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.