Acquiesce Read online

  Acquiesce

  By

  Cory Cyr

  Acquiesce Copyright © 2014 CORY CYR

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions

  thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief

  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by: Cory Cyr

  Cover design by: Wicked by Design

  Cover Model: Matus Valent

  Photographer: Richard Clements

  Back Cover courtesy of Shutterstock ®

  Edited by: Cassie McCown

  Formatting: Sharon Kay

  Copyright 2014 by Cory Cyr

  This Kindle eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents:

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Snatch Excerpt

  Acknowledgements:

  When I first decided to write romance, I knew at some point one of my books would be about a male brothel. The idea had always intrigued me. What I didn't realize was the characters, Cass and Nic, would take center stage and the brothel would end up in the background. Either way, I love their journey and hope you will too.

  There are so many people to thank who have not only embraced my books, but also given me so much support. Victoria L. Brock, Addison Kline (yes, I finally got your last name right), Mary Ting, Cambria Hebert, Sabrina Rawson, Sophie Slade, Kindle Alexander, and Ahren Sanders.

  The bloggers and pages that have helped me so much: Kim Poe (Relentless Book Chic), Hot BBR, Breathless Ink, Read and Share Book Reviews, A Risqué Affair, Babbling Chatter Reads, Eskimo Princess Reviews, Christine of Books and Beyond Fifty Shades, and Jackie's Book Reviews (I love you Jackie. You believed in me right from the moment you read Bite & Release).

  A special thanks to Becca Manuel who created the book trailer for Acquiesce and blew me away. In a million years, I never expected something that fabulous. Danielle of Danielle's Dazzling Designs, who makes the hottest swag, and Lisa of Rock Wat Designs, whose swag never ceases to amaze me.

  To my BFFs: Jo, Katrina, Dee Dee, Erinn, Kathy, Jan, Lori, and Dianne. To Ben, my best male BFF, your relentless faith in me keeps me going when I get frustrated or deranged.

  To my street team, Cory's Cougars, thank you all for everything. You make my life so much easier. A special thanks to my admins, Lynne White and Alice A. Smith. And to Shannon, my PA, you are my right hand and sometimes both hands. I would be lost without you.

  Cassie McCown, there are almost no words to tell you how great of an editor you are. You treated me like a real writer and offered me sound advice when I asked. It took me many editors to find the ONE, but you are a keeper.

  Sharon Kay, the most patient formatter on the planet—probably in the universe. You always make my books look so good!

  Robin Harper of Wicked By Design, after three books, I think we found our niche. You always take my creative ideas and turn them into a masterpiece.

  And to my brother Steve, because I think he's pretty proud of me and because he'll never read any of my books because he can't read SEX written by his sister. I dedicate Acquiesce to him because all the SEX scenes will make his eyes bleed—should he ever read this one.

  1~Caspian

  The sand felt like a warm blanket sifting between my toes while caressing the backs of my legs. It had been a very long time since I’d felt this relaxed and had a chance to seriously unwind. The truth was this was the virtual calm before the impending storm. I knew myself too well, and even though these last four months had been quiet, calm, and reflective, eventually I would have to start writing.

  I certainly didn't take a six-month sabbatical from teaching to lounge around on some exotic beach for four months. My coming to Venir Island had been strictly for research—the unwinding had been a by-product. To be honest, I was enjoying not having to dress in a suit every day, worrying about my meticulous grooming habits and teaching daily classes. In these past months, I had lived a lifestyle I'd never known. I was able to let my hair grow long, past my shoulders, I had chosen contacts instead of thick glasses, and shaving was now only a weekly chore. I basically lived in shorts and T-shirts, or if I chose, I could go nude while sunning on the private beach. I spent my mornings in the gym, my afternoons in the water, and my evenings with my research. My muscular body had turned a deep bronze and my dark hair now showed strands of red, gold, and blond. I looked like any other twenty-six-year-old male—for once.

  Growing up, I’d never known normalcy or really even a childhood. I'd never given it much thought, until now. I had been a child prodigy, graduating high school at fourteen and entering college at fifteen. My intellect and my looks served me well. The teachers feared me because my knowledge far surpassed their own education. The girls adored me. Because of my youth and, apparently, good looks, they seemed to rally around me. As much as I enjoyed the adoration of all the females, my sole focus was knowledge. I thirsted for it and reveled in learning.

  I didn't have many male acquaintances growing up, because women seemed more naturally drawn to me. I appeared to be an oddity in school; I could recall several instances of being labeled a freak by upperclassmen. I excelled at all my studies, and then some. By the time I was sixteen, I knew I wanted to major in Human Sexuality. I'm sure there was quite a bit of snorting going on, considering what sixteen-year-old doesn't want to know about sex? I had lost my virginity at fifteen to an eighteen-year-old freshman, and though it was pleasant, I was definitely more interested in the emotional dynamics than in the actual act itself.

