“You told me at the club, remember?”
“No. That’s not something I usually share.”
Ben kissed her nose. “We’re sharing a lot, though, aren’t we?”
“Some of us more than others,” she snipped.
That stopped him. “You think I’m holding back?”
“I know you’re holding back, cowboy.”
“About what?”
“About how you became Master Bennett.”
He frowned. “Master. I hate that f**kin’ term.”
“I know.” Her smirk faded beneath his scrutiny. “You’ve grilled me about why I believed I was a Domme. You’re determined to prove I’m submissive, but you’ve never explained how you became interested in this lifestyle.”
“I don’t suppose you’d buy the explanation of pure dumb luck?”
“Not entirely.”
He settled back in the cushions. Had he ever explained this to anyone? “About eight years ago, me, Cody, Trace and Trent were drinking at the Rawhide Bar after closing time. Bullshitting about jobs and women. Complaining about not getting laid enough. Them guys were coming up with sure-fire strategies to get laid and what kind of women they were goin’ after. When the conversation rolled to me and what I wanted from a woman, I told ’em I wanted a woman who’d give me total sexual control, without question or hesitation.”
Ben still remembered that panicked feeling after confessing the truth to his closest friends. His worry something was wrong with him, even when he’d been too chicken to act on the erotic and exotic images constantly playing out in his head. Was he a deviant? A psychopath? A sociopath? Would it be enough if he fulfilled his binding, spanking and f**king fantasy, where his partner screamed and creamed from sexual pleasure? Or would he move on to a violent and twisted scenario? Because from what he could tell, his ideas were very twisted. Nice men didn’t fantasize about hitting women with whips and canes. Nice men didn’t fantasize about tying women up. Nice men didn’t fantasize about doing all of that to women while f**king them like an animal.
“Ben?”
He looked at her. “Sorry. Just thinkin’. Come to find out Cody, Trace, Trent and me were all on the same wavelength. We found a couple of clubs in Denver that catered to what we wanted. Bein’ in those places lifted a huge burden off me. I wasn’t a total freak. Or a bad man. There was a name for what I liked. For what I was. And a place where I could go to explore all aspects.”
“Labels are important to you?”
“I’ve always been labeled—Charlie McKay’s middle boy, the one between Quinn and Chase. But I didn’t think, ‘Hey, I’ll join a kinky sex club to set myself apart’. As relieved as I was to find out who I was, I didn’t want anyone in my family to know what I was up to. I still don’t.”
“So began the secret life of Bennett McKay.”
“It was a long way to drive, but we did it regularly for a couple years. Then Cody and Trace kicked around the idea of starting a similar, private club in Gillette. After they remodeled the old brothel space, we brought Murphy up from Denver to run it. We’d met Sully in Denver and found out he lived in Gillette. He brought in Riley. Riley brought in Gil. Gil brought in Bryce. All guys who either had Dom experience or were willing to learn. The ten of us set up the club rules, Murphy screened prospective club members, we opened the doors six years ago. Membership stays steady. But it’s never been about makin’ money.”
“Are you financially invested in the club?” Ainsley asked.
“Typical banker question.” Too bad he hadn’t invested in it. That might solve some of his current financial issues. But Ben would come across as a f**king pu**y if he admitted an emotional investment to the place had always been more important. That for him, it’d never been solely about the kinky sex, but him finding acceptance in himself.
“That wasn’t an answer,” she pointed out.
Once again she’d tried to commandeer the conversation, which had forced his thoughts to money and how he’d come up with his portion to buy Rielle’s place, rather than the fact he had a naked sub sitting right next to him. “Because we’re done talking.” He allowed his gaze to linger on the curve of her breast peeking out by the lapel. “Ditch the robe.”
Ainsley stood in front of him naked, awaiting instruction.
“Face the TV.” He unearthed the fur lined handcuffs from beneath the couch cushion. As soon as she assumed the position, he cuffed her.
Ben struggled to shimmy his sweatpants off over his erection. Once he had his clothes off, he rolled on a condom. He said, “Turn around,” and crooked his finger at her.
He braced her shoulders as she straddled his lap. He buried his face in her neck, searching for the honey-almond scent that drove him wild.
She shivered but didn’t try and squirm away.
Ah. Progress.
Using just his fingertips, he traced the line of her stubborn jaw. Caressed the corded muscles in her neck. Traced the angle of her clavicle to the edge of her shoulder. Every glorious indentation and plane. Then he followed the plump curves of her br**sts past those pretty pink ni**les. He curled his hands over her ribcage and stroked his thumbs over the soft, feminine swell of her belly and across that sensitive skin between her hipbones. Sometimes he murmured verbal worship of these amazingly unique female parts as his fingers explored, but tonight he wanted to concentrate on every hitch in her breathing. Every reaction to his touch.
He already caught the scent of her arousal and his dick stood at attention, ready to satisfy the call of her body.
Ben ran his fingers through her hair while he kissed her. Unhurriedly. She matched him kiss for kiss. Never veering from his lead. Giving all of herself over to him.
In that moment she was wholly his. What a f**king rush.
He’d intended to drag this out. Teasing those hot spots on her neck with his mouth until she begged to come and then getting her off with his hand. But now? He just wanted to f**k her.
He released her hair and aligned his c**k to the source of that fragrant wet heat. Still feeding her deep soul kisses, he put one hand on her ass and urged her to lower her pelvis to his.
Then he was sliding up into that sublimely tight, hot pu**y.
Ainsley briefly broke her mouth free from his to gasp softly.
Ben pumped his hips up to meet her downward thrusts. Each deep stroke drove his need higher. His need to hear her cry out. His need to see the pleasure on her face he’d denied her yesterday. He latched onto the handcuffs, angling her body back. Then he slipped his free hand between her thighs.