The Irresistible One (The Weston Group #4)

Prologue

COLSON

Dating was nothing but a waste of time. The act of going to bars, clubs, the gym—wherever one thought he could attract women.

If he could lure one in, he had to buy drinks or schedule dinner.

Then came the pressure to speak charmingly, smell good, and dress the part—the right impression a vital requirement.

Would the evening end with a connection?

A phone number saved in his Contacts? An invite home?

Or would it result in the ultimate rejection?

None of that mattered to me; I didn’t date.

Time was something I couldn’t part with, not when I had so little of it, so I didn’t spend my energy and effort on that bullshit.

I pursued a different avenue, where getting laid was the only goal, especially since my taste was more adventurous than the average man.

I preferred scenery when I ate pussy, the smell of leather when I fucked. I didn’t ban pain. I welcomed it.

But with those desires came anonymity and exclusivity, and I wanted both. Lush gave that to me. An extremely private sex club only three miles from my house that required a thorough background check and an intense vetting process before a membership was granted.

And I had, what I liked to consider, the platinum package.

Inside that establishment, names didn’t matter. Identities were withheld. A place where everything and anything could be explored under safe conditions and controlled surroundings.

Sometimes, I went once a week. Sometimes, once a month. And I would spend the entire day fantasizing about my upcoming snack, my dick getting harder with each hour that passed, knowing that by nine that evening, I would be walking through the unmarked, secured door.

It was that anticipation that sent a smile to my face as I checked myself in the mirror. I straightened my black tie before smoothing out my white pressed shirt collar. I fastened my diamond-studded gold cuff links before slipping on my black wool suit jacket.

I turned my face from left to right. Hair was gelled, scruff was trimmed, teeth had been brushed.

In my everyday life, I preferred a relaxed style. But there was something about alluring a woman when I was in a suit that made the expectation greater, creating an unfathomable hunger by knowing just how many layers I had to peel off before thrusting in.

And I was ready to fucking eat.

As I stepped out of my walk-in closet, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I hoped to hell it wasn’t my ex, telling me there was something wrong with Ellie, our four-year-old daughter.

One week on, one week off, and split holidays—that was the agreement Lindsey and I had worked out when our relationship ended.

But when Ellie was sick, there were no rules.

If she wanted both of her parents under the same roof, that was what she got.

As I pulled out my cell, Walker’s name was on the screen. I connected the call and held my phone to my ear, saying, “What’s up, my man?” to my oldest brother.

“I just poured myself a whiskey.”

“Aren’t you working at Charred tonight?”

Charred LA was the most popular location of our world-renowned steak houses, where Walker was the executive chef.

Each of my siblings took on an immense amount of responsibility when it came to the empire of restaurants and clubs we had built.

Walker was the most vocal about how that workload affected him.

Because with him, work took precedence over everything.

“I am.”

“You’re drinking on the job?”

“You have no idea the night I had. A slew of celebrities came in—many of them are still here. I just needed a fucking second before I exploded.”

“Walker, you explode on the daily. Tell me how tonight is any different.”

“I know you can’t see me, but I’m flipping you off.”

I laughed.

“What are you up to?”

I turned off the light and made my way through the living room. “Heading to your favorite spot. Lush.”

“Shit, I barely even remember that place, it’s been so long since I’ve been.”

Years ago, Lush had been the escape Walker needed.

He never had a membership. I paid for his entrance—something that had to get approved by the owner after his background check cleared.

He was the only other Weston who had ever been inside and the only other Weston who knew my affiliation with the club.

“I didn’t realize you still went there.”

“Not as much as I used to, sadly. Ellie keeps me too busy, and when I’m not with her, I’m drowning in Weston work.

But, yes, I go.” I stopped at my bar and poured myself a drink.

A little scotch to ease my way into the evening.

“Did you call for something specific? Or you just needed a familiar voice to get you through the night?”

He went quiet for a moment. “I felt the need to share about the hell I’m currently in.”

“I hear you, buddy. Although Alivia should be making it a little better, no?”

The mention of his girlfriend made him breathe heavier into the phone. “She’s off tonight.”

