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Alexis shook her head again dubiously.
“....but when she gets home, wants to be pampered and spoiled, treated like a real woman,” he added. “Her Doms will give their lives to ensure her happiness and safety.”
“In return, she just has to act like their slave?” She pursed her lips. “Be a captive and concubine?”
“Precisely.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she thought aloud.
“It makes perfect sense,” Rod replied. “She submits to him like a biblical woman, then he protects and cherishes her like a real man. Like a knight of old. The hero and heroine.”
Alexis was unconvinced.
“Second, when you play, you don’t need alcohol or drugs,” he explained scientifically. “The endorphin high from the state of dithyrambic, erotically altered consciousness is as powerful as any drug. In slang, it’s called flying or brain-fade.”
“Fascinating,” she scoffed sarcastically.
“You aren’t fascinated by how our bodies work?” Zane chimed in. “For a doctor that is very curious.”
He smiled triumphantly as he saw her flinch at his admittedly excellent point. “Of course I’m interested, I just prefer to learn from a medical journal than a sleazy club.” Alexis was quite proud of her comeback until she saw that satisfied grin play on Zane’s lips again.
“Then you can check the NUC medical journal, issue eight hundred and sixteen, page one thousand and four. An in-depth study into the effects of contra-polar stimulation and delayed derivative pleasure.” He paused a moment, then added, “But personally, I prefer practical research.”
Alexis was dumbstruck by this deadly combination of intelligence and mischievousness.
“You may have noticed,” Rod said, breaking the silence, “that he is the brains of the operation, and I am the brawn.”
“Hmm, well the brawn remains to be seen,” Alexis quipped. “Anyway, if I have to sit here and listen to you two blabber about endorphins, at least buy me a drink, dolts.” Alexis maintained her seat upon the high stool. She crossed her legs tightly and swiveled them away from Rod, tucking them safely under the countertop.
Rod cocked a devilish eyebrow and slanted a look at Zane. She knew it was a challenge.
“Rey Sol Anejo,” he said to the bartender, adding in fluent Spanish, “la botella entera, por favor, compadre.”
“I hope that’s Spanish for rum,” she said.
“Do I detect a hint of a pirate fetish, by any chance?” Zane taunted.
“I have no fetishes whatsoever,” she denied. “And even if I did I sure as hell wouldn’t share any of them with you.
Snob that she was, Alexis had no intention of sleeping with a pharmaceutical rep, let alone two. Not now, not ever.
The bottle of spiced tequila arrived swiftly.
“Put it on my tab,” Rod said.
“Cuatrocientos dolares,” replied the barman.
“Está bien.”
Rod discreetly slid a one-hundred-dollar tip to the bartender, who slipped it into his apron.
“Back to our conversation,” he went on. “Third, alcohol or drugs interfere with the aspect of…control.”
The last word echoed so loudly in Alexis’s ears, her heart skipped a beat.
“Well, I’m sure the world of drug sales is still pleasurable….um, profitable,” she scorned his job again. Her ethereal voice was icy with contempt.
“You mentioned pleasure?” His flaming golden eyes glowed.
