Easy

by Donna Alam

  I push away from my desk. After spending hours looking at figures, and not the mathematical kind, I’m done. I’d spent the morning interviewing for new staff for both clubs. Some would say it’s unethical to ask candidates to attend our group interviews in their underwear, but it’s important to know our future employees are comfortable in both their sexuality and their own skin. Wait and bar staff within the Den need to be unfazed by nakedness as well as prepared to see things that cannot be unseen.

  The afternoon had been taken up by meetings with a couple of talent management reps. Patrons of the Den pay a pretty packet to be members, and I like to make sure they’re provided with entertainment beyond their fellow member exhibitionists.

  The sun is setting, the club a hum of activity in preparation for Saturday night. Still in my office overlooking the main salon, I’m still trying to clear my head of last night. All day long, my mystery blonde has occupied space in my head, leaving me little else to concentrate on. It’s odd. I usually find a little dominance leaves me in a productive mood, but the opposite has been true today.

  Last night was . . . different. And for that, I’m glad. She may not have given me her name, but she gifted me her secrets.

  As I’d stirred from sleep this morning and sensed I was alone in my bed, for once, it didn’t feel like relief. I was oddly disappointed not to wake wrapped in strange girl and cotton sheets. It was an unusual and unwelcome realisation for someone who, more often than not, will order his bed partners a cab shortly following the deed or scene. Quite honestly, I don’t often have use for a bed when fucking. But last night had been different. Despite my reputation, I haven’t found anyone who had interested me like this girl.

  Louise. An American from Massachusetts, or was it Maine? I can’t recall, not that she’d given me her name at all. We’d both had a bit to drink before we’d gotten to those details, and I’d been both intrigued and amused when she’d pressed her finger to my lips when pushed.

  ‘It’s better this way,’ she’d whispered.

  An unusual point of view, but maybe anonymity added to the experience for her. But there are other ways to skin a cat. Or find a name. I’d watched her last night in the public bar, dressed more for the office than a club. She’d looked carefree and a little reckless and, as the evening progressed, in the mood to fuck.

  The whole evening was a step out of the ordinary for me. Let’s just say, the past two years has put me off casual fucking. That’s not to say I don’t play the odd scene or screw the occasional woman when the urge arises, but on the whole, I’ve become more solitary lately. Not that most people would believe this. They like the myth, not the man.

  Last night was uncommon for a lot of reasons. I’d intended to spend the evening at work and, as such, had planned to check in on both managers before heading to my office next door. Plans had changed when I’d met a client on the way in to the more mainstream of my clubs. He’s a regular at The Den and was in the mood to chat. Perhaps client doesn’t cover it. Kit Tremaine is a hotshot hotelier I’d been talking my expansion plans over with. So I’d gone to the bar to have a quick word with the bar manager on duty but also to order a round of drinks. As I’d waited for my order, I found myself eavesdropping on the conversation of two girls at the bar. Like piano keys, one light, one dark, and although they weren’t looking my way, I sensed they were talking about me . . .

  ‘He’s pretty cute,’ the blonde had said in an American accent that was hard to place. ‘But aren’t they all? Over here, I mean. Especially when they talk.’

  Her friend replied with something so ridiculous I found myself fighting a burgeoning laugh.

  ‘How many times must I tell you? That’s not what we want them to use their mouths for.’ The dark-haired girl threw her head back, laughing throatily.

  I found myself smiling along, something that doesn’t happen much these days. Maybe I’d become cynical. Maybe that’s what owning a sex club meant. That and . . . well, I’m not thinking about her today.

  But I like a woman who knows what she wants. One who isn’t afraid to say or admit. And last night? Louise certainly did.

  ‘Sweetie,’ the dark one called out to the new barman, Trey, gesturing to both of their glasses. ‘Two more of these, if you wouldn’t mind. And if you’re a good little boy, I’ll buy you a nightcap later.’

  I doubt she’d have been the only one hitting on Trey. I’d heard he was quite popular with both sexes. Good looking and affable. And apparently incredibly well-hung. Trey’s expression barely altered but for the incline of one fair brow. I wondered what his response would have been had his boss not been present while also considering giving him a trial shift at The Den.

