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It wasn’t in her, this ‘mom thing’ she called it. It wasn’t the life she wanted and used the argument that the best thing she could do was leave. She’d had the forethought to see a lawyer and sign her parental rights away. She’d washed her hands of Sarah and never cared enough to come talk to him face to face. Ran away as if he was a monster she had to flee from.
Reaching his mid-forties Wes thought the idea of settling down in the traditional family sense—like his grandparents—wasn’t in the cards for him.
Their marriage was a strong one that had withstood the test of time for over half a century, and he admired their deep-rooted relationship.
His father’s parents had taken him in as an orphan at eleven and instilled in him the belief that family was the most important thing in life, which is why he was so devoted to being the best parent he could be for Sarah. It was just the two of them.
It was his responsibility to make sure she had a solid foundation and unbreakable bond with her family. Just like he had with his parents before, and after with his grandparents.
He’d become protective of the friends and family that surrounded himself and his daughter’s lives, even if it meant breaking away from popular norms and creating his own definition of settling down.
The relationships that held Wes’ interest were few and far between. He was inundated with chronically single or ill-matched partners. In either intellectual chemistry or kink.
Scratching the itch at the club had become less of a priority when there was someone eagerly waiting at home with hot chocolate and stories.
He focused on working hard as a part owner of INK, then expanding his hobby of disguising BDSM items as ordinary furniture into a lucrative business. Now that Sarah was in school full time, he was able to use more of his afternoons on custom and one-of-a-kind pieces that were exhausting as they were labor intensive.
But the payout afforded him more time at home with his girls.
Sarah and the curvy redhead standing on the other side of the club floor that he couldn’t shake.
Lifting the stool from the bartop, Wes swung it between his muscled thighs and sat down, jutting his jaw for Colton’s attention. “Double whiskey neat.”
“We aren’t open yet.”
“Don’t gimme that bullshit,” he barked, a sour scowl marred his features.
“Alright.” The younger man raised his dark eyebrows in surprise and shook his head. “Fuck, are you a grumpy asshole tonight.”
A high-pitched laugh turned his attention to the corner demonstration area set aside for teaching and more intimate audiences. Melody stood in the spotlight talking to Isaiah, a dominant Wes wasn’t personally familiar with. He and his submissive kept to themselves for the most part.
The way he loomed over Melody didn’t sit well with Wes. She shouldn’t be here like this.
This would be the third time Melody had scened with him, letting herself be used as an object under another dominant.
If he kept thinking about it, he would drive himself crazy.
“I see why,” Colton mumbled, following Wes’ stare. He set the glass down on the bar top.
“It’s been a while since we’ve had a demo bunny.”
Wes gripped the glass and shot his friend with a sharp look. “She’s not a bunny.” Bunnies bounced around the club looking for any attention and making as many dominant notches as they could. Melody wasn’t like that.
Colton held his hands up “I’m not lookin’ to aggravate you.”
“Well, you didn’t have to look hard.”
Wes leaned his back against the bar watching as Isaiah circled Melody, adjusting her position to suit his needs.
His jaw ticked in annoyance when the dominant wrapped his arm around her waist. Even under the guise of positioning her correctly, his hands were touching too much for Wes’ liking.
“Stop window shopping old man.” Lexi’s words cut through his thoughts as she approached his seat at the bar. “When are you going to step up?”
“It’ll make things too complicated.” He didn’t like hearing the words, let alone saying them.
They fell into silence, watching as Melody was made to stand in position. He clasped her arms behind her, palms together and bound her in a pleather sleeve. Isaiah threaded the buckles one by one—wrists, elbows, and finally her upper arms.
The dom crouched out of his view and Wes narrowed his eyes. Isaiah’s focus turned toward another dominant for ill-timed chit-chat.
