the jets on, letting them pound my lower back. When the water starts to cool, I step out of the tub and pat most of the water away with a towel. While my skin is still semi-damp, I slather on vanilla lotion and check myself out in the mirror. It appears that after getting some halfway decent nutrition—at least eating consistently—and moderate sleep, I’m looking a little more normal. The dark circles under my eyes have disappeared, and I don’t look so gaunt and washed out.
The only thing I need now is my soft cotton sleep jammies and the overly comfortable bed in August’s guest bedroom.
I open the bathroom door, a waft of steam coming out with me, and slam right into a solid wall of manly muscle.
August has his hand on the knob of the bathroom door, clearly intent on walking in. By the wide flare of his eyes, I can see he’s as surprised to see me there as I am to see him home this early.
I realize my hands are pressed to his chest, and there’s barely an inch of room between our bodies.
August stares down, his gaze moving past my face to the cleavage formed by the towel wrapped around me. His eyes go even wider, and he inhales sharply.
His hands settle on my hips, and I’m stunned he’s willingly touching me in such an intimate way. In the last few weeks, he’s given no indication he’s even remotely interested in me.
“You smell good,” he says, and a shiver runs up my body from the low, guttural tone of his voice. He sounds just like a wolf that found a tasty snack.
His hands tighten on my hips, and he dips his face closer to mine. Is he going to kiss me?
“Go get dressed,” he murmurs, his eyes sparking with something that both puts me on edge and makes me curious as hell. “Wear the nicest thing you brought with you.”
♦
I honestly have no clue what I’m doing, especially since I didn’t even bother to question August about where we were going. I simply put on the nicest thing I had brought with me, which was a black dress. It wasn’t even a sexy dress. I had bought it to wear to a funeral two years ago when a coworker died. I have no clue why I brought it to Vegas with me, as I didn’t even bring the heels that go with it. Instead I’m wearing a taupe-colored pair of booties with a spiked heel I bought on sale a few years ago, which look amazing with boot-cut jeans but a dress? Eh, taupe goes with everything.
I look awful, I’m sure of it. At least my clothing does. I did put on makeup for the first time in forever. Because I didn’t wash my hair, I performed a hack by slicking it back from my face at the sides, poofed up the top a little, and managed to twist and curl the ends of my bob so they pointed forward under my ears. It comes out a little punk-rock looking, so I add an extra layer of kohl liner under my eyes. I didn’t bother putting in my contacts, but the one thing I can say is my blue eyes look way better with my brown hair than with my blond.
I do get an appreciative look from August when I walk out of my bedroom, so there’s some validation I’m not a total hag this evening. Regardless, it’s my first night out and away from the hospital or the house so I’m going to enjoy it.
Even in the car, he still doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but when he pulls up to the valet stand outside of The Onyx casino, I assume he’s taking me out for a nice dinner and perhaps a show. My heart actually suffuses with warmth over his thoughtfulness.
We move through the lobby of the casino over to an elevator with a neon sign above it that says The Wicked Horse. It must be a private club type of restaurant. We ride the elevator up forty-four stories to the top of the building, stepping into a lounge area manned with a hostess behind a podium. The beautiful woman smiles at August, clearly recognizing him. “Good evening, Mr. Greenfield.”
In return, August inclines his head, then puts his hand to my elbow to lead us past her. I’m slightly surprised he doesn’t check in, assuming he made a reservation earlier, but they clearly know him, which means he must eat here a lot.
I’m led up to the long bar manned with four bartenders. August procures a white wine for me and a scotch for himself. Once our drinks are in hand, he leads me through the bar area toward a set of double doors. The most I can figure out by the decor is this is indeed some type of private club—maybe like a city country club—and there are probably various places where people can enjoy a quiet drink before dinner.
Through the double doors is another lobby with long hallways leading off it. With his hand putting gentle pressure on my lower back, he leads me down one of the halls to another set of wooden double doors. I look around with interest at the gleaming hardwood floors covered with Persian rugs, the expensive wood paneling, and the elegant sconce lighting. I know August makes fairly good money at his job just by the beauty and size of his house, but I have to say I’m quite impressed he’s a member at a place like this. It’s totally beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before in our ultra-modest life in Denver. While we aren’t poor, we definitely don’t eat in fancy places like this.
August opens the door on the left, then motions for me to proceed him in. Crossing the threshold, I’m taken slightly aback by how dim the room is. The sight before me leaves me thoroughly confused.
Holy shit… what in the hell am I seeing?
The room itself is monstrous and so dark it takes a moment for my eyes to fully adjust. Focal lights shine down from the ceiling in an otherwise darkened room, highlighting several couches, chairs, and chaises intermittently scattered throughout. Where there isn’t actual furniture, there are piles of huge silk pillows strewn about on the floor. Waitresses and waiters glide around with full trays, barely clothed.
And on the furniture and the pillows and the floors and up against the wall, there are… naked people.
Naked people… fucking.
And not just couples. There are groups of people together. On a pile of purple silk pillows on the floor to my left, I count at least six people, all tangled up, gyrating and touching and licking and sucking—
I spin around to face August, only to find him watching me intently.
“What the hell is this?” I demand.
I realize I’m shaking all over, and August notices as well. He takes my glass of wine, which is practically sloshing over the edge, and hands it to a passing waiter.
“What do you think this is?” he asks.
I stammer out, “I-I have no clue.”
Which is a lie. I know exactly what this is, and my nipples start chafing against my bra and my panties feel incredibly damp.
August casually lifts his scotch up to his mouth, then takes a sip. When he lowers it, he says, “It’s a sex club. This is called The Orgy Room, but there are other rooms we can go to if you’d like.”