  ‘That man?’ said the dark-haired girl. ‘The best sex I’ve ever had. He made my eyes roll so far back in my head I swear I could see the Farrow and Ball.’

  ‘Dare I ask?’ Trepidation filled the blonde’s words.

  ‘The wallpaper, love.’

  ‘Come on,’ Louise, as I’d find out later, pleaded. ‘There’s a booth free. I need to sit down; my feet are killing me.’ She’d turned quite suddenly, her blonde ponytail swinging over one shoulder, and fuck if the sight of that didn’t do something to my dick.

  I love a ponytail wrapped in my fist. Love how the first tug creates a resistance and crave how quickly it melts when accompanied by a kiss. By teeth against her bottom lip. As she walked away, my eyes followed her high heels, her tanned and toned legs, and her round arse . . . all the way to the booth next to where Kit was sitting, putting the girl in my direct line of sight.

  I took my seat and watched, waiting for her to return my gaze. Observed as, menu in hand, she narrowed her eyes as though experiencing trouble reading it. I wondered if she’d left her glasses at the office—they were dressed so. I wondered if she were the kind of woman who wore cotton or lace. Wondered how she’d feel wrapped around me. At some point, she’d responded to her friend—I hadn’t heard the question, but assumed they were still on the topic of the barman.

  ‘Not really my type. I prefer someone a little more . . . professional looking. My downfall? A man in a sharp suit.’

  The pitch of her friend’s response had been too low for me to catch, but when Louise raised her head, our gazes met. Lifting an enquiring brow, I’d pointedly glanced down. Yes, my shirt was open at the neck, but my suit? Tailor made. Saville Row all the way. Her mouth formed a soft “o” at my suggestion, eliciting a twitch in my pants. I’d felt the urge to introduce myself—I do have a soft spot for disconcerted women—but I’d managed to curtail the urge.

  Lately, I’ve found it’s best not to get involved, no matter how tempting the prospect sounds. She seemed to make a concerted effort to ignore me from then on. And she was good at it, too; her eyes didn’t meet mine once. And I watched. And stayed, telling myself I was enjoying Kit’s company and the change of scenery. More drinks were ordered, others joining the pair shortly after; men and women, all dressed similarly. My theory of an office outing confirmed. One guy—grey suit, fair hair—made a play for Louise, but she rebuffed him easily as though his interest was a long-standing joke. I could see at once it wasn’t, for one party, at least, but grey suit played along then moved along to other more willing prospects.

  I couldn’t make myself leave after that. Not even as Kit left for next door and his assignation with the married couple he’s currently fucking. I sat alone, observing the group dynamic from a distance while biting back the need building inside me. I’d like to think fate rather than tequila pushed her into my lap. Despite splashing me with her cocktail, she wasn’t what I’d call drunk, but uninhibited. Definitely well lubricated, her attitude a complete turnaround. Together, we’d drank more, and it was she who’d suggested, rather euphemistically, that we retire to somewhere quieter.

  My mouth curls into a half smile as I recall her coy suggestion. And her reaction as I’d answered.

  I told her I’d fuck her, but that I enjoy sex a certain way. While I
hadn’t expected her to run from me screaming, I had foreseen her at least drawing away. And true to my experience, her smile faltered as was often the way with the inexperienced. No matter how daring they think themselves. I’d leaned back in my chair, allowing her to move from my embrace, but she didn’t move. She’d just stared at me from under her lashes, the light from the dance floor turning her hazel gaze from a mild flicker to a flame. To my absolute surprise and delight, she’d asked me in a small voice to elaborate.

  Fuck. I have work to do. I can’t sit here reminiscing all day. I head to my private bathroom and throw a couple of handfuls of water against my face. In the mirror, my tired expression stares back at me. Tired and behind on work, but so worth it as I get lost in the feeling of my abdomen tightening against the roundness of her arse.

  ‘It wasn’t real,’ I tell my reflection.

