Mase
The whiskey burns my throat as I knock back another glass.
I contemplate using the little blue pill that Tate somehow managed to get a hold of for me, then decide against it.
I’ve waited so fucking long for tonight—days, weeks, months, years, and the last thing I want is to fuck this up and to not feel everything after not feeling a damn thing for so long.
Besides, I pride myself on never doing drugs, especially after the shit that happened to Tara and the scumbag she got messed up with.
When he and their baby died, I had a choice: to support my wife or walk away.
She begged and pleaded with me, telling me she was addicted to prescription pills to help with her mental health, and I believed her.
I shouldn’t have, I should have walked the fuck away then and there and slammed the door behind me.
Not spend nearly ten years trying to make us work, knowing damn well she was heartless.
I stood back and watched her fuck her way through the town. I listened with envy to my best friends’ countless sexual encounters, and not once have I strayed.
But fuck, did I want to.
Until the guilt hit.
I promised to be a better man than the one I loathed, and I was, even if I didn’t feel like it.
My body is ready for this, it’s ready to be the person I so desperately want to be.
Nope, don’t need the little blue pill.
My cock has been rock hard all day fucking long. So damn eager to slip inside Innocent Angel’s pussy, it’s painful.
Oscar O’Connell, a Mafia man with connections to Owen, provides an impeccable service to his clients who use his escort services. I bask in the elegance of the hotel penthouse, which is all part of the Indulgence experience, and my body fills with anticipation for the night ahead.
When my best friends talked me through using the app and making my selections, Tate encouraged me to select every fucking kink.
However, Reed, who’s become domesticated with his pre-made family, has given up using the app and suggested I start out with the basics of the services provided, including the penthouse that Tate described as “vanilla” as opposed to the sex dungeon he described as “dirty as fuck.”
The room is nothing less than what you’d expect from a high-end service you pay over one million dollars for in order to receive the company of a woman matched to you for the night.
There’s a bucket of the finest champagne, a bar, and the best and most-expensive view of Carbon Beach in Malibu.
A ginormous L-shaped white leather couch faces a huge flatscreen TV, one I already know has multiple hardcore porn films loaded at the ready, along with the possibility of camera functions that allow you to watch you and your partner on the screen.
Something about that has adrenaline rushing through my veins.
I’ve never really considered myself a voyeur, not until that one time in Tate’s office when he allowed me to watch him fuck Ava—his now wife—over his desk.
I left there ashamed and embarrassed; I nearly came in my pants and told myself it was because it had been so long since I’d had any action at all.
I’d previously been used to odd nights of spontaneous, mundane sex with my wife, who was only interested in my bank balance, and when even your own hand doesn’t cut it anymore, anything out of the ordinary feels good.
The idea of someone watching me pleasure somebody else and using my body to bring them both to orgasm has my cock weeping with need.
I was desperate for some excitement, and Tate gave me a glimpse into his passionate sex life, a stark contrast to the mundane sex I was used to.
I’m not sure who he was doing it for, me or him.
The man is obsessed with his woman, and who can blame him?
Not only is she gorgeous and fiery, but she has a sensitive side reserved solely for her family, and she’s slowly letting her walls down to allow us inside too.
A heavy sigh leaves me as anxiety makes a familiar appearance and ripples through my body. I check the time on my watch—another ten minutes.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand over my head, and my leg bounces. This better be worth it. This better be the best fuck of my goddamn life. I fucking deserve it.
Christ, do I deserve it.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I contemplate how this will go down. What the hell do I say to her? Reed ran me through it and told me to take charge, to be in control. That’s something I’ve always wanted to do but have never been given the opportunity.
Tara always bounced from being celibate to wanting sex to appease me or to gain something for herself, and neither of those made me happy.
When my friends talk about their wild sexcapades, I sit back and watch the camaraderie with hope and, if I’m honest, jealousy.
I gave all that up multiple times over when I chose to stand by my wife, to be the bigger person and trust in her when she betrayed me time and time again.
To be the husband my father never was.
To be the man I wanted to be.
But now, now I’m fucking free.
Free to be me.