As the water beats against my body, I lather my skin, remembering a time when I thought I’d spend my life with her. She was everything I wanted and thought I needed.
Now that I’m clear-headed, I see that I never looked at her the way August and Karl look at Emma- like whether the sun rises or sets is determined by her happiness.
I’d say it was a bit strong for something so new, but neither of them is stupid. They don’t only think with their dicks, and for them to be so besotted with a girl, while uncharacteristic of their typical behavior, means she’s something special.
Turning the water off, I step from the shower, grab a towel to wrap around my waist, and make my way to my closet.
Once dressed, I grab my keys and head for my car.
Driving through the town, I look up once I approach the
Welcome to Calloway sign and make my way to the interstate.
The tension in my spine immediately settles once I’m ten minutes outside of town. Coming home wasn’t supposed to bring back all of these memories, and it certainly wasn’t supposed to stir new ones.
The Selection is something I’m duty-bound to- I volunteered once things with Vivian didn’t work out. Without a Bradford, there would need to be another male heir from one of the original families.
I thought we’d pick some chick, marry her, and get her pregnant. Feelings were never part of my plan. Emma was never part of my plan.
She still isn’t, but it’s hard not to watch her with Karl and August and want that feeling.
“
That’s it. Right fucking there. Bastian never lets me take control.” I hear the familiar moan of my fianc?e as I walk through my house to my bedroom.
“Goddammit, if I knew you fucked like this, I would’ve taken you up on your offer years ago,” Vivian shouts.
I grit my teeth, change gears and push down on the accelerator as the scene that haunts me plays across my mind, reminding me exactly why I can’t allow feelings anywhere in this arrangement.
Women are disposable. They are for my pleasure and nothing more. However, I can’t dispose of whoever we choose- I just won’t love them.
I exit the highway, driving on autopilot until the club comes into view.
Le Toucher is an updated French-styled chateau. The limestone structure stands three stories high and is over twenty-thousand square feet, where you can live out your every carnal sin, no matter how depraved.
I pull up to the gate, stopping when one of the guards approaches.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Grant. It’s been quite some time. Matthieu will be happy to have you back, and so will the girls.
“Thank you, Trevor. I’m long overdue for a scene and a scotch,” I reply.
He smirks, raising his hand to signal to the control room to open the gate so I can get through. Then I drive up the long winding driveway, scan my card, and pull into the underground parking garage.
Matthieu has this place set up so that once a member scans in, their rooms are prepared for their particular tastes. By the time I make it upstairs, a girl will be in my room, ready to play.
Stepping out of the elevator, I make my way to the entrance, scanning my thumb against the sensor and waiting for the lock to disengage.
“Welcome back, Mr. Grant,” a soft voice croons, oozing sex.
I turn and take in R’chelle. Her rich, umber skin glows under the lights. I bite my lip and remember those thick thighs wrapped around my neck as I brought her to orgasm for the eighth time one night.
“Good evening, Chelly. How are you?”
Heat rises to her pecan-colored eyes- she remembers that night too.
A soft whimper escapes her as she rubs the column of her neck before she finally turns, giving me a view of her heart-shaped ass.
Fuck!
I’m tempted to see if she’ll be the one to join me tonight, but a hand lands on my shoulder before my lips can part to ask.
“Sebastian,” Matthieu greets me. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Not with everything going on back in town.”
He guides me away from Chelly and down to his office in the opposite way that we usually would go to grab a cigar and a drink while we catch up.
“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” I ask, and he snorts.
Matthieu doesn’t speak until we’re safely behind his office door.
“Have a seat. Let me get you a drink,” he instructs, and I sit in the leather armchair in front of the fireplace- opting for a face-to-face without a desk separating us.
I watch as my hulking friend pours us both a glass of ’79 Macallan Gran Reserva. Matthieu is six-six and easily three hundred pounds of muscle. So, it’s always hilarious to watch the man who looks like he bench presses skyscrapers pick up ice cubes with small tongs.
Matthieu is always immaculately dressed, his Egyptian-blue Brioni suit highlighting his dirty-blonde quiff-styled hair and jade-green eyes. The French fucker could always make a woman’s panties melt when he fixed his gaze on her.
“So, are you going to tell me why we’re meeting here and not in our usual spot?” I try for the second time.
He hands me my drink and sits.
“It’s simple. I like my club drama free and you being here violates the rules set in place by the Council,” he says cooly.
Shit. In my haste to escape everything, I forgot about the damn no fraternization rules.
Matthieu gives me a knowing smirk, “Ahh, Bastian, my friend, you forgot,” he teases, his French accent more pronounced when he uses my nickname.
“It’s been a very stressful last few days,” I mutter.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.