Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2 Read online

  Do you know how badly I want you?

  Badly enough to threaten a man’s life if he touched her. Just as he’d threatened Sven down in the parking garage. Not that Brett meant it, it was part of the illusion of The Sex Club. A great big bite of the pleasure. Virginia had gone up in smoke.

  Smoothing her skirt another time, she pushed aside the curtain. A silvered-haired, fiftyish man in black tails awaited her, a tray of champagne empties balanced on his hand.

  “I’m to escort you to the bar to meet your gentleman.” The waiter bowed elegantly without losing a single glass on his tray. “If that is your choice.”

  “Yes, it is.” Marrying Brett had been the perfect choice. He knew how to give her the ultimate pleasure and indulge her fantasies. He knew exactly what she wanted to hear.

  Her attendant swept a hand out before him. “Then please, follow me this way.”

  Virginia floated down the hall, the guests parting as if she were in some protective bubble. She paused at the threshold of the salon. A month ago, the night before her wedding, she’d sat in this very bar with Stacy and discussed Brett.

  He sure had proven Stacy correct. Brett gave Virginia stability at home and pleasure beyond her wildest dreams at the club. She no longer gave a damn that they somehow failed to create sparks at home. If The Sex Club made his banked fire rage out of control, she’d come here as often as she could.

  The waiter left her the moment they both saw Brett.

  On the other end of the sofa on which Brett sat, a woman spread her legs and fondled herself. He didn’t look, his eyes only for Virginia. Nor did he glance at what so fascinated the lady, a couple engaged in fellatio in the next chair.

  Virginia stopped before her husband, the sounds of sex all around them, drifting on the air like a sultry breeze.

  “Thirsty?” He handed her a glass of wine.

  It was sweet, a tiny bit tart, a dessert wine, and it tantalized her taste buds as much as the taste of him.

  “Sit.” He indicated his lap with a pat of his hands on his thighs. Despite the power of the orgasm he’d had in the alcove, his suit pants were full.

  Straddling him, she slid forward until he was cradled amidst the folds of chiffon. His heart beat against her palm as she settled herself. She tipped the wine. “Do you want some?”

  He sipped, but a drop dribbled down his chin because she hadn’t aimed correctly. Virginia bent to lick it up, tasting the sweetness of wine and the salt of his skin, his beard’s shadow rough against her tongue.

  “Tell me what you liked the best.”

  She smiled. “Besides what you did to me in the alcove?”

  His gaze unreadable, he ran two hands up each of her thighs beneath the dress. “You were slick before I even touched you. You owe me every detail of the experience.”

  She had been wet, though her mini-orgasm in the hall had been nothing compared to the one Brett had wrenched from her. Yet she wanted to tease him a little. “You said you’d be following. Where did I go?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her test. “The Train Depot first.”

  “Then do you think it was the train that turned me on?”

  She tucked the wineglass against her shoulder as he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her forward until his lips touched hers. “Definitely not the train,” he whispered.

  “It was like watching”—she laughed—“a train wreck.”

  Brett chuckled, then slid his thumbs higher until they rested at the joining of her legs. “Funny lady.” He tongued the pearls at her throat. “Thank you for wearing my gift.”

  Virginia shoved her fingers through his hair, pushing his head back so that he was forced to meet her gaze. “I do love the pearls, but—”

  Brett brushed her lips with his to stop her. “I will give you things, Virginia, and not just for times like these.”

  “I didn’t marry you for your money or for presents.”

  Which was exactly why he wanted to give her gifts, because she didn’t expect anything. He was in the process of acquiring a very special gift for her, but it would take a few more days before he could give her that surprise.

  “But tonight was special,” she finished.

  God, yes, it was. The knife edge of want he’d been riding had been appeased. Though still semihard, he could actually carry on a sane conversation. He wanted to know the progression of her desire tonight, to isolate each step up the ladder. She liked that he’d been ready to do violence to have her, but the word like just wasn’t good enough. He wanted her drugged with passion, as she had been standing outside that alcove. He would determine exactly what had driven her to that point.

