Page 15 of Pretending with the Mountain Man
"Ask what?"
"Whatever questions are making you fidget like that."
I hadn't realized I was fidgeting, I still my hands in my lap. "I was just wondering if you regret last night."
The Jeep slows slightly as he takes a curve. "No. I don't regret it."
"Then why are you acting like it didn't happen?"
He glances at me briefly before returning his attention to the road. "Because we agreed to talk about it later, when we're bothclear-headed. And because there are more pressing concerns right now, like keeping you safe."
"So, we will talk about it?"
"Yes." The single word carries weight. "But first, let's get you someplace secure."
Club Crimson emerges from the forest like something from a fantasy, all glass and timber rising organically from the mountainside. The parking lot is only half full, discreet luxury cars spaced widely apart.
"Most members come for evening events," Malik explains as he parks. "Daytime is quieter, mostly staff and a few regulars who use the wellness facilities."
He leads me to a side entrance, badging us through security doors and down a corridor that's more upscale hotel than sex club. The air smells faintly of sandalwood and leather, the lighting warm and intimate without being sleazy.
"This is the public area," he explains as we pass what appears to be a high-end spa reception. "The Crimson Refuge wellness retreat is our cover. Legitimate services, just not our primary business."
We take an elevator to the third floor, and the atmosphere shifts subtly. The hallway is wider, with art on the walls that hints at the building's true purpose without being explicit. Abstract paintings of ropes and curves that could be interpreted many ways.
Malik stops at a door marked "Library" and swipes his badge. "Welcome to Crimson Education," he says, holding the door for me.
The room inside surprises me. It's beautiful, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, comfortable seating areas, and several computer stations. There's nothing overtly sexual about it, though a closer look at the book titles reveals the specialized nature of the collection.
"This is where all new members start," Malik explains, moving to a central desk where a woman with a sleek black bob and stylish glasses looks up.
"Malik," she greets him warmly. "This is unexpected."
"Dr. Tru, this is Melody Washington. She's interested in learning the basics." His tone is professional, giving nothing away. "Melody, Dr. Maya Tru is our resident therapist and education coordinator."
Dr. Tru extends her hand, her smile genuine. "Pleasure to meet you, Melody. First time exploring?"
"Yes," I admit, oddly comforted by her matter-of-fact manner. "Very new to all this."
"Everyone starts somewhere." She turns to Malik. "Private tutorial or self-guided?"
He glances at me. "Your choice."
"Private, please," I decide. "If that's okay."
Dr. Tru nods. "I have an hour before my next appointment. Malik, will you be joining us?"
Something flashes in his eyes, quickly masked. "I have security matters to attend to. I'll check back in an hour."
Before I can process the disappointment of his departure, he leans close, his lips near my ear. "Remember, education only today. No practical applications without me present."
The possessive edge in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. "Yes, sir."
He straightens, eyes darkening at my response. Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
Dr. Tru watches this exchange with professional interest. "Well," she says, "that was illuminating."
The next hour passes in a blur of information. Dr. Tru is an excellent teacher, explaining concepts clearly and without judgment. She covers the basics of consent, negotiation,and communication before moving into different dynamics and relationships. I ask questions freely, surprised by how comfortable I feel discussing these topics with a stranger.
