Page 11 of Rushed

Keenan

Rush’s office is enormous, and the view is exceptional. After getting the ice from Cynthia and following like thegood girlI was told to be, we head to his office. It’s hidden on the third floor, above the DJ booth, with floor to ceiling two-way glass on one side, showcasing the club, and the opposite side is all glass, facing onto the busy 59th Street and Central Park. I find it truly stunning.

The room is sparse in decor. The black slate floors are accented by a burnt orange area rug, two distressed, black leather chairs, and a brushed stainless steel desk is all that adorns it for furniture. A single framed piece of art hangs on the wall in an oversized shadow box, where a metal disc sits in the center with an intricate design that I can’t quite make out. Truly, I expect nothing less from a man of very few words.

“This is nice, really. But why am I here? We’re in a club where everyone experiments, enjoys, and overindulges. I just got caught in a mess, and that’s not your fault.” I’m rambling, feeling nervous about the whole thing. “I could have quite easily sat in pain by myself at the bar, drinking away my sorrows, then walked back to the hotel to sulk. So, I appreciate your help, but it’s not necessary. I’m not about to make a scene about it or anything. It’s totally fine.”

Rush hands me the ice pack, pulls me down to the chair in front of his desk and stands beside me, wordlessly. Feeling deflated by his quiet demeanor, I want to be anywhere but here, not dealing with his silent fury.

“I work really hard on the control and care we take here. No fightin’, no pain, no harassment or danger, only loose morals, lackin’ judgement, and bliss. For a fuck like Mick to hurt ya…” he pauses, collecting his thoughts and curbing his dangerous emotions. “I’m sorry doesn’t cut it.”

I shake my head pursing my mouth to speak and I get a hand up to halt my thoughts. Ok, so he’s not done.

“Look, we get new members once or twice a year at most. I’m very picky, and Troy said yer different.” He takes the ice pack from my face, peering at my lip where I can already feel the swelling. Being this close is frightening, not because he’s scary, but because I’m afraid of the friction between us. I’ve had those lips, I’ve felt that touch, and I want it more. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I want to twist my fingers up in his hair, and pull him down for a toe curling kiss. I need more of anything he can offer. “I don’t get involved with the patrons of my club. It’s my policy, not the clubs. And fer good reason, like tonight’s fiasco.” Rush bends low, dipping his large body down until we’re mere inches apart. My breath quickens as I take in his scent, his rugged features, and the eyes that have me mesmerized.

He stares at me long and hard, silently cataloguing my features like I am his. “I shouldn’t,” he says. The words are laced with need.

“Shouldn’t what?”

I’m breathless. His body is close enough to suck the air out of my lungs, the reason from my mind, and I’m wanting more from him than a verbal answer. I want what his body offers. His deep stare cuts right through me, and it’s amazing how something so simple can go straight to my core, working me up in a flash. “What shouldn’t you do, Rush?” I ask again, licking the edge of my damaged lip.

Bending down the remainder of the distance, he leans his forearms on the arms of the chair and kisses me. The stubble feels heavenly as he lightly brushes his lips against mine. It hurts as it scratches against my cut lip, but I don’t care. He deepens the touch, brushing his tongue by my teeth to tangle within mine; I feel alight once more. His hard exterior, his commanding presence during the tousle with Mick, and the way he took over caring for me is a major turn on.

Breaking away, he whispers, “Sorry.”

Touching the cracked surface of my lip, Rush shakes his head, grinds his teeth and pushes the emotions deep. “I shouldn’t have done that, but ya make me wanna do things I shouldn’t. Ya bring it out of me, Keenan.”

Backing away to rest against the desk’s edge, Rush is telling me that he doesn’t hang out with the sexpots that venture in here, and in essence, telling me this is a quick affair, nothing more. Fine. Even though this is a sex club, I won’t beg for a man’s attention.

Standing, I brush down my outfit, and hand Rush the soaked cloth. Iwon’tbe the sheep. I can handle worse than him, and I came here with an objective that has not been fulfilled.

With the likes of Mick removed, I feel confident that I can find myself a man that can handle my needs without me turning into a skinsuit, or winding up in a trash bag in the Hudson.

“I understand your club rules were broken tonight. I handled myself and your guys did their job cleaning up the garbage. And I get it, you don’t participate with your paying customers, so let’s leave it as you and I were fun for a moment in time and we’ll part ways. I came here to find out more about my needs, and that’s what I intend to do. If you can’t accept that, then I’ll be off.” I spit it out like verbal diarrhea, and I’m even in awe of my own reaction. Rush rises from the desk’s edge, and moves to the other side. Reaching into a drawer, he pulls out a card and a pen, then scribbles on the back before handing it to me. Definitely not what I expected. I thought it would be a non-disclosure agreement or something, not this.

“This is my business card. It has my personal cell number, and I wrote down my home address. And Keenan, I didn’t have any info from Troy about ya, other than he cleared ya. I trust my little brother emphatically in his judgement.” He smiles so deep that those dimples suck in tightly. “Now, as fer the rest of yer diatribe. I have patience, but it’s limited when it comes to sharin’ my toys.” Stepping into my space, he fondles my hair, twirling it around his fingers tight enough that it’s slightly painful, but enjoyable. “I don’t know why yer affectin’ me like ya are, but I can’t share ya. If ya wanna try out the rest of the club, that’s fine, but understand I won’t be available for ya to fuck with. I don’t offer myself up to anyone, so don’t make a rash decision. This is final.”

Releasing the strands, Rush runs his hands along my collarbone, down my shoulders, and finally ends holding my hands. The way he moves is not explicitly sexual, but it elicits the same reaction, leaving me in a difficult position. His presence is powerful. I find him daunting and sexually exotic. I want more, but what if I need something more in my life? I came to explore, and I could be ending something before I even begin. Or I could be finding exactly what I need?

“Do I have to answer immediately if I want to continue what we started downstairs? Can I leave and think it over?” I doubt it, but before he has a chance to answer, his cell, which is resting on the desk, flashes and bleeps loudly. Rush picks it up, replying to a text, clearly in a flurry of frustration.

“I’m sorry, Keenan. I have a situation.” Rush places the phone in his pocket as he walks past me. “Will ya be here when I return?” He looks back at me, but leaves before I can think of my answer. I’m not sure how to answer, and I really want to make the right decision. Not knowing your own mind and body is clearly a confusing task.

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