Wicked Lust

  I don't question the wrongness of my actions.

  I don't respect a single bit of Cain's privacy.

  I double click on the email, and I read.

  Cain,

  My address is 3424 Fur Trap Road. I'll leave the door unlocked, but every other aspect should resemble a nefarious intention on your part to break into my house and take me hard. You said you wanted details, so here they are.

  I fully expect you at my house no later than 10PM.

  I expect you to pull me out of a sound sleep with a gun to my head and your hand between my legs. I kind of like what we did the last time, so put me on my knees and make me suck your cock. I also expect you to stay all night, having your way with me repetitively, so feel free to unload down my throat. We'll have plenty of time for you to fuck me hard after.

  Please note that ropes or handcuffs are completely acceptable, as well as blindfolds and ball gags. Damn... I'm getting horny just thinking about all the things your big cock will do to me.

  Hope this is sufficient to bring you inspiration and give you the protection you need. This is something I'm requesting and you're giving me. I'm doing this completely of my own free will.

  XOXO,

  Amy

  P.S. I'll have plenty of your favorite beer for you!

  The buzzing in my ears got incrementally louder with every word I read, so as of now, I feel like a swarm of bees is taking up residence in my gray matter. My skin flushed hot, then hotter, so as of now, it feels like an inferno. My stomach is coiled with tension, filled with nausea.

  My eyes drop from the screen, and even though the glutton for punishment in me wants to read it again, I simply can't bear it. The knowledge that Cain has made plans to be with another woman this week is simply unfathomable to me. After what we've done together, I thought I could trust him.

  Christ, after what I let him do to me with three other men... I totally fucking trusted him.

  And then it hits me.

  What I did that night with him and his buddies wasn't something that women who wanted to keep a man for the long term did. Cain is looking at me as just another great lay. His next great adventure. There's no way he's going to commit to monogamy with a woman who fucks multiple men in front of his face.

  A surge of nausea rises in me, and I suck in a deep breath to keep it at bay.

  "Sloane?" I hear from behind me, and I slowly turn my head to look at Cain over my right shoulder. He's dressed, his hair wet, and he's looking at me blandly. "What are you doing?"

  "I was searching for a pork chop recipe," I say softly.

  It's then I notice his shoulders relax.

  So I add on, "I found the email from Amy Mason instead."

  "Fuck," he mutters and takes a step toward me.

  I shoot out of the chair and hold both my hands up. "Don't," I hiss at him. "Don't you fucking come near me."

  "Sloane, it's not what you--"

  "Fuck off," I scream as I try to bolt past him down the hallway, intent on grabbing my shoes and my bag. If I hurry, I can be in my car and on the road in twenty seconds.

  Cain's arm shoots out, and he catches me around the waist. "Just wait a minute and let me explain."

  I start thrashing in his arms, kicking my legs out. One heel catches him in the shin, but it hurts me more than him. "Let me go, you stupid motherfucker."

  "Will you calm the fuck down?" he yells at me. "Let me explain what that is."

  "I don't need your explanation," I say, my voice quavering now with emotion. Now that the initial burst of anger has been released, I start filling up with sadness and rejection. "I'm nothing but a cheap thrill for you and your boys. Certainly not important enough for you to keep your promise not to fuck around."

  "That is not what's going on," he says with frustration as I continue to twist in his arms so he'll release me. "Let me explain--"

  "Let. Me. Go," I scream at the top of my lungs.

  "Fuck this shit," Cain mutters and he picks me up, hauling me over his shoulder. He spins so fast that my stomach flops. I hear him grab his keys off the counter, and then he spins again for the door. An acute case of vertigo hits me, and before I can recover, he's bounding down the steps of his porch, my lower ribs banging painfully on his shoulder. He takes me around to the driver's side of his truck, opens the door, and tosses me in.

  I immediately scramble across the cab seat, intent on flinging myself out the passenger door, but his hand on my shoulder stops me as he climbs right into the driver's seat. He reaches down under the front seat, I hear something rattle, and then he slams a pair of handcuffs over my left wrist.

