Page 5 of Seven Year Itch
“Can I bring my cat?” I ask, feeling desperate and mopey. “Maybe if I could bring Milkshake, I wouldn’t care if I don’t find a date.”
“You know how creepy you sound, right?” Luke asks pointedly.
“Yes.”
“Begging to bring your own pussy to Mexico?”
“Shut the fuck up, Luke.”
“Just saying... people are going to think you’re fucking that cat the way you’re being so weird with it. First the baby carrier, now you want to take it on an international flight? What kind of fucked up shit do you get up to at that sex club, anyways?”
My chair scrapes loudly on the floor as I lunge for Luke and yank him out of his seat. He laughs and holds his hands up defensively as I pull back my fist to sock him in the nose.
But before I can send my fist of fury flying, I make eye contact with Judy who is approaching with our three plates of food. She says nothing. She just gives methat look. It’s a look that only a mother can give. A look that silently saysThrow that punch and it will be the last thing you do, Calder Fletcher.
I growl my frustration and release a chortling Luke back into his seat, dropping into my own to accept my food in sulky silence.
I’m supposed to be the hot, charismatic brother. The one who has no problem finding pussy that isn’t of the four-legged variety. What is happening to me?
I need a new place to look for a date. Somewhere that’s not in my backyard and not on my screwed-up dating apps. I need a viable option. Someone with well-defined expectations. Someone who understands clear-cut rules and boundaries and accepts that there’s zero chance of a relationship at the end of the trip.
My eyes light up as an idea comes to mind. It might just be crazy enough to work.
Chapter 3
We Don’t Fuck the Devil
Calder
The familiar scent of vanilla and antiseptic permeates my nose as I walk into the dark and moody lounge of Lexon Club just east of Denver. This is a members-only spot for sex-positive individuals looking to exercise all sorts of kinks. Judgment-free. And with very strict rules.
Both male and female eyes turn, and I feel my body heat as their gazes move over every inch of me. I roll up my flannel sleeves to reveal my inked forearms because the bad-boy persona serves me well here. And hell, it serves me well pretty much anywhere. I got my first tattoo when I was only sixteen, and my three brothers were so scared of what my mother’s reaction would be, they all went out and got tattoos as well to try to soften the blow for me.
We were all grounded for the entire summer.
At the time, I thought the Flatirons on the inside of my bicep were worth the punishment. I was in my rebel teenager phase. But as I grew older, I began reworking the ink to add more meaning. My most recent addition was my dad’s favorite saying...We’re not here for a long time, we’re here for a good time. It’s etched around mountain peaks on the inside of my forearm, and every time I look at it, I’m hit with memories of my dad. It’s been almost three years since he passed now, and it still stings to think about him. Grief is a fucking bitch. And thoughts of my dead dad are not something I should be entertaining when walking into a sex club.
“Well, where the hell have you been, Calder?” A deep voice rumbles from behind the bar, and I turn to see Tyson, the bartenderthat’s been here ever since I first stepped foot in this club years ago. “It’s been years, I swear.”
I nod at that comment. I haven’t been back to Lexon since my dad passed. Guess I just wasn’t up for it. It’s probably why I wanted my brothers to come with me last year, to help shake me out of my funk. But they refused.
Pussies.
I frown at that thought... calling thempussiesfeels derogatory now that I’m a proud cat daddy. Then again it should have felt derogatory to women for all the years I’ve used it. Self-awareness is an embarrassing bitch sometimes.
“I’ve been busy, I guess,” I reply as Tyson hands me a bottle of beer. I glance around, not recognizing any faces. “It’s packed in here tonight.”
“It’s newbie night,” he offers with a twinkle in his eye. “Nonmembers can check out the club, get a tour of everything, try some things out, and see what they think.”
My brows lift. I remember my first tour. Glory Hole Alley and the Milking Station were not on my bingo card that night, but there they both were... staring back at me with various stations of towels, lube, and washrooms to clean up afterward.
Talk about baptism by lube.
My eyes scan the various couples and singles all mingling and having drinks. There’s often theme nights at the sex club: couples night, single females, single males. Newbie nights, however, are a free-for-all. You’ll get all types in on a night like tonight, and I spot several pink wristbands indicating the first-time visitors. The pink bands are to serve as a bit of warning to the regulars of the club. Go slow, be gentle, and request consent twice. This club is good at rule-following. Which is why I think it could be the perfect spot to find a plus-one for this tropical getaway coming up soon.
My gaze drops to the floor where I spot a curvy blonde on her knees in a collar and leash. She’s wearing a leather mask, and her long hair spills out below it. I drink in the lines of her body dressedin a super short black corset dress that reveals a few dimples in her thighs. She has pale, supple skin, and the large globes of her ass capture my attention. She looks good enough to eat. I wonder if her Dom would share her for the night, and then I spot the pink wristband. She’s a newbie, so it’s not likely.
My eyes widen when the Dom jerks the woman’s leash and yanks her back toward him. Her hands slip out from under her, and she stumbles, her face nearly connecting with the heavily lacquered wood. I cringe and force myself to look away. I don’t like to yuck anyone’s yum, but BDSM isn’t my favorite of all the kinks, even if a sub would make a good date for Mexico.
