Bailey
I’m so freaking nervous that I’m sweating. And there’s nothing sexy about sweaty pits.
You aren’t supposed to be sexy, Bailey, I admonish. This is business.
Still, I can’t deny that the thought of walking through a sex club with Declan Blackwood isn’t affecting me on all kinds of levels. Emotionally, mentally, in my nipples and between my legs.
Shit. Why did I agree to this?
Because he’d said it was only business. He’s not interested in me in a sexy way.
Yet, when we’d stepped into the lobby of the Onyx Casino and he’d placed his hand on my elbow, my entire body felt electrified.
Oversensitive.
Needy.
Shit, I’m in so much trouble.
I’m on edge because I’m terrified that Declan can tell I’m on edge. That I’m plumped, primed, and every other embarrassing scenario that could take place in front of this gorgeous, enigmatic man.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as we enter the elevator that will take us to the top floor that houses The Wicked Horse.
“Not really,” I reply.
I’d done some research on it, surreptitiously, this afternoon. It’s a private membership club with a hefty fee I could never afford, but I don’t think this is what Jeff meant when he’d suggested a sex club. He knows I could never afford this place.
Separated into themed rooms, it seems as if pretty much anything goes. Surprisingly, Declan had told me today that over fifty percent of the membership were actually monogamous couples that came here just to play in an open environment. He assured me everything was safe and tasteful, but that things could get a little “crazy” at times.
The thought of what might constitute “crazy” has my nerves feeling like electrified wires.
When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, I brace for what I might see. Declan ushers me out, and, frankly, I’m… well… let down. It looks like we’re in an upscale bar with plush seating, dim lighting, and a massive bar with three bartenders serving drinks to sexy, well-dressed couples.
From behind a podium, a hostess greets us. “Good evening, Mr. Blackwood.”
Declan doesn’t respond. He merely inclines his head.
Hand tightening on my elbow, he asks me, “Would you like a drink?”
“Uh…” I demure.
“You’re tense,” he mutters, guiding me to the bar. “I can feel it pouring off you in waves.”
I don’t disagree, and yes, a drink would relax me. “I’ll take bourbon… neat.”
Declan chuckles as we head to the bar. “Relax, Miss Robbins. Just remember that what goes on in here is consensual and fun. Everybody has sex. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I’m not,” I assure him, pulling my arm from his grasp to look up. “It’s just… I’m a little nervous in an environment with my boss that is about as far from what an employee and a boss should be doing.”
“I promise I won’t bite,” he says with a wicked grin, then turns his attention to the bartender to order two bourbons. When he angles back toward me, his eyes twinkle as he adds, “Unless you ask me to.”
A blaze of lust and need sweeps through me, causing my spine to tingle and my skin to warm. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. Declan must see it, too, because he’s far too observant not to. Plus, he’s smirking.
The bartender brings our drinks and I don’t respond to his last baited statement. Instead, I pick up my glass as I glance around. “To be honest, I sort of expected to walk into a porn movie.”
“You’ll get there soon enough,” Declan replies as my gaze comes back around. “But there’s a civilized component to this club I enjoy, and that’s an element I wish to carry over into the new resort. The ability to have a few drinks to unwind and relax. Maybe enjoy some conversation.”
One eyebrow arches involuntarily, denoting my skepticism. “Conversation? Really?”
Declan shakes his head, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You must have a conversation before sex, Bailey. Otherwise, how do you truly know if your attraction is well-matched and mutually returned?”
That momentarily sets me back. I have a hard time envisioning Declan Blackwood making a personal connection before sex. It’s the antithesis of what I saw when that woman stormed out of his suite, calling him an asshole, a couple of weeks ago.
I’m not quite sure what he sees on my face, but he explains. “Now, I’m not saying I want to hear about a woman’s dreams and aspirations, nor do I care about her political ties or her fiscal responsibilities.”
He leans in a bit closer to me as we stand at the bar, lowering his voice. “But I most certainly want to know her intimate preferences. Is she only into vanilla or does she like a little kink? Is she a fan of anal or is she too afraid to go there? Does she spit or swallow?”
His words are crude, yet shockingly sexy. Making a split-second decision, I stop looking at him as my boss. Instead, in this wanton environment, I decide to treat him as any other member of an exclusive sex club. I consider this outing to be market research of sorts, which lets me be affected by his words without feeling guilt over fantasizing about my employer.
Taking a sip of my bourbon, I relish the burn as it slithers down my throat and into my belly. In an attempt to act unaffected, I keep my question benign. “Are there people here who like vanilla sex? I mean… this is a sex club. Isn’t it all taboo stuff?”