  I start to shriek in outrage but only stunned disbelief squeaks out when he slams the other end onto his right wrist.

  Cain then jams the key in the ignition, cranks the engine, and spits dirt and gravel from under his tires as he peels out of his driveway.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I finally manage to grit out as he drives with my hand cuffed to his. I tentatively give a tug to make sure the cuffs are secure, but they are.

  "Don't do that," he snaps as he turns angry eyes at me. "Unless you want us to wreck."

  Cain is driving at a breakneck speed as he pulls out onto 191 and starts heading in the opposite direction of Jackson.

  "Where are you taking me?" I ask, my blood still boiling with rage and my heart still battered from the betrayal.

  "To The Wicked Horse," he says quietly. "I have to show you something, and then I can explain what's going on."

  What in the fuck could he possibly show me at The Wicked Horse? Is Amy a waitress there or something?

  And then it hits me.

  He doesn't have anything at The Wicked Horse to show me.

  He's going to show me The Silo.

  My mouth stays firmly shut the rest of the ride, and that's only because I have nothing to say at this point. I have nothing to say because my brain is too busy trying to process everything. I'm not sure what it is about this email that's prompting this impromptu trip, but Cain just may be getting ready to lay all the evidence I need at my doorstep.

  The inner child in me... the one who's betrayed... hopes I can use whatever I'm about to see to bring Cain down hard. But the part of me that's been hurt... that's the part of me who wants to beg Cain not to take me there, but come up with some other rational explanation for what I saw.

  Because I know whatever is within that round building that looks like a real silo is going to change everything that I've come to figure out up to this point.

  Cain pulls into The Wicked Horse and rather than take his customary spot at the part of the lot bordering the road, he drives alongside the building and parks near the rear... forty feet from The Silo.

  Wordlessly, he reaches into the clean ashtray and pulls out a key that he uses on the cuff. He releases the shackles and exits the truck. Coming around to my side, he opens the door and holds his hand out to me to help me down.

  I look down at the gravel parking lot and say dumbly, "I don't have any shoes."

  Like he's a knight in shining armor, Cain gallantly pulls me from the seat and cradles me in his arms. The irony of thinking of him as gallant is not lost on me. He bumps the door shut with his hip and carries me over to a slate path that is lined with solar lighting, leading right up to the silo.

  When we get to the door, he drops me gently until my feet are resting on the concrete threshold and fishes in his pocket for a small, black fob he pulls out. He looks at the digital screen, and then punches in a long number into the panel by the door. I hear a distinctive snicking sound indicating it's been unlocked.

  Cain puts his hand on the doorknob but before he opens it, he turns to look at me and says, "That email you saw. That was a job. One that was scheduled before I ever met you. It's just a job."

  "I don't understand," I say, because now I'm confused. I don't understand how that rendezvous being scheduled is a job to him. Surely he's not saying...

  "Just come inside and it will all be
clear," he says quietly... in a voice that sounds utterly defeated and which makes me want to comfort him for some stupid reason.

  Insane really.

  This guy is planning to fuck some woman in just a few days, and he wasn't going to tell me about it.

  "You were going to cheat on me," I say in a small voice, my eyes lowering to the ground. "You promised me you wouldn't."

  "And I didn't break that promise," he says firmly. "I was going to break things off with you before Friday."

  My heart plummets and I didn't think it could hurt any more than it did, but I was wrong.

  It feels like it's been stabbed with a rusty, dull knife.

  Cain pulls the door open and motions me inside.

  "Come on," he says softly. "Let me show you my world.

  Chapter 23

  Cain

  I curse myself for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes for ever getting involved with Sloane Meyers. It was a stupid path I put myself on. One that was destined for nothing but pain in the end, and yet, I still gladly took all I could from her while it was available.

  The low strains of some classical shit filters through the room. I much prefer something sexier when I'm doing my silo fucking, but some of the patrons wanted something more sophisticated.

