Once she finished the can, he tossed it in the trash and took a quick shower in the fancy bathroom. He played with the dials until he found a soothing station, then adjusted the lighting to alternate between blue, yellow, and green, in time with the music. The showerhead was massive and rained down warm water over his tired muscles.
Even the soap had a relaxing scent, adding to the whole “serenity” vibe.
It made him wonder: if Mr. Nyte had perfected a serenity room, what the hell was the BDSM suite like? He decided it might warrant a trip back to the hotel to find out.
Brad dressed in simple sweats and a thin T-shirt, pulling the brim of his cowboy hat down to avoid being recognized before he headed out. He was already feeling much more relaxed after his shower and knew sleep would come easily after a deep-tissue massage.
The stress of packing his home and transferring power over to the new staff of his Denver Academy had taken a toll on his body. Hell, he was stiff in places he never knew existed before—and that was saying a lot.
A session with his bullwhip would have helped tremendously because he found the power exchange relaxing to his soul. However, he hadn’t had time for that before leaving Denver, and had decided to wait until he was settled in his new position before he sought a partner to play with.
Brad entered the spa, lowering his head when he spied the herd of scantily clad women in short silk robes running about.
Damn, women were beautiful creatures…
He quickly made his way to the front desk to avoid contact with any of them. “I have an appointment with Carl.”
“And your name, sir?”
Brad looked up and found himself momentarily speechless, stunned by the beautiful redhead who stood before him. Seeing her reminded him of Amy, and the wound that he’d so carefully tended was unceremoniously ripped back open.
The girl smiled pleasantly, unaware of the pain she’d just inflicted on him.
“Name’s Anderson. Brad Anderson,” he mumbled. He turned away from her as he leaned against the desk, trying to appear casual when he was anything but.
“Welcome, Mr. Anderson. I know Miss Young penciled you in, but I’m sorry to inform you that Carl is running a few minutes late. Will that be a problem for you?”
Brad shook his head, unwilling to brave another look at her. “As long as it’s only a few minutes, I’m fine.”
He tensed when he felt her hand on his shoulder a few seconds later. Her light touch stirred him in ways he hadn’t expected, and didn’t want.
“I’ve brought you some water. It always pays to stay hydrated in Vegas,” she advised him with an endearing smile—her blue eyes drawing him in with their gentle sincerity. A light rose-colored blush covered her cheeks when their eyes met. She quickly lowered her gaze, but the damage was already done.
Oh God…there was nothing sexier than a redhead’s blush.
“Thank you,” he replied gruffly, taking it from her and immediately unscrewing the lid to take a swig, wanting to avoid any further contact.
The girl was absolutely exquisite: long red hair framed an angel-like face, giving her an innocent look that those big blue eyes only accentuated.
She whispered under her breath so no one else would hear, “I respect what you do, Mr. Anderson.”
He glanced at her sideways. “I take it you know who I am.”
“Oh yes. When Miss Young informed me you were coming, I prayed I’d have the honor of meeting you in person.” The redhead put her hands to her heart and grinned. “I feel so blessed right now.”
Brad only smiled, puzzled that he felt such an intense attraction toward her. Sure, the girl had red hair like Amy, but damn, there was something about the woman… Females didn’t normally have this effect on him.
“Would you prefer to wait for Carl in the private room?”
“Yes, please,” he said with a chuckle, daring to gaze into those baby blues again. There was so much depth to her soul—and a hint of sadness that beckoned to him.
In response to the unusual intensity of his stare, the redhead blushed a deeper shade of pink, which only added to her charm.
The young woman led him to the private room that looked more like a scene from a tropical movie with its lava rocks, miniature waterfall, and lush plants. She pointed to the long leather table in the center. “If you would undress completely and lie face down, Carl should be here shortly.”
Being asked to undress by her naturally sultry voice had an unwanted effect. Brad nodded, grateful she would be leaving the room before his attraction to her was more noticeable.
She handed him a small silk cover, and it wasn’t until then that Brad noticed how unusually slender her wrist was. Although her frame was hidden under her loose smock, it was obvious the girl was underweight. He felt a sense of protectiveness rise up in him.
“Please use this as a cover-up while you wait, Master Anderson.”
He was surprised to hear the word Master come from her lips but assumed it had been a slip on her part as he studied her face. He could detect no flirtatious intent as he watched her go to leave the room. “Wait. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“My name is Shey Allen.” She surprised him by quickly apologizing. “My da is Irish and always wanted a boy, so I was blessed with a man’s name.”
“Shey,” he repeated, liking the sound of it. “It fits you well, Miss Allen. You should never apologize for such a charming name.”
Her lashes fluttered at the unexpected compliment. “You’re very kind. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
Turning down the light, Shey left him staring at the door as she quietly left.
Brad wondered if the woman had any idea how striking she was. He shook his head to clear it as he undressed. Once naked, he picked up the small cover-up and laughed, tossing it to the side.
He was not a man who was ashamed of his body. Settling down on the table, he laid his head onto the padded cutout and closed his eyes.
