Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Of course, all these things happened after our night together in the Waterfall Room at The Wicked Horse, and they happened via email and text. I haven’t seen Asher since then.
There was no explanation as to why he hasn’t asked me back to the Wicked Horse, and he’s been gone to work each morning by the time I’ve arrived at his place. He’ll usually leave me a handwritten note of what he wants done. If he doesn’t, I just clean the same areas I’d cleaned the day before. Asher has what must be the cleanest abode in the state of Nevada.
I start with his bedroom, an area of the apartment that affects me the most because it smells just like Asher. It’s decorated in black and gray with just tiny hints of white. It’s stark and barren, but it’s decorated just like the rest of his apartment. There are no personal photographs of his family, nor any warm or whimsical pieces of art adorning the walls. The black lacquered furniture is austere, but at least it shows any dust that might dare to have accumulated since I cleaned the previous day.
I make short work of his room and the spare bedroom, moving past his locked private office he instructed me to ignore my first day. The kitchen has already been scrubbed top to bottom, so I head into the living room. When I finish that, I turn to the foyer, which has a small table on one side of the door and the white marble pedestal that used to house his Chihuly vase before I broke it.
I see something laying on the top of it I hadn’t noticed when I let myself in this morning. As I get closer, I see it’s a photograph of something I recognize at once.
The wooden stocks that are in one of the glassed rooms of the Silo, which is one of the sub rooms within the Wicked Horse.
I pick it up and study it. There’s no one in the room and certainly no one locked in the contraption, although I’d seen it in use on my first visit there. A woman had her head and wrists enclosed as she was being fucked from behind by a man. That hadn’t been shocking, but the fact there were four other men lined up after him to take a turn had been. I was horrified and turned on at the same time, which made me feel like a total slut that any part of that would appeal to me. I guess it was knowing the woman was enjoying herself, which was clear by her moans and screams of pleasure, that had made it seem tantalizing.
Shaking my head to clear it of those thoughts, I turn the photo over. Near the top, Asher had written Tonight at ten. Under it was another short message: Enjoying this far more than the Chihuly.
A snort of amusement involuntarily pops out of my mouth, and I clap my hand over it. Given my observations of Asher’s apartment and the fact the Chihuly was about the only color he had in here, I’m going to take a guess and say that the vase had some special significance to him. What that could be, I can’t imagine, but it makes his words a little more shocking that he’s liking sex with me better than his custom-made vase.
I simply don’t know what to make of it.
I will have to admit that the two nights I went to the club with him were by far the best sex of my entire life. Of course, my earlier experiences were limited to my first boyfriend, who I lost my virginity to, then Nelson, and then one guy after him who just wasn’t a good match on any level. None of them even understood what foreplay was, and I was lucky if I could manage to get myself off with my fingers whenever Nelson was humping me with no finesse. Our sex life was something I truly hated about our marriage. I hadn’t known how to make it better, and I never felt comfortable enough to talk about it with him. I was always afraid of hurting his feelings or something.
Asher on the other hand?
He is sex incarnate. He embodies everything that is lust and pleasure. He’s beyond adventurous and totally confident in whatever he does. When he commands me, I’m powerless to say no.
We were in the Waterfall Room on Monday. Every night since then, I’ve gone to bed thinking about it with my fingers playing between my legs. The orgasms I gave myself were soul shredding as I repeatedly replayed in my mind how satisfying it was to suck his cock, or how wanton and liberated I felt when he put me on that platform in the middle of the pool and buried his tongue deep inside of me. I came so fast I couldn’t quite understand what had happened, and he continued to mercilessly suck and lick at me until he drove me to another orgasm, then another, before he finally fucked me.