  “Tell me about The Male Room.”

  She smiled. “It wasn’t like any mailroom I’ve ever seen.” Then she crinkled her nose. “I peeked, so that counted.”

  She’d closed the door so quickly that Brett knew she couldn’t have taken full stock of the activities. For a man, there was something uniquely erotic about watching two women together, the gentle caresses, the total immersion in the other’s pleasure. He didn’t think the thought process worked the same for a woman watching men. Certainly not for Virginia.

  He ran a finger along the edge of her pussy without delving to the heat and wet he knew he’d find within. “Yes, it counted. Tell me about the last room.”

  “It was an interesting workout technique.”

  He’d imagined taking her up against the wall as she shuddered and panted over the bench press exhibition.

  He slipped between her folds, but only for a moment. “You’re very wet. Again. Do I take it that excited you the most?” He was sure it hadn’t been the crucial moment.

  She bit her lip but didn’t answer.

  He leaned forward to whisper in her ear while his hand gently stroked along the seam of her pussy lips. “I watched you up against that wall while he ate her. Your fingers were clenched in your skirt. You wanted to touch yourself. Why didn’t you?” He pulled back to see her reaction.

  Her skin was flushed, and the straps of her gown had slipped off her shoulders. Her neat twist had loosened, and tendrils of golden hair caressed her nape. A sigh of breath fell from her parted lips just before she licked them. He wanted to make her come again, wanted to seduce the orgasm out of her with words and soft caresses instead of slamming her up against a wall.

  Though that had been particularly satisfying.

  “You thought about sitting with your sweet pussy above me.”

  As if she’d lost her voice, she answered him with a nod.

  He glided across her clitoris, then again, and finally in a slow circle around it. Her pussy contracted, a droplet of dew melting against his finger.

  “Why is it different than before?”

  She tilted her head. “Before?” she asked in a whisper.

  “At home.” He’d gone down on her, she’d enjoyed it, but she hadn’t been like this.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know, Virginia. And you will tell me.” He rubbed her clit full on.

  She gasped and closed her eyes. “This is fantasy. At home, you’re—” She bit her lip. “It’s not the same at home.”

  Her answer validated what he surmised. Virginia’s pleasure spiked at the club. She needed the double life to excite her.

  Entering her, one digit only, he tested her wetness and heat, then slid back out to take long swipes across the bead of her clit. Her nails dug into his suit jacket, and she leaned closer until his lips brushed the bare flesh above her bodice.

  “The couple in the alcove made you the hottest.”

  “Yes.” The single word hissed on her exhale.

  Around them a hush had fallen as if everyone waited to see if they’d get another show. His hand worked beneath the chiffon, invisible to prying eyes, yet the flush on her skin and the gentle rock of her hips told their audience everything.

  “Why?” Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.

  “It was so private,” she murmured. “J
ust the two of them.”

  “Liar,” he whispered. “It was more than that.”

  She’d masturbated in a cubicle with eight windows. It wasn’t privacy that turned her on. He also knew he was skating onto dangerous ice here, his cock rising to a needy ache again. He wanted the taste of her on his tongue, wanted to make her come screaming, to bury himself inside her all over again. But more than the swift power of release, he needed to know what had made Virginia come without a touch.

  She started to pant, and he knew she was close. Another moment, she’d tip over the edge, and he wanted her to, needed her to gush all over his fingers, accept her pleasure from him just as she accepted the pearls around her throat.

  He clasped his arm around her back, hitched her closer, and nipped her throat. “Tell me, Virginia. Now.”

  She clung and rocked, her eyes squeezed tight.

  “Tell me, dammit.” He shoved two fingers in her and pumped.

  Her words burst out as if he’d wrenched them from her. “I wanted—” She gulped a breath of air, then finished her thought. “I wanted someone to do that to me. Just like that.”

