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I imagined countless conversations about our hopes and fears for ourselves and for our child. Slowly but surely, we'd plan our future together—move her into my place which was big enough for us all. But that could wait until Faith showed me she was ready.
I’d make it clear she could count on me to pay the bills, put food on the table, and fill our household with love, laughter and acceptance. Whatever it took to prove my worth and finally capture not just her pussy, but also her heart.
CHAPTER9
FAITH
So. Not. Fair.
Hormones had me hornier than ever and he wanted to “slow things down”?
Not sure if he noticed, but I didn’t do slow. My paces were high speed and turbo.
I’d agonized a good amount after sharing my diagnosis of ADHD with him. Riley had the strange ability to get me to speak my mind. It was the first time I’d ever told a guy my brain was like a squirrel on an espresso bender.
It’s why I adopted sloths as my personal mascot: they had that lazy, too-smart-for-their-own-good attitude and never rushed anything. I fidgeted with my key chain as I drove. A purple sloth holding a miniature lotus pose, its legs crossed and its arms resting on its knees in a meditative stance—reminding me to chill.
Given the larger issue at hand during our last conversation—aka Riley’s baby in my uterus—we didn’t delve too deeply into my symptoms, nor did he react when I shared my diagnosis. Nor did he stay mad about my keeping the pregnancy from him, like I expected.
In fact, he seemed happy about the news.
If only it weren’t for his later mandate of no sex.
To top it all off, today I drove through winding hills, my stomach in knots, after picking up my friend Luna for a tour of The Ranch—the exclusive club where couples went to explore fantasy and pleasure.
Great, just great. I was currently living like a nun, and now I’d be dragging my habit through halls where sex practically oozed out of the walls.
As we followed the winding, paved road that cut through a timberland of spruce trees, I felt something flutter in my gut. Apprehension mixed with excitement as I envisioned what was ahead of us.
We pulled up to a gigantic, glass-fronted building with log columns flanking the enormous front door. Although I passed myself off as being sexually worldly with my friend, Luna, I’d never been to a club like this. The locomotive in my chest chugged faster.
I looked over at my bestie. Her eyes were wide with anticipation and uncertainty. Clearly, she was nervous, but the smile that curved her lips told me it was thrilling for her as well.
“Here we are. You ready?” I asked.
Luna gave a small nod of her head, stirring her bright pink, wavy locks flowing past her shoulders in a beautiful cascade resembling candy floss. She reached out, intertwining her hand with mine.
The hem of her A-line skirt brushed against her ankles, the navy-blue fabric had silver buttons that ran down the center front, giving it a classic Victorian schoolgirl look. She paired it with a crisp white blouse, neatly tucked in, and a narrow black ribbon tied into a bow around her collar. Shiny Mary Janes completed the outfit.
Clad for a bygone era, her iconic circular glasses added a hint of scholarly flair which made her hopelessly out-of-place in this establishment where people came to get busy. Her penchant for whimsy snuck out, this time in the form of mismatched socks.
God, I loved her. My heart lifted and I could breathe again, thoughts of impending parenthood and a devilishly handsome firefighter banished for the moment.
We stepped out and the crisp, coastal air kissed our skin as we ascended the front steps. As soon as we entered, a curvaceous woman wearing a bombshell dress which hugged her covetous curves, greeted us warmly and introduced herself as Priscilla.
We each signed a confidentiality agreement and followed her through an opulent great room that showcased the finest furnishings—thick carpets, plush leather sofas, rich mahogany accents, and crystal chandeliers. It transported us to another world we never knew existed in Briarville. “Do you believe this?” I whispered in my friend’s ear.
She shook her head and followed Priscilla’s brisk walk through a lavish bar with sheepskin-covered stools and custom antler light fixtures overhead. Upper-class patrons in designer dresses and suits rubbed elbows alongside some obvious locals who wore cowboy hats and boots.
As we marched down a wide hallway to the library where Luna might work, Priscilla instructed us on the establishment’s strict adherence to safe sex play, “We take the well-being of DDLGs seriously. There is a mandatory training course before anyone may participate. This includes lessons on communication techniques and BDSM basics and etiquette. In addition, there are regular seminars on kink-related topics open to all members. Experienced educators who understand the importance of safety and consent teach these classes.”
Priscilla continued leading us down the hall, her heels sinking into the thick carpet pile. At one point, she stopped and stretched her arm upwards, fingers reaching towards the Tiffany-style glass. Its soft luminescence illuminated a tiny speck of dust previously imperceptible to my eye. With a delicate flick of her wrist, she sent it spiraling away into oblivion and picked up where she left off, “The Ranch has a strict zero-tolerance policy for any behavior that causes discomfort or distress. If a patron violates these rules or acts inappropriately with another guest, they face immediate expulsion from the property and legal repercussions when appropriate. This creates a safe environment for everyone present.”
My best friend’s eyes sparkled in awe, her steps a slow-motion dream. She slowly drank in the splendor of the glittering chandelier and luxurious carpet. Both of us were overwhelmed by the sheer extravagance of it all.
I leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Well. Can you see yourself working here?”
She stood there, agog, as if plunked into one of her beloved novels, where decadence oozed from every corner.
