Inhibitions

by Mattie Bowman

  I needed to be Mrs. Presley Grady and behave accordingly.

  Owen shifted next to me, rolling closer in his sleep. A chill raced across my skin when his hand brushed the tips of my fingers underneath the blanket.

  Well, at least attraction wasn’t going to be an issue.

  4 Owen

  “Do you mind if I keep going?” Grant asked as Presley and I entered his office—which looked nothing like a typical office. It was a wide open room with floor to ceiling windows letting in the early morning sun, one large couch much like the one in our suite, and the rest of the space was only occupied by a lone yoga mat and a see-through fridge in the corner stocked with water bottles and beer.

  “Not at all,” Presley answered him, waving him onward as she took a seat on the edge of the couch, perched as if any moment she could take flight.

  “Thank you,” he said, continuing his movements on the mat—which were poses I’d really rather not see a dude do. “I find it easier to work if I’m constantly moving,” he continued.

  His hair was pulled back in some kind of bun at the back of his head, and I found myself struggling to read him. He was definitely least what I expected out of a person who was most certainly a millionaire—one who made his riches off analyzing couples and their innermost fantasies. When Presley had described him, I had pictured an elderly gentleman with a wall full of PHDs, a brightly colored robe with some kind of crest patch sewed on it, and a pipe in his mouth—not someone only a few years older than myself who looked like he could be the lead singer in a rock band.

  “How’d you two sleep?” He asked, balancing on one arm and pointing the other toward the ceiling.

  “Like a rock,” I said.

  “Interesting.” He turned to the other side, mimicking the move on his other arm. “Did you find your suite to your satisfaction?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Presley said.

  “Wonderful.” He hopped up onto his bare feet, and I focused extremely hard on the lone painting he had on the wall. Fuck the dude was wearing tight pants that hid nothing—I was all for freedom to choose clothing—but damn I didn’t need to see his junk. “Anderson relayed to me earlier that you both signed all necessary consent forms. And, Presley, since you’re writing the article, I thank you for your patience with the adjusted disclosure form—we had to whip up something special to accommodate what you can and can’t report. Did you have any more questions about any of those or are we good to dive right in?”

  I brought my gaze to Presley, who pursed her lips at me in question. The consent forms were pretty basic—simple clauses where we agreed to not sue the resort for any number of reasons that could occur during our stay, as well as the clear statement that we did not, in fact, have to participate in any of the fantasies they set up for us but there would be no refunds regardless of how long we took part in them or not.

  “We’re good,” I said, nodding at Presley.

  “Excellent!” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together as his eyes darted between us. I wrapped an arm around Presley’s shoulders when his gaze lingered a little too long upon her. I wasn’t marking my territory or anything, but on sheer principle, the dude shouldn’t be eyeing someone who he knew to be engaged.

  He pointed at her. “Presley, my dear, tomorrow will be the first fantasy we’ve set up for the two of you. It will focus on something we concluded from your answers to our tests.”

  She wrung her hands out in her lap but smiled. “Great.”

  Grant smirked at her. “It’s completely natural to be nervous, but I assure you, we handle every single event here with the utmost care. You are in good hands.”

  “Of course,” she said, sighing. “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you that. It would ruin the pleasure of surprise and the beauty of experience.”

  “Okay,” she said. “It’s just…”

  I focused on her, the subtle tension in her lips as she searched for the right words, the slight shift in her position on the edge of the sofa. She was in knots. Didn’t she know I wouldn’t let anything happen to her?

  “Yes?” Grant urged her on.

  She glanced at me and then down at her hands. “What if Owen isn’t a fan of what you drew from my answers?”

  Grant stretched his arms over his head and dove back down to the mat, holding a plank pose. “That’s usually the first question everyone asks me. And I’ll tell you the same thing I tell everyone else—there is no right or wrong feeling here at Inhibitions. You taste as much or as little of this world as you like, as long as you are prepared to be completely open and honest with each other and be willing to communicate those feelings. That is the key to everything. If one of you isn’t feeling the other’s fantasy, speak it. Talk it out. Figure out a compromise or a new idea or…well, decide that maybe you’re not so compatible after all.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly, still holding his pose.

  “The point of your stay here,” he continued. “is to fully expose yourself to your partner and make sure you’re both prepared to love the other person fully and without hesitation.” He broke his plank and dropped to the mat, arching his head to the ceiling. “This is about you two. This is what separates Inhibitions from average hedonism resorts—though those do have their place. In your case, we’re here to make sure you’re ready to start your lives together. In others, we help married couples reconnect. The divorce rate is skyrocketing in this country because—in my opinion—some people rush in because they’re in love with the idea of marriage and not really with the other person. It takes full exposure to really fall in love, to trust someone so implicitly that you’d divulge your darkest secrets, your wildest dreams, and your most hopeful wants. That is what I do here—I give you the tools necessary to see the other person in their purest form—and I do it by studying you. That is the reason for all the tests, to let me figure out what makes each of you tick, and then see if you fit together like a puzzle or not.” He smiled. “Trust me; no one has ever left here heartbroken. By the end of the program, you’ll be able to see a clear path—and whether that path leads you down the aisle or on a new one—that will be up to you.”