“On the contrary, there are plenty of members who like plain old missionary, but they love having sex in front of others. That’s their kink—having people watch.”
Makes sense.
And it makes me blush deeper… because that has always been a fantasy of mine. I tried to get Caleb into semi-public sex before—like going at it in the living room at night with the blinds open. Once, I attempted to get him to fuck me on a park bench on an evening stroll. He’d declined. Now, I don’t know if it was because he’s not into public kink or because he was pining for another man.
“One thing to keep in mind tonight,” Declan says, his tone once again clipped and remote. Back in professional mode. “I don’t intend to have themed rooms. It will be one large facility.”
I nod because this is still beyond me, so I don’t have anything smart or helpful to add.
“Would you like to walk around to see how things are set up here?” he asks, but it’s not a request. He’s telling me that he’s ready to show me a whole new world, and it hits me like a wall of cold water… a gasping revelation.
I don’t need to be here.
There is absolutely no reason he needs me involved at this level.
Declan Blackwood has me here for some other purpose than to get up to speed on what happens in a sex club so I can help him plan his new resort. But I don’t know what that purpose is.
It could be that he wants to fuck me. While I have noted moments where I think he’s checking me out in a sexual way, he’s never once acted on it. He hasn’t overtly flirted or made a move.
I’m at a crossroads. Deep in my gut, I know if I continue on a journey through this club—witness things beyond my imagining—I am putting myself at risk. I understand how attraction and desire are built, and there’s no doubt I’ll be affected by what I see. It’s a given Declan will be as he’s a man. I’m sorry, but stereotyping or not, they just react more viscerally than women do.
It’s going to open a door before us. If we step through it, there’s a risk we’re going to end up crossing a line.
I take another sip of my bourbon, a bigger one this time. Letting the fire burn, I consider the paths before me. The safest one would be to decline to participate. Offer my apologies, say I changed my mind, that I can’t be a part of this type of planning, and hope he doesn’t fire me.
Or I can choose to assuage my curiosity, attempt to maintain a professional distance, and hope to God neither of us acts on anything.
Later in life, there will be a time where I’ll reflect back on my youth. I’ll chuckle over my mistakes or maybe even reprimand myself over my choices. Without a doubt, there will come a day when I’ll look back on this moment and wonder what happened to the responsible and cautious woman who usually walked the straight and narrow. But that day won’t be today.
Inclining my head, I say, “I’m ready.”
A shiver races up my spine when his eyes darken. He tips his bourbon back, downing it in one swallow, then sets his glass on the bar. I choose to hold on to my drink as he leads me to a set of double doors that will lead me, no doubt, into temptation.
We enter a small semi-circular foyer paneled in dark wood with Italian marble flooring, which branches out into several hallways. Declan’s hand goes to my elbow again, and his touch is simultaneously irritating and comforting. It’s a relief not to be alone as I plunge into the unknown, but his touch is like rough fabric rubbed against over-sensitized nipples… frustratingly painful, yet still pleasing, until it’s a confusing irritation.
“There are five main areas where people congregate to have sex.” His voice rumbles with his intimate knowledge. “There’s an outdoor deck, a waterfall room, an orgy room, The Silo—which has glass viewing rooms within it—and finally, a private club within the club called The Apartment, which is basically the original area the owner used to live in.”
“And where are we starting?” I inquire, cursing the breathless way my question comes out.
“The Orgy Room,” he murmurs, shifting me toward the closest hallway. “It’s what a sex club is all about.”
He opens the door, ushering me into a room that’s so dimly lit I can’t make out much until my eyes adjust. There are no adequate words to describe what I see once they do. I’m bombarded from every direction, immediately thrown into sensation overload.
The Orgy Room’s illuminated from below by muted panels set into steel supports running diagonally across the sizable, square room. Interspersed among areas furnished with piles of huge, silk-covered pillows are multiple overstuffed beds, lounges, and chaises. Hanging low from the ceiling, silk lampshades in varied shapes—spheres, cones, and squares—and hues of blue tint the subtle lighting.
But the decor isn’t what grabs my attention.
Even before my eyes adjusted, the sounds hit my ears. My legs instantly go weak, fingertips buzzing. Moans, grunts, groans, bellows of pleasure, and the slapping of flesh on flesh. It’s the noise of sex—of dozens of people fucking and writhing and climaxing, and it encompasses me before my brain even manages to untangle the mounds into the shapes of people and body parts.
And then I take it all in, unhurriedly scanning from end to end while Declan patiently waits, hand still cupping my elbow. I have no idea how long—seconds, minutes, a lifetime—passes without a word spoken as I devour my first live-action porn of epic proportions.
