Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2 Page 3

  “Get down on your knees.”

  The decking was pebbled and might bruise or scrape her knees. He let go of his cock long enough to lean forward and tuck the bottom of her robe protectively beneath her flesh.

  “Put your hands here.” Brett guided her to his thighs, then once more started the slow masturbation of his cock.

  “This is weird, Brett.”

  He was a seemingly different man. Virginia had watched men whack off before. She’d bent her head at the moment of climax and received their come in her mouth. It had been very sexy, very exciting.

  With Brett, the act of watching was scary. Dangerous. Their relationship wasn’t supposed to be sexy or exciting. Yet she couldn’t take her eyes off his hand, his cock. He had a unique technique, twirling slightly so that he stimulated up, down, and around, caressing the crown of his cock, coating his palm with beads of precome, then retreating only to start the whole sensual rhythm over. Each time the head of his cock popped through his closed fist, it was a little darker, the skin stretched a tad tighter, the length a taste longer.

  She wanted to open her mouth and follow the pied piper of his pumping fist with her lips.

  “Do you like it, Virginia?”

  “I don’t know what to say.” He kept asking her questions, kept telling her to do things. But what beat at her more than desire was fear.

  “Indulge yourself, sweetheart.”

  She’d indulged herself last night, her last unwedded night.

  And she had the sick feeling that Brett knew all about it.

  “Touch yourself while I’m doing this.”

  Her heart seized, then started beating erratically.

  Their sex was conventional. They performed oral sex briefly as foreplay, then finished in the usual way. They rarely varied position. He’d never stroked himself while she watched, never asked her to do the same.

  So why now?

  She licked her lips. His pace increased, the sweep of his hand hypnotic. Up, down, around. Her fingers tightened on the taut flesh of his thighs. She bent slightly. Closer, closer. A drop of moisture broke through and creamed the top of her legs.

  Indulge yourself.

  What was he trying to tell her? That visiting a sex club was okay? That she could take other men? That he wanted to take other women? Or was he trying to lull her into admitting aloud what she’d done so he could slam her down?

  Fear and desire were a potent mix. His hooded gaze and the purpled crown of his cock beckoned. Almost as if it didn’t belong to her, her hand slid across her belly to the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.

  “That’s it, let me watch you.”

  She stopped, her fingers suddenly numb. A week ago, when she’d been in the bathroom, she’d asked him to answer her ringing cell phone, hoping it was a call she’d been waiting for. She’d forgotten that right next to it in her purse were the invitations to The Sex Club.

  Later, she’d told herself that he hadn’t noticed, let alone found time to take one out, open it, read it, and put it back in exactly the same spot.

  His eyes glittered, dark and mysterious despite the Las Vegas glory and the full moon.

  The enigma of his gaze tantalized, mystified, and released a gush of heat and wet. His whole body moved with the rhythmic stroke of his hand, faster, his hips rising to the slap of his fist, his thighs gripping her, the muscles of his chest rippling.

  Then he threw back his head, groaned into the night and came all over her breasts and throat. After his final spurt of semen, he collapsed in the chair, his eyes closed.

  His warm, salty come dribbled down her chest to her belly. She raised a hand, sliding two fingers through his essence, circling first one nipple, then the other.

  It felt so good, so right, yet worrisome. She didn’t want to have emotions about Brett. She’d had enough turbulent emotion to last a lifetime. And she’d made a lot of disastrous decisions based upon it. She didn’t want that this time, not with him.

  Brett opened his eyes, locking gazes with her.

  He took her breath away. She’d always thought him handsome, but naked, slouched in the chair, his hand still idly stroking his cock, he was magnificent.

  He smiled, soft, lazy, content, his head resting on the back of the chair. “That was good.”

  “I thought you wanted to make love.” It sounded like a complaint, though she didn’t mean it that way.

  He raised a hand to stroke a finger down her arm. “That was making love.”

  “But I didn’t participate.”

  He smiled that slow, lazy smile again. “You watched. Sometimes that’s all the participation necessary.”

  A kernel of fear soaked up all the saliva in her throat and expanded like a sponge. He did know. He had to know. What did he want? What did it all mean for a marriage over which she thought she’d have perfect control?

  “What are you thinking?”

  She almost laughed. Women were supposed to say that, not men. But she didn’t answer. She had to figure this out first. Revelation was such a common thing yet sometimes a big mistake. She didn’t know if she could trust this new and almost predatory Brett.

  Instead of pushing, Brett leaned forward. His mouth only inches from hers, his eyes never letting her go, he slid his fingers down her throat, her chest, across her belly, and straight into her pussy. His come hadn’t cooled, the sensation an exquisite warmth.

  She closed her eyes.

  His lips touched her hair, his tongue rimmed her ear, then he whispered, “You haven’t said a word for over a minute.”

  “I’m stunned.”

  “You’re wet, too.” He fingered her clit, two passes, bottom to top and back again, then he stopped. “You could have come when I did.”

  She wanted to now. He’d started stroking again, circles, light caresses.

  “Rub it in.”

