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He hadn’t been interested in any women.
None.
He was never looking at one again.
They couldn’t be trusted, and he was not interested.
Until he was.
“First of all, they’re not whores. They’re women. Often intelligent and professional women who enjoy sex and different kinks,” Aidan said.
Logan had snorted.
Mostly because he’d still been a little drunk.
“Don’t think you’ve been listening, little brother. I’m off women. Not looking for more of them,” Logan growled and began to walk away.
Going to sex clubs was not the solution.
Imagine if news of that came out.
Fucking hell.
He’d thought his brother was insane.
“Bullshit. You need to fuck this out of your system. The alcohol isn’t working for you,” Aidan had said. “Not interested in love? Cool. Neither are these women. Choose one who wouldloveyou to take out all that dark anger and frustration on her ass.”
What?
That had gotten his attention.
And Logan’s nether region had sat up and listened as well. For the first time in months, his cock was interested in something more than pissing.
“One drink,” he’d said.
That night, Logan had met his first true submissive. Aidan had been right. Her ass had been dark pink by the time he’d let her come.
He’d left her panting and sated, and Logan—more than satisfying the darkness in him—now had an outlet.
Sex had become a way for him to manage his anger and disappointment, a substitute for a real relationship.
Wrong? Maybe.
But he wasn’t hurting anyone. Well, except when they begged for it.
Some of the women he slept with were from the club. Some in real life. All of them clear what he offered.
His cock.
Pleasure.
And nothing more.
That had been nearly four years ago, and things were going just fine.
Suddenly, his phone rang, and when he saw it was one of his board members, Logan stepped out and made his way down the hall to a spare room.
“Logan Dufort,” he answered, his voice dark and masculine.