  I became a connoisseur of sex. I not only enjoyed it, but also relished in knowing and learning every single position, variety, and even kink. I studied the mechanics of the tools of my trade: my fingers, tongue, and cock. By the time I was eighteen, I’d developed quite a roster of women. I never once had to search out a companion; they willingly came to me. I did develop a certain reputation for being too clinical. Oh, I never had complaints. I always excelled in giving my partner multiple orgasms, but I never let myself get close. I thrived on the physical connection, but I had no need or desires for emotional parallels.

  My parents ha
d both been scholars and toured extensively all over the world, giving lectures. I’d never been coddled or spoiled as a child; from the time I was five, my world had been filled with educational toys and academics and being shipped off to higher learning establishments. I had never wanted for anything. My parents had always provided for me, and even though we had money, we weren’t rich. As a young man, I’d been given all the tools I would need to excel higher learning and become the scholar they hoped I would be. Unfortunately, they never lived to see their hard work consummated. They were both killed while flying back from Russia, just after I turned nineteen.

  I’d been going to school at Oxford at the time of their passing. Emotions of any variety were hard for me. I don't think my chemical makeup was made to aspire to them. It's not that I didn't know the effect of losing them, but it was rather a sense of loss than an actual emotion. Most people would have perceived me as cold and distant, when in reality I relied more on logic than letting my feelings rule me. It was at Oxford where I met Brittan.

  Brit not only became an acquaintance, but we ended up developing a friendship. I had never known a male friend before, but Brit was not only educated; he was amusing. He was a devout bisexual and relished in telling me all about his sordid nightly escapades. Being the scholar I was, I found his stories of great interest, although I was never too eager to hear about his male lovers.

  Brit became not only a friend, but also my family. He parlayed our friendship into an opportunity to talk me into coming back to the States and continuing my education at Harvard. My entire focus became Human Sexuality, and I pursued any opportunity I could find to learn or teach. My age was against me. As far as I knew, the youngest person to have gained a tenured professorship was well over thirty, and I was barely twenty-two.

  I had no idea until a few months after I returned to the United States that Brit was in reality Brittan Du Bane III. I had always thought his last name was Langley. Turned out he’d been using his middle name. The Du Banes were one of the most prestigious families in New Hampshire. Du Bane College was legendary for its academic programs as well as the scholars who taught there.

  That is why Brit had lured me back to the States. He’d hoped meeting his family would secure me a teaching position at his great-grandfather's college. The Du Bane family was old money, and I knew from the minute I stepped through the doors that his family might not be as welcoming as Brit had been. Of course, they knew about their son's sexual preference, and I wondered if they might think we were lovers. Nonetheless, Brit was convinced I could win them over and secure a professor's appointment at the school.

  It turned out he was right. His family appeared to admire me and they embraced me as part of their family. After I’d finished my studies at Harvard, within six months, I was teaching a Human Sexuality course at Du Bane College. It was my dream come true. Not only did I excel at teaching, but my classes seemed to become the talk of the campus. I had an overabundance of female students who gravitated to my course. It became so overwhelming that the office had to put a cap on the number of students I had for each lecture.

  I tried to keep my age under wraps, cutting my hair short and wearing thick black glasses, but regardless, the women made blatant sexual advances without any thought that it was strictly forbidden.

  Brit and I would frequent clubs at least thirty miles away. Our weekends were decadent sexual liaisons paired with an overabundance of drinking. I preferred the first, but Brit always excelled in both. I loathed overindulgence in alcohol, still mentally trying to recover from the last binge we had that resulted in a ménage à trois with him and a very amendable girl of twenty-one.

  Nothing occurred between Brit and me. True, we both tagged the girl at the same time, his preference being inside her ass and mine inside her pussy. After that night, as much as I had enjoyed the experience, it was one I cared never to repeat. I'd woken up with a bad hangover, sharing a bed with Brit—and the girl had left, which was a shame because even with a headache, my cock seemed to have a separate idea of what it wanted.

  That was the last threesome Brit and I ever shared. I think somewhere inside, he was sad about it. I had no doubt he would fuck me if I let him. I, however, enjoyed pussy too much. I loved every aspect of it: the texture, the feel, the scent, and the way my fingers or my tongue could reduce even the hardiest of females to a sniveling child ready to combust at any given moment. God, I loved women.

  As long as they were over eighteen and younger than myself, I was good to go. The younger, the better. Those women were malleable. I thrived on that. I wanted to be in charge. However, virgin territory had never interested me. Even though I considered myself a scholar of sexuality, I still needed someone who offered me some experience—even if it were minimal. Truthfully, the thought of taking some undefiled female to bed just didn't offer any allure. True, I liked a challenge, but I also wanted to be satisfied in the process. Rule of thumb for me: never sleep with the same woman more than a few times.