  His come. She put the flat of her hand to her chest and smoothed his cream over her skin.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She understood exactly what he meant. Why hadn’t she touched herself when he asked her to? “I’m a little tired, I guess. A long day.”

  She felt him smile against her cheek.

  “Poor baby. Let me have the pleasure of doing the work.”

  And work he did, nudging her knees apart, filling her with two fingers, then drawing out to worry the hard bead of her clitoris again. Back and forth, from her clit to her pussy, then farther still to that sensitive spot of flesh just before her anus. He pressed. She dug her nails into his thighs.

  Slick, hot, and unbearably close to orgasm, she hung on to her last vestige of control. His gaze was dark and fathomless. Unreadable. Almost detached. He was so obviously directing, trying to bend her to his will rather than giving in to her feminine power.

  She couldn’t let go as she had last night by herself. Instead, she took the orgasm, closed her eyes to savor the purely physical explosion from the bud of her clitoris out to her extremities, but she trapped the primal scream in her throat.

  Stacy had been right. There were depths to Brett she hadn’t dreamed existed. Yet she had to figure out what it all meant to her careful arrangements before she succumbed to temptation.

  * * * * *

  He’d given her all the gentle reassurance and acceptance he could, yet she hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t even cried out. But she’d marked his thighs with the half-moon slices of her nails.

  Brett figured it was a start.

  Virginia shifted in the bed beside him and settled once more. She fell into an endearingly soft snore he could barely hear over his own breath. They’d taken a shower, then tumbled into bed. He’d thought about making love to her again, there against the tile wall of the shower. He’d thought about it and decided against it. She needed time to assimilate the changes she sensed in him.

  He could have taken the direct approach and told her he’d found those envelopes in her purse, that he’d been curious enough to spend a rather extraordinary amount of
money to secure his own invitation just to see what she was up to.

  He was neither a jealous nor a possessive man. God forbid, he’d had enough of that from his ex-wife. He’d meant it tonight when he’d told Virginia she had the freedom to indulge herself in any way she wished. He didn’t own Virginia or her body. His offer, therefore, didn’t preclude finding pleasure by another man’s hand, though he had to acknowledge that stab of relief at the club when he realized Virginia wasn’t meeting a lover. Her party of one was far more to his liking.

  He could have told her all that. Maybe he should have.

  But somehow he knew that wouldn’t release her passions any more than his fingers buried deep in her pussy had made her scream. Her teeth had sunk into her lip just as her inner muscles clamped around him. Trapping everything inside.

  Three marriages had somehow made her fearful of releasing her sexuality. Even with him. Exactly why hadn’t come out in their discussions. He knew she’d married too quickly, allowing herself to be blinded by lust or some such thing, but he hadn’t asked for details just as he hadn’t offered the embarrassing minutiae of his own breakup. But he wanted that feeling he’d discovered at The Sex Club. He’d been on the edge, full of combustible needs. And he wanted her to feel the very same thing. Maybe the excitement of the place had been an integral part of Virginia’s experience.

  Maybe he’d tried too hard, concentrating on making her scream instead of just going with the flow. Delving beneath her serene facade would take something more than his simple command to indulge herself. It would take a slow, steady onslaught of overwhelming sensual encounters until she realized he meant exactly what he said.

  Chapter Three

  “They don’t go with your furniture.” Virginia crossed her arms and studied the china figurines she’d unwrapped.

  Brett mimicked her stance. “They look fine.”

  Black-lacquered coffee and end tables enhanced Brett’s camel-colored leather sofa and chairs. Which fit well with his state-of-the-art entertainment center. “They’re too...frilly.”

  “I like the contrast. The feminine versus the masculine. Yin and yang, you know.”

  She made a face at him. “They don’t work in here.”

  “Then we’ll buy new furniture.”

  “You can’t buy all new furniture to match my knickknacks.”

  “They’re probably worth more than the furniture.”

  He was right. Her parents had collected the figurines over years, and many of them were antiques. A few china pieces were the only reminders she had left of them now. Within a year of each other, her mother had succumbed to cancer and her father to a heart attack when Virginia was in her twenties.

  Brett bumped her hip with his. “Which do you like best?”

  “The ballerina.”

  He fingered the delicate figure on point. “Why this one?”

  “My father gave my mom the pair on her fiftieth birthday. You should have seen her face.” Remembering her mother’s happy tears, Virginia smiled. “The tutu’s made of real lace dipped in porcelain. They just don’t make things like that these days.”

  Brett looked in the now-empty box she’d had all the figurines packed in. “Where’s the other ballerina? You said it was a pair.”

  Damn. She hadn’t even realized she’d said that. And instead of a good memory, it gave rise to a bad one that still had the ability to start a slow-burning anger in her belly.

  “It was stolen.” She started shuffling all the wrapping paper back in the box, her movements crisp and irritated.

  “That’s too bad. Did they steal anything else?”

  She sighed and kept throwing the papers in the box. “All right, it wasn’t stolen per se. My third husband sold it.” Trying to hide his stock market losses, he’d taken it without her knowledge. As if she wouldn’t notice. Bastard. He would have disposed of more if she hadn’t seen the ballerina was missing. In an already floundering marriage, that was the last straw.

