House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story (13 page)

As
owner of
the
Midwest destination BDSM club, a bi-sexual man, he was
lonely at times he claimed, but content. Jack looked up at the ceiling, tried
to calm his twanging nerve endings. Kyle stayed quiet, waiting for him to
speak.

“Sorry,”
he muttered, finally, blowing out a breath. Something about the man’s silence
made him relax.

“Jack,
you know I understand how you feel, right? I mean, when we met I ID’d you right
away as a Dom and as the kind who has to use it as an outlet to stay sane. I’m
the same way. It took me nearly twenty years to come to terms with it. But if
you need a break, I get that too. This whole thing,” he held up a hand,
indicating the expensive carpets, huge bouquets of fresh flowers, original
artwork and the soft music, “can be overwhelming after a while. It’s why I go
away for a month every year.” He dropped his arm and mirrored Jack’s stance by
putting his hands in his trouser pockets. “You’ve been coming here nonstop for,
what? Nearly three years now? And not a single one of these women has intrigued
you enough to see them again? To go out on a date, have a cup of coffee?
Anything? That worries me.”

Jack
scoffed, opened his mouth to tell Kyle he had plenty of coffee dates and every
other kind of date for that matter and not to worry about him. Then he stopped,
the words frozen on his lips.

He
had… nothing. And he knew it. A shit ton of money in the bank, a showplace of a
house he’d renovated with his own hands, a job he loved, his father’s
construction company humming along, and yet…. Gulping, he started to turn back
around, to escape the hard reality his friend had just tossed in his face.

His
ears burned and his body still thrummed with that old annoying, restless
energy. And the fear, that he would open himself up to emotion and get
bitch-slapped by it once again.

“Wait,”
Kyle said. “Let’s go sit and talk. I’ll break out the Pappy Van Winkle. You
don’t have to do anything else but have a drink, and relax. We’ll let all the
others be on stage for a change tonight.”

Jack
squared his shoulders, faced his friend, and nodded. Kyle Summerlin was just as
“in demand” as Jack himself, and with both sexes, which gave him more options,
Jack supposed. He, himself, had never once been inclined, not even tempted to
do anything with a guy other than that once when he and Rob had been higher
than kites and some girl wanted them to kiss. He’d done it, but it meant
nothing, and it had turned her on so much well… it had been worth the
weirdness.

Even
when Rob came out to him when he got back from cooking school, it hadn’t
mattered. These men were his friends and always would be. He was never more
grateful than he was for Kyle, sensing his need to not be alone that night, but
not to perform on the sexual stage as he’d been doing nonstop for… yeah, Jesus,
three years now.

“You
will owe her one though,” Kyle said, draping an arm around Jack’s shoulders.
“She came here for you.”

Jack
laughed but it was not a pleasant sound, not even to his ears. “Okay, deal. You
gonna tell me who she is?”

“Nah,
you’ll just have to guess or ask her yourself.” He poured them a healthy
helping of the two-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon, then raised his glass.
Jack clinked his, a bit of his frustration ebbing as the brown liquor coated
his throat.  The memory of Jenna nearly floored him then, from out of nowhere,
for no reason, mocking him. He set his jaw, downed the booze, then stood. Kyle
looked up at him with those odd, gray eyes. “Where’re you going?”

“To
make the mystery lady’s night,” he said, shooting his cuffs. “I’m still sober,
you know that. I think pretending I can just leave here without getting her
off, like she paid for, would just make me look bad.”

“Well,”
Kyle sat back, sipping his drink, his face pensive. “If you’re sure. I’m
thinking you should take a break.”

“I
will. After this one.” He turned, opened the door, and marched down to the
stage where the Doms—four men and two women—were now arrayed against the
velvet-lined wall, waiting for the subs to choose.

* * * *

Annette.
Her name was like honey to him, pouring through his soul. He’d done exactly as
he’d planned, and she’d responded just as he expected. Responding to the hard
metal cuffs, the gag, the wax, even the bit he’d let drop right onto her pussy.
The sweet, hard button of her clit had quivered when he’d done it and he’d
latched onto it with his mouth, sucking and tugging her toward the fourth or
fifth operatic climax.

Finally,
she’d done the thing he’d anticipated.

“Sir,
Sir…oh god, Sir please, please, fuck me…. I can’t stand it. I have to have you
inside me.”

He’d
undressed then, slipping out of his trousers without a word, releasing her
wrists and ankles quickly. He needed to feel her around him, required a deeper
connection. Was this it? Could this be the sub he took out…what did Kyle say?
For coffee? On a date? Oh dear Jesus, he sincerely hoped so.

He
sighed as he slipped into her, taking her with a firm, deep stroke that drew
groans from them both.

“Look
at me,” he whispered as he captured her wrists over her head on the silk bed
cover. “Annette,” he sighed into her neck, moving his hips fast, faster, hard,
harder. Her breathing quickened again. She made small sounds of satisfaction as
she wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him the deep angle he loved.

“Sir,”
she cried out as her body clamped down on his and her pussy pulsed, drawing him
ever nearer to his own release. “Oh…yes!”

He
let go of her wrists, closed his eyes and let himself have it, that connection,
one of physical and potential emotional depth and breadth. His brain buzzed and
his body tensed as the orgasm rolled down his spine, making him shudder with
its energy.

He
opened his eyes, kissed her then for the first time, loving her taste and the
way she opened to him. Then, she stopped, her dark eyes seemed to flip a
switch—to off. As in “get off me I have to go.”

