“On the contrary, there are plenty of members who like plain old missionary, but they love having sex in front of others. That’s their kink—having people watch.”
And it makes me blush deeper… because that has always been a fantasy of mine. I tried to get Caleb into semi-public sex before—like going at it in the living room at night with the blinds open. Once, I attempted to get him to fuck me on a park bench on an evening stroll. He’d declined. Now, I don’t know if it was because he’s not into public kink or because he was pining for another man.
“One thing to keep in mind tonight,” Declan says, his tone once again clipped and remote. Back in professional mode. “I don’t intend to have themed rooms. It will be one large facility.”
I nod because this is still beyond me, so I don’t have anything smart or helpful to add.
“Would you like to walk around to see how things are set up here?” he asks, but it’s not a request. He’s telling me that he’s ready to show me a whole new world, and it hits me like a wall of cold water… a gasping revelation.
I don’t need to be here.
There is absolutely no reason he needs me involved at this level.
Declan Blackwood has me here for some other purpose than to get up to speed on what happens in a sex club so I can help him plan his new resort. But I don’t know what that purpose is.
It could be that he wants to fuck me. While I have noted moments where I think he’s checking me out in a sexual way, he’s never once acted on it. He hasn’t overtly flirted or made a move.
I’m at a crossroads. Deep in my gut, I know if I continue on a journey through this club—witness things beyond my imagining—I am putting myself at risk. I understand how attraction and desire are built, and there’s no doubt I’ll be affected by what I see. It’s a given Declan will be as he’s a man. I’m sorry, but stereotyping or not, they just react more viscerally than women do.
It’s going to open a door before us. If we step through it, there’s a risk we’re going to end up crossing a line.
I take another sip of my bourbon, a bigger one this time. Letting the fire burn, I consider the paths before me. The safest one would be to decline to participate. Offer my apologies, say I changed my mind, that I can’t be a part of this type of planning, and hope he doesn’t fire me.
Or I can choose to assuage my curiosity, attempt to maintain a professional distance, and hope to God neither of us acts on anything.
Later in life, there will be a time where I’ll reflect back on my youth. I’ll chuckle over my mistakes or maybe even reprimand myself over my choices. Without a doubt, there will come a day when I’ll look back on this moment and wonder what happened to the responsible and cautious woman who usually walked the straight and narrow. But that day won’t be today.
Inclining my head, I say, “I’m ready.”
A shiver races up my spine when his eyes darken. He tips his bourbon back, downing it in one swallow, then sets his glass on the bar. I choose to hold on to my drink as he leads me to a set of double doors that will lead me, no doubt, into temptation.
We enter a small semi-circular foyer paneled in dark wood with Italian marble flooring, which branches out into several hallways. Declan’s hand goes to my elbow again, and his touch is simultaneously irritating and comforting. It’s a relief not to be alone as I plunge into the unknown, but his touch is like rough fabric rubbed against over-sensitized nipples… frustratingly painful, yet still pleasing, until it’s a confusing irritation.
“There are five main areas where people congregate to have sex.” His voice rumbles with his intimate knowledge. “There’s an outdoor deck, a waterfall room, an orgy room, The Silo—which has glass viewing rooms within it—and finally, a private club within the club called The Apartment, which is basically the original area the owner used to live in.”
“And where are we starting?” I inquire, cursing the breathless way my question comes out.
“The Orgy Room,” he murmurs, shifting me toward the closest hallway. “It’s what a sex club is all about.”
He opens the door, ushering me into a room that’s so dimly lit I can’t make out much until my eyes adjust. There are no adequate words to describe what I see once they do. I’m bombarded from every direction, immediately thrown into sensation overload.
The Orgy Room’s illuminated from below by muted panels set into steel supports running diagonally across the sizable, square room. Interspersed among areas furnished with piles of huge, silk-covered pillows are multiple overstuffed beds, lounges, and chaises. Hanging low from the ceiling, silk lampshades in varied shapes—spheres, cones, and squares—and hues of blue tint the subtle lighting.