But Christ… why did I have to be the one to give it to her?
I’ve asked myself that over and over again since Saturday night. I chastised myself only to turn around and pat myself on the back. I cursed my weakness and high-fived my spontaneity. I looked in the mirror and told myself I was nothing but danger to Callie, and then smiled at my reflection and told myself I deserved to have her.
I wasn’t lying to her.
Callie Hayes riding my fingers, her face flushed, biting at her lower lip and then exploding all over me was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t get an orgasm out of the deal, and yet… it may have been the best sexual experience of my life. I know I certainly had no desire to head over to The Silo afterward. Sort of like the way I’ve had no desire for anyone else since Callie rolled back into town.
How is that humanly possible? I have fucked so many beautiful women, done so many filthy things, always pushing the envelope of my sexuality. I’ve done and seen it all. My sex life is that of a god’s.
And yet… just watching that woman have an orgasm was almost otherworldly to me.
I think there’s a chance I could be permanently and irrevocably fucked in the head.
Just before opening the door, I take a deep breath.
Just act cool and casual. Just another day at the office.
I open the door and brace myself, expecting the worst.
But Callie isn’t at her desk. I sigh with relief and step inside, shutting the door behind me. I figure she’s in the bathroom, so I hastily pour a cup of coffee and head into my office where I can shut the door and hide.
As soon as I enter, I can feel a vibration in the air that tells me something is wrong.
There Callie stands, hands planted on my desk, head bent down, looking at The Wicked Horse architectural plans. More importantly, at the one for The Silo which I had left lying there on top when I left on Friday, never once thinking about Callie possibly seeing it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She doesn’t even look up at me, although she knows I’m standing there. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s seeing. Those plans have morphed over the months since they were first drawn up and have changed from just technical specs to almost a road map of our journey into the business of sex. She’ll see how we named The Silo rooms… BDSM, Fetish, Gang Bang, Ménage, Orgy. She’ll see handwritten notes by Bridger listing out the tools that he bought… cuffs, whips, ball gags, clamps, floggers, canes. This list is endlessly damning.
I hold still as a statue as I watch her stare at the plans before her. Her eyes roam all over, once she even takes a finger and taps it against the center.
Finally, she looks up at me and I get ready for a full-body cringe over the condemnation I’ll see on her face.
Except… it’s not there.
In fact, her face looks passively bland. It makes me relax just marginally.
“The Silo,” she says softly. Slowly. Carefully choosing her words. “Behind the nightclub. It’s a… sex club?”
I swallow hard and give a tentative nod.
Afraid to trust my voice.
Her gaze lowers to the plans again, and she slides a finger to the top corner… stopping over the words “The Wicked Horse”.
“This is your brand?” she asks hesitantly as she taps her finger on the image just below the words. A circle, an inner ring, seven compartments. So obvious.
“Yes,” I say softly.
“It’s modeled after The Silo?”
“Yes.”
“Because that’s sort of the cornerstone of your… your…”
“Sex club,” I provide politely.
She nods with flushed cheeks, but forges ahead since I’m answering her questions. “And what? Do people pay to go in there and… have sex with other people?” Her voice is timidly curious, but I note a slight tone of censure.
Sighing, I take my hat off and toss it on the wall peg. Since she’s standing behind my desk where my chair is, I take one of the guest chairs and sit down, kicking my legs out. This is not how I imagined my run-in with Callie would unfurl.
“Bridger and I wanted to open a club where people could live out their deepest fantasies without fear of judgment or condemnation. We wanted a private club where people could… be themselves, so to speak. To explore their sexuality in a safe environment.” I stop right there, let her digest what I’ve said. It’s the simple truth of what’s she seen. It’s not the full truth, but the simple truth and really all she needs to know.
“And you practice… um… like BDSM there or something?” she asks fearfully, her eyes holding what I think may be a bit of disgust in them.
Of course there would be disgust. I mean… after the way she found her fiancé and that judge.
“I don’t practice it,” I tell her swiftly. “I mean… some elements, yes, but I’m not hardcore. I don’t hand out pain.”
If I expected her to look relieved over those words, I would have been a fool. She looks overwhelmed with what she’s learned so far.
“So… what do you do there? You specifically, I mean,” she asks, her voice so slight and whisper soft, I can barely hear her.
It irritates me. The delicacy by which she’s discussing this. I’m pissed I have to sugarcoat things for a sweet girl. I’m pissed she was in my office even though I’ve never forbidden her from being in here, and I’m pissed she knows this about me.
“What do you think I do, Callie?” I taunt her in a low growl. I sit forward in my chair, press my elbows to my knees, and stare at her with naked honesty. “Same as anyone else. I fuck.”
Callie’s lips are drawn downward, her eyes bleak. It hurts to see her look at me like that, and for the first time in my adult life, I’m ashamed of my proclivities. For a fleeting instant, I feel the urge to call Bridger and tell him I’m selling out.
I stand up from my chair, because this is the point I expect Callie to be running out of my office, straight out to her truck to hightail it away from the filthy, pervy Woolf Jennings.
Callie’s gaze drops back down to the plans, maybe for one last disgusted look. She takes a deep breath, looks back up, and pins me with clear eyes. “I want to join the club.”
My jaw slackens, and my mouth drops open wide. I ignore the tingle in my groin over the thought of Callie in my club, and…
Did she just fucking say she wants to join?
“Please tell me this is a goddamn joke,” I grit out.
Her eyebrows furrow inward, and she keeps her gaze on me with bold challenge. “I’m not joking. I want to be a member.”
“No fucking way,” I snarl as I stalk over to the wall and grab my hat off the peg. I need to get the fuck away from this brand of insanity.
“At least take me there,” she says firmly to my back. “So I can see.”
I ignore her… open my office door.
“Take me,” she says ominously. “Or I’ll find someone who will.”
I snort and step out of my office. Good fucking luck with that. Bridger and I are the only two she knows associated with the club, and he sure as shit wouldn’t take her.
“Colton Stokes,” Callie calls out.
I stop dead in my tracks.
My blood turns to ice in my veins, and I pivot slowly to meet her stubborn gaze. “What did you just say?”
“Colton. Stokes.” She punctuates both words with relish and even gives me a sly grin.
How the fuck did she—?
“Colton Stokes is a member, is he not?” she asks sweetly as she walks out from behind my desk toward me.