  And then she came, her grip so tight around his neck he saw spots. All he could do was hang on with both arms. Her hair fell over his hands and face, the fruity scent of shampoo mixing with the heady aroma of her come. She came so hard, he felt her tears at his ear and her warm breath blow through his hair.

  He sat utterly still while his wife shuddered in his arms. Something inside him cracked wide open, and revelation slid deep into the fissure. He didn’t want anyone else to make Virginia experience what she’d felt outside that alcove.

  He wanted to be the only one.

  * * * * *

  Virginia was too exhausted to adequately control her car. They paid an attendant to bring it in the morning. She stretched and curled up on the seat, then opened her eyes a slit to watch him drive. He was magnificent. He’d made her so damn hot in front of all those people. The tactile memories still buzzed along her flesh. She’d lost her faculties, only barely keeping herself from blurting out that she wanted Brett to take her as the man in the alcove had taken his lover. Even in her aroused state, she couldn’t put that pressure on Brett or her marriage, not even on herself. Not that it mattered what she actually said—his fingers had been buried so deep and she’d been so high, she couldn’t recall her exact words—Brett had given her everything she needed. A fantasy beyond anything she could have imagined.

  She closed her eyes and didn’t remember another thing until they got home. He must have carried her from the car, because she came to herself already in the bedroom. Her juices and Brett’s semen covered her thighs, and she knew she should take a shower. But she didn’t care. She simply kicked off her shoes and let her clothing slither to the carpet. Finally, naked except for the pearls at her throat, she crawled beneath the sheets.

  She was vaguely aware of Brett stroking her hair a moment, then he was gone. Drifting, drifting, she was almost asleep when she felt him crawl beneath the covers beside her.

  He pulled her into his arms. Their bare flesh melded. She nuzzled against his throat.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. And knew no more except the pleasure of his arms.

  * * * * *

  I wanted someone to do that to me.

  Someone? Anyone? Shit. Hours later, Brett’s revelation had turned to jealousy. It was almost laughable. He’d never before doubted his technique, but facts were facts. He didn’t make her scream at home. Only at the club. And she would have screamed for someone, anyone else, too. Fuck.

  The lines were blurred. He’d told her they’d have two separate lives, the club, and life as Mr. and Mrs. Branoff. Only his damned emotions didn’t stop when he drove away from the underground garage. They played with his mind. When he crawled naked into bed beside her, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her close. When he kissed her lips and heard her sleepy murmur, he didn’t let her go, didn’t roll to his side or turn his back.

  For the first time, Virginia fell asleep in his arms, and it felt so damn good, he ached deep in his marrow.

  Something had changed tonight, and he didn’t know how or why. He wasn’t a jealous or possessive man, but in the space of one evening, he’d become irrevocably obsessed with his wife.

  He wasn’t sure yet whether that was good. Or bad.

  * * * * *

  Virginia was a marvel. Four days after their trip to The Sex Club, Brett observed her from his post just inside the living room archway of their condo. He’d given her short notice for the party that started out at five couples and ended up a group of twenty-one, yet not a last-minute change rattled her. She’d rearranged the furniture to allow for mingling, and through the arch into the dining room, the table was already set for dinner. The crystal sparkled, and the silver shone. A red wine spill on the white carpet was sopped up with a smile, and a canapé upended on the arm of the sofa was brushed aside. She was unflappable. Marrying her was the best decision of his life. She was everything he could ask for: smart, elegant, organized, and hot as Hades beneath the chic persona.

  Only problem? He regretted his damn words of their wedding night. Indulge yourself. He was a fucking idiot. His words had tacitly given her the freedom to take another man. He hadn’t determined yet how to tell her he’d changed his mind without revealing he was now obsessed with her. He wasn’t ready to put that realization into spoken words.

