Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [55]
“Your collection of vibrators.”
Her cheeks pinked. “How did you—”
“You told me at the club, remember?”
“No. That’s not something I usually share.”
Ben kissed her nose. “We’re sharing a lot, though, aren’t we?”
“Some of us more than others,” she snipped.
That stopped him. “You think I’m holding back?”
“I know you’re holding back, cowboy.”
“About what?”
“About how you became Master Bennett.”
He frowned. “Master. I hate that fuckin’ term.”
“I know.” Her smirk faded beneath his scrutiny. “You’ve grilled me about why I believed I was a Domme. You’re determined to prove I’m submissive, but you’ve never explained how you became interested in this lifestyle.”
“I don’t suppose you’d buy the explanation of pure dumb luck?”
“Not entirely.”
He settled back in the cushions. Had he ever explained this to anyone? “About eight years ago, me, Cody, Trace and Trent were drinking at the Rawhide Bar after closing time. Bullshitting about jobs and women. Complaining about not getting laid enough. Them guys were coming up with sure-fire strategies to get laid and what kind of women they were goin’ after. When the conversation rolled to me and what I wanted from a woman, I told ’em I wanted a woman who’d give me total sexual control, without question or hesitation.”
Ben still remembered that panicked feeling after confessing the truth to his closest friends. His worry something was wrong with him, even when he’d been too chicken to act on the erotic and exotic images constantly playing out in his head. Was he a deviant? A psychopath? A sociopath? Would it be enough if he fulfilled his binding, spanking and fucking fantasy, where his partner screamed and creamed from sexual pleasure? Or would he move on to a violent and twisted scenario? Because from what he could tell, his ideas were very twisted. Nice men didn’t fantasize about hitting women with whips and canes. Nice men didn’t fantasize about tying women up. Nice men didn’t fantasize about doing all of that to women while fucking them like an animal.
“Ben?”
He looked at her. “Sorry. Just thinkin’. Come to find out Cody, Trace, Trent and me were all on the same wavelength. We found a couple of clubs in Denver that catered to what we wanted. Bein’ in those places lifted a huge burden off me. I wasn’t a total freak. Or a bad man. There was a name for what I liked. For what I was. And a place where I could go to explore all aspects.”
“Labels are important to you?”
“I’ve always been labeled—Charlie McKay’s middle boy, the one between Quinn and Chase. But I didn’t think, ‘Hey, I’ll join a kinky sex club to set myself apart’. As relieved as I was to find out who I was, I didn’t want anyone in my family to know what I was up to. I still don’t.”
“So began the secret life of Bennett McKay.”
“It was a long way to drive, but we did it regularly for a couple years. Then Cody and Trace kicked around the idea of starting a similar, private club in Gillette. After they remodeled the old brothel space, we brought Murphy up from Denver to run it. We’d met Sully in Denver and found out he lived in Gillette. He brought in Riley. Riley brought in Gil. Gil brought in Bryce. All guys who either had Dom experience or were willing to learn. The ten of us set up the club rules, Murphy screened prospective club members, we opened the doors six years ago. Membership stays steady. But it’s never been about makin’ money.”
“Are you financially invested in the club?” Ainsley asked.
“Typical banker question.” Too bad he hadn’t invested in it. That might solve some of his current financial issues. But Ben would come across as a fucking pussy if he admitted an emotional investment to the place had always been more important. That for him, it’d never been solely about the kinky sex, but him finding acceptance in himself.
“That wasn’t an answer,” she pointed out.
Once again she’d tried to commandeer the conversation, which had forced his thoughts to money and how he’d come up with his portion to buy Rielle’s place, rather than the fact he had a naked sub sitting right next to him. “Because we’re done