“What do I wear?” Aileen says, standing barefoot in front of her closet. She stares into the depths and twists a strand of her hair around her finger. “What do people wear to sex clubs?”
“Black leather and latex,” I say, turning back to the mirror to brush my teeth.
She snorts from the other room. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Half joking. People do wear those sort of things, but there’s no way in hell you will.”
“Right. Burka it is,” she mutters. “Or perhaps a dress?”
“One could argue a burka’s a dress.”
“You would think that,” she says, but she’s smiling. “You know, Mr. McCarthy, I like the fact that you’re unapologetically possessive of me. Most of the time, anyway.”
“Damn right,” I say, placing my toothbrush back. “Now what shall I wear? A black t-shirt to show off my manly physique, or a leather jacket to scare off the twats that look at my wife?”
She holds a light green dress in her hand and tips her head to the side. “Not sure I like anything drawing attention to my husband either,” she muses.
Something stirs low in my belly at that. Every time she calls me her husband, every time she gets that possessive look about her. I like that she’s jealous. I cross the room to her. I need to feel her, to hold her. I gather her in my arms, and kiss her. She responds instantly, melting into my arms and kissing me back.
“I love you,” I whisper to her. “You don’t have to say it back. Give it time, lass. Let me prove myself to you.”
She blinks hard, as if trying to stop herself from crying. “That’s about the best thing you could tell me right now,” she whispers. “You know that?”
I shrug. “I get a good idea every once in a while.”
She grins, gathers my face in her hands, then pulls my face down to hers so she can plant a kiss on my forehead.
“Go on with you,” she says. “Let me get dressed before you’re balls deep in me and we never make it to the damn club.”
I give her arse a smack and let her go.
We dress and get our ride downstairs. We’re in the back of the same car that took us home from our wedding. It seems so long ago now.
“We’re going alone?” she asks.
Why does she seem suddenly nervous?
“Aye. The others will meet us there. You’ll see, there’s a sort of anteroom in the front, but the real fun takes place in the back. Members-only.”
She stills. “My brother goes there?”
“Aye. But don’t worry about him, lass. He gets one look at me or my brothers and he turns and goes the other way.”
It doesn’t appease her, though. She frowns and doesn’t reply.
“We’ll get a drink in the front and I’ll introduce you to the others. Then when you’re ready, I’ll take you to the back.”
She nods slowly. “Do people have… rules and things?”
“Aye. Club’s safeword is flagon, but you won’t be using that.”
She nods.
“No drink for you either,” I continue. “For obvious reasons.”
“Mhm.”
I take her hand, kiss her fingers, then tug her closer. “But you’ll have rules of your own as well.”
She swallows. “Will I?”
She likes this. I’ll use that to my advantage.
“Aye.”
She swallows again. Her eyelids lower, and she squirms a little.
“You’ll do nothing without my permission. If you have a question for me, you’ll address me as sir, and you’ll stay by my side. And whatever happens, you’re not to come without my permission.”
“Aw, fuck,” she says in a throaty whisper. My cock twitches at the sound.
“What?”
“That’s hot as fucking hell,” she groans.
I slide my hand up her thigh and squeeze, letting my thumb graze the heated vee where her thighs meet. She pulls closer to me.
“Good girl,” I say. “You remembered no knickers.”
“Mhm.” She closes her eyes when I stroke between her legs. Sighing, she drops her head to my shoulder.
“That’s a girl,” I whisper. “Open your legs, sweetheart.”
She parts her legs obediently. Holding her to me, I drag my thumb along her thighs, before I gently stroke between her legs.
“Fuck, woman,” I groan. “You’re so damn wet.”
I haven’t even taken her to the club yet, and she’s damn near ready to come. Keenan told me she might be like this, starving for sex and easily turned on. She’ll get no complaints from me.
“On your back,” I whisper.
“Cormac, the driver—”
She gasps when I slap her thigh. “On. Your. Back.”
The way she bites her lip as she obeys makes my pulse race. Leaning back in the car, she lets her legs fall open. I kneel in front of her and kiss her inner thigh, preparing her. I drag her dress up so it’s around her waist. With tinted windows and a screen between us and the driver, no one will see. I’ll protect her modesty, but damn if it isn’t hot thinking they could.