I wanted to tear through every fiber of restraint I had and pin Grace to my couch while I feasted on her cunt. Images of those shorts being torn from her body before I tied her up so eloquently flashed through my mind in a perverted slideshow.
The things I want to do to her…
But I shouldn't. I somehow need to get that through my thick head. Everything between Grace and I needs to be fake. Completely fabricated. A show for my family.
I attempt to clear my head as I enter my brother’s club. Haven is located in an unmarked warehouse converted into adeluxe club for those who like to indulge in kink and require the utmost secrecy. The place is lavish, with exposed brick and reclaimed wood framing velvet-draped alcoves and sleek leather furniture. There's a large main area where people can mingle and play and a stage for those who want to fuck in front of an audience.
The entire place is a bigfuck youfrom Wren to my parents. There's a small part of me that's jealous of my brother’s ability to not care what my parents think. To make his own way without worrying about how it will affect the family name and business.
Our parents tried to stop him. They made it clear that they disapproved of this business venture, even going as far as locking down his trust. But their disapproval only made Wren work harder.
I cast a glance at the bar area with its bistro tables. The image of Grace's face after she spilt my whiskey flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but smile at the memory.
"Asher." The deep voice that greets me belongs to Nolan, Wren's business partner, and who I believe to be the brains of this operation. Wren can dream up a beautiful club, but it's Nolan who handles the operations and everything that keeps the club running.
"He in?" I ask.
"In his office." He points back to where Wren's office is tucked away behind an unmarked door that blends seamlessly with the wall. I give him a nod before I let myself in without bothering to knock, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
My brother barely glances up from his laptop, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he types. The room is sparse but tasteful. Minimalist furniture and a few strategic pieces of abstract art decorate the space. Nothing like the ostentatious displays of wealth our parents prefer.
"The prodigal son. To what do I owe this pleasure?" He closes his laptop and leans back in his chair. His expression reveals nothing, but there's a knowing glint in his eyes that immediately puts me on edge.
"We need to talk about Grace." I remain standing, hands in my pockets, casual but controlled.
A slow smile spreads across Wren's face, transforming his severe features. "You mean the waitress who was fired from my club and is now suddenlyengagedto you?"
The announcement of my pending marriage lays open on his desk, displayed with the photo of Grace gazing up at me and me looking lovingly into her eyes.
Of course he'd recognize her. Wren plays the part of the wild youngest child, but in reality, he misses nothing. It was a risk when I asked her to marry me, but like most things, risks can be eliminated with a little negotiating.
"I was wondering when we'd have this conversation." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Please, sit. Tell me how my former employee ended up on your arm?"
I take the seat, maintaining eye contact. Wren and I have always had an understanding. He's the only family member who knows about my preferences in the bedroom. Not because I told him, but because he owns the club where I occasionally let off steam. I pay him a stupid amount of money for my membership, and in return, he's extremely discreet about my being here. But his discretion in one area doesn't mean he'll keep my secret if he figures out that Grace and I aren't really a couple.
Wren studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You know, when Candace told me she fired a waitress for spilling a drink on you, I thought nothing of it. Then suddenly, that same waitress appears as your fiancée." He tilts his head. "That's quite the coincidence, Brother."
"It's not what you think."
"No?" His eyebrow arches. "Because what I think is that you're rushing to meet Father's marriage requirement for succession, and you found someone convenient. Someone who needs money, perhaps?"
I maintain my composure, though something in my chest tightens at how easily he's read the situation. "The details aren't important."
"On the contrary." Wren leans back again. "I find them fascinating. Does she know what she's getting into with you? Does she understand what you like?"
Tension radiates through my jaw. Wren knows exactly what buttons to push.
Not every woman wants the kind of things I do in the bedroom.
Ropes. Cuffs. Bondage.Pain.
Sex with me is far from vanilla.
I like to have someone completely at my mercy. Completely vulnerable. Relying on me for every ounce of pleasure they receive.
I think about Grace. Can she handle that kind of rough fucking? I can't shake the idea of her on her knees, gagging on my cock. Or tied to a breeding pole while I slam into her, listening to her cry out over and over again. And then I imagine my hand on her ass, how red it would get from a good spanking. I bet submitting to me would get her out of her head. I think she'd like it. But as much as I want these things, Grace said no. I have to respect that.
"My arrangement with Grace is between us," I say firmly. "What matters is that no one, I mean, absolutely no one, learns that she worked here. That connection stays buried. I need your discretion on this," I say, getting straight to the point.
