Hostile Takeover, Hill, W [recommended books to read .TXT] 📗

back out. It was still warm from her skin. Staring at the forget-me-nots pressed under the glass, he knew he needed to go to Progeny himself. He’d find a submissive, fuck her brains out, work her over hard. He’d pay a staff member to do the aftercare so he could walk away. Finish out the night at his favorite bar filled with questionable characters and the odor of stale beer. He might get a drink, or two or three. The Irishman’s crutch. He knew the dangers. Which was why he’d probably go straight to the bar.

Progeny wasn’t where he wanted to be. Doing a scene with a submissive required precision, control, artistry. A mutual exchange of pleasure. What he needed was a down and dirty whore, one who’d blow him off, let him fuck her in the ass with enthusiasm, and then leave him with a knowing half-smile and a pocketful of his money.

In the past when this mood took him, he’d go find one of the guys, hang out at a sports bar or one of the classy burlesque clubs, eye naked females, and it would be okay after a while. When Peter had been single, they’d often trawl the streets together until dawn. It was why they’d called the ex-National Guard captain Nightcrawler. Ben had even given him an original signed cover of the famous comic book character for his birthday. It was framed on the wall of Peter’s office.

But things were different now. Savannah was seven months pregnant. Matt wasn’t going out in the evenings right now, because her pregnancy hadn’t been an easy one and she was on bedrest until the baby came. Lucas and Cass still had three of her siblings at home, Cherry, Talia and Nate. He could call Peter and Dana, or Jon and Rachel, but it felt wrong. It all felt wrong.

He’d told her she was asking for trouble, and she’d parried with that half-smile, the taunt in her gaze. But she hadn’t been making light of the threat it was, and that made it worse. If she would act like a clueless kid, reckless and naïve, he could brush it off easier. But the knowledge was in her eyes.

She wasn’t experienced; if she’d been to a club, he’d bet money she’d only watched, not participated or given herself to a Master. Something ugly tightened in his chest at the thought of her being anywhere near a Dom in that setting. He pushed past that. No, she wasn’t experienced, but she understood. She knew what she was, what he was. She was daring him to let it loose, wanting to see if she could handle what he’d dish out.

He thought about calling Lucas, sounding him out on it, then played out how that conversation would go. “Hey, just wondering. Did you know your wife’s little sister is a submissive, and oh, by the way, have you been taking her to clubs to have her ass smacked by random Doms?”

Oh yeah. That would go over well. Luc would say, “Stay right there, Ben. I’ll be by directly with a baseball bat to beat your fucking brains into the sidewalk.”

He returned to the table, paid the check. He had some work he could handle at the office, but he wasn’t in the mood to go back and do that either. Jesus, she’d be there tomorrow. Alice was gone for two weeks. It was too much to hope he’d taken care of the problem tonight, spooked her. He’d read the stubborn jut of that chin when she got in the cab. She’d been one breath short of telling the driver to ignore his directions and take her to Progeny. If she’d done it, he would have yanked her out of the cab and blistered her ass right there up against it until she was moaning…

Holy fuck. He’d walked down the street several blocks, and now he decided to sit down on a bench. Seedier elements who kept an eye out for the solitary pedestrian traffic gave him considering looks and he met their gazes square on. Yeah, you want to be fucked up, you give it your best shot.

There were some working girls, and he motioned to one of them. When she approached, he shook his head before she could start her spiel. Instead, he nodded to the cigarettes in her purse. “A fifty for one of those and a light, darling.”

“For a fifty, I’ll give you two, sugar.” When he handed over the cash, she proffered the two cigarettes. He cupped his hands over hers to protect the flame as she used her lighter. She had wicked long nails, scarlet with some flashy stuff on it. Nodding, he sat back, and she trawled back to her friends, recognizing a man who wanted to be alone. Good whore. On another night, he might have taken a second look. Yeah right. He hadn’t tapped that risky kind of pussy since he was a dumb-ass teenager.

Drawing deep, he closed his eyes and laid his head back against the wall of the old brick building behind the bench.

Marcie lost her virginity at nineteen. Christ on a cupcake, she’d called him to talk about it. He’d given up lecturing her on what was appropriate to discuss with him. The last time he’d tried, she’d teased him, told him he was her best girlfriend, earning a snort. Then she’d become more serious.

You listen. You always give me the right kind of advice, and you know when not to give me any at all. You’re my friend, Ben.

She didn’t know him or what he was. He and that whore had way more in common. It was showing in the smoking, in the proliferation of f-words in his vocabulary lately. His increasing apathy about all of it.

Marcie had sex at nineteen. By the time he was nineteen, he hadn’t been a virgin for years. Those experiences weren’t innocent gropings in the back of a Mustang. They were the type of memories best