Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I was thirteen and will never forget the way the woman tried to pull away and cover herself when she saw two teenagers trundling down the alley with a keg in a little red wagon or the way the man slammed her against the side of the brick building and brutally finished his business.
The interaction cemented my hunch that I never wanted to pay for sex. Intimate access to someone else’s body isn’t something that should be up for sale. Sex should be consensual, pleasurable, and most of all, private.
That’s why, though Twyla’s invited me to come check out the club dozens of times over the years, I’ve always found an excuse to stay away.
Sure, The Garden is a place where sex is safe and consensual—no one’s inside who doesn’t desperately want to be there, who didn’t undergo extensive vetting and spend years on a waitlist for the privilege—but the lack of privacy was a dealbreaker for me.
I’m not that kind of man. I’m too controlled to take a walk on the wild side, especially in public.
Or so I’ve always told myself.
But tonight…
Maybe tonight is for new beginnings, for exploring the world beyond boardrooms and balance sheets.
What’s the worst that can happen? I take a look around, don’t like what I see, and leave. It’s not like I care if anyone I know sees me at the club. My family still lives in the same neighborhood where I grew up, albeit in much better accommodations, and couldn’t care less what’s happening on the posh side of Manhattan. I have a few business associates who might be shocked, but they aren’t my associates any longer, and my friends aren’t the kind to judge.
Hell, Weaver used to be a member of The Garden back before he fell madly, wildly in love with Sully his girlfriend. He doesn’t realize I knew about his membership, but Twyla likes to talk, and I make it my business to know everything about my senior staff.
Weaver is incredible at his job, and already on my shortlist as a candidate to replace me in the new year.
Making a mental note to shoot him an email, giving him a heads-up that he’s in line for a promotion if he decides to go after it, I mount the steps leading to the imposing entrance to the otherwise unassuming brownstone.
I’ve just blown up my entire life. The smart thing would be to go home, pour a scotch, and start compiling my list of replacement candidates for the board.
Or at least make an appointment with a therapist.
But I’m tired of being smart.
It’s time to find out what happens when a logical man steps outside his comfort zone, when he stops trying to stay five steps ahead of the game and welcomes a little chaos into his life.
Lifting a surprisingly steady hand, I press the buzzer.
two
Maya Swallows
A good girl about to do
something very bad.
Or something very brave?
Maybe both…
What the heck am I doing?
I’ve clearly lost my mind.
Or maybe I’ve entered an alternate reality, where good girls from rural Maine visit fancy, New York City sex clubs on Christmas Eve all the time.
Or maybe this is a dream, and I’m about to wake up in my cozy bed in Sea Breeze, where I’ve slept alone every night for the past twenty-four years.
Only, I don’t want to wake up.
I’m a lobster out of water in a place like this, and more than a little scared, but also…fascinated.
I’ve never been anywhere like The Garden of Earthly Delights.
It’s nothing like I imagined. Thanks to my friend Sydney and her billionaire boyfriend I know a little bit about the preferences of posh Manhattanites. On the cab ride here from my dingy, Midtown hotel, I was picturing gleaming hardwood floors, sky-high ceilings, tasteful modern art, and those heavy velvet drapes I’ve only ever seen in museums and Sydney’s fancy Union Square penthouse.
The only thing I nailed was the drapes.
There are deep blue, velvet drapes everywhere, cloaking the entryway in shadows, muffling the sounds from deeper inside the club. The only thing I can hear is faint jazz music and the occasional tinkling of glass.
Thank God…
If they’d thrown me straight into a room filled with half-dressed people moaning while they did intimate things in public, I might have lost my nerve and run for the door.
Nope. No running, no matter what, the inner voice pipes up as I fidget on the thickly-padded bench where the bouncer instructed me to wait for a hostess. Not even if Weaver’s friend can’t help with your “special request,” and tells you to learn what you can from lurking in corners and be out by one, before the really kinky stuff starts.
You will lurk.
You will learn.
Heck, maybe you’ll even meet someone you like enough to experiment a little…
My cheeks burn at the thought while my stomach churns with a mixture of terror and something I can’t quite name.