  Brett stilled her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  She had the feeling he understood exactly what had happened. Though they’d discussed their breakups, they’d done so in more general terms, not specifics. Virginia hadn’t believed in going into the whole he-did-this-and-then-he-did-that routine.

  Brett crumpled a piece of wrapping and threw it in the box. “Was the tutu dipped in lace, too?”

  She looked at him, wrinkling her brow at the odd question. “Yes. But it was blue, and the ballerina was doing a pirouette.”

  “Well, I’m sorry it’s gone.” He tipped her chin. “Nothing else will go missing. And they all belong in this room. Okay?”

  She felt her tension ease. What’s done is done. She’d divorced the bastard, and this time she’d married a different kind of man. An extraordinarily considerate man. She’d taken the week off after the wedding to move, putting things she didn’t need in storage, including most of her furniture. She didn’t have much she couldn’t part with, most of it being new since the divorce three years ago. She treated a divorce as a beginning, getting rid of the old and bringing in the new, furniture included. Still, she’d keep it in storage until she and Brett settled in. They might want to switch a few things out later.

  Brett had been good about letting her rearrange his condo to fit what she brought with her. Mainly her home office equipment. And her figurines.

  “You’re sweet,” she said with a smile.

  “Yeah. That’s what they all tell me.”

  “I mean it.”

  Her belongings were just part of it. Brett had been great about everything. His usual workday was seven to seven, but this week he’d come home early to help her. He’d taken Friday off to clean the apartment with her, and he hadn’t once suggested they hire a service, which he could well have afforded.

  She had to clean up her own mess, as if doing so set her new marriage on a different path than her previous ones.

  Brett had indulged her.

  Which made her think of their wedding night. Indulge yourself. Today was the one-week anniversary, and Brett planned something special. A surprise, he’d told her this morning.

  “Is that the last of your boxes?”

  She nodded, pretending to still consider the proper placement of the figurines.

  They hadn’t made love in the week since their wedding night, which was par for the course in their relationship. He hadn’t mentioned indulgence again. It was as if the whole conversation and everything they’d done out on the terrace had never happened. She’d managed to convince herself that she’d imagined the similarities between what he’d done and her escapade at the club. He didn’t know. He would have said something by now, a week later, if he had. She hadn’t brought it up either, just as she hadn’t asked exactly what he meant by indulgence.

  Before they’d married, she hadn’t given much thought to Brett’s extracurricular activities. She’d figured what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She wasn’t in love with him, he wasn’t in love with her. If he needed a little excitement outside the marriage, what did it matter as long as he didn’t flaunt it in front of their acquaintances and friends? That was the problem. The humiliation factor, everyone knowing your personal business. Been there, done that.

  “Earth to Virginia?”

  She popped back to the here and now. “Sorry, I was just thinking about moving the lady in the chair over there and the ballerina here.”

  His mouth quirked as if he knew that wasn’t even close to her thoughts. “I said it’s time for you to get ready for our evening out.”

  She glanced at her watch. It was after seven. “Oh. Sure. Where are we going?”

  He wagged a finger in her face. “It’s a surprise.”

  “At least tell me whether it’s casual or dressy.”

  “I’ll lay out your clothes for you while you’re showering.”

  Hmm, this was interesting. She felt a flash of heat between her legs thinking about Brett’s big hands sifting through her underwear.
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  * * * * *

  He’d purchased undergarments as delicate as the lace on her china figurines. A black garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

  Imagining himself peeling the stockings off with his teeth, his cock hardened in his trousers. Brett adjusted slightly to accommodate the new length. It was the bra that tightened his balls to an ache. It had affected him even in the lingerie shop. As he’d held the lacy confection in his hand, the sudden bulge tenting his slacks had been a bit embarrassing.

  He couldn’t wait to see Virginia in it.

  Just as he’d planned the evening’s details, he’d thought long and hard about what she should wear over the sexy lingerie. Something short, tight, and slinky?

  Virginia was elegant, classy, far above the hooker look. He’d purchased her attire accordingly.

  The shower had stopped five minutes ago. Everything was laid out on the bed in readiness for her. Brett sat in the chair to wait.

  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only another five minutes, the bathroom door opened, and she stepped out amid a cloud of steam and perfumed lotion. A towel draped her from the swell of her breasts to the tops of her thighs.

  Scenting her like a lion with his mate in heat, Brett wondered if he could actually wait to have her until they returned from The Sex Club.

  * * * * *

  “Aren’t you going to take a shower and get dressed?”

  Brett sat in the overstuffed chair next to the closet. He shook his head slowly, his eyes an enigmatic bottomless blue.

  Then he pointed to the bed. “I bought you something new to wear for tonight.”

  What looked like a classic black cocktail dress lay across the foot of the bed, a pile of lacy underthings next to it.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  Brett had never been one for buying her things, sticking to birthdays and holidays, which was how she liked it. Receiving expensive gifts would have made her uncomfortable, as if she was a woman who could be bought by high-priced trinkets. She’d never married for money, and she didn’t want anyone to think she was the kind of woman who did. Especially not Brett.