  I looked back at Presley letting her see the confidence in my eyes. We would nail this. We already talked everything out anyway—of course, we’d never gone into too much detail about sexual stuff, but how different could it be from any other situation we were presented with? And though the end result wouldn’t end in a wedding, it would end with Presley landing a full-time gig at the job of her dreams. I’d make damn sure of that.

  Grant popped up again. “Are you ready to fully give yourself over and let go of all your inhibitions?”

  Presley glanced at me, her blue-green eyes locking with mine.

  “Yes,” I answered for us both. “We are.”

  “Perfect.” He said. “The day is yours. Please feel free to explore the grounds, take a dip in our pool, visit the spa, or have a go at the nightclub. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”

  I stood up, offering my hand to Presley. She took it, and I didn’t let it go as we walked toward the door.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, stopping us before we could exit. “What are the Wonderland rooms?”

  Grant grinned as he balanced on one foot, extending his other leg backward all the way. I shook my head, shocked that he didn’t even shake. Maybe I needed to talk to Craig about incorporating yoga into our routines—I was constantly searching for better stability in the ring.

  “That’s usually the second question.” He smiled at her and proceeded to grab his foot that was in the air and bend it to where it practically touched the back of his head. Holy shit. The guy was unorthodox, sure, but I had to give the man credit, he was strong. Doubt he could take me in the ring, but he’d be able to hold his own. He glanced at me as if he could feel the mad respect I was silently giving him. “And,” he continued, not budging. “You will gain full access to those rooms once you’ve completed two fantasies. The Wonderland rooms are a mor
e of a concentrated dose of fantasy. We want to get your toes wet first.” He winked at Presley as we walked out of the room.

  “That was interesting,” I said, squeezing her hand before letting it drop as we made the trek down the long hallway.

  “I like him.” She shrugged. “He’s quite the character. It’ll be fun writing about him.”

  “You think he was doing all those stunts because he hopes you’ll swoon in your article about how limber he is?” I joked.

  “I have no idea.” She chuckled. “Honestly, that seemed perfectly natural to him. You saw his office, not much like you would expect from a CEO. I like the unexpectedness about him and how fitting, as this place will be nothing but surprises from here on out.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, and I nudged her. “Relax. This is going to be a piece of cake.”

  “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve totally got this. You’re going to get one hell of a story, no doubt.”

  Her smile made my chest puff out just a fraction. Nothing made me as proud as planting a smile on her perfect pink lips. “Now, let’s go scope out the restaurant. Then after lunch, I’m going to get you wet.”

  Her brisk pace came to an abrupt stop, her mouth nearly gaping. “Excuse me?”

  I moved closer to her. “What? You’ll love…swimming.” I laughed so hard my sides hurt and I cocked an eyebrow at her.

  She joined in, smacking me lightly on the chest. “You are so obnoxious.”

  “Yeah,” I said, wrapping my arm around her and tugging her along. “One of the reasons why you love me.”

  “True,” she said. “One of many.”

  “Presley?” I banged on the bedroom door. “You ready or what?”

  She opened the door, still in the shorts and T-shirt she’d put on after the pool.

  “You’re not dressed,” I said, chiding her. Her eyes widened when she took in my button down and slacks combo.

  “You were serious?” She asked. “I was going to take a nap.”

  “Oh no, you’re not. You’re on the job. We have to scope out every inch of this place, including the club.”

  She groaned and turned back into the room, leaving the door open, so I followed her in. “We’ve got two weeks here. We don’t have to do it all in one day. Aren’t you the least bit exhausted from the pool?”

  “Nope.” I sunk onto the bed. “Hurry up,” I teased as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

  “Not all of us are boxers with unlimited energy supplies!” she hollered.

  I chuckled. “I’m always ready to start training you if you’re interested in bringing up your game.”

  I could practically hear her eyes roll from the bathroom.

  The pool had been just as luxurious as our suite—an indoor saltwater pool with a ceiling made up of tinted glass so swimmers could look up at the sky while floating on their backs. So far the retreat had been nothing but first class all the way and I didn’t even want to know what Presley’s boss had shelled out for the premiere package she’d hooked us up with.

  Tomorrow’s task flooded my mind, as it had several times since we’d left Grant’s office. The curiosity over what waited for us was like an itch I couldn’t reach but it was just this side of exciting. I couldn’t deny the wonder revolving around the only piece of Presley I’d never seen before—her sexual side.

  I shifted on the bed, rubbing my palms together. I tried to focus on what really mattered, which was making sure to watch her as carefully as possible tomorrow. Because, while I doubted there was anything Grant could throw at me that would make me uncomfortable, I could think of plenty that would Presley. And she was already in knots over it—the woman couldn’t stand the unknown. She liked to be in control of everything. Always.