  As if that could make what we're doing more stylishly acceptable.

  I lead Sloane down the hall and into the open, round room at the center. When we break free of the concrete walls of the hallway, the classical music is muted by two other distinct sounds.

  The first is the chatter of about thirty people. It's sort of dead in here tonight, but that's normal for a Sunday evening.

  The second is the moaning of people in the throes of ecstasy.

  I look down at Sloane and find her eyes sweeping the room. Taking in the people mingling with cocktails, the bar at the center of the room, and then her gaze finally sweeps left and she takes in the windowed rooms of The Silo.

  A small gasp of surprise escapes her lips, and her eyebrows shoot straight up. I follow her gaze and look at the first room. It's holds nothing but a raised dais with a black, silk-covered mattress. Four people occupy the room, three men filling up one woman three different ways.

  Sloane takes a few steps past the window and looks into the next room. This is where she gets an eyeful.

  The room is completely bare of any furnishings or implements other than a large, wooden stockade that I happen to know Bridger built himself a few weeks ago. He'd wanted to showcase it and apparently, tonight was the night.

  Within the confines of the stockade is a woman.

  Catherine actually, who is a regular in the club. She's a young, rich trophy wife to a decrepit billionaire who's on death's door. He gave her this membership so that she could get her rocks off. Although he's long since lost the ability to get his dick up, he loves to watch her work.

  Catherine is also a woman who loves a good gang bang, and I'm talking about exactly the type of fucking that Sloane could have never imagined in her dirtiest multiple fantasy.

  With her head and wrists securely locked in the wooden frame, Catherine is gloriously naked and just as gloriously getting defiled by multiple men. There have to be at least seven guys in the room. Some completely naked, some standing around fully clothed and just watching as Catherine gets fucked.

  One guy is pumping furiously into Catherine from behind, causing her shoulders to jam into the frame secured around her neck. Her tits sway back and forth with the motion.

  Another guy stands to Catherine's side and has his hand between her legs, working at her clit. I know it feels good because her eyes are practically rolled into the back of her head, but she can't utter a sound because another guy has his cock shoved down her throat from the front of the stockade.

  The man fucking Catherine suddenly grips onto her hips hard, slams in to the hilt, and throws his head back as he starts to come. He grinds against her, unloads a little bit more, and then stumbles backward completely spent. Another guy steps up, pulls his cock out of his dress pants, and rams it unceremoniously into her.

  Again, Catherine can't moan from the invasion because she's in the process of deep throating someone's dick.

  Normally, watching this would turn me the fuck on. I'd be in that room with the other guys, waiting to get my crack at a woman who likes being used roughly and with little respect. Either I'd fuck her pussy, her mouth, or even her ass, and I'd do so with no regard other than busting a nut and then letting my next buddy have a chance.

  The thought of Sloane doing something like that makes me sick.

  "Why did you bring me here?" Sloane asks in such a small, hurt voice that I wince. When I turn to look at her, she asks, "Did you want me to do that?"

  Her gaze cuts over to Catherine.

  "God, no," I say in horror as I take her by the hand and lead her back to the hallway. "I'd never want you to do that."

  "What is this place?"

  Sighing, I turn her so her back is against the wall and lean in closer so I can talk in a lower voice. While we're away from the main crowd, this is private and I don't want to be overheard.

  "Sloane... this place is called The Silo. It's a sex club. Bridger owns it, and it's a place people can come to enjoy a safe and private atmosphere to indulge in their fantasies."

  "Bridger owns it alone?" she asks, and I think that's an odd question.

  "Yeah... he's the sole owner."

  "You pay to get in?"

  "A flat fee membership of $50,000 per year."

  "And that woman?" she asks with a nod back to the main room.

  "She's a regular. Her husband comes with her," I tell her, but now that I think about it, I didn't see the old geezer out there. He's always confined to a wheelchair, sucking down oxygen while he watches his wife indulge.

