I’m eager to get her to the club, to see how she responds.
And then to get her the fuck home.
“What’s the story, brother?” Boner asks. He sips his pint and walks on my left, Nolan to the right of Aileen.
“My wife was curious about the club, so I’m showing her, but you know I don’t trust her brother. Rafferty says he’s back since I haven’t been coming.”
“He here tonight?”
“No, but that could change.”
“I’m not going to hide from him,” Aileen says tightly, her eyes cast ahead of her.
“Of course not,” I agree. “I just don’t fancy having to dole out another beating when I could be doing far better things with you.”
“Oh, I’d help you with that,” Nolan says, then quickly amends. “The beating part, not the wife part. For Christ’s sake, keep yer knickers on. I’d pay to get a chance to break the man’s nose.”
Aileen smiles. “’Tis probably deviant to take pleasure in such a thought, but I won’t deny it pleases me.”
We get access to the private part of the club. I hold Aileen’s hand tightly in mine as we enter. Something unsettles me tonight. I didn’t recognize the men at the door, and it’s much more crowded there than I ever remember seeing before. There are men dressed in black at the exits, men and women, singles and couples, roaming the darkened interior.
“Is it always this dark in here?” I ask Nolan. I don’t like it. I’ve half a mind to gather her up and head back home before we’ve even begun.
“No,” Nolan says. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he sweeps his gaze across the room. “Shouldn’t be so dark in here. It isn’t safe.”
“Tell them to put the damn lights on, then.”
Boner shakes his head. “You twats, it’s soirée night.”
“What the fuck is that?” I ask.
“Themed night at the club?” he says. “Dimmed lights. Fancy dress. Cocktails.” He snags an hors d’oeuvre from a waitress passing by as if to show us what to do.
“Relax, Mr. McCarthy,” my wife says with a charming grin. “I’m sure you’ll keep me so close to you that even the dim lights won’t interfere. Oh my God, is that a curry spread?” She takes three mini toasts off the tray a waitress holds and devours the food. I grin at her. I sometimes forget what a hearty appetite she has.
I take her hand and lead her around, finding every cocktail waitress with a tray we can find. When she’s filled her belly with crudité, grilled potato skins, mini egg rolls, and bacon-wrapped scallops, she collapses on a nearby bench still nursing her drink.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Cormac?” she asks, daintily wiping a napkin across her lips.
“Aye,” I tell her. I tug her onto my lap and kiss her.
“Don’t you even say what you’re thinking,” she says, crossing her legs as if that will actually prevent anything. I tug her forward to straddle my lap, my cock pressed hard against her arse.
I lean in and whisper in her ear. “I’ve still got the taste of your pretty pussy on my lips. It’s ruined me for anything else.”
She gasps and squirms. I raise the hem of her dress and rest my thumbs on her inner thighs. I tease her, lightly brushing my fingers near her secret spots. She wraps her arms around my neck and squirms, wriggling her arse so she draws closer to me.
“Pinch your nipples,” I whisper in her ear.
“Cormac!”
“Do it, before I spank you.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You can’t—”
Ah, the classic female protest. I easily arrange her over my knee, her pert little arse raised high in the air, and give her a little pat.
“Can’t I?”
“People will… how can you… Cormac!”
I inhale the sweet, seductive scent of her arousal, lift the hem of her dress, and place my palm beneath the fabric. I squeeze.
“Cormac,” she repeats on a moan.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Do you need a spanking, young lady?”
“No, sir,” she says stoutly, but the flush of her cheeks and the way she bites her lip tells me another story.
“Oh, I think otherwise.” It’s so crowded and dark in here, not a soul looks our way as I lift my hand and give her a good, hard slap. She’s more than safe here, over my knees, with her belly well supported. Sebastian assures me some kinkier times could actually be beneficial as long as we’re careful. Something about raising hormone levels and blah blah blah.
“Now,” I tell her, my hand poised above her arse. “What did I say to do?”
“Pinch my—you can’t mean it,” she protests. I underscore exactly what I do mean with another hard smack. She bucks and squirms but reaches for her breasts and with her eyes squeezed shut, pinches her nipples to tight peaks.
“Good girl,” I say, with another approving hard smack. “Just like that.”