“What’s the matter, Lucas?” he asked, grabbing his coat from his chair.
“Another ten requests for members to join, along with a further petition for you to build a playroom downstairs instead of having the self-defence room.” Lucas handed him the files. Stephen glared down at the petition. There were over fifty names on the form.
“Fucking playroom. That’s what Ravage is fucking for.” He threw the file on his desk. There was a reason he didn’t have dominance playrooms. It was an agreement that his father and the previous owner of the BDSM club had arranged. If couples played in their private room then fine, but to have a public room was against that written agreement. “I’m sick and tired of men thinking they can run my own club.”
Lucas didn’t say a word. He rarely did.
“I’ll talk to James to try to get him to allow more people to join his club.”
“I doubt he will. James won’t allow just anyone to join. They have to go through many tests,” Lucas said.
“Are you a member?”
“Yes. I’m a Master at the club. Money is not a requirement for him. You have to have the skills to punish and care for a submissive. I have those skills.”
Stephen could only imagine. He was a member of Ravage, but he preferred to play with a woman in private. “I’ll deal with this tomorrow. Keep an eye on everything, and make sure nothing gets out of hand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He left out of the back door where his allocated driver was waiting. Sitting in the back, he relaxed. No conversation passed between the driver and him. He welcomed the quiet more than conversation. Thirty minutes later his driver pulled up outside his gate and pressed the code before driving down the long road to get to the front of his house. This was the house that had been passed down to the first-born son of the next generation. If he didn’t get a son soon he wouldn’t have an heir to pass down the club and the Knox family legacy. He dismissed the driver and walked inside. The moment he walked inside his house the scent of garlic and basil assailed his nose. His mouth watered, and he moved in the direction of the kitchen.
“Ouch. Motherfucker.” He heard Ursula curse, followed by a hiss. Stephen smiled, opened the door, and leaned against the wall watching her.
She was draining some pasta, licking her thumb as she watched the water drain away. Ursula had pulled her hair back in a ponytail while she cooked. She wore a simple red shirt and a pair of jeans. Her full, luscious body was outlined for him to gaze at. Most women were completely obsessed with their weight and the need to be a size zero. Ursula was all curves and nothing bony about her. Her tits were large, and she had a small waist spilling out to full hips. She turned ‘round, showing him her ass. He wondered how she would fill his hand. Then he imagined her above him, riding his cock as he cupped her ass in his hands.
Fucking pervert. She’s younger than you. You shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.
Stephen pulled away from the wall with the intent of letting her know he was home.
“Evening, Stephen. You know instead of watching you could pick up that spoon and begin stirring,” she said.
Stephen smiled. He would love to spank her ass.
****
Ursula smacked her employer with a spoon before grabbing the pasta and pouring it into the tomato sauce. Some of the juice splattered Stephen’s crisp white shirt. He glared at her. She smiled sweetly at him. From the look on his face, she imagined he’d never gotten food stains on his shirt. His stomach was hard and flat, with no presence of a beer belly.
Not like there is on Paul.
Stop comparing your boss to your boyfriend. There is no way he would ever go with you.
She kept up the inner scolding until she no longer pictured Stephen naked. No man had ever made her want him, until her boss.
At least Stephen has a job.
Stop it, Ursula.
One of her biggest shocks had been when Paul walked in and told her she needed to get a job to pull her weight in paying the bills. He’d lost his job for a reason he still hadn’t told her.
“You know that will be coming out of your salary,” he said.
She burst out laughing. He made so many threats that he never saw through. “Next time you should wear an apron. One of those aprons with the naked breasts on the outside. That would be something I’d pay to see.” She chuckled at the image in her mind.
“Come here, you.” He grabbed her from behind and began to tickle her. Overcome by fits of laughter, she tried to fight him off. They ended up on the floor with him on top of her. “Say ‘submit’,” he said.
“No.”
He tickled her tummy. She pulled on his hands. In the next moment her hands were locked under his grip above her head. He was so close. His breath was on her face. He smelt like whiskey and something deeply masculine that she couldn’t put a name to. Their laughter died down as they stared at each other. Ursula was aware of her legs wrapped around his waist. Her pussy pressed against the front of his suit pants. She felt the length of him pushing against her.