Wicked Need

by Sawyer Bennett

  Cat,

  Stuff to do but make sure you're dressed casual and ready to go by noon.

  Rand

  Short, to the point, and totally not telling me a damn thing. But it's the lunch hour and I'm guessing maybe he's taking me out to lunch. Maybe like a date?

  Which is a foreign concept for the most part. I mean... I went out on dates with Samuel. They were formal affairs where he'd send a stylist to me, who would dress and polish me up. Then a driver would pick me up at my crummy little apartment I shared with two other strippers. They'd jokingly say, "Have fun, Vivienne" as I walked out the door, an homage to Pretty Woman.

  Samuel would then take me to a posh restaurant I couldn't even afford to work in and we'd make polite small talk while we ate.

  So not sure that's really a date.

  Not the type that a twenty-four-year-old woman should have.

  Maybe we'll go to The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar for burgers, which is totally a tourist trap, but I'm not really a local, am I? Perhaps a stroll around town square afterward? That sounds fun--like a real date should.

  The knocking on the door surprises me, and I flip my watch to look at it again. Noon on the dot, but that can't be Rand as he'd just walk right in.

  I go to the door, put my eye to the peephole, and see two women standing there. Young, roughly my age. One a brunette, the other a blonde. I open the door and peer out at them. "Can I help you?"

  "Cat, right?" the brunette says, sticking her hand out and not even waiting for mine to meet hers. She takes it and gives a quick handshake. "I'm Callie Hayes... Woolf Jennings' girlfriend."

  I immediately turn beet red and almost start to hyperventilate. Woolf Jennings' girlfriend is shaking my hand? What the fuck?

  I mean, seriously, what the fuck? I had sex with her boyfriend a few times at The Silo back in the day.

  I furiously try to scrub some of those images from my head as I desperately try to think of what to say, but then she's dropping my hand and the blonde--who looks vaguely familiar--steps forward, taking it. "I'm Sloane Preston. I think you know my boyfriend, Cain Bonham."

  A strangled sound gurgles up from my throat, and I go dizzy. I think I might vomit for a moment, as I can only think these women are here to beat the shit out of me. I've been with both of their men, on more than one occasion, and in a nastier way than I'm betting these two beautiful women have been, and I just know I'm done for.

  The blonde drops my hand, tilts her head to the side, and asks, "Are you okay? You look a little pale?"

  "Um... I... um..." I stutter as I take a step back from them. My gaze flicks back and forth between the women, wondering if they have weapons and why in the hell I didn't slam the door in their faces.

  The brunette--what was her name... Callie?--gives a nudge to the other with a knowing look on her face and takes a tentative step toward me through the doorway. "She thinks we're here to bust her chops about The Silo."

  She says this to her friend, but her eyes are on me. I take another step backward.

  "Well, reassure her we're not," the blonde--Sloane, I think--urges her.

  "I'm here to offer you a job," Callie says, and I halt my backward momentum.

  "Excuse me?" I ask, stunned at this weird turn of events.

  "Bridger told Woolf you were looking for a job. Woolf told me. I happen to be looking for someone to help with my dad's campaign--"

  "--he's running for governor," Sloane pipes in.

  "--that's right. Things are starting to ramp up and I need help," Callie concludes.

  Okay, now this is just too weird for me to comprehend. With all the peculiarity and stress in my life, I seriously cannot digest what these women are doing.

  "Let me get this straight," I ask with hands on my hips and eyes slightly narrowed at Callie. I decide not to hold any punches. "You want to offer me a job on your father's political campaign?"

  "That's right," she says with a bright smile. "I mean... you can do some basic typing, right. Address envelopes? Stick signs in yards? It's pretty basic, but it's a full-time position."

  I ignore the requirements for the job as I'm more than qualified and decide to really address the elephant in the room. "I've been with both your men at The Silo. Why are you helping me? Why in the hell are you even here shaking my hand?"

