Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (14 page)

“Is that right?”

“Sure enough.”

“Then can you direct me to your chapter?” He copped a smile then locked his arm around her waist and drew her against him. “See, I love a good hook and a satisfying climax. Since I plan to be the hero in your unfolding adventure, I’m sure your story will provide satisfaction from start to finish.”

She stroked his cheek ever so slowly. As she caressed the rough stubble on his face, she said, “Oh I don’t know, Tristan. If I were you, I’d expect a few cliffhangers and a possible tragedy, too. What I wouldn’t count on is a happy ending. In fact, you should probably have plenty of tissues on hand.”

Chapter Five

The Killians brought in a mix of people. Clink owners—past and present—never wanted for a crowd, but when the Killians and their gang entered the building? The entire staff catered to them.

The Killian clan flaunted cash, drank as if they were in a contest, and consumed more food than Ansley or anyone else there could prepare. They tipped well, too, which made for some happy employees.

Tristan bumped against Ansley. He purposefully used her body for leverage as he reached for the top shelf in search of their best tequila. “We’re already on a wait.”

“You might want to send Baron outside now!” she exclaimed over the music and typical bar noise. “Tell him to warn those waiting. Most of these people will be here until closing time tonight!”

“And why is that?” he asked, bracketing his left arm around her waist as he captured and gripped the top of a Patrón bottle.

Ansley held her tongue against her upper lip. She moved her mouth to his ear and said, “Because, Tristan, from a woman’s point of view, the men around here tonight have upgraded features—lots of cash in their wallets, a good job or decent career, and fit bodies that they haven’t shared with just anyone. These guys here are cowboys and horsemen. Most of them are single, so that makes Clink the happening place tonight where a woman doesn’t just get laid, she baits a hook in hopes of finding someone she can keep around for a while.”

He snickered. “So you have a lot of gals who like to mount and stuff their latest catch, do you?”

“I suppose,” she sang, walking away. “Lord knows, I like finding a man’s back against the wall.”

She glanced over her shoulder and caught the twinkle in Tristan’s eye. That’s precisely what she wanted to see. She wanted him to think, fantasize, and be so horny he’d drag her off to the stockroom regardless of the crowd they left standing.

After they shared a knowing smile, Ansley strolled around the room. She couldn’t help but pay close attention to her clientele. The way they dressed, the way they carried themselves, everything about her customers suggested wealth and privilege. It was definitely a good night. The cash register would jingle until closing time.

Clink’s customers were, by and large, from all walks of life. Some took the lifestyle to the extreme, dressing the part with leather, whips, and collars but never engaging in the sexual favors publicly granted there. Others craved an audience. Most of the exhibitionists performed several nights a week, captivating onlookers somewhere between a muffled moan and a guttural growl. Tonight, those who wanted to play would probably rent a room.

“Hey, sexy,” Graham said, throwing his arms around her shoulders.

“Hey yourself, stranger.”

“Still pouting?”

“Should I be?” Ansley asked, aware of how easily he dragged her to the dance floor.

Soft music from the nineties set the mood, and couples throughout grabbed their partner and danced in a swaying embrace, many of them inconspicuous as their fingers and hands wandered while others there didn’t care. They groped and fondled one another as if they wanted everyone to watch.

Typically, those who patronized Clink came there for a reason. Either they needed to get laid and wanted someone watching after they found a suitable partner, or they visited for the show, and all patrons were potentially cast for the nightly drama. Observers were always eager to later share what they saw, providing their tales to anyone willing to bend an ear and listen. Scheduled guests weren’t necessary. Clink customers gave newcomers and regulars plenty of bangs for their buck.

Graham gave her a spin and Elliott caught her. Soon, they surrounded her. Their bodies swayed in tandem, moved in time. The erotic grinding took a different turn when a song from the year before, a popular number dancers loved, led them into a thumping beat, a way to touch one another in a naughty manner guaranteed to gain some attention from the bar.

They could do whatever they wanted there. It was why folks flocked to Clink. The club was located outside the Asheville city limits. Members of the planning commission had tried more than once to have the large property annexed. City officials often voiced their concerns, passing judgment on club goers while citing low morals and corrupt values.

Prominent members of the inner political circle often promised locals they’d eventually close one of the most notorious BDSM clubs in the country. Those small-town politicians frequented Clink, too.

Elliott nipped at her ear. “You’ll never guess who’s here tonight.”

She glanced around the loft, what little she could see of it, and finally surrendered, not in the mood to guess her way into providing a wrong answer. “Who?”

“The mayor and his wife.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope,” Graham replied for him, tilting his head in their direction.

“Oh my God. I need to go say hello.”

“That is precisely what you don’t need to do,” Graham said, lowering his head and taking a ravenous kiss. “Mmm, now that’s what I think you should do the rest of the night.”

“I bet you do,” she whispered, staring at the mouth that could feed her passion, sate her lust.

“Be right back,” Graham said, leaving her in Elliott’s arms.

“I need to work,” Ansley said, looking at the bar and locking eyes with Bailey, who was frowning. He was obviously thinking the same thing, since there was a line in front of him.