He
pulled out of her, his body cold, his soul frozen as he watched her sit, run
her hands through her hair. Then she stood and walked away from him without a
look. He rolled to his back, pulled off the condom and stared at the ceiling.
This
is what you do, Gordon. You fuck them and leave. Why are you expecting this
woman to act any differently?

He
decided to turn on some native charm, see if he could coax her to stay, try a
few more moves. Anything, if she would only stay.

When
she walked out of the bathroom she was dressed in a power suit, her hair pulled
back, glasses and earrings on. His gaze went straight to the gigantic diamond
on her ring finger. He lay, naked, his cock still half hard, and glared at her.

“Hope
it was all you wanted it to be.
Annette
,” he used the name she’d thrown
at him, figuring it was not her real one.

She
smiled and sat by him, ran a manicured finger down his pecs to his abs, cupped
his balls a brief second. “I’ll be back for more, stud,” she said. “My husband
is in the next room, getting his ass spanked too. Maybe next time we’ll go for
a bigger party room, hmmm, make it a foursome?”  But Jack turned his head away,
sick at himself for even thinking anything at all beyond what he usually did,
for not sticking with what worked, emotionally speaking.

“Maybe,”
he said, as he headed for the shower, his mind churning already, letting go of
her and the split second he’d thought he’d found something special.
Gordon,
you truly are the fucking king of bad timing.

He
stayed in the shower a long time, then drove home through the dark just before
dawn, his eyes burning with self-pitying tears he refused to shed.

He
had a long week, four listing appointments and a relocating doctor couple to
tour around. They wanted to see every available luxury condo Ann Arbor had to
offer, which meant he had a total of three properties to show them, including
one he figured they’d buy, the penthouse on the corner of Main and William.
Sighing, he rolled the window of Stingray down, cranked the tunes, and let his
sexually sated body enjoy a few moments of relaxation.

Chapter Twelve

Jack
hit the ground running, literally, the next day with ten miles at five a.m.,
enjoying the sights and sounds of his Midwest college town coming to life on a
pleasant spring day. His head was clear, heart light, body on fire with
purpose. On the one hand he wished he had just sat with Kyle, had another bourbon
and left. On the other, having that strange, connected feeling with the
redheaded sub had been good for him too. It had reminded him of his
purpose—fuck early, fuck often, fuck well and go home alone. It was the only
way.

There
were plenty of women to choose from. Why make it a one-course dinner when the
smorgasbord was available? Because for a guy like him, it was exactly that. He
smiled when his phone interrupted the stream of sixties Brit rock music for a
text.

One
of the new clients he was meeting to list her house, in a plum, sought-after
neighborhood on Ann Arbor’s southwest side was one of the hottest blondes he’d
laid eyes on in a while. She was tall, sort of acerbic, but with a smoking,
hard-won body which threw a fuck-me vibe so clear the first time he met her at
the front of his office he’d chuckled, making her shoot him a funny look. He’d
asked her out, of course, and they had a date set for tonight.

“Looking
forward to tonight, Jack,” she said at six a.m. in a text message. “See you
soon.”

He
ignored it, figuring it for a fishing expedition to see if he’d answer. In no
mood for game-playing with a woman he planned to seduce, ride like a circus
pony, and then snag her listing, he kept running. He finished up his usual
route in time for an extra cup of coffee before showering.

His
assistant Jason was already in place, fielding calls and printing out an
itinerary for the condo-shopping couple. He dicked around with a few
negotiations, but his heart wasn’t in it. Jenna’s face kept jumping up into his
consciousness for some stupid reason, alternating with the O-face he’d given
Annette or whatever the fuck her name was, a half a dozen times the night
before.

He
leaned over his desk at one point, his heart pounding so hard it actually hurt
when he realized that part of him didn’t even want to go out with the hot
blonde potential client tonight. He wanted something else, something elusive
and that he, personally had never even witnessed before—a stable home, someone
there to meet him, a faceless, nameless…someone.

He
shook his head. Then called Evan to see if he had time for lunch before
focusing on the rest of the shit he had to do before taking the grand condo
tour. By the time he had picked the doctor couple up, he’d worked himself into
a small frenzy of frustration.

One
thing he fully grasped about himself: he was hardly ever satisfied with what he
was doing. He was always thinking of the next task to be done, the next woman
to satisfy, the next item on the list. He sighed, recalling the lunch he’d shared
with his oh-so-calm friend, who’d done the wild-ass thing of buying a brewery
and fallen for the hot chick who owned the damn beer distribution company.

He
was happy for Evan. Although part of him rebelled against it, wanted the two of
them to go on being pussy-chasing bachelors for a bit longer. Shaking his head
at himself, he glanced down to see yet another text from his date—the woman he
hardly knew, making a thinly veiled suggestion that he “take his vitamins” for
tonight. God. He ran a hand down his face. This is what he’d been reduced to?

He
was the envy of men, the target of lust for women. Yet he was miserable. Still
unable to find the thing to settle him. “Fuck it,” he muttered, grabbing his
suit coat and package of info Jason had put together for the relocating
doctors. He had a lot going for him, including his niece and nephew, and they
were due in for a visit soon. He had money to do whatever he wanted, friends
here, there, everywhere, including Rob whose success at opening and running a
brew pub with his boyfriend still boggled Jack’s mind. Maybe he should get a
dog…he mused for the millionth time as he climbed into the Lincoln SUV he kept
to haul clients around.