“Which explains the call.” The tumbler was halfway to my lips when my hand halted. “You want me to swing by Charred?”

“Nah. There’s nothing you can do here.”

“The offer wasn’t for the restaurant. The offer was for you.”

“You’d give up pussy? For me?”

I emptied the glass in my mouth and set it down. “If you need me, I’m there.”

“You’re a good brother, but it’s not necessary. I’m going to finish this drink, head back into the kitchen, and make sure everything meets my approval before I head home for the night.”

“I’ll give you a ring in the morning.”

When he ended the call, I exited through my front door, climbing into the SUV that idled in my driveway.

“Good evening, Mr. Weston,” my driver voiced as I shut the back seat door behind me.

Paul had been my full-time driver for three years. His NDA was so ironclad that there was no reason for me to worry that he knew the way to this unmarked building or that he saw the other members sliding in and out of their waiting vehicles.

“Paul …” I settled into the seat. “Good to see you this evening, buddy. Things going well?” I asked, even though I had seen him yesterday when he took me to and from our corporate office.

“Things are good. Thank you for asking.” He pulled out of my driveway. “And you?”

“Things are about to get a whole lot better.”

Still holding my phone from Walker’s call, I toggled through the notifications on the screen.

Several were from the family, discussing issues that had arisen at work today.

I texted back, offering my two cents, and scrolled through social media.

As the chief operating officer of The Weston Group—an ever-increasing conglomerate of restaurants and clubs—I made sure our accounts depicted the clearest message: if you were hungry, we could satisfy that craving, and if you wanted the best, we were the only choice.

The most recent round of photographs that had been posted quenched that goal, so I switched over to my personal account.

Within a few swipes of my thumb, I was caught up with all the updates from my high school and college buddies—proposals, weddings, babies.

Shit I didn’t want or have time for.

I was just closing out the screen when I noticed we were a block from Lush’s parking lot. I lifted the center console between the front seats and dropped my phone inside the storage area. Any type of communication device, especially one that could take photos, wasn’t allowed inside the club.

Once Paul stopped near the entrance, I opened the door myself, not waiting for him to do it for me. “It’s going to be a late one tonight,” I warned.

“You know where I’ll be.”

I closed the door and walked into the foyer of Lush, a room that didn’t even hint at what could be found beyond the entrance.

The walls were plain, the space unscented.

Three security guards manned the area, requesting the necessary credentials, followed by a pat-down.

The main door wasn’t opened until I passed each step.

As soon as I was granted access, I headed for the bar, and with a tumbler of scotch in my hand, I took inventory.

Lush was a circus, and I never knew what acts would be played each night. The bar was a good place to observe the crowd that was present, to decide what kind of sexual flavor I was thirsting for.

Like the inhabitants, the interior was a whole fucking vibe.

The bar was the center, like the body of an octopus, and each of the many arms was a long hallway, where multiple rooms were located.

Fetishes could be found behind those doors.

Acts of fantasy. Spaces where voyeurs could watch and participants could dive right in.

Since I didn’t come with a sexual agenda, I liked to start here, building momentum while the liquor burned my tongue, letting the mood of the spicy playground determine the direction in which I wandered.

With my back against the edge of the bar top, I turned to scan the new wave who had just come in.

That was when I saw her.

The blonde in the red dress. Long, curly strands framed her cheeks, and in the center of those gorgeous locks was a face that made the breath in my throat hitch.

Fuck, she was beautiful. A sapphire gaze that pierced straight through me, a small nose, red lips that were effortlessly sexy.

And the dress, it hugged her body, which was a work of art that made me fucking ache.

Everything I physically desired in a woman was staring at me in red.

Curves my hands would love to graze. Dips my face wanted to fucking bury itself in. Tits that my tongue would do anything to lick.

And those eyes—the more I looked at them, the more I wanted to envision just how deep the blue would get while I was giving her the best fucking orgasm of her life.

Sex clubs were all about chemistry. Within these walls, conversation wasn’t required. There was no reason to like the person you were going to fuck—emotions weren’t necessary, nor were they part of the appetite equation.