The man was sinful. It wasn’t just the looks that made him dangerous, it was the cocky confidence that dominated every move, every touch. And the frustrating yet ecstatic fact about the whole package was that he could back it all up…

Julia Campbell never knows what to expect with win-at-all-costs Brad De Luca. And she’s starting to like it that way. She gave up safe, conventional relationships when she let the elite divorce attorney seduce her into his world. Now that he’s determined to strip her naked of every inhibition, she’s in danger of falling too deep and too fast.

But their affair begins to feel even more dangerous when a murder leaves a trail of suspicion that points straight to the mob…and Brad. Trusting a man with a bad reputation and a past full of secrets seems like a mistake. But when she’s forced to make a choice, the consequences will take her further than she could ever have imagined.

Masked Innocence

Alessandra Torre

www.spice-books.co.uk

Dedicated to Mom.

Thank you for raising me to be independent, and for always

letting my imagination run free. Thanks for gnomes in the forest,

walks through cotton fields, and your unwavering acceptance and support.

I love you.

Contents

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

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Extract

Having two men at one time is a strange experience. My first time in a threesome, I was blindfolded, my senses heightened and restricted to touch, scent, sounds and taste. Touch. The feeling of their hands on my bare skin, caresses, grips, slaps and fucks. God, those long strokes of pure animal ownership. Scent. Fresh linen, candles, Brad’s unmistakable combination of God knows what that drove me absolutely crazy, my own sweat, the strange new scent of the stranger in the room. Sounds. Their ragged breaths, my own heartbeat pounding in my head, a primal groan, whispered words of reverence, the sound of flesh on flesh, of my own wetness. Taste. Tight, stretched skin in my mouth, Brad’s mouth on me, my own taste on their tongues, the eroticism of it all. And finally, the taste of completion when I milked them dry, the flavor of victory and carnal satisfaction. I had done it. I had gone there. And I had loved every minute of it.

One

“So, what’s next?”

I turned my head, glancing at him, his dark profile hiding the grin that I knew played over his features. I reclined in the passenger seat of his car, snug against the warmth of the seat heater. He reached his hand over, offering it to me, and I grabbed it, running my hands over his huge palm and strong fingers. “What’s next with tonight?”

He chuckled, the sound unfairly sexual. The man could make a sneeze sound carnal if he wanted to. “I’m taking you home with me tonight, unless you have an objection to that. I meant in regards to us.”

I yawned. “Your home sounds good for tonight.” Yes, his huge home with its big, luxurious bed, worth-giving-up-carbs-for shower and stocked fridge would be welcome tonight, especially since a night in that wonderful bed normally led to a morning of orgasms. “As far as with us, that’s in your ballpark. I tried the threesome, and I’m cool with that if that’s what you need to be faithful.”

“You’re ‘cool’ with it.” His wry tone elicited a frown from my side of the car. “You seemed a little more than ‘cool with it.’”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I loved it, can’t wait to do it again, I will worship at the shrine of Brad from this day forth. Happy?”

The light changed in the car, and this time I could see the grin that stretched over his face. “Well, if you insist. You know I strive to please.”

Yes, you certainly do. I never thought I would appreciate one singular quality so much. Competitiveness is great in a partner. Sexual competitiveness, I’ve learned over the last several weeks, is holy-freaking-God amazing. I watched the curve of his mouth, loving the transformation it caused to his powerful features. “So, tonight was it, right? That’s the sexual extent of your freakiness?”

“Well...” He shrugged, glancing over at me.

“Well?” I sat up, turning in my seat to fully face him. “Well what?”

“I will never need anything more ‘freaky,’ as you like to say, than what we just did. But the point of this is not just my pleasure. It’s to awaken your sexuality, to find what turns you on and to explore that. Chances are, tonight wasn’t your single perfect fantasy.” I shifted slightly at the statement. Uh, yeah—it pretty much was. “As we grow in our relationship, you may find you like completely different things than you do now. As your sexual boundaries expand, your preferences may change.”

I smirked at him. “So, what you’re saying is, if I keep dating you, in three years I’m going to be licking whipped cream off a bearded lady and loving it?”

