Page 19 of The Wrangler
“We don’t— Okay.” SJ thanks everyone for dinner and Amy brushes off her offer to help clean up. I follow her inside nearly running her over when she stops unexpectedly to ask, “Where should we work? My room or yours?”
An image of me working her in my bedroom, her tied, naked, to the frame flashes through my brain straight to my dick. “Neither.” The word explodes out of me in a growl. I clear my throat. “How about we work down here? We can sit at the table or lounge on the couches. Up to you.”
She swivels her attention between the two spaces. “The couches. Let me grab my notebook. Be right back.”
My eyes are glued to her perfect ass as she bounds up the stairs. I’m grateful when I lose sight of her so I can breathe again. What the fuck is this woman doing to me? I can’t be around her at all without getting a damned chub. She’s fucking voodoo.
The mental list of tasks still remaining at the worksite, along with all the issues I’m having with the subs, works to soften my dick so I can sit comfortably. I drop into the corner of the couch that faces the fireplace. SJ can take the other couch and we’ll still be close enough to talk. At least that’s the plan, but she wrecks that, and any composure I gained with my mental checklist, when she drops on the cushion next to me, eyes wide with false innocence.
She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I know exactly what I’d like to do to her.
I also know what a bad idea it would be.
I shift into the corner putting a tiny bit more space between us as if that matters. The soft scent of her, like peaches and vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day, teases me. Only way to get out of this is to go through. “Ask away.”
“What makes going to a sex club appealing to people and why will The Yacht Club be better or more unique than the others.”
She doesn’t hold her punches. “For one, there’s no club like it in the area. Pandora serves their community and it feels that way, casual, like a community center in any town but instead of weight benches and a pool, it has spanking benches and St. Andrews crosses.”
She stops scribbling. “Won’t your club have those things?”
“Of course, but the level of delivery will be different. Less local gym, more fantasy vacation. High end finishes, polished stained floors. Leather, sound-proofed walls. Instead of folding tables and chairs, booths with privacy curtains, a main stage for demos and guest appearances.” I rub my neck. I shouldn’t be the one selling this. I’m just the construction guy. “The restaurant will be five-star too. The guys interviewed a bunch of chefs. Got a new hot shot looking to earn her first Michelin Star. And then there’s the resort itself.”
“What about it?” She leans closer, those blue eyes hanging on my next words. So naturally submissive and she probably isn’t even aware.
“Luxury condos and first class service. It will have all the amenities, of course a full gym and and huge pool. Two actually. Half a dozen hot tubs. We’re already starting to take reservations and phase one won’t be complete until late September.”
“Phase one?”
“Building it in stages. First the restaurant and the dungeon.”
“Dungeon? Will you really call it that?”
So innocent. “Yes. Maybe not on the website that faces the public. But there will be a way for those who know to invite people. Everyone will be vetted.”
“Everyone?”
Why does that word sound like an accusation? “Absolutely.”
“How did you get into tying people up?”
Where the heck did that question come from? It has nothing to do with the website or marketing. I could refuse to answer. I rub the back of my neck. She’s probably just curious, can’t just boop her on the nose and tell her “no” like a naughty kitten. “Kind of a long story.”
“Not going anywhere.”
“When I was a kid, I was kind of small.”
Her gaze glides up and down my body. “Hard to believe.”
“It’s true. My older sister tried to help. Convinced me to punch the bully who was making my life hell.” I fucking hated that dude. George Conrad His smug face and evil glee when he targeted the smaller kids has never faded.
“Did you hit him?”
“Yeah. I balled up my fist and gave my best shot right into his gut.”
“And?” She leans closer, her hand on my thigh.
