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Cannon’s reputation precedes him and from what I’ve heard there’s a different woman in his bed almost every night of the week. I know I won’t offend him by what I’m about to say, but still, I’m one of those people who likes to be honest, who abhors being led on or leading others on when I know my intentions.
“This was great. I had a wonderful night,” I say. “But I just want to be sure we’re on the same page. About the relationship thing.”
He looks away, folding a shirt to tuck in a drawer. “We’re on the same page. It was one great night, and now it’s over and I’m your boss.”
The conversation continues and he says all the right things, the words I need to hear to know I’m not leading him on, but there’s something in his tone, a bristling or anger dancing just around the edges of his words.
Like he’s not on the same page as me.
But this is Cannon. Cannon Bachman. Owner of Fire and owned by no one. I’m imagining the discomfort in his tone. I must be.
Every evening at Fire, there is one hour. One blessed hour when all the chores and prep work are done. When the day crew has done all their cleaning, scrubbed the place of every particle of DNA, set the scenes, made sure everything is perfect for the guests… After all that work, that’s when the shift changes from the daytime cooks and cleaning and prep crews to the sensual teachers and leaders of the rooms, the professionals who know how to bring every inch of your flesh to life.
And that’s when the staff gets to play.
Cannon, wanting to reward his hardworking employees as well as ease his evening workers into the mood of the club, had the brilliant idea for the staff’s paths to cross in this way, for the day crew to blow off steam and the night crew to have an hour after their busy day, filled with the worries of ordinary life, to get to play and ease into the sexy work ahead.
He chooses a few rooms each night to close, leaving them available for the staff hour.
I’m staff. I’m no longer a virgin. I’m ready to play. The morning after my exquisite evening with Cannon, I make a decision. Tonight, I will play. With trembling fingers, I go to the sign-up sheet in the room we clock in and out of. I scan the piece of paper, trailing my finger over it as I read. There’re so many options.
Across the top of the page in bold it reads:Play with equal parts respect and liberation.
I like that. Cannon’s made it clear there’s nothing going on in this club that isn’t one hundred percent consensual. And as far as problems arising, so far in the employee gossip chain, I’ve heard of none. His meticulous vetting of staff and clientele seem to have avoided conflict.
There’re codes for everything, and everything must be agreed to before the scene.FNmeans full nudity, andFPmeans full penetration. I think of Cannon and blush. Let’s see, let’s see… I don’t even find the need to remind myself to breathe deeply as I scan the list. I find there’s not an apprehensive bone in my body.
I think Cannon cured me of that last night.
I sign up to be a recipient of a full-body erotic massage. The masseuse, Ricky, a man with a thick accent and a deep olive complexion, wants to practice on someone before his billionaire tech boss babe client arrives.
“Yes, Ricky, I’d be happy to be your guinea pig,” I say, swirling my name across the paper with an inky pen.
Twenty-three minutes later, I’m lying flat on my back on a table of black leather. I wear nothing but straps of black leather studded with silver metal circles, wrapped around my rib cage, my belly, my thighs.
My breasts and pussy are fully exposed. There’s an audience hovering around the edges of the room. That’s one of the rules with staff playtime—it’s never a private event, anyone may come and watch.
I can’t believe I’m lying here naked, my nipples standing on end, perfectly on display from my full breasts that heave as I take a deep breath. I love the feeling of people watching. There’s got to be at least a dozen sets of eyes on me, including one dark pair that seems to delve straight into my soul whenever I look into them.
Cannon stands in the open doorway of the green room, named after its dark green wood paneling, arms crossed over his chest, sipping a drink. I can’t quite read the look he’s giving me. Caught somewhere between anger and desire maybe? I can’t focus on him now. I’ve got Ricky’s smooth, sultry voice beckoning me.
“Kylie, Kylie, Kylie. What a beautiful body you’ve offered to me to tonight. I give my deepest gratitude for your trust and enthusiasm.” He stretches his open palms over my shoulders. “May I?”
“Yes, you may.”
I close my eyes as his warm, oiled hands make contact with my skin. Every nerve ending stands at attention as he touches me. Oh my God, the feel of his strong hands working the knots out of my shoulders—
My relaxation is interrupted by a cough coming from the doorway of the room.
“Sorry. Just got a bit of my drink down the wrong way. Please, continue.” It’s Cannon’s deep voice giving the apology. I would recognize it anywhere.
I close my eyes once more, settling back into the cushion.
Ricky continues to massage my shoulders, moving down my arms, thumbs massaging the tense muscles in my forearms. He’s grabbing one of my hands in both of his, and the feel of him kneading my palm then rising up and tugging on the ends of my fingers. It’s close to the orgasm I experienced with Cannon last night, and it’s only my hand in Ricky’s.
“God, you’re good,” I say. “Really good. Tasha is going to love tonight’s session. I swear your touch is like reaching into heaven.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I aim to please. And when my playmate is as beautiful as you, I can’t help but enjoy every moment of my job.”
