“I don’t have my wig, but I don’t know anyone down here,” she said. “Bring your own condoms. Do you have any?”
“Uh-huh.” He was dreaming. That was the only logical explanation.
“I’m going to see if I can get us on the list.” He could see the striations of blue and green in her exotic eyes. He started to harden but had to redirect his thoughts. He was in his underwear. No need to behave like a perv.
“Carly.”
She hitched her hand on her hip. “Ashton, you have a soft tissue injury that’s going to take time to heal. If you push too hard, you’ll make things worse. Plus, it’s raining and it’s nighttime. Running is out of the question.”
So damn bossy. So incredibly hot.
“I’m not familiar with this club, but we’ll check it out. Come to my room when you’re ready. I’m going to shower.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her bag and left.
He stripped out of his underwear and stared at his growing boner. How in the hell was he supposed to have sex with another woman when all he wanted to do was play with Carly? Over the years, she’d had some crazy ideas, but this one…this one topped them all.
After a quick shower, he raked his hands through his wet hair. Since he’d brought clothing for the funeral, he had to wear his white button down shirt and black suit pants.
This is insane.
Truth was, she was right. Running would result in a setback. When she’d decided they were going out, the determination in her eyes had aroused the hell out of him. Secretly, he loved when she ordered him around. No one else had the balls to do it, probably because they knew he’d never listen. But Carly had this special hold over him. Always had, from day one.
Two months of yanking his own dick had been enough. I need a stiff drink and a woman—a curvy, wild one named Carlyle Stone.
Returning to the bathroom, he fished two condoms from his toiletry case. Then, he brushed his teeth and stared at his unshaven face. “Let’s roll.”
He crossed the hall and knocked. When she answered, his heart stuttered. “You look pretty.” He wanted to keep things chill, not play his hand. In reality, she looked sensational in her black dress and stilettos. He closed the door.
“This is my funeral dress. I’ll be two minutes.”
“You got us on the list?”
“Sure did.”
Following her, he leaned against the bathroom doorframe while she coated her lashes in mascara. My god, she’s gorgeous. He wanted to tell her to skip the face paint, but he liked watching her get ready.
“You go to Uninhibited,” she said. “Do you play there?”
“No. I visit Sin. Sometimes I watch. Does that count?”
As she stared at his reflection, her pupils dilated. “It does for us exhibitionists. We’ll give this a try. It’ll either work, or it won’t.” She turned to him. “I want to help, so be honest with me. Okay?”
“Always am.”
“My kink friends know me as Natasha. Do you want to use a different name?”
“I’m not going to be doing much talking.”
She turned back to the mirror. “You can’t just walk in there, dick-a-blazing.” She paused, a brief smile flitting over her face. “Well, maybe you can. Let’s talk rules. You and your partner will choose a safe word.”
“For what?”
“If you don’t like what’s happening and you want your partner to stop, you use the word and vice versa.”
“Why not just say ‘stop’?”
“If you’re role-playing a scene where there’s no consent and you say ‘stop’, your partner might think it’s part of the play. But if you say, ‘grapefruit’, you’ll know to stop. And checking in with your partner is good.”
“I do that.”