  I found it exasperating that feelings always got in the way of a good fuck. Women, for the most part, were fascinating characters. They appeared to equate fucking or said variation of sexual contact as love or some other absurd emotion. I found it better not to start a sexual liaison without letting my partner know the possibility of love was ludicrous and if they were expecting that feeling on my part, they would be sadly disappointed.

  Since I’d started experimenting sexually, I had no idea why sex couldn't just be fucking. A woman as sexually beautiful as they generally were always had to torpedo it by fantasizing it was more. I’d been keeping a journal of sorts. I had no doubt the women I’d slept with would be furious, especially if they thought they were nothing more than experimentation. However, there they’d go, thinking our fucking was more than just mutual gratification.

  I realized quickly that having “regular” intercourse would somehow always be equated with an emotion. I found two common denominators: kissing and vaginal penetration equals love, at least to women. I decided at that time I would curtail those two activities and pursue a different approach. I began with those two rules, no kissing and no intercourse; anal sex became my new fascination and I embraced it, head on.

  After almost two years of teaching, I yearned for something more. This something more began taking shape as a book. All I wanted was to have tangible proof that love was nothing more than chemical reaction in the brain, manifesting itself as the emotion during sexual stimulation, mostly kissing and intercourse. I had yet to meet a woman who was so enthralled with anal sex that she felt anything but pleasure.

  I wanted women to think of sex as men do. When men fuck, it feels good. Hell, it feels fantastic. The act of release is euphoric. I have no doubt that goes both ways. The difference is for men, it's just getting off, and for women, it's always about more.

  Sometimes I wished women would have more of a prostitute's logic. They come in, they do their job, and they leave. No emotion involved. Yes, they’re paid, but in reality, anytime there is sex involved, it's costing the man something: dinner, that movie, expensive jewelry. Trust me, I’ve spoken to men, and fucking a woman, for the most part, is never cheap. Now, I’ve never paid for sex. In fact, I've had women offer me money to fuck them. Not really my scene considering I’ve always had a bounteous selection.

  As much as I was insatiable when it came to sex, I could go for periods without it. Probably not the best idea for me, because after that time, I wanted to fuck nonstop, and normally that required a succession of four or five women. I tried not to indulge in masturbation, although I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I would rather do that act in front of a woman; I found it more stimulating for both of us. It turned me on seeing a woman's eyes dilate as her body began to tremble, and I was able to see that glistening moisture begin to form on her pussy.

  Jesus, this wasn’t the time for me to be daydreaming about fucking, pussy, and masturbation. The damn sand was beginning to feel like a soft glove drifting over my hard cock
. I needed to keep my goal in my mind's eye. I didn't come here to fuck—I came here to observe.

  ***

  I had always known Lorraina might just be a female version of me—well, minus the financial wizardry. We had a brief yet satisfying affair a few years ago, so when I heard through the grapevine she was the owner of a male brothel, I wasn't surprised—just amused. Leave it to her to find a way to combine the art of fucking and making a shitload of money.

  I’d spoken to a few of Brit's close acquaintances and found out the details. The brothel was in the Caribbean on a small and secluded island called Venir. I chuckled when I found out it only serviced older women, and not just older, but extremely wealthy. I decided to take a lengthy sabbatical and visit Lorraina's brothel. Brit was pissed; he had wanted to come with me. There was no way in hell I was going to a male brothel with him—not a chance. I tried to explain to him this was a working vacation, not a pleasure visit.

  I was able to contact Lorraina through some of her friends. Evidently, her brothel had quite a few rules, and one of them was no electronic devices of any kind. When I spoke to her, she explained her reasoning and told me the island had only one sat phone. The brothel was all-inclusive. It had boutiques, a spa, library, fitness center, several world chefs, movie theatre, as well as an on-site medical center. Anything you desired was available. That’s what 1.5 million for twenty-one days cost you to come here. Of course, Lorraina had other rules besides no electronics. The women had to sign a nondisclosure. No one was ever to know about the brothel. Of course, in wealthy circles, knowledge was power, and word of mouth provided her establishment with new cliental monthly. She only allowed ten women per visit, and at 1.5 million each, a twenty-one-day stay was quite a payday for her.

  Fifteen men worked the brothel. Lorraina put them through a rigorous ninety-day trial and training. They were educated in her rules, given a clean bill of health, and had to sign a nondisclosure as well as a work contract. I was never privy to what they were paid, but I imagined it to be quite substantial considering these men were attractive, young, and virile. I myself would require quite an incentive to fuck someone as old as the women I’d seen getting off the brothel yacht.