Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Jesse?”
“No, I’m good. I’m just giving Ava a tour of the extension. She’ll be working on the interiors,” I say, turning a smile to her. Perhaps I’m being presumptuous. Her taking the contract is not set in stone at all, but I plan on making it happen.
“About time,” Drew pipes up. “There are never any rooms available.”
“How was boarding in Cortina, my man?” Sam asks, steering us away from Drew’s grievance.
I settle on a stool. “Amazing. The Italian way of skiing follows pretty closely to their laid-back lifestyle.” I watch Ava as I speak. She’s interested, wants to know more, and that in itself is appealing. So I reel off what I got up to in Italy. Minus the women and drink.
“You’re good?” Ava asks quietly, her eyes now comfortably set on me.
At what? Fucking? Skiing? Wooing? “Very,” I reply, and she nods, thoughtful, our eyes locked. She’s wondering about the fucking part, despite the fact that, naturally, I didn’t mention my extracurricular activities of that sort while I was in Italy. Or would she call it making love? Whatever. My dick inside her. All the same thing. “Shall we?” I get up and gesture the way.
She says her goodbyes to the lads, and I don’t miss both their interested looks. Whatever they’re thinking, I’m certain I won’t like it.
“So, now for the main feature,” I tease, taking the stairs, Ava following. We circle the landing. “These are the private rooms.” I point to a few doors, my private suite included. Her. In there. I close my eyes briefly and try not to let the fantasy take hold as we reach the stained-glass window at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the communal room. I glance up, my mind off on another tangent. What would she look like up there? Hanging from a St. Andrews Cross? Shackled to a horse? Spread-eagled on a bed?
But then . . .
I look down at my feet, caught off guard by my next thought.
If she was in that room, every other man in this place would get to enjoy her. I chew my lip, my thoughts spiraling. All eyes on her. That doesn’t sit well.
I force my feet forward, shaking my mind clear. “This is the extension.” It doesn’t sit well at all. “This is where I need your help.” We enter the new wing, and I spy the carpenter in one of the rooms on a ladder, drilling into the ceiling.
“This is all new?” she asks.
“Yes, they’re all shells at the moment, but I’m sure you’ll remedy that. Let me show you.” I seize her hand without thought and pull her to the last room, smiling at her when she doesn’t protest. Because she feels it too. Whatever that odd sizzle is, she feels it.
“Are they all this big?” She tugs her hand free, and it’s all I can do not to reprimand her for it. I don’t get much pleasure in life. Sex isn’t really pleasure. It’s a necessity. A means to an end. A habit. A vice. But physical contact with her is pleasurable and, frankly, it’s pretty fucking hard to let her withdraw from it.
“Yes,” I answer, and she gazes around.
“En suite?”
“Yes.” I lean against the wall as she disappears into the bathroom. These rooms are the last thing on my agenda at the moment. And at the top? How the fuck I’m going to convince this woman to have dinner with me. Somewhere else. Away from here. Away from the eyes of the male members. Away from the women who I absolutely know will take an instant dislike to her, because she’s younger, fresher. And because I, the unfeeling, impenetrable lord of the fucking sex manor, am taken by her.
Ava emerges. Takes me in. Thinks. I’m suddenly wary, my eyes narrowing evidence of that, but I’m fucked if I can help it.
“I’m not sure that I’m the right person for this job.”
Oh no she doesn’t. Not a chance. No way. Make normal conversation again, Ward. Talk about tennis. TV. Music. “I think you have what I want.” And I say that. And I don’t only say it, I say it quietly. Suggestively. Boldness is all you know. And, worryingly, I can see her withdrawing. So yes, fuck it, the gloves are off.
I know attraction when it smacks me in the face, and this woman is attracted to me. So why the heck is she trying to be all cool? Could it be this place? Is she wary of my elaborate high-end sex club? That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever asked myself. Of course she is. Everyone unfamiliar with this lifestyle is wary of it. It doesn’t usually bother me. Not with anyone—my parents, my sister, no one. But this woman? I care that she might think it’s debauched. That I’m debauched. And worst, I care that she’s right.