The group closest to me occupies a chaise as wide as a queen bed. One, two, three, four… no, five people in a writhing mass of entwined arms and legs. It takes a moment to work out what I’m seeing. Once I do, the heat suffusing my face could rival a five-alarm fire, but my embarrassment isn’t enough to make me look away from the absolute debauchery.
While on her back, a woman splays her legs wider than what seems humanly possible while two men fuck her at the same time. As in both have their cocks inside her, side by side, and I’m not sure I even knew that was possible. By her head, another man kneels on the edge of the chaise. He thrusts his shaft into her willing mouth while she clutches his hips hard, hungrily gobbling down every inch he feeds her.
But what shocks my sexual sensibilities the most is group member number five.
It’s a man… He stands behind the one currently shoving his dick into the woman’s mouth. His feet are firmly planted on the floor. But he has his hands full of the other man’s ass… while he slowly fucks in and out of it, his motions perfectly matching the rhythm of the blow job.
Until this moment, I’ve never seen two men together outside of porn.
I mean, I’ve imagined it a million times. I’ve seen porn. When I found out Caleb was bisexual and was leaving me for a man, I bitterly wondered if he prefers to top or bottom. But I’ve never thought it would be so beautifully masculine to watch a man plow another man’s ass from behind… while the one getting fucked is also getting a blow job.
It’s just… surreal.
As I continue to take in the other spectacles around the room, it quickly becomes apparent that I’m incredibly turned on. Steady throbs pulse between my thighs, my panties already damp.
Greedily, I rove my gaze over the tangles of bodies—from singular couples to groups of three, four, five. Each person seems sheathed in the passionate throes of pleasure and brazen decadence. Ashamedly, I want a taste of it.
A pit forming in my stomach, I twist toward Declan, thinking he’ll be watching the action, too. But he’s not… he’s studying me with a laser-like intensity I feel all the way to my toes.
His eyes are banked with flame and promise. Filled with lust and indecision.
“I knew this would end up being a bad idea,” he murmurs. He speaks so softly I’m not sure if I heard him correctly.
I knew it, too, but I don’t validate him. I can’t. My throat is too dry, and my pussy is too wet.
“Not once,” he grits out with underlying anger laced within his words. “Not once have I ever crossed a line with an employee.”
“M-m-m-aybe should we leave?” I stammer, the vibe of fury I’m getting both intimidating and strangely exciting me.
Declan bends in toward me. “It’s either that, Miss Robbins,” he says in clear warning. “Or I bend you over the nearest lounge chair and fuck you hard.”
That should send me scurrying away in fear. While he’s clearly attracted to me, he’s pissed about it. Furious we’re in this situation, but seriously… he knew what this was all about, and I didn’t. He knew exactly what we’d see here, and he damn well knew he’d most likely have a reaction. He had to have known I would, too.
“This is your fault,” I accuse, pointing a shaky finger. “You had to have known this was a bad idea from the start.”
Declan tips his head, moving in so close I swear I can feel his heartbeat. “What I knew is I’d be turned on in here. I always am. What I didn’t anticipate was you having such a strong reaction, nor how much I liked that reaction.”
My chin jerks inward. “Strong reaction?”
“Every inch of you is primed, Miss Robbins,” he replies blandly. “I can see it in your eyes, your posture. I can tell by the rise and fall of your chest.”
“You can’t possibly—”
“If I slip my fingers in between your legs right now, you’ll be sopping wet,” he challenges. “I bet I could get you to orgasm in seconds. Don’t try to deny it.”
“But you’d be crossing a line,” I murmur, my last-ditch attempt to dissuade him. To see reason and lead both of us out of temptation. “You don’t ever do that.”
“That’s true,” he replies, his voice rough with ire obviously pointed solely at himself. “But I think I’d be willing to make an exception just once.”
“Just once?” I ask.
“Scratch an itch for me,” he replies with a shrug. “Market research for you.”
Crap. He’s totally trying to justify this so we can both get our rocks off. And I’m seriously considering it.
Just once.
“Make the choice, Miss Robbins,” he clips out, and I jump at the command within it. “Leave… or walk to that empty chaise.”
He says the latter while pointing at a low, plush divan not ten feet from us.
Once more, I glance around the room, and I realize… I want in on the magic that seems to permeate the air. I want to feel Declan Blackwood within me while the entire room watches because I know… way down deep in my girly parts… it will be the most pleasurable experience of my life.
Decision made, I turn away from Declan and walk to the chaise, a thrill running through me knowing he’s going to follow.