Crimson Sunsets

by Lacee Hightower

  “Okay. I know, Coco. I’m aware of his past, but I don’t want to hear this ‘oh woe is me’ bullshit about him. Not tonight. Maybe he had a rough start, but I don’t want my kid sister hanging around that horny motherfucker. I mean it.”

  I’d wait for him to calm down before I asked any more questions. What was with all the nerves? The vein blowing up in his neck?

  Horny motherfucker? It was obvious the two of them didn’t like each other very much and I was surprised that Jacks even offered Justin a place to stay. Something was up between the two of them.

  Jacks walked off toward his bedroom without saying another word.

  Chapter Nine

  Justin

  “How much you got there boy?”

  It was winter now and still he’d only let me wear the same thin worn jeans that came right above my ankles and the scroungy T-shirt that barely touched my waistline. They smelled. They needed washing.

  Cold weather was the worst.

  People didn’t like to stop.

  They wanted to get home to the comforts of their warm surroundings and family.

  “That’s it? You’re fucking worthless. Maybe this would give you a little more incentive.” He rubbed his hand across the front of his jeans, his eyes glazing over like they always did.

  “You’d like a little of that, wouldn’t you, boy?”

  Jesus. I couldn’t concentrate worth a shit, and I had a busy night to focus on.

  The club was hosting what we called “News for Newbies.” Once a month we opened up to any and everybody who was interested in basic information about Venture and the lifestyle in general. Purely a social gathering, no play or fetish-type wear was allowed for the event. Lots of newbies and wannabes always attended and long-time members were expected to be on-hand to answer any questions potentials had, along with making them feel welcome and basically ending any doubts about the non-vanilla sexual preferences of this culture.

  Venture was different. A private members facility only, we offered a safe clean environment for the BDSM community to explore and learn all their dark, kinked-out fantasies without guilt. Members were expected to be friendly and willing to assist when or if necessary. I was adamant about everyone who stepped through the front door of my club feeling like they were family in a sense. We offered forty stations, fifteen private rooms, music, and only the best in furniture and equipment. Everything was upscale and comfortable and we offered The Mystery Room, a unique feature I’d come up with shortly after the club opened. Visitors to the room were required to wear masks to keep their identities safe. A member that wanted to pursue this let us know well in advance what kind of person they were looking for, male or female, and how much kink they wanted, if any, or if they were simply wanting hardcore sex with a stranger. The room stayed rented far in advance, Jackson Shipman being one of the biggest visitors. I needed to consider adding a second.

  And then there were the auctions, something we only offered twice a year. Other clubs held them more often, even as much as once a month, but we thrived on taking our time getting these scheduled to be the best they could be. A fuck ton of work was invested. Background checks, as well as health records were vital, which all took time. We didn’t pass over anything and the event required a lot of pre-planning and preparation. These auctions were a funny thing. The Doms were generally high-profile business men. Doctors, lawyers, even public officials were members, laying down ridiculous, huge chunks of money to find a submissive of their liking, so set-up took long hours. Perfection was expected.

  We had a room especially for these auctions, as well as other special events. Plush and elegant, the room was covered in warm tones with a burgundy thick carpeting, and walls painted a dark gray. Large pendant chandeliers made from handmade toffee art glass lined the ceiling. I’d learned with time that improper lighting could make or break a sensual environment. It was an important factor for setting the right mood, especially for an event like auction. Being adjustable, during this affair we dimmed the tint to a warm, almost red hue, giving the large room a sense of being underneath a sunset, aiming for the stage to be the focal point when the ladies started stepping out. A soft, almost pink light came over the area of the stage where the women were asked to stand.

  Potential subs were required to wear small pins attached to their dresses letting the Doms know their level. The pins were small and simple, as not to take away from their clothing. The sterling brooches had one, two, or three bars. One for a virgin sub, two for experienced, and three for those seeking punishment submission.

  Power radiated through Venture during this event. Great wealth and lots of sex filled the club on auction night. This was about the only time I chose to dress formal for work. Owner or not, my normal dress was either jeans and boots, or dress slacks. I’d earned that right, but auction was an entirely black-tie event, so I wore a tuxedo.

