I lift my head so I can see her. Her expression is soft and satisfied. She looks wrecked, and I love being the one to have caused it.

It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve taken such immense pride in what I can do to a woman.

My dick pulses at the thought of doing it again. I lean down and kiss Elena. Her tongue touches mine without hesitation, and I start to swell. Christ, I want her again.

I pull my mouth from hers with a sigh, wondering just how ensnared I’ve become by this woman. My head tilts, and I look out the glass wall to see those two men who were in here with her standing there…. watching. One of them smirks in a knowing way as if to say, “Yeah, buddy… you are so fucking whipped right now.”


Part of me wants to show him differently. Show them both.

My eyes cut to one of the sex toy machines in the corner. It’s a contraption that has a jackhammering dildo a woman crouches over. I could put Elena on it, let it take her from below while I fuck her ass.

It would show them there’s nothing they can give her that I can’t do better.

Except… is that better?

Does she want the experience of two men?

Do I have the capability to give her that? The thought of another man touching her makes me want to kill, but… could I put that aside for her?

I’m not sure, but now it’s going to gnaw at me until I know for sure.

I look back to Elena, whose eyes are still on my face while her fingers play in my hair.

“Do you want to be with more than one man at the same time?” I ask bluntly.

She blinks in surprise. “Um…”

“Because if you do—”

“Actually no,” she says so quietly I barely hear her, yet I’m immensely relieved when I make the words out.

“Are you sure?” I press.

She shrugs. “I mean… I was curious about it. And that’s why you and I come to The Wicked Horse, right? For that type of debauchery? And well, you and I weren’t together anymore, and they offered, so…”

“I’ll make it happen for you if you want,” I say, my gut churning over my rash offer. But strangely, I find myself wanting to offer her the moon if I could, which I can’t. So I offer her something else instead.

She shakes her head, bringing a hand to my jaw where she caresses it. “I’m going to say something at the risk of freaking you out, but honestly Benjamin… when I’m with you, I don’t need anything else. Not another man or two other men—not the toys here at the club. And I’m not saying it in a possessive way. Nor am I declaring my devotion to you or expecting anything from you in return. I’m merely saying you completely satisfy me sexually. There’s nothing else I need.”

I can’t help but smile as I bend, bringing my face closer. “Jesus… now I want to fuck you again.”

She grins back. “I would not say no to that.”

I had forgotten my earlier vision of her silver sandals propped on my shoulders, having been too lost inside of her previously. I rear up, push my palms under her thighs, and raise her legs high in the air. Tilting my hips, I’m able to align myself easily. With one hard thrust, I’m deep into nirvana again.

Elena groans as I lean into her, pressing my palms into the mattress. Her calves come to rest on my shoulders, causing her to fold almost in half as I start to fuck her again.

This time, it’s not so slow.

It’s a hell of a lot deeper with this angle.

Even better than the last time.



“Just cut it all off,” Jorie says in frustration as she blows her bangs off her forehead. She’s my last customer of the day, which on a Saturday would normally be a five PM appointment, but I’m actually going on a date with Benjamin, so I scheduled her for three. When we’re done, I’m closing shop.

“Are you sure?” I ask as I stand behind her chair, working the pedal at the bottom to pump her up a little higher.

My gaze watches her through the mirror as she studies her raven-black hair. She had been wearing it in a short, angular bob with her bangs cut sharply straight across her brow, which did wonders for her sea-green eyes. But she’s been trying to grow it out lately, more from being so busy she didn’t have time to drive out to me in Henderson to get it cut.

Jorie holds a chunk of her hair near her temple outward, studying it critically in the mirror. “Would it be stupid for me to cut it all off?”

“Well, define what you mean by ‘cut it all off’,” I say. “Are we talking a get-the-electric-razor Sinead O’Connor cut or maybe a Ginnifer Goodwin pixie?”

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