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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†† Ellis ††
Bored out of my head, I found myself at a party at a friend's home, Vincent's. I had slipped back into my routine as smoothly as a square peg in a round hole—awkwardly, with every part of me resisting the familiar motions.
And right now, I was downstairs in Vincent's brother's games room, and I had Sarah or Sandy, couldn't recall her name, draped over my lap. I pushed her off to get another drink. She shot me an irritated glare and muttered something under her breath. Ignoring her I reached for the bottle beside my foot.
Great. Empty.
"Beautiful," I said, injecting a hint of charm into my tone because let's face it, a little sweet talk got you a long way. "How about you go grab me another bottle of whiskey? But not that cheap shit that couldn't ignite a spark. You'll find the top-shelf bottles upstairs in Vincent's dad's study."
I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. I knew exactly where the premium liquor was stored. That's if it wasn't being kept an eye on. Knowing Vincent he had but some kind of guard or Rottweiler on the door and would flip his shit if he caught wind of me sending her there.
But fuck it. The bottle I'd just emptied had left a nasty taste in my mouth and hadn't done shit to quieten my head.
She muttered some more curses something about not being a slave but swung her ass in her tight glitter dress as she sauntered off to do as I asked.
I looked over at the small table which had two lines of Coke just sitting there. Not mine and neither was the rolled-up hundred bill. But tonight it looked tempting and Sarah/Sandy wouldn't mind sharing.
And it might stop me thinking about London... them.
Or it might not.
I huffed shaking my head. That shit was risky, better sticking to weed.
But seriously, how long was I gonna feel this way? I mean what had it been... three weeks? I should be over it, right? Life had moved the fuck on. So why in the world was I still plagued with the what-ifs and confusion?
One of those what-ifs being, was it a mistake coming back home? At the time, maybe it was more about pride than anything else that made me leave. Because I didn't want to leave Sasha, or him if I was being honest. I hadn't been ready—hadn't figured shit out. Not to mention I'd let a guy fuck me... and not hated it.
Did it even matter what he'd done? He hadn't explained—not really, but then again, had I given him a chance to?
The familiar twist in my gust followed.
Yeah, it did matter—or else I wouldn't still be pissed about it.
I wasn't on my own with my thoughts for long before Sarah or Sandy came back with my bottle. Glenfiddich... not bad I guess.
