6. Kismet and Negotiations
KISMET AND NEGOTIATIONS
Two thoughts filter through me at once.
First, I’m not memorable; he didn’t place who I am right away and isn’t that a major fucking hit to my ego?
Here I am comparing all the men I’ve slept with over the last four months to him, and he doesn’t seem to recognize me.
Exactly how many women does this man fuck?
I mean, I guess it’s not surprising with how he looks, and it also isn’t a deal breaker for me either.
I’m not looking for a man who wants more than my body.
If he can be this detached, maybe that’s a good thing.
Second, he’s the owner of the bar, not the bartender. All that talk about bending me over his boss’s desk, and he was the fucking boss. The realization makes me blush, but it also intrigues me.
So maybe he doesn’t remember me, but he’s here, and he’s the best I’d ever had. Not that I’d tell him that, unless under serious duress.
“So, divorcées in your office aren’t enough. You also come to Avalon?” I ask.
The smirk he gives me is devastating, and it’s the exact reason I let him fuck me from behind without knowing his name a few months ago.
But now that I know his name, Benjamin Carlson, I realize it fits, his name sounds as expensive as he looks. He’s dressed similarly to the night we met, except his button down is dark blue, which makes his eyes look more blue than green. I knew I was right about them changing color.
“Would it make you feel special if I told you that night was an exception to the rule?” he asks with a wink, taking a sip of his drink.
Oh, this motherfucker is good.
His throat bobs with his swallow and I can’t help but feel like this is kismet.
I was more nervous about coming here tonight than I’d ever admit. The amount of research I’ve done on sex club etiquette and the amount of time I spent on Avalon’s membership portal was borderline neurotic. But I wanted to be prepared, I needed this to be a good experience.
I even went in with the mindset that I wouldn’t leave the front of the room today, that maybe I’d just meet some like-minded people and chat.
And here he is, sitting at the barstool next to me.
The man who has no clue the drastic impact he’s had in my life. He made me realize that I so desperately wanted to explore this suppressed sexual side of myself, and I’m not even sure he remembers that night at all.
“Maybe a little special,” I say. My flirting has increased tenfold since that night. Which doesn’t say much, because I still might be kinda shit at it.
“Is this your first night at Avalon, Kate?” he says my name in the same tone he did when we had our tryst, but somehow it seems like he’s saying it for the first time.
“What gave me away?” I ask, taking a sip of the drink, grateful that it isn’t too strong.
“Tex knows everyone who comes here. The needing to see your membership card was kind of a giveaway.”
“That would do it.”
He shifts his body so he’s facing me, his long strong legs spread on the stool. He’s effortless with his movements, someone who’s endlessly confident and knows what a wet dream he is.
“What delicacies are you looking for tonight?” he asks and I swallow thickly.
I did come in here with a goal in mind. An insane goal at that.
“I have a list.”
“A list?” he says and I nod. “Can I see?” he asks.
There’s this clawing feeling of judgment that wraps around my throat, but this place is one filled with open-minded people, so I choke it down.
He pays the same membership fee I do. People don’t do that unless there’s something they want to get out of this place.
The marketing even called it a judgment-free zone.
Just treat him like he isn’t the gorgeous one night stand that convinced you to explore your sexuality, show him the list, maybe he’ll offer to help.
“Alright,” I oblige, opening my clutch and unfolding the paper and handing it to him. His fingertips lightly brush mine as he takes it in hand.
He doesn’t even read the first part as he glances up at me. “Doctor Katherine Morley?”
I blush and point to the top. “PhD in fine art. I’m a professor over at Tampa U.”
His cute little dimple in his chin shows as he glances back down at my paper. His face gives nothing away. I can’t tell if he’s turned on or disgusted.
“What do these numbers mean on the side?” he asks.
“If I’ve done it, I rate it on a system on if I would do it again.”
“Spanking. Ten,” he says with a smirk. Maybe he does remember. “This anal score is low.”
I nearly choke on the gimlet, making its way down my throat. “Yes, but…that was, uh…more so to do with that one time. I would try it again.”
He shrugs and keeps going and I wonder if anything on my list is freaking him out.
Threesome with two men.
Orgy? (I’d need to see how the threesome went to see if that would be something I’d enjoy.)
Bondage
Pegging (At least once to see what it’s about)
Cum play
Wax play
Power dynamic switching
Edging (I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this)
Dirty talk ? 10/10
Dirty talk is checked off with a ten next to it. Does he have any idea that he’s the one to receive the perfect score?
A few other things are on the list, and others are crossed off.
Degradation isn’t my thing I’ve learned.
Not after my Tinder date called me a dirty fucking slut who was only good to use as a hole.
I asked him to stop, and he did immediately, but I couldn’t finish after because the words felt like lead in my stomach.