  My voice gets a little hysterical at the end, and Callie's eyes soften. She ignores the fact I haven't invited her in and takes two more steps toward me. Her hands come to my shoulders and she squeezes them. "Cat... I don't know you, but Bridger and Woolf both assure me that you are a very nice person. Sloane and I know all about The Silo and what our men did there before we came along. And that's where I want you to focus... you were with them before Sloane and I got involved, and we have no right to judge or be mad at something they did before we fell in love. So if we don't have a problem with it, I don't think you should."

  I blink at her stupidly because although her words make sense, I know just enough about women to know they are jealous creatures. I also know no women who would want to be friends or co-workers with someone who had very kinky sex with their significant other.

  "She doesn't believe you," Sloane says as she leans a shoulder against the doorjamb. "Figures."

  "Well, we don't have time to convince you. I'm starved. We promised Rand we'd take you to lunch and discuss the job, so let's go," Callie says in exasperation and takes my elbow.

  I'm still sort of frozen from the shock of all this, but my feet willingly move when she pulls me toward the door.

  "Rand did tell you we'd be by, right?"

  I shake my head, no words coming out. As I grab my purse on the bench in the mudroom as an afterthought, Sloane mutters, "Typical man. Forgetting the important things. Don't worry... we'll have a great time at lunch. Margaritas at The Merry Piglet make everything better."

  Now that is something that's finally clicking with me. I could use a margarita.

  Or five.

  "So then everything spills out of my purse," Sloane says with a gasping laugh, "and a butt plug rolls out. Right to the foot of the waiter. He picks it up and just hands it to me with a red face. And Cain was dying laughing."

  Callie wheezes she's laughing so hard, slapping at the table and nearly knocking over her third margarita. I look back and forth between these two women as I have been most of lunch... with my mouth hanging open.

  Sloane looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and smirks. "Come on, Cat. That's funny, right?"

  "She's still in shock," Callie affirms with eyes just as wet from laughter.

  "Maybe we broke her," Sloane says thoughtfully, wiping a finger under her eye to push away the moisture. "Rand's going to be pissed."

  I take another healthy slurp of my margarita, also my third, and mutter with a smile, "It's funny."

  Then I take another slurp.

  "So what's your take on anal?" Sloane asks me, and I start choking. "Like or dislike? Callie still hasn't worked up enough courage to take it all the way, but I love it with Cain."

  "I... I..." I stutter as both of them look at me with mischievous faces. Eyes shining and happy, and truly, truly not in the least offended by the presence of a woman such as me. I mean, they seriously look like they're enjoying this company and discussion.

  Almost like I'd imagine real girlfriends do.

  Resolution strengthens my spine. I decide to accept the fact that they seem to like me and are not put out by my past relationships with their boyfriends. I decide to own it.

  "Yeah... I like anal," I say confidently with my chin tilted up. "If it's done right. And let me tell you, Rand does it right."

  Callie puts her chin in the palm of her hand and gives a dreamy sigh. "Maybe one day."

  "Girl," Sloane drawls in exaggerated fashion. "You and I can compare notes later when Saint Callie isn't around."

  "Hey," she exclaims, sitting up straight and glaring at Sloane. "I am not a saint. I'll have you know I've done a three-way with Woolf and Bridger."
/>   My mouth falls back open again. I decide to fill it with more margarita.

  "Please," Sloane scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at her. "Who hasn't had Bridger in a multiple before?"

  My head snaps toward Sloane. I suck deeper on the straw until the last liquid is pulled up and the ice rattles in loneliness at the bottom of the glass.

  "You've had Bridger before, right?" Sloane asks with a naughty sparkle in her eye.

  "I would plead the fifth," I say resolutely, "but I feel like you two would berate it out of me. So yes... I've had Bridger before."

  "He's yummy," Sloane says.

  "Totally," Callie agrees.

  "And your dad's the governor?" I ask with comedic suspicion and a cocked eyebrow at her. "Because it's just so hard to believe with some of the things coming out of your mouth."

  "It's true," she says solemnly, holding up her hand and placing the other over her heart. "Swear it."

  "And you really want me to work for you?" I ask, not with any more doubt, but more in awe because I can't understand why this opportunity is being given to me. I did nothing to deserve it.

