37. Chapter 37 Margot
Chapter thirty-seven
Holy fuck. The door closes behind the masked stranger who just fucked me within an inch of my life, and I feel a trail of wetness trickle down my thigh, realizing it’s my cum.
I’m not sure I’ve ever come so hard that it literally leaked out of me.
Fuck. I let out a laugh, feeling like a wet, cooked noodle, just flopped on this couch without a care in the world.
I’m not even going to try to force any thoughts into my brain.
I’m just going to lie here for a bit, then sink into the tub that I know is in the adjoining suite.
I have two more hours in here to myself, based on the clock on the wall, and I intend to luxuriate in the fucking I just experienced.
I’m having a lovely soak and thinking of what a delicious monster cock my masked man has when I suddenly come back into my full stream of consciousness, and it hits me like a bucket of cold water.
What the actual fuck did I just do? Crawl on my hands and knees to a man who I then let fuck my throat and call me a slut and a whore?
Am I high right now? Did that just happen?
He put his fucking boot on my face, and I just let him stick his thumb in my ass and then came around his cock for what felt like minutes on end?
I sink under the water to try to reset myself to factory settings, but when I pop back up, not only did all of that still actually happen but I also let this man feed me his cum from a condom. And I swallowed it.
Jesus Christ, Margot. You were over here floating on a cloud and coming on a guy’s cock while he treated you like shit. Who the fuck does that?
Well…
Wonderful. I’m having a crisis in a sex club bathroom, and my conscience decides to play devil’s advocate.
You did specifically check all those things on your preferences list. In fact, you asked for a rough, dominant fuck and you ranked face fucking, cum swallowing, and degradation as highly interested to try.
I stand out of the bath and towel myself off, already seeing the physical effects of my evening.
There are hand-shaped bruises basically everywhere he held me in place tonight—on my neck, shoulders, hips, waist…
my traitorous pussy clenches, reminding me I had specifically listed physical marks as something I was highly interested in trying.
Turns out I am, in fact, highly interested, and the fingertip pattern along my collarbone from where he held me as he fucked into me from behind is extremely arousing.
I bruise fairly easily, but they also fade quickly, so before long, these should be gone.
But in the meantime, it looks like I’ve been manhandled—which I was.
Finally, I’m dressed and I’ve completed the mandatory checkout process with the club, letting them know the scene was fine, everything was safe, sane, consensual, no safe words needed, no concerns regarding the other party, etc.
They briefly mention aftercare, and I gloss over it, assuring them that I’m fine, and I felt in no way left adrift by my partner.
It’s all professional, and I hope Ledger’s clubs have something like this in place to check in with patrons.
In the time it takes me to get home from the club and place a delivery order for comfort food, I’ve circled back to being angry with myself for being horny again at seeing my bruises, and I’m still a little shocked by my reactions to what happened today.
I’m a whole-ass CEO and a damn heiress, and nobody has ever talked to me with such disrespect in my life.
I would rather fucking die than crawl to a goddamn man.
What kind of feminist icon am I even aspiring to be?
Maybe the kind who owns her desires and understands that wanting someone else in charge in the bedroom isn’t a mental disorder, but perfectly normal.
Clearly, I need another creative outlet if my mind is still mustering enough energy to play devil’s advocate.
One more deep breath and I set my shoulders back.
Orgasm or not, this is not who I am, and I’m sure as shit not going back to see him “same time, same place” next week.
Arrogant asshole. Fuck off. I tried something new, it wasn’t for me, and that’s that.
I’m Margot Sinclair, and I’m nobody’s “good little whore.” Certainly not anyone’s “natural fucking submissive.” I could’ve told him that in advance.
I’m a boss bitch, and I’ll never crawl for anyone ever again.
I feel hungover the next day, taking my sweet time with my morning toilette and carefully choosing a turtleneck to style for lunch, making sure there’s no evidence of yesterday’s activities for my oldest brother to scrutinize.