I could do slightly mean, but there needs to be an edge of kindness around it.
Gagging is also crossed off the list when I nearly threw up multiple times when a guy I slept with a handful of times tried to do it to me. It was something he loved, and it made us realize we weren’t compatible sexually.
Primal play is also easily crossed off the list. I let a man chase me around my house and wound up slipping on the carpet of my foyer and he had to take me to emergency care when my nose started bleeding. Thankfully it wasn’t broken.
All this to say, most things I’m willing to try twice, but for some, once was enough. The best part of it all is I’m slowly figuring out everything I like.
“You’ve been busy, Kate,” he says with a smile. At first I take offence, wondering if this man is slut shaming me, but then he grabs the back of my chair leaning into my space. “Which item on this list were you hoping to grade this evening?”
He’s playful about it, and I bite my bottom lip. I feel like he’s fucking with me, and I kinda want to play back.
He was so in charge that night at the bar and I loved every second, but lately I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to take control?
What would it feel like to have a man twice my size doing what I say and at my mercy?
There’s a good chance a man like Ben wouldn’t be into it.
For a lot of people it’s one way or the other, or somewhere in the middle.
But what would it be like to completely switch roles whenever it feels right?
“Power dynamics,” I say and Ben gives me a lust-filled look, his thumb reaching out to my shoulder to make contact and I lean into it.
He almost sounds devious when he responds. “Did you not like it when I was in charge, Kate?”
Goosebumps cover my skin as I meet his eyes. “No, I liked it a lot. I’m just curious what it feels like to be on the other side, what it feels like to be the one in charge.”
“Alright,” he says easily.
“Alright?”
“Yes, alright. We can get a private room, and you can do with me what you please. Minus the pegging. I can’t give it all away on the first night,” he says and I blink at him.
“The second night,” I remind him, and he nods. “You’d really be open to that? To me taking control?”
He doesn’t seem the type. Well, that night he didn’t seem like the type. Tonight, he almost seems like he would do whatever I want as long as it pleases me.
It makes me feel powerful, confident, and sexy.
My ridiculous amount of research into, well, everything, comes to mind as I place a hand on his thigh.
“Are there any limits of yours I should be aware of?” I ask.
He looks proud of me, and I nearly can’t stand the sincerity of it. “Well, I’m okay with bondage, touching you wherever you want, being told what to do. You can talk to me however you want. Pain is a mid-level point for me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to remember every single word he says and commit it to memory.
His hand is rubbing my back and mine is on his thigh and it feels more natural than I ever imagined tonight going.
“I’m not looking for a ball-busting dominatrix. Scratches on my back, light biting, hickeys. All of those things are fine.”
I can’t help but laugh, picturing myself in a latex suit with a whip in hand with a high heel pressing against his balls.
That isn’t me, and it never will be. For me, it’s the idea of controlling the situation and having a man who’s happy to listen and comfortable enough in his masculinity to do so.
“Ooh, what about financial domination?” I joke, lightening the mood. See, my flirting skills are getting better.
He smiles and shakes his head. “If you’re here, paying for this membership, I highly doubt you need someone paying you to control and spend their finances.”
“It could be fun. Maybe I’ll add it to the list.”
“Do you have any limits for tonight that I should know about?” My brows furrow at the question and he kneads the flesh of my thigh, his thumb now directly on my bare skin. “Just because you’ll be calling the shots doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know anything that would upset you.”
“You saw everything on my list. Anything that’s crossed off is a no-go. I’m sure there will be other things crossed off, but I haven’t experienced them yet to know if I like them or not.”
“Should we have a safe word?” he asks, and I feel like it’s for me and not him. “How about Marina?” he suggests
It makes me wonder if he truly will be able to give up control, but he’s offering, willing, and I want it to be him.
God, the idea of telling the guy I’ve been fantasizing about for months what to do, to bring him to his knees? It has me feeling so turned on. Being in charge is one of those things I mentally sorted into my maybe column of enjoying it.
But with him?
He’s probably going to get another 10/10 and not even realize it.
“Marina works for me. Should we head back?” I ask, hoping that I’m not blushing too much.
He leans forward and I expect him to kiss me, but he places a gentle press of his lips on my collarbone.
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“Yes, that’s what I want,” I tell him confidently and he pulls his stool back standing to his full height; how did I forget how tall he is?
He holds out his hand for me to take and his palm swallows mine as we walk past the other patrons sitting at the bar, none of them really paying us any mind as we reach the entrance to the back of the club.
He uses his membership card for entrance and my breath hitches as I take in what goes on in the true heart of Avalon. I don’t know how I know it, but just like at the bar, I know I’m walking in as one person and leaving a totally changed woman.