  "I really do," she says with a genuine smile. "We help friends around here. You're Bridger and Woolf's friend, and so you are now my friend."

  "And mine," Sloane chimes in.

  Callie leans forward, pushes her margarita glass to the side, and says, "So I'm offering you the job and I think you should say, 'Thank you, Callie, I accept.'"

  "Thank you, Callie," I say with a nod of my head in gratitude. "I accept."

  Because I'd be an idiot not to.

  "Excellent," she says, beaming me a huge grin, and then she's shouting across the restaurant. "Livvy, another round of margaritas."

  "Oh my God," Sloane mutters. "I'm going to be so drunk. Cain's going to need to come get me."

  "Yeah, I think our workday got shot to shit," Callie agrees. "Good thing I'm your boss."

  My head snaps to Sloane. "You're working the campaign too?"

  "Yup," she says, sucking down the last of her third margarita. "Only until I can find something better suited."

  Callie kicks Sloane under the table. I know this because the table rattles and Sloane yelps before glaring at Callie. "Ow. That hurt."

  "Good, because that was a strike to my heart that you'd even imply you'd work somewhere else," Callie says seriously.

  Sloane rolls her eyes and throws a thumb in Callie's direction. "I'm a journalist by nature, so I'm gladly helping Callie out until I can do something more suited to my degree."

  "Gotcha," I say in understanding.

  "So, listen," Callie says in a low, secretive voice as she leans forward. Sloane does the same, apparently eager for gossip. "I don't know any details, but Woolf shared with us that things with your husband were really bad. And he said that you'd been kicked out of your house, left with no money after he died, and that Rand was helping you out."

  Sloane nods seriously in agreement. "What she's trying to say is, now in addition to Rand, you got two new peeps who will have your back until you can get on your feet."

  "And you don't have to tell us any details, but if you do need to talk, especially to another woman, you only have to call," Callie adds on.

  Before I can respond, the waitress returns with a tray loaded with three margaritas and another basket of chips and salsa. We murmur thanks and when she leaves, Sloane reaches out to take a chip. How she can even fit any more food in her stomach is beyond me. She already killed a large chimichanga.

  I take a moment to let not only what they just said to sink in, but everything that's happened in the last seven days. I've had apparently five people step up and go to bat for me, and they hardly know me at all. It provokes strange feelings within me because I've never even had those closest to me--mother or husband namely--care for me like this.

  For the first time, I think I start to have a small glimmer of hope that there are good people in the world, and I don't just have to push my way through life in survival mode. I might actually be able to have fulfillment and happiness.

  "I didn't marry for love," I say suddenly, looking up from my glass to first Callie's eyes and then Sloane's. "I'd run away from home at seventeen, spent time on the streets, and then eventually became a stripper. Marrying Samuel was my way out of destitution and back-alley blow jobs so I could afford to eat."

  Callie and Sloane both wince, but their eye contact never wavers. Their gazes don't hold a speck of judgment but are full of empathy.

  "He abused me," I continue on, and Sloane's hand shoots across the table to cover mine. She gives it a squeeze. "Not physically himself, but to make long, sordid stories short, he farmed me out to friends and business contacts. Even his son."

  "Fucking douche-bag, evil asshole," Sloane growls, and Callie's eyes get moist again.

  "He made me go to The Silo, and he made sure I became known as the woman who loved getting gang banged because that's what he got off on," I say, realizing I don't have any bitterness about it right now. It is what it is, and for whatever reasons these opportunities are being afforded to me, they landed me in a place with good people that I wouldn't have met but for The Silo.

  "And if you're wondering why I just didn't leave," I continue, playing with my straw, "I berate myself over and over about my stupidity in not. But if I'm going to be honest with my new friends, I didn't leave because even though he did those things to me, my life was still better than what it was before. I wasn't handed out often, and I'll even admit, a lot of things that happened at The Silo I enjoyed to some extent. I don't know what type of woman that makes me... to let her husband treat her that way... which is why I still find it a bit hard to accept you want to be my friends."

  "Cat," Callie murmurs. "We all make choices in our life that we are held accountable for later. I can't see that the choice you made to stay does anything more than label you a survivor. It's just that simple."