  "So those rooms in there," she asks, her voice sounding a little stronger and not as broken with hurt. "People can just go in there and..."

  I nod. "Yes. Some rooms are themed, but some are just places you can go in and have sex while others watch. Really... you can do anything you want here as long as your partner is willing."

  Her eyes drop to the floor, and she chews on her lower lip. When she finally looks back up, she asks, "Are you a paid prostitute?"

  "What?" I ask in astonishment. "No. Why would you ever ask that?"

  "You said that woman Amy was a job. What else was I to assume?"

  Good point. I take in a breath, let it out, and lean closer. Placing my hand on the wall near her head, I say, "Sloane... I'm the head of security for The Wicked Horse. That's my main job. But I am also a member of this sex club. Sometimes, I'm requested to be what's called a Fantasy Maker. I'll indulge someone in a fantasy to their specification. That's what the thing was for Friday night with Amy."

  "A fantasy?" she asks dubiously.

  "A rape fantasy," I confirm for her, because no sense in beating around the bush. "Amy likes that. Normally her husband participates."

  "Her husband?" she exclaims with wide eyes.

  "Yes. A lot of the members here are in committed, monogamous relationships."

  She nods, as if that all makes sense to her now. "And you were going to break things off with me before Friday?"

  "So I wouldn't be breaking my promise to you," I add on.

  "I get it."

  "Do you?" I ask as I put my fingers under her chin and push up until she's looking at me. "Do you get it's a job and it's something I have to do? I don't want to do it, but I committed. And while I don't get paid for these things, my bonuses are based on how often I'm requested. It's a way for me to make good money and get my debt paid down. If I didn't have that on my back, I wouldn't feel so obligated."

  "I get it," she says again, this time with understanding. "You don't have to tell me anymore."

  Pushing off the wall, I step back from her and take a deep breath as I look out into the main room. I'm at a crossroads, and now that this is all out in the open, I search in vain f
or a way to make this still work with her.

  Turning back to Sloane, I ask, "Would you give me a pass on this Friday? Would you let me fulfill this fantasy, knowing it's just a job for me?"

  Sloane's eyes turn sad and her lips flatten. She gives a shake of her head and says, "I can't. I can't separate it out. I know you can do that, but I just don't have it in me to know you're with another woman. I know that seems like a double standard, but I just... can't."

  My shoulders sag, but I didn't truly expect a different reaction from her. I had hoped, but I didn't give it much chance. Holding my hand out to her, I say, "Come on. Let me take you back to my house. You can get your stuff and--"

  "I want to go back in there with you," Sloane says, and my body goes stiff with tension. She points back to the main room and adds on, "I want us to go use one of those rooms... right now."

  "Why in the ever-loving fuck would you want to--?"

  "Cain," Sloane says softly as she steps into me. She places a hand over my heart and says, "You explained what's going on. As of this moment, you haven't broken your promise to me. We have four more nights together, so let's make the best of them. And since this place is a part of who you are... a part of the way you are... I want to experience it with you."

  I just blink at her, completely dumbfounded about this turn around. She's gone from enraged hellcat to calm acceptance of my unusual proclivities and job duties. She's giving me more than I could hope for... four more nights.

  She's keeping a firm boundary, telling me we're over the minute I take on this job with Amy Mason.

  My choices are to just cut her loose now, or take advantage of what she's offering.

  And I'd be a fool to pass up Sloane Meyers in her bare feet and baggy sweatpants, with her hair still damp from her shower in a deviant sex club.

  "Then let's go," I say as I grab her hand and lead her back into the main room.

  As soon as we step out of the hallway, I see Bridger by the bar. I pull Sloane along with me, weaving my way among the scattered patrons that are still socializing and watching the action within the rooms. Bridger's eyebrows rise when he sees us, his gaze raking over Sloane's unruly appearance.

  "Hey man," I say as we get within earshot. "I'm going to be a little late on the job."

  Bridger just gives me a shit-eating grin and then turns to Sloane. "Going to take a walk on the wild side tonight, darling?"