Kink Club owner, Zachary Coles would openly tell you commitment and monogamy are for fools and hedonism was the only game he subscribed too.
That was until he agreed to help out his long-time friend, Max Jenson and offer his son, Ellis a summer job...
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~ ~ Zack ~ ~
Being a God in a world of your own creation is great...
Until you fuck it up and ignore all your own rules.
Grow a conscience.
And catch feelings.
With not one person. But two.
I scratched at my chest as a fuck-load of feelings—too much, too fast—battered me from all sides. It was like wearing a shirt made of sandpaper—scratchy, abrasive, and fucking impossible to ignore.
With a bitter laugh, I shook my head. I could almost hear my father from beyond the grave. Reap what you sow my boy.
Oh, I was reaping it alright. Fucking Tabitha Stickland strikes again.
But this wasn't all on her. I was knee-deep in a shit-hole of my own doing. Perhaps this was karma at its finest. The past never stayed dead they said; it's more like a relentless stalker, lurking and waiting to take you down.
So what the fuck was I going to do now? How did I deal with the fallout?
And how ironic a minute ago I'd just given Ivy relationship advice. Ha. I mean, who was I to be dishing out advice? I'm the last person who should be giving anyone pointers, especially when it came to something as complex as relationships. It's the blind leading the blind, stumbling around in the dark.
Maybe I shouldn't even try. Cut my losses.
Get back to the life I know... knew. It should be simple, right?
So why did it feel like I was being gutted by a blunt knife— cleaving me into two like a motherfucker?
And then obviously feeling sadistic, my mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to be this way. It didn't have to end like this. Fuck. It didn't have to end at all.
I could explain, and apologise.
Make it right. Fix it.
I scoffed at the thought, my cynicism rearing its ugly head once more. Who was I kidding here? I the bastard who wielded sarcasm and cynicism as a religion.
Rocking back in my chair the silence was deafening, heavy with unspoken words and my fucked up life choices with Ellis's accusations at the forefront. And with that, I picked at the carcass of those choices. The most worrying being, I'd gone off script. Call it love, in my own flawed, imperfect way.
Again, it was irony at its finest. Just when I'd come to the conclusion I could have something more. Something real. Admitting I was happy with them.
... And, then the proverbial shit hits the fan.
I leaned forward with an irate groan bracing my elbow on the desk to rub my forehead with the hell of a palm. A knock on my door interrupted my self-imposed melodrama.
