Cowboy Casanova Read Free

been friends for a long time. You settled for Dean. You were over thirty, panicked about being unmarried and alone, and picked the first guy who wasn’t a total troll. Your sex life with him was as predictable as every other part of your life with him. It wasn’t a good match, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise.”
    “True. Thanks for the pep talk.”
    “The club may not be your thing. But you won’t know unless you try it.”
    “Murphy is okay with me just observing?” The other club she’d visited had strict policies about guest expectations. She hoped she didn’t stand out like some wide-eyed wannabe tonight, although technically, she was.
    Layla smirked. “I handled Murphy. You are my old friend, Angel, from my banking days.” Her phone buzzed and she said, “Give me a minute.”
    Ainsley’s thoughts drifted to her failed marriage as she stared at the hotel room ceiling. During the first year of wedded bliss, both she and Dean were so smug about how theirs was a true partnership. Neither had more control financially, emotionally or physically over the other. They were equals. They both held upper level management jobs in the banking industry. They shared the household chores. They took turns cooking and doing laundry.
    The only change during their second year of marriage was their sex life became more perfunctory. But they’d talked about it, Dean assuring her that desire fades. Reminding her that friendship, companionship, open communication, common interests and mutual career goals were far more important than sex.
    During their third year of marriage, what Ainsley thought she’d loved about Dean began to drive her crazy. His insistence on everything being a joint decision. From where they ate dinner, to the type of wine they drank, to which place changed the oil in their cars. When he asked for her help in choosing a spring vacation destination, she’d suggested that he surprise her. He argued surprises weren’t fun. She argued meticulous planning wasn’t fun. That’s when they started to argue about a lot of other things.
    Ainsley realized while she appreciated some aspects of a well-ordered life, there was something missing in hers. Passion. Excitement. Spontaneity.
    One night, in year four, she’d decided to rev up their sex life. She stripped in the living room in front of the TV, dropped to all fours and asked Dean to fuck her from behind.
    Flustered by her crude demand, Dean refused.
    She tried again a few weeks later, on the way home from a cocktail party. Tipsy and feeling naughty, she tried to give Dean a blowjob in their Volvo.
    Flustered once again, Dean refused.
    The following month her attempt to entice him into light bedroom bondage using his Brooks Brothers’ ties netted the same result: a big fat no . As did her suggestion that he punish her wanton, wicked ways with a spanking.
    At that point Dean suggested she needed counseling.
    At that point Ainsley suggested he needed Viagra.
    And that’s when their supposedly perfect marriage fell apart. Not only because Ainsley craved variety in the bedroom, but the way she’d voiced her concerns to her husband—he wasn’t seeing to her needs—had put Dean on the defensive. He became cruel. Cutting. Condescending. What she saw as an attempt to improve the intimacy in their marriage Dean saw as her attempt to force him into becoming a type of man he wasn’t. A type of man he’d never be.
    So for all her bold talk, in the last year and a half since her divorce, Ainsley hadn’t done a single thing to take charge of her sexuality except increase her collection of vibrators.
    One night after an extra glass of liquid courage, she’d asked Layla for advice on how to kink up her sex life. Because Layla’s relationship with her longtime squeeze, Murphy, was kinky indeed—Layla was a fulltime submissive and Murphy was her dominant.
    It’d been difficult wrapping her head around the concept; Layla willingly ceded