Page 106 of Direct Action

In my mind I begged Poppy to drop it and prayed that our BFF connection was such that telepathy was possible. I was not ready to deep dive into the role the prostitutes played.

We were back to walking when Laura quickly said, “It’s important you know you can say no. Though I wouldn’t recommend denying an invitation to sit and share a drink. Remember, you get tips, so you want to smile and chat. Be interested and interesting, but you can say no to anything you want.”

Before Poppy could ask Laura to expand on that, I rushed to say, “Thanks for the reminder.”

Without further discussion about consent, roped-off areas, members, fully equipped rooms, or entertainers, Laura walked us through the house and out a door to a covered walkway that led to a building that looked like a garage. I glanced to the right and saw the pond. I looked left and saw the parking area was full of delivery vans.

Laura opened the door, and I nearly tripped over the threshold. “Amazing, isn’t it?” she asked from beside me.

It was amazing; it was like walking into serenity. Lots of pale blues, including the walls and throw pillows on an overstuffed cream couch. Three wheat-colored leather club chairs. Muted greens in various shades accented the open–floor plan space. Living room, dining room, kitchen all open—no walls, no dividers, nothing to interrupt the flow of the room.

“There are four bedrooms upstairs. Two on this floor. And six in the basement. There’s a second staff house on the other side of the main, but it’s not as peaceful as this one. And since you two are the first to arrive, you get the pick of rooms. Fridge is full, help yourself.”

“You’re not staying? I mean, you don’t have a room you want to claim?” I asked.

“No. My room’s in the main house.”

I really wanted to ask why she stayed in the main house, because I was nosy by nature. I didn’t because I figured her answer might freak me out.

“Do you live here?” Poppy asked.

“I wish. I love this place. Mr. Gamble requested I stay in the main house this weekend. Most of the time, if there’s a party here, I stay in the sage green room on the main floor. The view is amazing. You get mountains and the pond.”

I was zapping Poppy with the telepathy again, hoping it worked a second time, and she didn’t ask about Mr. Gamble or his request.

“Thanks so much for walking us over here and taking the time to brief us.”

“No problem. Happy to help.” Laura started for the door but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “You can say no. But if you don’t want to, there’s plenty of fun to be had. And here’s some sisterly advice. Mr. Lance is pretty to look at and funny. He’ll make you bust a gut laughing. Great tipper. But . . . small peen. Like, small. But he makes up for it in other ways. Mr. Donovan hardcore likes it rough, really rough, but he checks in every step and is a big ole softy after he’s done. Total cuddler and buys the whole night just so his cuddle time isn’t cut short. Mr. Harper looks every bit the nerdy banker he is. Sweet as can be. So sweet you’d never guess he’s hiding a monster cock under those trousers and he’s a biter. So if you have men at home, tell him to check his teeth. If not, he’ll leave marks and hickeys. But he won’t if you tell him not to do it.”

I wasn’t sure what expression Poppy was wearing on her face, and I didn’t chance looking, because I was on the verge of either busting out laughing at the insanity of this conversation or running into a bedroom and hiding in the closet.

“How does Mr. Lance make up for it?” Poppy asked.

Oh my God, shut up! I screamed in my head.

Laura gave a beaming megawatt smile. “That’s up to you. But my favorite is his mouth. He’s a master at head. Sheer perfection. He brings an assortment of toys with him, everything from vibes, paddles, plugs, clamps, crops. He’s good with a paddle too. If you like kink and great head, if Mr. Lance approaches, say yes.”

“I can’t ask him?” Poppy pushed.

Laura’s eyes got big. “Hell no. Shit. I forgot Muriel didn’t go over the rules. No speaking unless spoken to. You do not offer services. If a guest wants something, they will approach you and ask. And no touching a guest unless it’s invited. That’s it. Simple. Just walk around, look gorgeous, smile, and play waitress. At the end of the night, you walk away with a pocketful of money, and that’s before extras. Not a bad gig. Oh, the roped-off . . .” She trailed off. “Never mind, there are only three premiums here tonight, and you’re off-limits to Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Taylor. If Mr. Gamble wants to trade me in for one of you, I’ll find you and explain what the upstairs is all about.”

With that, she turned back to the door and walked out.

Did that just happen?

Did a pretty woman in a pretty dress with sexy heels on her feet just explain the sexual preferences of three men I didn’t know but would be meeting in a few hours . . . ?

Yes, that happened. All of it.

And it creeped me the fuck out.

Poppy got close, wrapped her arms around me like we’d talked about before we left, and shoved her face into the side of my head. If we were being recorded it would look like she was hugging me. “That was the most bizarre experience of my life.”

“Mine too,” I muttered back.

We’d also decided there would be no debriefing or discussing anything until we left tomorrow since we didn’t know if there were hidden cameras or microphones.

“Dibs on the sage green room,” I called.