I never understood online dating. The concept of making a connection through digital written words seems almost impossible.
Not that what I’m doing at this moment is technically dating.
Leaning forward in my chair—a massive executive design made of supple Italian leather—I type a reply to @elencosti89. Tonight. 11pm. Have a blindfold on. And you should be a little afraid.
I consider my choice of words before I hit send. I’ve learned enough about this woman to know fear is part of her turn on. I don’t know her full name—just her user id of @elencosti89—but I do know her darkest fantasies.
When we connected through the new Wicked Horse Vegas Fantasy app, she admitted her desire to give up absolute control to a stranger. That meant she was going to lay her body out for her partner to use in any way he chose, and she would have no say in it.
She also admitted to being fearful in her submission, and I’m surprised by how much that interests me. I have no clue the reasons behind her wanting to do this, but it’s fascinating fear is a motivator for her.
I’m shocked because I can’t remember the last time I’ve been intrigued by a woman.
Even more unusual is the fact we haven’t met yet. I’ve only seen a picture of her, and there’s no doubt I’m attracted to the petite woman with chocolate-brown hair and matching eyes. She has no idea what I look like as I didn’t bother uploading a photo to the app. I’m not hiding my identity or insecure in my looks. Quite the opposite… I know women find me incredibly attractive.
I just didn’t have time. My life is so busy that when the owner, Jerico Jameson, told me about the new fantasy service at the Wicked Horse that matches people by proclivities, I gave it a cursory overview and hastily plugged in the bare necessities of information. I did this after a long day of surgery while I was eating a dried-out bagel with suspect cream cheese from my fridge. Such is the life of a renowned neurosurgeon who concentrates on saving lives and not on proper nutrition.
My app chimes before I can even lay my phone back down on my desk, and I’m surprised when I see a return message from @elencosti89.
Okay, is all she says, and a tiny frisson of excitement travels through me.
I freeze and focus in on the feeling, which is fleeting and soon sputters out cold. Still, it’s something I haven’t felt in an exceedingly long time. It’s the reason I started going to The Wicked Horse a few months ago—I just wasn’t feeling anything. I thought perhaps immersing myself into the seedy depths of kink and dirty sex would spark something, but, so far, my orgasms there have been lukewarm at best. My interest in going has started to wane lately, especially knowing I can do the job with my hand just as well. It’s why the fantasy app held some appeal. I thought perhaps I could find something a little more tailor-made for what I needed.
And there it is. I have a fantasy hookup set at the Wicked Horse tonight. I take a moment to reserve one of the new private rooms in The Apartments, which is where Jerico used to live when he first opened the high-end sex club in downtown Vegas, atop The Onyx Casino. It’s now an exclusive, super private area the wealthy elite can congregate to live out their dirtiest fantasies if mixing it with the common folks in the other areas of the club aren’t of interest. There are three sex rooms within The Apartments that aren’t frequently used because they are closed off and secluded, and most people come to the Wicked Horse for the thrill of fucking in front of other people.
I send one more quick text to the private concierge to request rope, soy candles, and an electric vibrator to be stocked inside. That should keep me quite busy with @elencosti89.
There’s a sharp knock on my door. Before I can even grant entrance, it’s swinging open. My body tightens when I see my best friend walking through.
We clicked in medical school, then went into the same specialty of neurosurgery. While he focuses more on spinal surgeries and my love is working on the brain, we both settled in Vegas and founded what has become a much sought-after medical practice because of our skills. Over the years, we have added other doctors, but Brandon and I are the majority owners in Aimes Hewitt Neurosurgical Services, PA.
These days, however, my anxiety flares when I must deal with Brandon. It’s obvious by the expression on his face he’s not happy to see me either.
He shuts the door, strides to one of the guest chairs on the other side of my desk, then sits with a heavy sigh. I’m not sure if the way he squeezes the bridge of his nose with a brief closing of his eyes is for dramatic flair, but when he opens them, my stomach tightens even further.