I dart a glance around, taking in the various sex acts, while my ears ring with moans and the slapping of flesh. Gulping, I manage a strangled, “W-why did you bring me here?”
August merely chuckles before draining the last of his drink. It’s conveniently placed on the tray of another passing waitress before he replies, “I want to fuck you, Leighton. In here. While people watch. You took a lot from me the night we were together. I want to see how much more I can bend you to my desires.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” My voice comes out sounding hysterical. I feel like I’m either dreaming or being punked.
“I’m not kidding you,” he replies dryly.
“But… but… why?” I look up, hoping he can see how confused I am and give me some clarity. “You don’t even like me.”
August averts his gaze. He casually glances around the room before meeting my eyes. With a sigh, he bends his head to put his face close to mine, almost as if he’s making an admission he’d rather not. “I very much like fucking you, and, honest to God, you all damp and smelling so good—straight from my bathtub—well… I decided to do something about it.”
I scan the club, briefly mesmerized by the sight of a woman on her knees, alternatively sucking on three different men’s dicks. I’m appalled.
But also turned on.
Shit.
I’m not ready to accept any of this, though. “But you could have made a move at the house. Right there when I walked out of the bathroom in only a towel. I don’t understand why you brought me here.”
I’m stunned when, rather than answering me, August yanks me into his arms and spins me around toward the interior of the club. His body moves behind me, his arm sliding around my stomach to hold me tightly to him. I can feel the length of his erection pushing into my lower back, proving this atmosphere very much turns him on.
I feel his breath on the side of my face, his lips near my ear. “This is who I am now, Leighton. What you see… all this kinky fucking… this is me.”
I let out a shaky breath. This is what he likes?
His free hand goes to the hem of my dress, slowly snaking it upward. Cool air hits my thighs before his fingers slip into the front of my panties. “Yes, this is the man I am now. And I want you here, in this club, and I want to see the type of woman you are.”
August flutters the tip of his finger perilously close to my clit, but otherwise doesn’t touch me. Mind floating, my good sense seems to slip away. For some reason, I can’t seem to care I’m standing in front of these people with my dress hiked up and a man’s hand between my legs. On the contrary, I push my hips forward, hoping to force more contact.
I know he’s waiting for me to tell him what to do. To tell him to either fuck me right here in public or take me home.
Instead, I need my curiosity appeased. “This is where you come every night when you’re not at the hospital?”
August doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he pushes his entire hand into my panties, palming my sex. “No, I haven’t been here lately,” he replies before squeezing me. God, it feels good. I let my head fall onto his shoulder. “I’ve been going in to work to make up for the hours I’m spending at the hospital.”
I suck in a huge breath, the relief he’s not been coming here to be with other women rushing through my veins.
But he knocks the wind right out of my sails. “I do come here often, though. I spend a lot of my free time in this club. Once we get Sam home and settled, I expect I’ll resume those practices.”
“Oh,” I reply, not able to hide my crushing disappointment. Because how can I ever compete with the women here?
“What do you want to do, Leighton?” he murmurs against my ear, squeezing my pussy again. “Going to let me fuck you in this club? It’s okay to say ‘no’ if you want. I’ll take you home… just say the word.”
But if I say no, he’ll come right back here to get his rocks off. I know it, and he knows I know it. He doesn’t have to voice the reality for me to know it’s indeed a choice I have to make.
The internal debate warring within me doesn’t give a rat’s ass that this could be another “one time only” thing with August. I’m well aware we probably have no chance of a future together.
What I have to decide is if I am the type of woman who is able to accept the challenge of something new and decidedly wicked. Do I have it in me to let down my guard—to become completely uninhibited?
Do I trust August to protect me in here?
I answer him with nothing more than a touch.
A powerful touch, though. I reach back, cup him between his legs, and give his balls a resounding squeeze to mimic the way he’s touching me. I’m feeling brave when I whisper, “Do your worst, August.”
His laugh is dark and rich, almost mocking. A frisson of fear pulses through me, turning me on even more.
August removes his hand from between my legs to flag down a passing waitress. I look at the tray she’s carrying and realize it’s not for drinks, but rather has a wide array of objects that might be beneficial in a sex club. Condoms, lube, and small vibrators. Tiny little silver objects that look like they were made to clip onto something, along with a leather device that has a thin dildo attached to it.
I’m stunned as I take in her offerings, almost bolting for the door when August picks up two items. A bottle of lube and a bullet-shaped piece of glass with a flared base on the end.
Confused, I scan his face after the waitress saunters off. He holds the glass item up to me, indicating I should take it. I do, marveling at its heaviness and warmth. It’s thinner at the top, flared wider at the bottom. “What’s this?”
“A butt plug,” he replies. “You had such an amazing reaction to my finger in your ass, so I want to see what else you can handle.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes, because there’s no way that thing is going to fit in my ass. That doesn’t seem to matter to August, though. He merely takes my wrist and pulls me through the room, weaving us in and out of the people having sex. Admittedly, watching the lewd acts being performed around me is only turning me on further. I can feel how amped and wet I already am, a steady throb of need pulsing between my legs.
We reach a wide chaise with an elegant curved back, covered in what appears to be a matte vinyl material. The sting of disinfectant the workers must clean it with hits my nose. It’s a faintly unpleasant smell I immediately forget when August spins me around.
He wraps strong fingers around my neck, leans down, then brushes his lips across my mouth. “Relax, Leighton. I swear you’re going to enjoy this.”
“Will it hurt?” I whisper.
His smile is feral, his teeth flashing in the spotlight that shines down from the ceiling. “If you’re lucky, it will hurt just right.”