He laughed. “If it reaches that level, you’re not going to be still dating me.”

I relaxed back into the seat. “Well, for now, that was plenty hot enough for me. I don’t know how much more sexual exploration my mind can take right now.”

“So, if I receive any invitations, I should turn them down?”

I paused, midsnuggle into the leather cocoon that the BMW’s seat had become. “What? What kind of invitations?”

“You know, parties, cruises or threesomes like we just did.” His offhand tone was ludicrous considering the events that he was so casually discussing.

Parties? Cruises? I swallowed, unsure if I was ready for more. Brad read my silence and looked over, the passing streetlights revealing concern on his face. “Too much?” he asked.

I braved a smile. “For now. Let’s take it one freak show at a time, okay?”

From the other side of the car came that delicious chuckle, and I clenched my core in an involuntary response.

The car slowed, making the turn onto Brad’s road, and I looked at the stately homes that passed, each one more impressive than the last. Then we pulled into Brad’s drive, the suspension smoothing the rough ride of the pavers below us, and taking us to his home.

Two

I entered the lobby of Clarke, De Luca & Broward on Monday morning at seven-thirty on the dot. Waving at Ancient Dorothy, I pressed the elevator call button and waited for the car. My early morning wait was interrupted by a clattering of heels from somewhere behind me. The clattering had speed and determination that made me tense in anticipation. I risked a glance over my shoulder and came in full eye contact with an Amazon of a woman. I was wearing three-inch heels and she still towered a good six inches above me, coming to an abrupt halt so close to me that I was forced to look up just so my face wasn’t buried in her breasts. I smiled hesitantly in greeting and stepped to the side, turning back to the bank of elevators, now in the awkward position of whether or not to make polite conversation on the ride up. I was already terrified of this woman, and didn’t know why, other than the fact that she was clearly sizing me up and not being the slightest bit shy about it. I almost expected her to ask me to open my mouth so she could inspect my teeth.

The doors slid open, and after standard overtures, she stepped onto the car, her strong mass dominating the elaborate space. My inner turmoil over whether or not to converse with her was solved by the moment the doors closed.

“So,” she announced with gusto. “You’re Julia.”

“Beg your pardon?” I asked.

“Julia Campbell,” she said, grinning at me, her face beautiful despite the extra weight it carried. As a failed makeup study, I recognized quality makeup when I saw it, and this girl had enhanced an already beautiful face to model-quality, an attribute that many men probably overlooked because of her size. “That’s you, right? I hacked into H.R.’s file and got a copy of your driver’s license. Your pic is a few years old, but pretty damn close.”

If there had been room to take a step back in the elevator, I would have. If I had been scared of her before, I was sweating bullets now. “I’m sorry...I don’t believe we have met. You are...?”

She laughed. “Sorry. I’m Rebecca. Brad’s assistant.”

Brad’s assistant. Suddenly I could breathe a little easier. “Oh. I thought all of his assistants were...” I tried to find the words to describe the three secretaries that reigned over Brad’s wing of the firm.

“Old, wrinkly bitches?” She grinned at me as the doors opened, and I burst out laughing at the description, one that probably fit the three elegant senior citizens that had stuffily dismissed me the one time I had dared to approach their desk. We stepped out of the elevator together and she followed me as I pressed on the door to the West Wing. Surprised, I glanced over at her. “You coming over here?”

“Just for a sec. Brad wanted me to introduce myself, and a thirty-second ride won’t do that justice.”

I doubted a three-day road trip would do that justice, but I smiled at her and unlocked my office door, ushering her in. It was early, but the rest of the staff would be filing in soon. I hoped she wasn’t planning on staying long. Rebecca’s presence was as subtle as a giant sign screaming I’m dating Brad De Luca! hung outside my door.

“I can’t stay.” Her quick words made me wonder how transparent my inhospitable thoughts were. “Let me just get your email address and I’ll be on my way.”

“My email?”

“Yeah. Your personal one. I’ll need to send you some stuff that shouldn’t go over the company intranet.”