  A variety of free masks were offered at the front door, others being available for sale in the club shop. Members and potentials had a choice whether or not to wear them. Most did. They only covered a small part of the face, yet they still gave comfort to those who weren’t completely open about their BDSM lifestyle. My philosophy was that privacy was always best. Most of our eminent members didn’t need any type of public embarrassment or publicity regarding their life outside the office. I got plenty of both being the owner, but that came with the territory. I’d attempted avoiding the press and their cameras in the beginning, but after time, found that a smile or being cordial got me better reviews and write-ups than the opposite. Deep down, I detested every last one of the nosy motherfuckers, but it was my club. Part of the job.

  When had I become a goddamn deceiver?

  I’d fucked Hartley with a pure animalistic urgency, barely touching the beautiful body I wanted to explore for days as I learned her most sensitive parts. Christ. I wanted her ass. I wanted to drink the sweet essence of her sex until she was empty. Wanted to learn what took her to that edge of subspace, or if she could even go there. Instead, we fucked hard and fast and it was over before it really ever began.

  Afterwards, I’d blown her off entirely when she asked about Venture. No idea why I did that. I was proud of my club. Happy with who I was. I didn’t need to feel weary at how I’d made my living all these years. Dom/sub relationships were a lifestyle choice. All I did was provide them a clean safe environment.

  A quick glance at my wrist watch showed it was 6:00 already. My staff knew better than to interrupt me when my door had been shut this long and I’d been sitting in my office for hours, staring at nothing but the paint on the wall, my head spiraling a million directions when I needed to be concentrating on the upcoming auction. I was visualizing about Hartley Shipman. What was bad about all this wasn’t simply the fact that I was a fucking hypocrite, but that I felt genuinely sorry as shit for what I’d done. But fuck, why did she have to be so beautiful? And those damn freckles. Why did that turn me stone hard? They were fucking freckles.

  And that whole discussion about skiing. I swallowed the huge emotional lump deep in my throat. I’d fucking love to take her skiing and watch her check off every item on her so-called bucket list. High in the Alps with just the two of us caved up in a five-star cabin with a roaring fire, buried inside her warm pussy while the snow fell around us outside. Christ. I reached down to adjust the sudden bulge behind my pants, the smell of her still faint on my hands.

  As much as it all sounded picture perfect, who was I trying to fool? I couldn’t take the risk. Couldn’t afford another blow to the head.

  Couldn’t subject her to this life.

  One more reason to walk away. Hartley deserved a man who could teach her to fucking ski. A private life that wasn’t plastered all over the ridiculous internet. Someone to give her security and the things she wanted.

  I wasn’t that man.

  Ultimately, I couldn’t promise her a damn thing. I needed to let her go. I couldn’t afford to let this thing turn emotional. Neither could she.
This—it needed to end. Soon.

  I’d do it soon.

  My head ached, something just rubbing me the wrong way about her being so nonchalant about everything. Most women, other than the strongest submissives, were exactly the opposite, bringing on tears and ridiculous shit when you told them you only wanted to fuck.

  Not this girl. She challenged me. Invited me into her bed anyway. Something about that was hot, yet it also gave me an uncomfortable feeling. All in all, I couldn’t rid myself of the notion of banging her pussy so hard she couldn’t take a step the next day without thinking of me and remembering exactly who I was.

  I wiggled my mouse, awakening my computer screen to look over the club numbers for a few minutes, remembering I needed to make a transfer into one of my other accounts … and my mother’s. My phone dinged with an incoming text. It was from Hartley.

  You’d be so proud. I just had the hottest dirtiest sex of my life with a stranger from the past. And he was long … and thick. LOL! My Bad!

  What the fuck kind of text message was that? Dirty as hell. That’s what it was. I snickered. It also wasn’t meant for me.

  Still grinning, I read the second message. This girl was gonna be floored when she realized who she was sending her messages to.

