Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
3
Logan
I sit across from Dean in our usual place. It’s an expensive restaurant downtown and I recognize senators, CEOs, and a few celebrities around the room. Dean looks sharp in his suit as usual. He’s clean-cut and has a classic boy next door look that makes him look like he belongs in high society. He’s not rough around the edges like I am.
“Nakasuki is talking about pulling out his investment,” says Dean gravely.
I grimace, dragging my thumb and forefinger across the stubble on my jaw. “That’s what, ten percent?”
“Eleven and a half.”
“Fuck,” I say, leaning back.
“Maintaining growth isn’t enough in this market,” Dean says, almost apologetically. “But you already know that.”
I wave it off. If we lose Nakasuki, we lose him. “Fuck him,” I say.
Dean smirks. “I figured you would say something like that.”
I lean back, stripping off my jacket, despite the restaurant’s rule about proper attire. They know better than to question me here. Our waitress asks if I want more bourbon, and I eye her appraisingly. She’s sexy, in a quiet, reserved kind of way. The way her eyes flick from mine to the glass nervously make it clear she’s interested, but I’m not.
“Do you still go to Club Crave?” I ask Dean after the waitress has left.
“Straight from business to pleasure tonight, then?” He asks.
I shrug. “Do you?” I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ve known Dean long enough to let him get away with more than most.
“Yes. That’s where I met Stephanie.”
I purse my lips thoughtfully.
“Tomorrow is the Valentine’s party, Logan. If you’re thinking what it looks like you’re thinking. It’ll have to wait.”
I had completely forgotten, but I don’t want to admit that. This shit with my ex has me more out of it than I like. I make a quick vow to sort that out as soon as fucking possible. I don’t like being sloppy. It’s not how I operate. It’s not how I got where I am, and it’s a real fast way to fall from the top. I’ll get her the check tomorrow morning and call it done, at least until she comes back for more money next year.
“The night after, then.”
“Maybe I’ll see you there,” says Dean. “Stephanie has been begging me to share her with a guy she has her eye on from Crave, and I think I may just give her what she wants soon.”
Dean has always had tastes that are a little more eccentric than mine. He likes threesomes and he likes watching his subs give in to other men. It’s not my style at all, but to each his own. After all, that’s the whole idea of Club Crave. Members can come with clearly identified tastes and distastes and find people who share their interests. Like an addict getting ready to come off a long stint of being sober, even thinking about the club gets my dick hard. I’ve stayed away from the lifestyle for so long. I still don’t know if Lana’s bullshit is going to keep me from actually enjoying myself when I find the right submissive, but I’m going to try.
I always needed to dominate women to get off, since well before I met my ex-wife. After everything that happened, I couldn’t think about domination and submission without thinking of her and what she did--how I trusted her and she made me look like a jackass for it. I still feel apprehension about stepping back into the club and the lifestyle that comes with it, but I’m finally ready to try. I just have to get the Valentine’s Day party out of the way.
Before I was married, I started the tradition of the party to build company morale but mainly as a night of release. I would bring my favorite girls to my play room at my house. I got off knowing that I was dominating them just above the hundreds of employees, cluelessly enjoying themselves at the party. It was a special treat, one I looked forward to all year. Lately, it has just become an obligation. I make sure I’m seen and suffer through it, counting down the minutes until it’s over, not bothering to toy with the women.
The waitress drops off our meals and refills our drinks. I take a sip of my bourbon and look down at the steak. It’s a cut of Kobe style beef, marbled perfectly with just enough fat to make every bite melt in my mouth. The chef only garnished the meat with a pad of butter and parsley. The meat itself looks like it was crusted in salt and pepper and then seared on the edges, but it’s still perfectly rare in the middle, just how I like.
“Anything new from Lana?” Dean inquires as he dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
“Yeah,” I say simply. I don’t go into much detail about it with him, but he has known me long enough to piece it together.