Page 15 of Room 13: Bred By the Bears

“No. I can’t even draw a stick figure without it looking like it needs to be put out of its misery. I possess zero artistic skills. I’m a paper pusher. Nothing fun or exciting. These two get to have all the fun. Parties, rubbing elbows with the glitterati. I hear though you are quite talented.”

I actually had heard nothing at all. Other than that was how they’d met. I assumed though, if she was being hired but an elite hotel to infuse her vision throughout the redesign of the historic space, that she clearly had an eye for what she did.

“I like what I do.” She shrugged, deflecting the question behind a sip of wine.

“You look beautiful tonight.” I chanced skimming my fingers down her arm. “I’m so glad you were willing to have dinner with us.”

I wanted to kiss her. More than that. I wanted her on my lap, where I could press her against my already hard cock while I ate at her mouth, licking into that warm, wet cavern and sucking at her tongue. Visions of smeared lipstick, mussed hair, and glassy eyes tortured me in my imaginings. Threatening to pull away my focus from the beauty who sat next to me telling me about their meeting and how she’d always been a fan of Ryker’s art and how it was the craziest bit of kismet that they’d met in two different ways.

She fit. It was as if we’d both been looking for the other half of our whole in multiple ways. Almost as if fairy godmother plucked her out of a catalog and delivered her to us. There she was.

“Have you always lived in New Orleans?” I asked her.

I needed to stay focused on Miele as a person. She was more than just a warm cunt and an intriguing play partner. My cock didn’t want to listen to reason though. It howled at the injustice that Ryker got her twice.

“I grew up here. But went east for college.” She shrugged again, running her fingertip around the lip of her wineglass. “Lived there most of my twenties. Came home a few years ago.”

It was the briefest summation. The words felt weighted. Like a nine foot fence with a sign on the entrance that said, “Stay Away!”

“Was that your entry point? The club in New York?” Obi asked, topping off her wineglass.

She tilted her head toward him in the most precious way, delight putting a sparkle in her eyes and a blush across her cheeks.

“It was. You too?”

“Not me.” Obi smiled and nodded at me. “Armel is the sinner who drew us all in. He has a friend in New York that introduced him to the lifestyle.”

“Maybe you know him?” I shrugged. “His name is Odin Kapling. You may have known him as Odin King before he got married.”

“Oh my god! Idoknow Odin! He’s married to my friend Casey. Casey sponsored my membership. We’ve worked together on so many projects. As an architect, he and I have designed a lot of spaces together. We’ve become close friends over the years. In fact, I’m flying out to Montana next month to help them design the rooms on their hotel. I think they’re calling it a hotel? The piece of Troublesome Creek that will host their kink camp. The Big House—that’s what they’re calling it. The one they used to live in prior to building their new residence. Have you been?”

She prattled on with such excitement I couldn’t help but feed off it. Odin and I worked together. Both of us part of the same branch of consultancy though he focused on security and systems. He and I were both in D.C. working with the Department of Defense and went to dinner together. I don’t even remember how the subject came up, but I discovered he harbored a deep seeded Daddy kink and I admitted to him how much I loved playing hunter to a woman who would willingly be my prey. He told me about Club Sin New York and the rest was history. Though, it was hard to find Primals in a club nestled in the heart of the city. It was too posh and urbane. With all the titans of industry, most of their clientele liked to dominate in one form or another.

New Orleans, thankfully, had enough open space surrounding it that even those who’d never experienced primalism before could get a taste of it just by shucking off their shoes and sprinting through the damp grass.

Heaven.

The smell of panic on a woman’s skin combined with the mossy dew and damp scent of the bayou. I wish I could bottle that as a cologne. I couldn’t wait to watch Miele look over her shoulder at me as she bolted full speed across the vast meadow behind the club.

“I want to go. Odin tells me they have acres of woods full of hunting trails. He said he built them with me in mind, so I feel obligated to get there now that summer is coming.”

She nodded, her mouth a perfect O that me thinking once again of what great head she gave.

“I don’t know how that detail slipped from my mind. A primal.”

The word purred against her throat, sending a shiver down my spine all the way to my cock.

“It’s been a while since the club had a primal.”

I wanted to correct her. To tell her I’d been a member for many years, much longer than she had. We just didn’t get down to NOLA as often as we wanted to. But it didn’t matter. Membership wasn’t a pissing contest. Especially not when all I wanted was to carry her basket style to my truck, hog tie her, throw her in the bed, and take off toward the club where I’d untie her and tell her to run.

“There has been no one worthy enough to play,” Obi told her for me. “Like we told you upfront, we are quite intense. We’re not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Seemed pretty tame to me.” Miele cocked her chin in challenge, having a three way stare down with us.

“We went easy on you, Little Cub.” Ryker ran a gentle hand down her jaw. “Give us a preferred time to meet once again and we won’t hold back, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Forewarning though, with the promised heat wave approaching, I don’t know how much you want to be in turtle necks and long sleeves to cover up all the ways we’ll mark you,” I added with a wink.

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