Page 21 of Ace

"We've processed your application fee. The remainder of what you have allows for these menu items," she says, handing me a leather-bound booklet. I imagine you're here for your usual?"

I tilt my head in confusion before I can catch myself. "My usual?"

She gives me a kind smile. "From the database, of course."

I don't question it because any man who has been to enough places like this wouldn't have to ask about it. He'd already know, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might be in a little over my head.

I didn't go into detail too deeply on Anthony Wiedman's character, only enough to know what his usual might be, but I trust Kincaid enough not to put me in any sort of seriously fucked-up situation.

"Can't wait," I say as I stand and follow her from the room.

This place is much more luxurious than Hale-ish, the sex club I went to back in the day. A couple of Kincaid's friends own the place back in Denver and we would take trips up there when we weren't working. I have to remind myself this isn't a sex club. The people at Hale-ish are all there to have agood time, and other than the business operating the establishment and workers stationed around the building to keep people safe, no one is getting paid. It's different for the workers here. The men and women here, performing sexual acts, are getting compensated. Well, they are if this is one of the illegal but legitimately run places.

The woman, it didn't get by me that she didn't introduce herself, walks ahead of me, but the sound of another woman's voice makes me stop in my tracks. Was that Cora Preston? I know she's here, and although I have no idea where in this massive house she might be, I'm reminded I'm not here for the usual but to make sure she's okay.

Other than the click-clack of the woman's shoes on the tile floor, I hear nothing else. Instead of following her, I reach for the doorknob of the closest room, thinking that it came from there, but when I shove open the bedroom door, it's not Cora that I find.

"Daddy isn't supposed to come home until after the baby's diaper change," a man says from the bed.

In a flash of a second, before I can manage to apologize and pull the door closed, I take in the room.

First comes the glaringly obvious—a grown-ass man with white at his temples, in a cloth diaper and nothing else, and a nearly naked woman standing beside the bed with a paddle in her hand.

"Mr. Wiedman," the woman who was escorting me growls in my ear as she reaches for the doorknob, closing the door on that scene, although I know without a doubt, it'll be in my head for years to come. "You know better."

"Sorry, I thought I heard someone call my name," I lie without thinking.

What other excuse would I have for opening a door in a place like this?

"Follow me," she says, some of her professionalism slipping to allow her annoyance to appear.

I have no doubt she'll get a stern reprimand because I didn't do as I was expected.

By the time we make it to the room reserved for me and myusual, she has that perfect serene smile back on her face.

"Get comfortable," she instructs as she opens the door and steps to the side. "Beth will join you in a moment."

I do my best to let my eyes adjust to the low light in the room once I'm in there alone, but going from the brightly lit hallway to the darkened room leaves me without most of my sight for a full minute or two.

When I'm able to refocus, I can make out the outline of a regular bed in the middle of the room, and that's it. There isn't a St. Andrew's cross or a whipping station. I don't see any implements of pain or giant cocks meant for my own ass. I think Kincaid and his crew may be a little more mature than they were when I was a member because there was a lot of shit we'd do just to get a rise out of each other, and we'd be down for almost anything on a dare.

I once dabbled in guy-on-guy shit because two of the guys at the clubhouse, Snatch and Itchy, fell for each other and made it seem like the best thing in the world. Skid and I found out very quickly it wasn't for us.

I wonder, as I kick off my shoes and inch toward the bed, if I have any cause to judge what I just saw down the hallway, considering the shit we used to do when we were younger. Although, none of it had to do with pretending to be a baby. And just what the fuck did he mean by changing the baby's fucking diaper?

I shake my head, shoving those thoughts from it as I climb up onto the bed. I have no idea what's in store for me tonight, but I know I can't burn my ability to come back here in case I find the need to do so at a later date.

The bed is more comfortable than it has any right being, and I sink into it almost immediately, trusting that a place thatrequires ten grand to walk through the door also takes pride in cleanliness.

I realize just how damned exhausted I am when I startle at the sound of the door opening. I watch in the limited light as a woman enters the room. She silently walks to the bed and, without hesitation, unties her robe, letting it fall from her body, leaving her completely naked.

I can tell by the light that although she's much younger than I am, she isn't illegally so, but I find that despite her obvious beauty and the perfection of her body, I'm not really attracted to her.

When the bed dips under her weight, I sense the moment of pause.

"Do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?"

How the fuck do I answer a weird-ass question like that?

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