  Just because I can recall every tremble and shudder doesn’t mean we had a connection. And she didn’t tell me her name for a reason. We were each just fulfilling a primal need last night. She was merely walking on the wild side, and I was breaking a dry spell.

  And we’d both been pretty clear on our desires.

  She’d wanted to be bound. Tied like a sacrificial lamb. I’d told her I’d fuck her for my pleasure. And to both of our satisfaction, I had.

  I’d fucked her thoroughly while limiting her movements and not allowing her to contribute to the act. Which isn’t strictly true, my expression reminds me, an almost rueful smile reflects back. My cock stiffens as I recall the sensation of her insides tightening greedily, almost pushing me over the edge. And that was all her pleasure, the lines blurring further as I’d slammed into her again and again. Unbidden, my mind slips back to that precise moment . . .

  As I’d fast approached the last point for lucid thought, I’d gripped her tits tight, and she’d groaned. Sweat glistened against her neck, and I’d bent forward, tasting it with my tongue before biting her perfect flesh.

  I’d drawn my body lower against hers as she’d climbed higher, imploding powerfully, calling out, her body willing mine on. I’d pushed her arse higher, my hands tight on the flesh of her hips, pulling her back, her body pounding to my very hilt. I’d come hard, shooting hotly, snarling and grinding, growling obscenities and calling out abhorrent words.

  Her delicate hands were gold against the pale of the sheets, balled into fists as she writhed under me in the last throes of her own ecstasy, milking sensation from me. Collapsing next to her, I’d held her, my body already mourning the loss of her wet warmth. My heart beat wildly as I’d moved the mass of tangled hair from her cheek. She was smiling, her eyes almost closed, and on the very edge of sleep.

  ‘Was awesome,’ she’d murmured, her tone filled with that uniquely sleepy satisfaction that only comes from one kind of physical exhaustion. She’d kissed her own fingers then placed them against my lips. The action was unexpected and somehow more intimate than what we’d just done. I caught her retreating hand and brought them back to my mouth, kissing the tips before returning her hand to the bed. ‘Didn’t use the cuffs,’ she murmured, so sleepily subdued.

  The truth was I hadn’t thought; I’d just needed to be inside her at that point. Instead of admitting this, I’d just growled, ‘Maybe you weren’t a good enough girl.’

  She snorted, might’ve even rolled her eyes, but when she didn’t rise to the bait, I kissed her forehead and murmured, ‘Next time.’

  In the bathroom mirror, my expression blinks back as I recall that, to both our satisfaction, they’d been used later during the night. But I’d expected—wanted—there to be at least one more next time before morning fully broke and we parted.

  In my arms, she shifted, and her eyelids became heavy. I hadn’t wanted her to leave. She’d rolled away, seemingly not the type for post-coital canoodling. Ordinarily, this would’ve been more than fine, but for some reason, this time it didn’t feel right. I’d pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind, wondering if I should loosen her bra, but then she’d sat up, feeding her hands behind her back. Pulling the bra down her arms, she’d shoved it against my chest and immediately lay down again, releasing a very soft breath.

  Standing and stripping completely, I’d dealt with the first of the night’s condoms then slid back under the warm sheets. Pulling her body to me, I’d breathed out in relief at the touch of her warm skin. Settling into the soft pillow, I was utterly content.

  Back in the softly lit bathroom on this cold Sunday, I suddenly realise something monumental. Something I’d hereto missed. I’d taken her back to my house—my place of sanctuary. I hadn’t fucked her in my apartment, here, above the club. How come I’d only just realised that?

  Chapter Two

  LOUISE

  Everyone has one-night stands

  At home on Sunday evening, I curled into the arm of the sofa with a glass of wine by my side and a pile of work reports on my lap, my mind still lingering over last night. The thoughts are seductive, and my physical reactions to them very real. I rub my bare arms, telling myself my skin still tingled from my second cold shower of the day, the result of Flo using all the hot water, rather than some kind of sensory memory.

  ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like to tag along?’ Flora asks, fastening the clasp of her earring. ‘You know what they say about all work and no play.’