  The thought made me guess her first fantasy would be something with whips and chains and I internally flinched. What if she had to chain me up and whip me into submission to work out those control issues? I laughed to myself, shocked by my complete openness to the idea. Only with Presley would that ever be possible.

  “What are you laughing at?” she asked, coming out of the bathroom in a gold dress that cut off right before her knees. One shoulder was bare while the other held the dress up with one thin strap.

  I swallowed hard, standing quicker than I meant to. “Nothing,” I finally answered her. “Just trying to guess what tomorrow will be. You have an idea?”

  A flush raked her cheeks, and she tossed some of her hair to the side. “Not a clue.”

  “Come on. You have to have some clue.”

  “I honestly don’t. Could you easily say what yours will be?”

  I thought about all the questions on the tests we’d taken, how random some had been and how others had seemed crazy specific. “I guess you’re right.” It was hard to tell what Grant would determine after reading our answers. “Still, you have to have a fantasy you’ve always wanted to try. Maybe that’ll be it.”

  “Maybe,” she said and smirked.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  My shoulders dropped. “Why not?”

  “It’s more fun watching you try to figure me out.” She reached out to me, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt before taking a step back and nodding.

  “Please, I know you better than anyone. I don’t have to try to figure you out.”

  She slit her eyes at me in a challenge. “You know most of me, Owen. But you have to realize you don’t know that part of me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re still you. I’m an expert in you.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Fine. If you can guess the fantasy I’m thinking about; then we can act it out right here, right now. No strings from the job attached.”

  My mouth dropped and the blood racing through my veins turned hot. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Try me.” She popped her hands on her hips as she raised her chin.

  I licked my lips, my mind overrun with a million different scenarios I pictured her taking pleasure in. “I see something with a whip,” I said, taking from my earlier thoughts.

  “Not even close.”

  The air left my lungs in a hurry.

  She tapped my chest. “Come on. Dancing was your idea.”

  “Right,” I said, following her out of the room.

  Anderson met us in the lobby. “Evening,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “Is there anything I can get you before you head into the club?”

  I knitted my eyebrows at him. “How’d you know we were going to the club?” This kid popped up everywhere—overly-nice though he may be—and I was starting to wonder if he had bugged our room or something equally insane.

  Presley chuckled at my side as Anderson’s eyes trailed her up and down her dress.

  “We’re good, thanks.”

  “I’m always around.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting that.” I smiled at him and put my hand on the small of Presley’s back to urge her forward.

  “One quick thing, Presley,” he stopped us, focusing his attention on her. The way he said her name made it seem like he had a hard time accepting her insistence that he call her by her first name and not her future last one. “I’ll come and collect you tomorrow an hour before your first fantasy. During this time, you’ll have a private session with Grant, where he will prep you for the reveal. Once you’re ready and have given word, I’ll bring Mr. Grady to the designated place.”

  “Hold up,” I said, raising my hand like I was back in high school—clueless and pissed off. “What do you mean a private session? And how the hell does he prep her?” Horrible visions flashed in my head—the overtly charismatic owner getting her drunk to loosen her up or giving her some kind of holistic full body massage just to get his hands on her.

  Yeah. I’m a little overprotective of her. Fucking sue me.

  “I’m sure it’s just to help me understand how the fantasy room will work and perhaps why he chose
the scenario for me?” Presley offered, and I took a calming breath. I forced my irrational thoughts to the back of my mind.

  She was a grown woman, smart and quick as hell. It wouldn’t be easy to pull a move on her she didn’t want, but damn, she was Presley. My best friend. And ever since I had to witness her complete destruction by that asshat David, I’d promised myself I would always take care of her. Hence, showing up to this gig as a fake fiancé in the first place.

  Of course, if she knew just how much of a role I’d played in her breakup, she wouldn’t speak to me ever again—much less play pretend house for two weeks. The guilt twisted my gut—like it always did—even though it’d been over a year since it happened, but I crushed the gritty sensation with the knowledge that David was the biggest douche around, and nothing I did would’ve changed that.

  “Precisely,” Anderson said, grounding me in the present. “Have fun.” He slowly walked past us, but he strolled like he didn’t have a particular destination in mind.

  “Ten to one he pops up in the club,” I said and continued the walk down the long corridor off the entrance that led to the resort’s nightclub.

  “I almost feel sorry for him,” Presley said.

  “Why?”

  “Could you imagine? Being assigned to a couple for two whole weeks. Having to follow them around and wait on them hand and foot? Make sure they’re happy?”

  “I guess it could be horrible if he didn’t have a couple as cool as us.”

  “True. We are pretty amazing.” A flush bloomed behind her cheeks, and the tension in my muscles relaxed, my protective trigger silencing.

  We passed a few other couples on our way to the club, some so engrossed in groping it was a wonder they managed to make it back to their rooms at all. A tightness in my chest came rushing back, and I rubbed at the spot as another staff member held one of the huge double doors open for us. I needed to track down the gym in the morning and get in a quick workout. My body was already punishing me for missing two days after training every day for the past six months straight.