  And I’m still aching in all my girly parts. It feels amazing.

  Check. Fucking. Mate!

  My head was anywhere but focusing on work after reading the mistaken text messages. How the hell could I concentrate now? I fired off a quick text with the notion to mess with her a little.

  Girly parts still aching sweet thing? I’m giving myself a fist-pump as we speak.

  I’d fucked … a lot. And I was anything but spiritual, but it almost seemed like all the years we hadn’t been together, we really were. Something was just different. I couldn’t quite put a finger to it.

  I needed to walk away. It was vital.

  Put this to rest before it got started. I couldn’t let anyone get too close. Plus, the fact she’d already been hurt once. Just walked away from years of that shit.

  I couldn’t risk hurting her. I wouldn’t.

  I raked my hands through my hair and leaned onto my elbows. What the fuck had I done? No time for the start of aggravating discomfort, I stood, lowering my jeans, and changed out the small patch on my hip.

  What the hell was the sudden commotion on the other side of my office door? I stared at the computer monitor, snatching my jeans back up. Bull had Jackson around the neck saying something to him I knew damn well was only pissing off the high-powered attorney even more. His face and neck were red, the veins in his neck bulging with anger.

  What the complete fuck was wrong with him? I reached for the door.

  Well, goddamn. Did I really just let this high-strung fuck cold-cock me in the jaw? Bull grabbed him by the throat.

  “What did I tell you, Jackson? Turn your ass around and get out of here before I throw you out on your self-important, arrogant ass.”

  Bull’s eyes were wild with anger. I knew part of that was because Jackson’s adrenaline was so fucking high with rage, he’d actually managed to break away from the grip of the strongest man I knew. He wouldn’t be happy about that. An employee for years, come tomorrow morning, I knew he’d be back at lifting tires and pushing cars.

  “It’s okay, Bull.” The large man nodded, turning toward Jackson with warning in his eyes.

  “Goddamn you, Jackson! What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?”

  Jackson’s narrowed eyes said it all. I knew exactly why he was here. To prove a point. In my gut, I completely understood. Coco. Hartley. His little sister.

  “One fucking warning, Justin. Just one. Stay the hell away from her. The last thing Hartley needs is somebody else like you. I won’t have her involved in this lifestyle.”

  I forced out a laugh.

  “Listen to you, man. You won’t have her involved in this lifestyle or your lifestyle? One of the most fucking aggressive Doms at Venture.” I rubbed my throbbing jaw, staring up at the swirling ceiling fan and trying to keep my composure.

  Voices…

  Come on you little pussy. Cry.

  “Kiss my white ass, Justin. I don’t need this place any longer. Consider me an ex-member.”

  “Fuck you, Jackson. I won’t apologize to you or anybody else for what I do, and you’re a hell of a person to look down on me. You’re nothing but a hypocrite. Unless you’ve done a complete one-eighty in the last week, you’re the cold bastard that gets a hard dick from caning a woman so hard, she has marks for days afterwards.”

  He barked out a laugh as his body stiffened. I knew what he was thinking. Every member here knew what I’d done the one time, using a 40-strand rubber flogger when I wasn’t in my right mind. They all knew, yet never mentioned it.

  “I understand this could be a fucking disaster for you if Hartley finds out who you are. I totally get that. I do. But your sister is adamant about visiting the club, so be forewarned.”

  “Fuck you, Wisely.”

  He turned and left. I reclined back in my chair, staring at the monitor and the second round of excitement outside the door.

  Bull was earning his pay today. Now he was escorting a new member out. The guy had shown up intoxicated twice this month. Given his first warning, there wouldn’t be a second. There was a no tolerance rule at Venture about drugs and alcohol. It was all clearly stated in the sign-up paperwork. We weren’t babysitters to drunks and druggies. One time earned a warning. Two got a permanent nice walk to the exit door.

  With an irked shake of my head, all I could do was watch the computer screen as the drunk idiot gave it his best shot trying to force Bull off him. It couldn’t usually be done, and knowing Bull the way I did, he was still mad as fuck over Jackson getting away from him, only fueling his red-hot fire.

