Eyes on Me (Salacious Players’ Club)
Eyes on Me: Prologue

“So, I had a fistful of her hair in my hand, and we were both in the moment when I looked her right in the eye and said, ‘Suck my cock like a good little girl.’ The next thing I knew, she reared back her fist and clocked me right in the face,” Emerson says with a groan.

“Oh shit!” I shout with a grimace.

“Damn!” Hunter replies with a laugh.

Poor Maggie is staring at Emerson with wide eyes and a look of horror on her face. “I don’t think she liked that.”

I can’t help but laugh as I watch my best friend wince, holding his beer against his cheek to soothe the giant purple bruise he’s sporting. I would have paid good money to see that play out. I can just imagine him at that moment, the big man that he is, thinking he has a pliable woman in his hands, only for her to sock him right in the face.

It’s a pity that they couldn’t have a little fun, that they didn’t know going into it that they were not on the same page sex-wise.

“I mean…I thought we were getting along great,” he says. “She seemed kinky enough, and she definitely appeared into it, but I guess I was wrong. Not a fan of a little sexy degradation, apparently.”

Yeah, I know the feeling. The last time I brought a girl back home and tried anything outside of vanilla, it didn’t go well, to say the least. I tried to record the sex—nope. I asked another girl to masturbate and let me watch—nope. I tried to finger a woman at the bar in public, where no one could clearly see what we were doing—nope.

It made me feel like a creep. Like there was something wrong with me because I wanted to try shit outside of the ‘norm.’ Just like I’m sure Emerson feels about his little degradation kink.

How many of us have felt comfortable enough in the moment to really ask for what we want, only to be rejected and treated like a freak? So yeah…I get it.

That’s probably why it’s been so long since I’ve been between the sheets with a woman.

“Fuck, man.” I let the words slip through my lips and all my friends glance my way. “It’s bullshit that there isn’t a way to match people up by the kinky shit they like to do in the bedroom.”

They all laugh. Naturally, they think I’m joking, and I guess, most of the time, I am. But not this time.

“I’m fucking serious,” I say, breaking through the laughter. “How nice would it be if you could meet up with someone who likes the same twisted shit you do? You wouldn’t have to hide it or be embarrassed by the kinks that get your panties wet.”

“You’re fucking crazy, Garrett,” Hunter says, but I slam my beer down.

“I am not. Who here doesn’t have some freaky bedroom desires you’ve always wanted to do but are too afraid to ask? I mean, obviously, Emerson isn’t afraid to ask.”

They laugh again.

“Come on. I’m serious,” I say. They can joke all they want, but I have heard their dirty stories. I know my friends have some freaky kinks they’re not owning up to. “Out of all the shit you’ve done, what is the one thing you wish you could ask for? You know you have something. So let’s hear it.”

“You first,” Maggie replies with a mischievous grin.

“Fine.” I straighten my spine and finish my beer, letting the liquid courage seep into my veins. “I like to watch.”

“Watch what?” Hunter asks with a look of skepticism.

I shrug. “Anything, I guess.”

“So you’d rather watch people having sex than have it yourself?”

I never really thought about it like that, but yeah, I guess so. I nod.

“You’re a voyeur,” Emerson adds, and I glance over at him. He doesn’t sound surprised. I’ve never really tried that word on to see how it feels, but I don’t hate it. It makes sense, and I guess that’s what I am.

“Is that really so weird?” I ask. “I’m talking completely consensual. I’m not going around and peeping into people’s windows or anything, but if I could replace a girl who wouldn’t mind letting me watch her alone…or her with someone else. I don’t know…the thought gets me hot. Why should I be ashamed of that?”

“You shouldn’t,” Emerson replies, and I can tell he’s taking me seriously now. In fact, he has a willful expression on his face that I know means he’s brewing an idea.

And that’s exactly what I need.

To be honest, the past couple years have been rough. I’m hanging on by a thread with this company, and if it wasn’t for the friends I’ve made, I think I would have jumped ship months ago. The work is soul-sucking, constantly fulfilling someone else’s goals and dreams, only to watch the events flop and the money get sucked away without reinvesting it back into the company.

I love working in entertainment. I love parties and people and the excitement of the planning process, but lately, the motivation to even show up for work, let alone get out of bed, has been daunting. I need something to wake up for. I need a purpose.

So I hope like hell that idea forming behind Emerson’s eyes is a good one—because I fucking need it.

I’m still in bed the next morning when I get the call. It’s Emerson who breaks the news to me—the company we work for is filing for bankruptcy, and the last four years have just been flushed down the toilet.

But before a shadow can cast over my future, he says, “Would you be interested in starting our own business?”

“Umm…” I rub the sleep out of my eyes and glance at the clock. It’s almost eleven. “Yeah. Definitely. Why?”

“What if it was a dating service?”

A dating service? My brows furrow as I wait for him to elaborate.

“You got me thinking last night. All that talk about compatibility and kinks. I think it’s a great idea.”

With bated breath, I wait for him to say something enticing, and not just a weak idea or half a plan. I’m counting on Emerson to say the word and make this happen because if he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do next. Thankfully, my best friend doesn’t do shit half-assed. When he’s passionate, he makes it happen.

“I say we do it. I want it to start as an app, like a dating service, but not a cheap hookup site. I want this to be prestigious. Membership tiers with VIP status and services people actually want. Then, down the road, I’m thinking about a real club.”

“A nightclub?” Please say no. I don’t think I have the energy to deal with another soulless nightclub.

“A sex club, Garrett. Exclusive. Someplace people can be free to pursue their wildest desires. No judgment. No shame.”

Fuck yes. I sit straight up in my bed and glance around my messy apartment. “What do you need me to do?”

“You’re good with people, Garrett. I need you to be the face of the company, and I want all of your ideas. I know you have them.”

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Good.”

Hopping out of bed, I keep my phone on speaker as I brew my coffee and get myself ready for the day. Emerson rattles off more ideas, and I volley back with my own. Anxiety still nags at my consciousness, the fear that I don’t have what it takes to pull this off, but I’m too fired up to let it stop me.

Emerson Grant has faith in me, and I’m not going to let him down. Which means I can’t let those inner voices in. Can’t let them control me. This is going to be great. Our club is going to be great. It has to be.

“Hey, Emerson,” I say before we hang up.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too cheesy or lame.

“No need to thank me, Garrett. This was your idea.”

And that may be true, but it’s his drive and leadership I needed. Like I said, these past few years have been low, and I’m tired of being low. I don’t think he’ll ever understand just how much this company means to me.

Because Salacious Players’ Club saved my life.