Page 1 of Stepping Up to the Plate

Prologue

• LOLA •

February

“Icannot believe I let that pint-sized Barbie knock off talk me into this,” I mutter under my breath as I readjust my mask. The blonde in question saunters in front of me as we make our way down the dimly lit hallway. While I admire the swanky wallpaper and luxurious carpet, she turns back to glance at me over her shoulder. She shoots me a smirk that says ‘I know you want to back out, but it’s too late now without looking like a little bitch.’ Encouraging, right?

In a moment of weakness, I let my best friend, Tiffany, convince me that the best way to get over my gaslighting, cheating ex is to get under someone else. I should have known when I agreed it wouldn’t be as simple as going to a bar and finding a decent-looking guy to take me home. No. Nothing with Tiffany is simple.

Forgetting that is how I found myself heading to a room in Club Hedone, Nashville’s premier kink and sex club. A room where some stranger is going “rail me into forgetting all about that small-dicked son of a bitch.” You can’t say Tiff isn’t descriptive.

The champagne I drank on the way over here is slowly wearing off as we get closer to our rooms. The club has a two-drink policy which I can respect since consent is paramount in this type of situation. But also, I could go for about three shots of tequila to settle the tension radiating through my body right now.

I am beyond nervous. I haven’t been this nervous about sex since losing my virginity after homecoming with my high school boyfriend. Which is surprising since this should be the lowest-stakes first time sexual encounter I’ve ever had. There is no guesswork here. Whoever they matched me with is not only DTF, but they were also given a list of my limits and preferences beforehand. There shouldn’t be that awkward dance of figuring out what the other wants. Not that it is too complicated for me. I am about as vanilla as my taste in lattes.

Our guide, a raven-haired woman with nose piercings and wearing a corset, stops in front of a set of doors. Pointing to the one on the left, she tells Tiffany to make herself comfortable and that her match will be there shortly. My vivacious friend turns to me and says, “Good luck, Bunny. Enjoy the first manmade Os you’ve gotten in years,” before shutting the door behind her. I try not to die of mortification when I see our guide hold back a laugh, pointing to my door on the right.

“Enjoy your evening, miss.” Before leaving, she shyly adds, “If you ever need any help with woman made Os, I assist with the toy demonstrations on Thursdays and always need volunteers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I squeak out before hustling into my room and closing the door.

Taking a few beats to collect myself, I am shocked when I open my eyes and survey the space. I know this is an expensive club, but a part of me still expected the room to be a little cliché. But no, it’s similar to a suite in a five-star hotel, if five-star hotels had sex swings in the corner. I am sure there are more kink-focused rooms, but as a novice, I am glad they gave me a ‘normal’ one.

The staff gave me a general spiel on what to expect tonight, but they didn't explain how unbearable the waiting is. I don’t have my phone on me, but it feels as if I have been standing here for at least fifteen minutes. Is it supposed to heighten the experience? All it is doing is making me wonder if my match backed out. That couldn’t happen, right? He didn’t see me walk in and decide I didn’t meet his standards? Or read my file and think I’m too boring and ask for someone else?

That’s what my ex, Phil, did. Technically, he wanted to keep me. It was a have his cake and eat it, too, situation. Aka do dirty, kinky things, just not to me, hiswife,because he “respected me too much” and I was the “future mother of his children.”

I’m sure he assumed I wouldn’t be any good at them. Which is probably what this guy is thinking, too. He read my file and figured I would never be good enough. A man who is a member of a sex club has to be good in bed. Why would he want to have sex with someone who hasn’t had sex for months and before that usually had missionary once a week with the lights off? There are surely way more skilled partners he could have. I saw the women in the bar when we arrived. I don’t hold a candle to all that leather and fishnets.

As I fall deeper into my spiraling mind, there is a knock on the door and the handle turns. Oh God, what am I supposed to do? Should I already be in bed? Naked? Should I have been by the door to greet him? Before I can move from where I’m rooted in the middle of the space, a behemoth of a man steps inside. My jaw drops.

This may be the sexiest man I have ever seen. Where Phil was all slender limbs, this guy is buff with a capital B. His broad shoulders are almost as impressive as the scruff-covered chiseled jaw. It would have taken Phil a week to grow what I suspect this guy considers a five o’clock shadow. He has on a mask over half his face, but it doesn’t distract from the piercing, pale blue eyes that are locked in on me.

As he makes his way further into the room, I am hit by how big he is. Sure, those shoulders were hard to miss, but he’s also crazy tall. The man has over a foot on me. I am pretty short at 5’1” but if I had to guess, I’d say he is 6’4” on a bad day. How is this going to work logistically with that much of a size difference? I start to run through scenarios in my head, but I am interrupted by his deep, smooth voice.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night, you dirty little slut? As much as I enjoy your eyes devouring me, I have plans to fuck them into the back of your head,” he booms. All responses fall out of my head as I stare at him, stunned. That is not exactly the opener I was expecting. Realizing I’m frozen in place, he continues.

“Not used to man calling it like he sees it? Not used to a man ready to use your body for his pleasure? Don’t worry, if you’re a good little whore, I’ll make sure you’re so exhausted you sleep for a week,” he croons. “Come here.”

Slut? Whore? Why is this guy talking to me this way? I didn’t specifically list names I did and did not want to be called, but the vibe he’s got going does not match what I filled out. Maybe he has a thing for dirty talk? Although in most of the books I read, dirty talk usually involves being called a “good girl.” I’m not sure why I got “dirty little slut” guy. Probably the stupid dress Tiffany forced me to wear.

Not knowing what else to do, I slowly move towards him until I’m a foot away. Any closer and I’d have to crane my neck to see his face.

“She does know how to obey. That’s good, pet,” he taunts. “Turn around.”

I spin around tentatively until my back is to him. We’re facing a floor-length mirror and I can see him behind me. His eyes travel up and down my body appraisingly until they meet mine in the reflection.

“Do you remember everything they went over in your paperwork?” he asks. When I nod, his jaw ticks before he utters, “Words.”

“Yes,” I reply softly, even though at this precise moment I don’t think I could even remember my own name. I recall learning about limits and consent and colors. But I am thrown so far off-kilter by his behavior and how hot he is that I can’t seem to remember any of those details.

“Normally, I’d tell a slut like you to get on your knees, but I don’t think you’d be able to reach my cock from there,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Take off your dress and kneel on the bed.”

When I hesitate, he lands a sharp slap on my ass. “Move!”

I scurry over to the bed at his command. I haven’t said more than one word the entire time he’s been here. Internally, I am panicking. Spanking was a soft limit for me. I am a little freaked out that he went there already. I mean it wasn’t aspankingspanking, but still. If this is where we are starting the night, I am nervous to see where we end up.

I didn’t expect hearts and flowers when finding a hook up at a sex club, but this guy doesn’t appear all that interested in me. My bar isn’t that high. I am mostly hoping for an assisted orgasm from someone who makes me feel more desirable than I did with my ex-husband. It’s been a long time since someone wanted me and this encounter has yet to change my assumption that no one could.

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