  ‘Who’s they?’ I counter, not really expecting a response.

  ‘Luke from the office, for one.’

  Flo’s use of an even tone causes me to lift my eyes from the row of columns holding my attention. Sliding my glasses higher on my nose, I realise she’s wearing my Michael Kors dress. I knew she’d been hunting for more than my fedora yesterday.

  ‘You don’t mind if I borrow it, do you?’ she asks, smoothing the material against her thighs.

  ‘Would it matter if I said yes?’ I remonstrate.

  ‘You wouldn’t because you’re a darling and I love you for it.’

  ‘And you’re the bitch who stole all the hot water. Again.’

  Laughing, Flo murmurs something about it not being her fault the boiler was old, and that she’d mention it to her father. I decide not to point out she already had, spending the money on a long weekend in Marbella because she longed to feel the sun again.

  ‘Well, I’m off,’ Flo says, sliding her clutch from the console table. ‘You’re sure I can’t tempt you to a couple of glasses of pinot noir in the company of a cute venture capitalist?’

  ‘You know he’s likely investing in a quick fuck later on, right?’

  ‘That’s what I’m counting on, sweets,’ she responds, her words followed by a tinkling laugh. ‘And he has a friend.’

  ‘Feel free to pass on my heartiest congratulations. And no,’ I reiterate as she looks about to speak again. ‘Money men have no soul.’

  ‘No, but they have plenty of coinage,’ she replies, rubbing her index finger and thumb together to emphasise her point. Flo spends her life perpetually overspent, even working full time and receiving an allowance from her dear old dad. She’s the essence of high maintenance. ‘Lou?’ she questions.

  ‘Please don’t call me that. It makes me sound like a public convenience.’

  ‘Fine. Louise. Please don’t tell me you’re going to spend your evening staring at work reports?’

  ‘Then don’t ask.’

  ‘How about I—’

  ‘Oh, no thanks,’ I retort as quick as a flash. ‘Not after last time.’

  ‘What? Is it a crime to ask one’s friend if she’d like to see some penis pictures? It’s what I look at when I’m bored. Anyway,’ she adds, pretending to be annoyed. ‘I was only going to loan you that book I told you about.’

  ‘The book of dicks? Not thanks. I’ll be fine.’ I make a shooing motion with my hand. I don’t need to borrow literature. My Kindle is kind of heavy with a very specific kind. ‘Get gone.’

  ‘Fine,’ she responds, sticking out her tongue. ‘Some people just refuse to be helped.’ She giggles,
ducking as the scatter cushion I throw narrowly misses her head. ‘Ciao, darling. Don’t wait up for me!’

  I return to the row of numbers, trying to find my place again. I’ve never taken Flora up on her offer of arranged dates, but for once, I feel a little out of place. But I’d promised myself this year in England would be one of focus—of culture and promise—not about me. Yet my mind can’t help but return to one man in particular. A man of good looks and urbane charm. A man with a dominant streak that called to me.

  And I hadn’t even asked him his name.

  I’d hoped last night would help not hinder how I’ve felt lately. I’d expected to feel unwound rather than the other way around. Taking off my glasses, I rub my eyes and sigh. What was it he—my stranger—had said?

  There’s freedom in a little bondage. Sometimes, a person needs to be tied to feel free.

  Must be wonderful to allow yourself, I find myself thinking. And remembering how freeing it had been.

  Chapter Three

  LOUISE

  The last thing I want to do is hurt you.

  Friday afternoon. The week has passed so quickly, the days blurring like scenery viewed from a travelling car. I tried to put the events of last weekend behind me as best I could, but the memories are like waves that rise suddenly, engulfing me. Leaving me breathless and even a little wet. Even now, in this professional setting in a room full of my peers, my mind wanders back down that track. The meeting turns to inconsequence, and my thoughts return to his bed, though come back abruptly as my phone buzzes with a text. I stare at my phone for a beat as the meeting carries on around me, the message not making sense. A misdialled number? A threat meant for someone else? My mind is still working on delay as the text is followed immediately by another.