  Virginia moved among their guests with the aplomb of royalty born to the duty. She’d donned the same peach silk suit she’d worn to The Sex Club the night before their wedding, and the pearls he’d given her on Friday. There were enticing memories in every article gracing her figure. His cock had been hard since the moment she’d stepped out of the bedroom, and it was goddamn embarrassing having to keep his suit jacket buttoned to hide it.

  “I congratulate you.”

  A man his own age, Wilson Garrett had eyes like a hawk and the savvy of years spent making multimillion dollar deals. He was Brett’s biggest customer. Prematurely gray hair gave him a distinguished air, but his gaze held the sharpness of a predator. He offered a glass of champagne, and Brett realized his own hands were empty.

  He took the drink and didn’t bother to pretend that Virginia wasn’t the topic of their conversation. “Thank you. She’s made me the happiest of men.”

  Wilson held his drink aloft in a toast. “We should all strive to bring such charming domesticity into our lives.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Brett murmured. What was she wearing beneath the skirt? He imagined her hot and wet and ready for anything the moment the door closed on their last guest. And then he realized the possible sexual connotation of his comment to Wilson. What the hell was he thinking? Well, that was obvious, but he needed to get control of himself.

  The dinner party was about business, and business was what he would conduct. “Did you receive the quote for the BK17?”

  “We’re meeting tomorrow at ten to discuss it, remember?”

  Shit. His wits were rapidly declining. “Of course.”

  “After meeting your lovely wife”—Wilson’s gaze never left Virginia—“I can understand how you might be...distracted.”

  Wilson didn’t generally have an oily voice, but there was something definitely oily in his slight pause and the trail of his gaze over Virginia’s form. As if he, too, were imagining what lay beneath the peach suit. Something itched between Brett’s shoulder blades, and he had the overpowering urge to drag his best customer out into the marble entry and beat his face in.

  He’d lost his mind. Wilson Garrett was a gentleman of the highest order.

  Virginia herself saved him from making a complete spectacle.

  “Why are you two hiding over here? Business will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  Wilson set his drink down on a table, one of the extras Virginia had provided, and clasped her hand in both of his. “I was congratulating your husband on his latest merger.”
/>   Her eyebrow rose in a perfect arc, and she regarded him with a warm smile. “Which merger would that be?”

  “Your marriage, of course. And I’m extremely envious.”

  “You’re too kind,” she murmured.

  “I’m simply appreciating the change in your usually imperturbable husband.”

  Wilson didn’t let go of her hand even as Virginia glanced briefly at Brett and back to Wilson Then the two of them shared...a look. He could almost hear Virginia’s breath pick up its pace, a pulse beat at her throat, and the sudden peak of her nipples showed clearly against the silk.

  That bastard Wilson Garrett was hitting on his wife. And she liked it. Brett’s hands clenched at his sides.

  “Wilson, we need you to settle this argument.”

  The male voice barely penetrated the fog in Brett’s mind, nor did Wilson’s words seem particularly clear as he backed off to answer the summons. One half of Brett’s brain applauded the interruption before he planted his fist in his best customer’s nose, while the other half saw only Virginia’s hardened nipples beneath the blanket of silk.

  “Virginia. I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Dear? “Privately.”

  Then he took possession of her hand, the one Wilson Garrett seemed obsessed with, and pulled her into the hall. He wanted to shove her up against the wall, raise her stylish skirt, and ram himself inside her, showing her whose woman she was. He was thinking like an ass, and he didn’t give a damn. He tugged her up the stairs, down the hall, and into their bedroom, closing the door behind them. Then he stalked her until she was forced back up against the wood. She grabbed the handle to steady herself.

  Her eyes widened. “Brett, what’s the matter?”

  He undid his suit jacket, ripped it from his shoulders to toss behind him, then pressed her to the door with his body.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night.” He shoved his hand down between the lapels of her jacket, tearing a button loose. “And I’m going to have what I want, Virginia.” He took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.