But alcohol can also cut down on the feelings. Dull the nerves in my cock, slow my heart rate, and muddle my brain. If I’m going to belong to a sex club, I sure as shit don’t want to lose any of those functions.

“How’s business?” Jerico asks as I wait for my water.

“It’s Vegas and I own a thriving casino,” I say with a dry grin. “How do you think it’s going?”

Jerico chuckles and nods in understanding, but then says, “I don’t get it. You’re one of the hottest bachelors in this town, so wealthy most think you’ve sold your soul to the devil, but then you’re here almost every night banging some anonymous chick. You’re at an age where you should be getting married and having babies.”

I just shake my head and smirk. We’ve become pretty good friends over the last few years since this club opened, so he should know that’s a ludicrous statement to make about me. “Dude… just because you’ve found the perfect woman and want to spend all your little swimmers in the hopes of making babies doesn’t mean every man feels that way.”

“Aren’t you worried about being alone when you’re old and decrepit?” Jerico jokes. “You’re what… thirty-five or so?”

“Thirty-six.” I take the bottled water from the bartender and push a twenty his way, telling him, “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Walsh,” the bartender says. No clue what his name is, but everyone knows my name here. Not only do I put on a good show for the other patrons to enjoy, but I also tip insanely well.

Turning back to Jerico, I feel the need to defend my age and single status. “Besides… did the marriage routine once. Wasn’t all that great. And thirty-six is far from being on the verge of going into a nursing home.”

“I hear ya, man,” Jerico says, and then looks at his watch. “I have to get going. I happen to have a hot-as-hell woman at home waiting for me.”

“Have fun,” I say with a wink, then turn to walk toward the door that will lead me into a world of debauchery. I told Jerico to have fun, but honestly… fucking his honey on the bed missionary style is not my idea of fun. But more power to him.

As I weave my way through the crowd, I’m stopped a few times by people wanting to chat. Some are men who want to be like me, and so they act like foolish puppies in their hero worship. Some are women wanting a taste of what I can offer.

As many people who stop me, twice as many look away, not wanting to make eye contact. The men who do that are jealous because I get the pick of the women. The women who do it are terrified I might draw them in, and I’m a demanding son of a bitch when I decide to give you my cock. If a woman says “yes” to me, then she’d better be prepared for a wild and bumpy ride that could leave her sore and maybe even a bit bruised.

I’m not every woman’s cup of tea.

When I make it to the foyer on the other side of the Social Room, I hesitate for only a minute. I spent last night in the Silo, and I’ll be there tomorrow evening for the Masquerade opener. I’m not feeling the Orgy Room right now because I’m also feeling a bit selfish, and in that room, I tend to share the spoils.

Nope. Tonight, I want a more laid-back atmosphere and I want a woman riding me, so I choose The Waterfall Room and turn left.

When I enter, I don’t bother to appreciate the lavish decor of high-quality furniture and custom fabrics. I only take a moment to observe the woman lying on her back under the waterfall while some dude eats her out and the water cascades down on them.

After a quick survey, I hone in on an empty couch beside the pool. I uncap my water as I stride there, not making eye contact with anyone. Once I take a swallow, I close the bottle and then set it on the table beside the couch. I undo my belt and pull it free, then unzip my jeans and pull my cock out.

I keep one booted foot firmly on the floor and plant my other on the cushion as I lean back and start to stroke myself.

It takes thirty seconds for a woman to approach me, and I lazily slide my eyes up to take her in. Blonde bombshell.

Enough said.

“Want a ride?” I ask, nodding toward my impressively large erection.

She licks her lips and nods.

“Get naked, then.”

She does.

When she starts toward the couch to presumably straddle me, I shake my head. “Get yourself wet for me.”

“But I am,” she coos.

I reach out with my free hand, push it between legs that spread wide for me, and brush my finger through her bare lips. “Nice piercing,” I comment as I brush against warmed metal. She’s got a stud above her clit.

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