Henry let me know last week that he would be in the city for business, and I’m always thrilled to have him here.
He’s coming to see my new apartment for the first time and to review some contracts for La Reine that I think have potential.
One of the things I appreciate about both of my brothers is that while they are always available if I need a helping hand with anything, personal or business related, they mostly stay out of my business these days and let me handle things on my own.
It would be all too easy for Henry to use his years of experience and training to try to push me in certain directions, but he never has.
Arriving my usual thirty minutes early for lunch, I see Henry is already seated at a corner table in the back of one of our favorite NYC haunts, wearing a three-piece brown tweed suit.
I give him a broad smile when he sees me, and we quickly fall into our habit of efficiently catching up with each other whenever we’re together.
“How are Sloane and Ledger?” I ask, knowing that even though we text more than the average family, there’s nothing quite like being in the same city to know how someone’s doing.
“They’re both well. Ledger continues to somehow surpass his own world records for protectiveness and obsession when it comes to Sloane and LJ, so really nothing new.”
I chuckle, having seen firsthand exactly how creepy my brother can be when it comes to his baby and his woman. “Did they officially decide on LJ, then?”
“I can’t see them calling him anything else, since that’s all Sloane says these days. I offered Henry again, but they declined.”
Eyeing my brother, I decide to be a little vulnerable and see if I can get him to admit he wants a little Henry one day.
“Do you ever feel like what Ledger and Sloane have won’t be possible for us?
” I ask as he eyes me warily, knowing where I’m going with this and wanting me to stop before I get there.
“You really don’t want a baby, Henry? Because honestly, I would love a Margot Jr. one day, but I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me.
” Since the one person I wanted that with stomped on my heart, and nobody else piques my interest.
I see a flicker of desire shoot across Henry’s face, but it’s gone so fast I wonder if I imagined it.
“I genuinely don’t think I’m well suited for fatherhood. I think I’m too much like Father,” he says.
“I loved Daddy. He was wonderful to me. I’m sorry your experience wasn’t the same,” I say quietly, with a sad smile.
“None of that was your fault. And I think I had an overall neutral-to-slightly-positive relationship with him, certainly nothing so traumatic as all the complexes he gave to Ledger over the years. But a positive relationship with one child, neutral with one, and a glaring red flag negative with the third isn’t really a glowing percentage of success. ”
I nod and turn to look out of the window at the afternoon sun peeking through the clouds.
“Is this your way of telling me that you haven’t found anyone worthy of dating in your adult life, and you’re starting to feel the reality that running your business at the level you prefer is incompatible with being a wife and mother?
And that perhaps you’re wondering if it’s even worth it to try to find one when you already have a cracking success on your hands with the other?
” Henry asks, and my eyes snap to his to find him giving me the tiniest grin.
This fucker has always been a smidge too perceptive for his own good, I think, rolling my eyes.
“Well, you said it, not me. So what do I do?” I’m avoiding his gaze now, unsure I want to hear what he has to say.
“Margot,” he says, and I look back up at him, seeing no judgment for my insecurities.
“You just have to live. It sounds trite, but my genuine advice is to enjoy every day. Enjoy the growth of your business. Enjoy the people you meet, or don’t.
But do try not to hold too many grudges or carry too many worries from the past forward.
They’ll just weigh you down. I used to have the same concerns, but that’s the only real advice I ever have for you, for anything. Just live.”
My sweet Henry. We part ways, rescheduling my apartment tour as he’s had something come up. He’s in the city for so long that I’m sure we’ll have another chance soon.
Making my way home to get ready for Pilates and a massage, I think about what he said.
It’s great advice, and coming from him, it has a certain gravitas to it that I take to heart.
But I don’t think I’m ready to be that self-actualized yet.
I get a reminder on my phone for my next meeting with Jack at Rendezvous Too, and I realize I’m definitely not ready.
Some grudges are meant to be held, at least for a little while.