  Venture had four employees strictly for this kind of thing. To watch and make sure everybody in the club followed the rules. Josh was at least three hundred pounds of straight-up muscle and strong as a fucking bull, which was how his nickname originated. No doubt in my mind, if he really wanted to show this drunk, soon-to-be ex-member who was in charge, all he had to do was put one of his mammoth arms around his neck and give him a small squeeze. Show him who was really boss. Ex-Seal, the man could snap bones in half on just about anybody’s neck and never give it a second thought. He knew all kinds of survivor tactics that the average person had no idea about. Sam was the only person I’d ever seen who could get the notorious Bull to lighten up. He was jelly in the girl’s hand.

  “Poor drunk son-of-a-bitch,” I muttered under my breath. He was far from Dom material. Only other wannabe. I clicked off the monitor.

  There was a knock on the door. Nobody else would bother me when it was closed. It had to be my assistant.

  “Come in, Sam.” The door opened to Sam, my right-hand to everything. The petite blonde who couldn’t possibly break a hundred pounds on the scales. The green-eyed girl that could take a caning, flogging, or anything that the strongest of Doms challenged her with, and barely bat an eyelash. She also happened to be one of my ex-subs from back in the day when I thrived on the challenge of pushing a woman to her edge. To that brink where she wanted to safeword. To push. And then push just a little more. Sam was one of the closest friends I had. Regardless of the fact I’d purchased and trained her. Strangely enough, we were able to stay friends and keep a great boss/employee relationship. The whole concept of that was strange, but I was grateful as hell. She’d be hard to replace.

  “Hey, you don’t look so good. Do you need me to get you something? Some ice maybe?” My fingers were digging into my temples, big white spots circling in front of my vision in some crazy spiraling form. That’s usually when I hurled up whatever I had in my stomach. Sam knew something was up. She’d caught me more than once changing a patch and even more times trying to deny the goddamn pain charging my head. She’d never asked, but she knew … something.

  “No!” I snapped at her.
Fuck! I tried blinking away the spots.

  “Sorry, Justin. Just wanted to let you know Kelly called in sick again. Says she’s still not feeling good and can’t make it.” She looked at me with caring green eyes.

  “Shit. I needed her help tonight. Why doesn’t she see a doctor? Get some antibiotics or some kind of shit?” We were shorthanded now. I guess I needed to hire another girl.

  “She doesn’t have the money to go to the clinic, or medical insurance.”

  Well, bite me on the ass. Maybe it was time I looked into employee insurance. I hadn’t given that much thought.

  I knew just the person to ask.

  “There’s a drunk bastard hurling all over the front door. Who the hell is that?” Tyler stood in the doorway, his eyes widening. Fuck, nobody liked cleaning up puke, plus it left a rancid smell.

  “Jesus, this place is a fucking circus today,” I snapped.

  “Just thought I’d come by for a quick drink. I didn’t intend on walking up to a retching drunk fool.” Sam stood on the ends of her toes, giving Tyler a small peck on the cheek.

  “Never a dull moment, Doc. How are you? How’s Alex?” His eyes lit up just at the mention of his fiancée’s name just like I’d seen dozens of times. The man was over the moon in love.

  “She’s well. Thank you, Sam.”

  “Tell her hello, or better yet bring her up here sometime. You know she’d love you for it.” Sam smiled, raising her eyebrows and teasing Tyler.

  “I’ll tell her you said hello.” He nodded with a small smile. Chances were slim to none that he’d bring Alex back to Venture. Not her choice, but his. Sam started to ease the door shut.

  “You guys need anything?” I nodded as the door latched behind her.

  “What the fuck happened to your face?” I rubbed my jaw.

  “Jackson lost his shit. Uptight motherfucker.”

  “Jesus. What’s going on?” Tyler’s eyes narrowed. I raised my chest and blew out a long breath, telling him everything.

  “Well, fuck me,” Tyler said. “Hartley? And you? Now that’s a story to tell the grandkids one day. Shit.”