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I couldn't care less if I never had another drink again. And I have no desire to gamble.
My addiction might be worse than my da's.
I stare at my husband's sinful expression, and my truth becomes clear.
I'm not satiated.
I need more.
I'm an addict jonesing for whatever I can get from Tynan O'Connor.
17
Tynan
Maeve's slept since we returned to the penthouse at four thirty this morning. It's now ten, and I can't get the scene at the club off my mind. I stare at my wife with her porcelain skin, red, pouty lips, and soft, black hair. It strikes me how she's still a mystery to me.
She radiated an energy last night like I've never experienced. She was majestic up against the wall. She's inexperienced and naive about so many things. Yet she possesses a confidence and submission I crave.
Guilt hits me again.
I should have brought her home and taken her properly, but I let my perversions win. As much as I loved every moment of last night, I've still not done things right where she's concerned.
Her innocence and naivety shine as she sleeps peacefully. I don't care how many movies she watched. I knew introducing her to my lifestyle would stir desires within her she didn't know she possessed.
I was right.
I saw it in her eyes. She wants more of it. I can't lie; I do too. But at some point, I should give her what she deserves, shouldn't I?
There wasn't a man in that room I don't know personally. I work with most of them. Some of the women I've fucked. Some of them I haven't, but I see them often at the club. Now, they all know what my wife looks like when she begs me to make her come. They won't forget how she sounds, the sweet scent of her arousal, and how she gripped the chains until her knuckles were white while convulsing against the wall.
I've never been embarrassed about taking people to the sex club. I'm not ashamed I took Maeve, but I have mixed emotions about the consequences.
Wherever we go, while my wife is fully clothed and we're at a legitimate event, those people will think about last night's scenario and want a replay.
They'll imagine her naked with leather wrapped around her body and in her compromised position. It strokes my ego and ignites my jealousy. The lewd side of me loves how those men, and most of the women, will want my wife, yet they're never going to get her.
The jealous part of me wants to squeeze all their necks until they can't breathe and poke their eyes out so they never look at her again.
Maeve stirs, and I freeze, not wanting to wake her. I exhausted her. She fell asleep almost immediately in my arms when we got into bed.
My phone buzzes, tearing me out of my thoughts. I grip it, then gaze one more time at my beautiful wife. She settles into her pillow, and I gently slide off the bed. I leave the bedroom and shut the door.
I glance at my phone.
Brogan: We lost him.
My pulse skyrockets.
Me: What the fuck do ya mean ya lost him?
Brogan: Call me.
"Goddammit," I mutter and angrily punch my finger on the screen.
Brogan answers immediately, "Tynan, he's gone."
"What do ya mean he's gone?"