The sound of the trickling water filled the small room, soothing the sexual tension that meeting Shey had caused. Soon he felt himself relaxing and let out a long drawn-out sigh, grateful he’d chosen to splurge by coming to the Nyte Hotel.
Sometimes money could buy happiness…
After an extraordinarily long wait, the door finally opened. Brad didn’t bother looking up, choosing instead to remain in his relaxed position. He listened to the man wash his hands, and a few minutes later, hot oil splashed on his skin.
Brad let out a low groan as he worked the oil in. “That feels great, Carl.”
The man definitely had magical fingers, just as Francesca had promised. Powerful and strong, but experienced enough to soon have Brad feeling like a puddle of relaxed goo.
A light tapping on his thigh let him know he needed to turn over. Brad did so reluctantly, feeling so comfortable that he didn’t have the will to move. Turning onto his back, he suddenly found himself staring straight into those familiar blue eyes.
“What the…” he grumbled, bolting up as he covered his groin with his hands before she could sneak a glance.
“I’m so sorry, Master Anderson! Carl had a family emergency and was forced to leave unexpectedly. Knowing how long you’ve been waiting, I hated the thought of canceling your appointment.”
“Miss Allen, while I appreciate your willingness to take care of my needs, I specifically asked for a male, and you are definitely not a man.”
“I’m a professional, Mr. Anderson. I never overstep the bounds as a masseuse, if that is your concern.”
“It is not you I’m concerned about,” he growled, reaching over and grabbing the small cover-up to place over his hardening shaft. The thin material only helped to emphasize the rigidness of it.
Brad lay back down, seeing the humor in the situation. He stared up at the ceiling with a smirk on his face. Sometimes life was a series of comical curveballs…
“I deeply apologize, Mr. Anderson,” she sputtered. “Please know I only
desired to honor your appointment. I’ll leave, if you prefer.”
He could hear guilt tainting her voice, knowing she had displeased him.
“You may stay,” he stated, steeling himself for the sexual tension that was already building.
She’s a professional, he reminded himself.
Brad closed his eyes again and soon felt the warm oil drip onto his pecs. Her delicate but exceedingly strong fingers had him quietly groaning as she kneaded out the knots of his tension-ridden body.
Taking over The Submissive Training Center as the new headmaster was adding a whole new level of anxiety on top of the already stressful relocation. He was eternally grateful Marquis Gray, with all his years of experience as a trainer at the school, still remained part of the staff—he trusted that it would make the transition smoother for everyone.
Brad became distracted from his wandering thoughts when Shey began massaging the palm of his hand. It was strangely intimate and sensual even though it wasn’t intended to be, causing feelings he did not care to deal with. He gently pulled his hand away, muttering, “I could do without that, Miss Allen.”
Shey stammered an apology and started on his feet next. Her fingers began their magic as she caressed the balls of his feet, but it caused the same reaction, and he sat up abruptly. “I think we’re done here.”
She looked crushed. “I’m sorry I failed in my job tonight.”
Moving stiffly because of his hard cock, Brad turned his back to her but said in a reassuring tone, “It is not a case of failing, Miss Allen. The fact is, you’re a little too skilled with those hands of yours.”
He heard her washing up before she headed toward the door. “I’ll leave you to dress.”
Brad quickly slipped on his sweats, overcome with an irresistible urge to stop her from leaving the room. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight? When does your shift end?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Actually, I was off two hours ago. I only stayed to take care of you.”
Her answer moved him. As he placed his black Stetson on his head, he winked at her. “All the more reason I owe you a meal and conversation, darlin’.”
Shey’s pink lips curled into a joyous smile, her blue eyes sparkling. “No need, Master Anderson. It was my pleasure to serve you.”
Lord help me, he groaned to himself, imagining her kneeling on the floor after saying that exact phrase, come dripping from her mouth.
Brad knew that dinner with her was a terrible idea. Spending additional time with the girl would only be asking for trouble, but—just like with Amy—he felt defenseless against the powerful attraction he had toward Shey.
One thing was different, however. He’d learned his lesson with Amy. His mistake had been in trying to dominate the redhead into loving him, and he’d come excruciatingly close… God, his heart still ached remembering that day. That horrible moment when Amy had walked away from him and into the arms of Troy Dawson.
Not wanting to repeat the past, Brad determined to keep tonight casual. He actually liked the idea of getting to know Shey on a more personal level, but resolved to make a hasty retreat as soon as dinner was over.
All he wanted was a good night’s sleep, and there was a soft bed beckoning to him upstairs. Brad glanced down at his aching cock, which urged him to do otherwise.
Too bad.
His freaking dick could wait for a quick hand job in the shower. There was no need to complicate things for either of them.
“Do you mind if I go home to change, Mr. Anderson? I could be back here in less than an hour.”
“You look good as you are, Miss Allen, but if it would make you feel better, I have no objections to meeting in an hour.”
“Great!” Shey started to walk away, but turned and asked hesitantly, “Do you mind if I dress up? I rarely have the chance.”
He furrowed his brow. “I find that hard to believe but, by all means, feel free to dress to the nines.”
She nodded and walked away with a pleased smile. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to her swaying ass as she left.