  "And I'll add on to that," Sloane says quietly. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with liking your time at The Silo. Callie and I have both experienced it, and we love the freedom it provides. As women, we need to revel in our sexuality and accept that we are allowed to have desires and fantasies we want to be fulfilled. The Silo gives that to us. Find the right man on top of that--who understands and values your inner kinkiness--and well, hell... that's like the best sex ever."

  "Yeah," Callie reiterates. "Don't ever feel ashamed about The Silo and what you've done there. Even with Woolf and Cain. Granted... we don't need details, but it's nothing that changes our opinion about you."

  "So true," Sloane agrees.

  My heart swells and grows warm. It settles in deep and a rush of joy pulses within me. These women... two amazing, non-judgmental, caring and confident women... actually seem to like me.

  Accept me.

  Want to help me.

  Maybe my time at The Silo was nothing more than fate or pre-destiny. Maybe I had to meet and marry Samuel, have him debase me and ultimately lead me to The Silo, so that I could be in this very place at this very moment.

  My thoughts turn to Rand, who has been equally as non-judgmental and caring as Callie and Sloane.

  Actually more so.

  I think about what Sloane just said... find a man who understands and values my inner kinkiness.

  That's totally Rand.

  From the very start.

  An idea strikes and it might even be fueled by the margaritas, but I know by the time I'm ready to act on said idea, I'll be sober. Reaching into my purse, I say, "I need to send a quick text to Rand."

  "Oooohhhh," Sloane gloats with a knowing look in her eyes. "You're sexting him, aren't you?"

  "Well, yeah," I admit with a sheepish smile as my fingers fumble across the keys. "Kinda, sort of."

  Chapter 15

  Rand

  I'm not sure I've ever had a day drag by more slowly than today has. It's been a long day. Agonizing actually.

  It started off with me meeting Bridger to give
him the trust agreement we took pictures of and that I had printed out early this morning. I left the copy with him and asked him to look it over, but I talked to him about what route we should take in the meantime.

  On the way back to Jackson from Vegas, Cat agreed to let me talk to Bridger first. She wanted to call Kevin right then and there to confront him, but I wanted to take a bit of a more cautious approach. It might be better to hit up an attorney first for a legal opinion, but I knew Bridger always had great advice, so I figured we should wait it out just a day so I could talk to him.

  I had already set up Callie and Sloane to take Cat out to lunch today. Woolf had texted me late Monday night after we got back to Jackson and Cat was already asleep, telling me he'd talked to Callie and she was going to ask Cat to work for her on the campaign. This was excellent news and was a job about as far away from The Silo as I could get her. Ironic since not but a few weeks ago, Sloane was digging around as an undercover reporter trying to connect the governor to the sex club.

  So while Cat's apparently eating burritos, I'm spending a tremendously slow day at Westward Ink, watching the clock tick down to quitting time so I can get home to Cat.

  And yeah... weird that I'm thinking words like "home" and "Cat" almost synonymously, but I can't fucking help it. The more I become embroiled in her affairs, the more intrigued I become by her. The more she starts to blossom and starts to become the confident, take-control woman I know her to be deep inside, the more attracted I become to her. The more I get to know about her and the things she's overcome so far, the more I become attached to her. The more she milks my cock, the more I want her to milk it.

  Hard and often.

  Haven't even thought about The Silo once since she and I talked about it five nights ago.

  My phone dings with a text and I see it's from Cat. Callie said they were going to The Merry Piglets, which always means margaritas with lunch.

  It's cute and coy, and I never thought I'd use those words to describe Cat. Sloane and Callie think I should own my inner kinkiness. And I'm kinda drunk.

  I'm sitting at the front counter, previously bored out of my mind but now fully alert with interest. I immediately write back, I think you should own it too. And you're a cute drunk.

  It takes a few moments for her to text me back, and I wonder what an inebriated Cat really looks like. Never have I seen her intoxicated. She never once had an alcoholic drink at The Silo, and I've never seen her look to be high or out of control. I bet she's fun though.