“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.