After the McKays purchased the property, all attempts to cease club operations pretty much failed. Soon, Clink became the happening spot in the North Carolina Mountains. At capacity, the club held nearly a thousand, but they generally cut off admittance at nine hundred. That was the number the staff felt they could reasonably serve. While they employed plenty of bartenders, cocktail waitresses, and bouncers, they also liked to provide their guests with enough room to roam comfortably.

At the moment, they had a packed house, and Ansley should’ve been working. Instead, she enjoyed another dance. Slinging her arms over Elliott’s shoulders, she clutched her cell phone and stared at the caller ID. Kimberly had been trying to reach her since about two o’clock, and Ansley was pretty sure she knew why. Trixie probably told her the Killians were set for a party. Her twin wasn’t a dummy. She realized who would inevitably show his face there.

Sure enough, in all of his arrogant-as-hell glory, Jason Neely had been sporting two gorgeous, submissive women. Since Ansley grew up around Doms and subs, she could spot a submissive anywhere.

When Jason first arrived, she saw the women present themselves, taking that stance Ansley detested. She’d watched her mother and Patience’s mom assume their submissive position many times.

Sometimes Ansley wondered if she might have served the lifestyle well by becoming a Dominatrix. She damn sure wouldn’t present herself to a man like Neely, and she certainly wouldn’t bow down to anyone. In fact, if she had been Kimberly? She would’ve spanked Neely’s cocky butt for sport, every morning and every night, just to remind him who was boss.

About the time defiance settled in her veins, and all the ways she wished Kimberly had used rebellion as a tool against Jason Neely, she spotted Tristan across the room. He folded his arms against his chest and stared at her like his gaze could intimately touch her in places no other man had gone.

Okay, so maybe she could be persuaded if the right man asked her to submit.

Right. Not in this lifetime
.

She slipped a kiss on Elliott’s cheek and said, “Save me a dance for later.”

“I will, doll,” he said, reaching for her before she slipped away.

As soon as he fastened his arms around her, his tongue parted her lips. He kissed her until she was dizzy, plunging his tongue rapidly into her mouth, fluttering it as he kissed her into a fiery state of arousal.

“Shame on you,” she whispered, staring into Elliott’s eyes before she turned around, cursing herself for thinking submission was degrading when she was so obviously taken by the four best-looking men in the room. She would, in fact, experience degradation if she presented herself to someone like Jason Neely, but Tristan, Elliott, Graham, and Bailey weren’t Jason.

Strutting toward the long stretch of shiny wood, she slid in between a few guys ordering drinks. Glancing over at Tristan, she watched as he entertained a few ladies, shuffling glasses, juggling bottles, and all that jazz bartenders used to impress the customers. Once, he stopped what he was doing, winked at her, and then returned to his attentive audience without making apologies.

The ladies in front of him frowned, looked her up and down, swapped a few whispers, and then returned their attention to Tristan, pushing their breasts up for show as a couple of them simultaneously unhooked another few buttons on their shirts.

“Good grief,” she muttered.

“He doesn’t read minds, you know,” Bailey said, slapping down several bar napkins and placing Singapore Slings in front of their customers.

“I don’t care if he does,” she spat. “He’d find empty thoughts here and nothing more.” She was irritated again. No, if she wanted to be honest with herself, she was jealous. “Besides, he seems quite interested in that leggy brunette with big ole boobs.”

“Like I feared, being inside your head must be
pretty
scary.” A second later, he served a man two frosty drinks, collected the guy’s credit card, and started a tab. When he finished with his customer, he said, “Old is probably the key word there. She could be his mother, Ansley. Besides, he only has eyes for you.”

Rather than discuss Tristan, she said, “You know, Bailey, you might like it inside my head. I have a very dirty mind.”

Half a second later, Bailey’s face flashed with a recognizable expression, one Ansley knew well because she’d driven enough men crazy to spot that heavy look of lust. Bailey must’ve had a tantalizing thought, maybe it was just a passing one or maybe not, but he had some kind of fantasy, and the explicit image involved her.

“Why, you naughty boy, Bailey,” she crooned, slapping her hand over his. “You do like the idea of being inside my head.”

“He might enjoy himself more if he found his way to your bed.” Jason Neely slapped his hands against the bar, caging her between the thick wedge of wood and his towering body.

“Why you son of a bitch,” she said, wheeling around to face the man who had broken her sister’s heart.

Smacking his lips, Jason said, “Damn, honey, you look good, Ansley. All those hours you’ve been spending in the gym finally paid off, I see.”

She released a chuckle so dry she almost didn’t recognize the throaty sound as her own. “Wish I could hand out compliments to the room, but the truth is, Jason, you’re looking rather old these days. Whatever did my sister see in you?”

“Give me your hand and I’ll let you feel around for the only answer you’ll ever need.”

“Humph!” she exclaimed. “Then somebody lied to your sorry ass, and I don’t think it was my sister. However, she did mention something about you being very small, and I seem to remember hearing her tell another fella that you didn’t know how to use what little you were given.”

In her peripheral, she saw Tristan move from behind the bar. Graham was hurrying toward them. Oh no, she refused to let anyone stop her from saying what needed to be said. If any man were due insults, Neely racked up his share.