Oh, holy hell…
Brad had not planned on going out, and only had jeans and a T-shirt packed. Making his way to the closest clothing shop in the hotel, he picked out a simple, overpriced suit, shirt, and tie. He then went up to his room, tossed his cowboy hat on a chair, and collapsed onto the bed, wanting to close his eyes for a half-hour.
Cayenne would have none of it and jumped onto his chest, happy that he was back. She rubbed her cheek against his rough chin, purring softly.
He petted her small furry feline frame. “Missed me, huh?”
In answer, she touched her cold nose against his.
Brad chuckled. “Not sure what I would do without your impish ways, Cayenne. I’m grateful young Brie brought us together. Everyone should have a companion like you in their life.”
The kitten purred even louder, closing her eyes in ecstasy when he rubbed his finger under her chin.
He lay there enjoying the soothing sound of the unique waterfall wall and his cat’s audible joy. Finally, after glancing at the clock, he groaned and reluctantly picked her up, placing her on the feather pillow.
“I shouldn’t be long,” he assured the kitten as he stripped out of his sweats and donned the gray suit. He pulled down the cuffs of the starched white shirt after he put on the jacket and stood in front of the mirror. “What do you think, girl?”
The tabby jumped off the bed to rub against his pant leg, leaving strands of fur behind. Brad stooped down and did his best to brush them off. “Marking your territory, I see.”
He stood back up and stared at his reflection. Saying good-bye to Colorado hadn’t been easy, and it was reflected in his face. Straightening his tie, Brad decided tonight was exactly what he needed.
“Life shouldn’t be full of regret…”
A Little Bet
Shey was standing at the bar with her back to him. Her long black dress caressed her curves beautifully, but it was the cutouts at the shoulders showing off her freckled skin that about did him in.
Damn! That girl wasn’t making this easy.
Brad walked up without Shey noticing and looked over the drink menu before telling the bartender, “I’ll take a Royal Fuck, and why not make one for the pretty lady?”
Shey turned to him, ready to protest, and then giggled when she saw he was the one who’d ordered it. “No need to buy me a drink, Mr. Anderson.”
“Nonsense, Miss Allen. I don’t care to fuck alone.”
She laughed and cordially accepted the drink he handed her. “Although life has a way of doing a fine job of it on its own, here’s to being royally bleeped together, Mr. Anderson.”
He was grateful to see she had a sense of humor. “Please call me Brad.”
“Oh no. That’s much too informal. I couldn’t…”
“Why?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Do you have a boyfriend, Miss Allen?”
“I do,” she answered, blushing deeply when she admitted it.
“Ah…” Brad took a sip of his drink, actually grateful that was the case. It made tonight so much easier and less complicated. Until the vixen added…
“It’s my cat, Troy.”
Brad did a spit take, and grunted as he wiped his mouth. “Did I hear you right? You have a cat named Troy?”
She shrugged. “Yep, been with me for over ten years. My best friend and confidant.”
“Who names a cat Troy?” he asked in disgust.
Shey lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with the name Troy?”
“Everything…” he mumbled to himself.
“Would you have preferred I called him Garfield?”
“Is he a fat orange tabby?”
“Orange, yes. Fat, no. However, he does have a thing for lasagna,” she answered with a grin.
“Interesting, Miss Allen. I happen to have an orange tabby myself.”
Her eyes lit up. “You do?”
“Yes, but she’s just a lit
tle thing.”
“And her name?”
“Cayenne.”
Shey cooed out loud. “Oh, that’s an adorable name.”
“She’s quite the character, too.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun to see the two of them together?”
Brad frowned. “Sorry, Cayenne has zero tolerance for cats named Troy.”
“Hey! What’s your issue with my cat’s name?” Shey demanded, sounding a tad ticked off.
Brad only laughed, lifting his glass and clinking it against hers. “No sense going into that tonight. I’d like to enjoy our evening together.”
“Fair enough.” Shey took a small sip of her drink, leaving red lipstick on the rim of the glass. Brad found the feminine imprint on the clear glass appealing. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Is that Royal Fuck living up to your expectations?”
Shey only nodded, her cheeks turning an attractive shade of red.
Brad downed his drink quickly and stood up, holding out his arm to her. “Shall we head out then, darlin’?”
She looked him up and down, checking out his outfit before taking his arm. “The suit suits you, Mr. Anderson.”
He chuckled. “You’re looking mighty dapper yourself, Miss Allen. However, I insist you call me Brad the rest of the evening.” He forced himself to ignore the increase in blood pressure when she wrapped her arm around his.
When they were seated at the table, he casually asked, “So, what looks good on the menu?”
She perused it and purred. “Everything.”
Brad let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I was afraid you might be one of those women who only nibble on rabbit food.”
She put down her menu and laughed. “Not at all. I love good food, I just don’t have the opportunity to go out much.”
Rather than asking why, and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, Brad stated, “Order anything on the menu. I dare you to splurge.”
He watched Shey intently as they dined together, noting her subtle body language—the dilated pupils, the licking of her lips, the casual caress of her neck, and the way she leaned in every time he spoke. Every action betrayed her attraction to him, even though she refrained from blatantly flirting.