I blushed, hoping the attachments weren’t of the adult variety and wondering how much Rebecca knew about our relationship. I scribbled down my email address, passing it to her with a smile that I hoped communicated my friendly intent. “It was nice to meet you, Rebecca.”

“Hey, you, too. Maybe I’ll see you around.” She waved cheerily and swung out the door, her heels pounding down the hallway, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the double doors close behind her. I plopped down in my chair, spinning slightly as I stared at the ceiling. Rebecca sending me “stuff.” This would be interesting.

Three

“Julia, can I borrow you for a moment?” Broward’s voice floated through the open doorway into my office, four hours later. He had politely used the office phone system for the first three weeks of my internship, but had abandoned that practice and now simply yelled for me, like I was his puppy roaming somewhere in the house, looking for a place to pee. I sighed, sliding back from my desk and working my bare feet into heels and standing. I was in his doorway a moment later, barely in time to stop another interoffice yell, his mouth already opening in preparation.

“Yes, Mr. Broward?” I asked politely.

“Come in, Julia, and please shut the door.”

I cringed, stepping forward and grabbing the handle, pulling it closed behind me. Broward seemed to have this misconception that “closing his door” actually afforded him some measure of privacy. While the heavy, oak door probably did have excellent sound-deafening qualities, the one-inch gap that ran along the bottom allowed almost every word to come through in crystal-clear quality. This had to be about Brad, and thanks to this poorly hung door, someone was bound to walk by and hear the entire conversation.

“I’d like to extend your internship, assuming you are interested.”

My jaw literally dropped, an involuntary relaxation of muscles that I struggled to contain. Okay—guess this isn’t about Brad. “Extend?” I said dumbly.

“Yes. I’ve been very impressed with you so far, and would like to expand your duties here, maybe bring you to court, let you see more than just the inside of a file.” He grinned at me, a worthless exercise of muscles, because as soon as he had said that word, everything else had disappeared.

Court. The word hung, in gold glittery letters, above my head, blinking on and off like a Vegas sign advertising half-priced buffets. I tried not to lick my lips but could feel saliva pooling, and my jaw started itching to do that damn dropping motion again. “That would be wonderful, but I—um...I just need to check my class schedule for next semester.”

He shrugged at my response, picking up his phone and cradling it to his ear. “Check your schedule and let me know. I’ll speak to H.R., see if we could take you on part-time, give you some hourly rate that would make it worth your while.”

Monetary compensation? Court time? I smiled at him and turned quickly, wanting to get the hell out of there before slobber shot in all directions out of my mouth. I fled his office and collapsed into my chair, an expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace contorting my face. My excitement over the job prospect fought with the predicament it would cause. Court. Money. Brad. Broward. Certain disaster. Court. Ugh. I laid my head on my desk and groaned.

* * *

IT WAS 4:00 p.m. before I thought to check my personal email, remembering that Rebecca was going to send me something. I had one new email, from Rebecca Cray, titled INFO. I opened the email, and read the one-line message.

When you get a chance, please complete the attached and scan it back to me. Thx—Rebecca

I opened the attachment, an Excel spreadsheet, and scanned it quickly, my eyes narrowing the further down the document I read. No fucking way. Then I printed it, closed out the email and picked up the office phone, dialing Brad’s extension and waiting.

He answered in a way that expressed he was not alone. That was fine. I had aspirations for my bitch-out session, and the minimum requirement was that it be in person. “Dinner, tonight? The bistro on Sixty-ninth at six. Okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” His voice held a hint of wariness.

Damn. I had wanted to blindside him with my tantrum. More dramatic that way. “Not really.”

“The bistro is fine, at six, but be aware that I don’t do subservient very well.”

His voice was almost dangerous in its authority, and my feminine side swooned a little despite my best efforts to project more of a dominatrix side.

I tried to come up with a witty response, but struck out. “Whatever,” I finally snapped, hanging the phone up glumly, feeling, as I often did with him, that I had been outmatched.

Then I stood, going to ask the other dictator in my life if I could run out for thirty minutes at six. I really needed to do something to get the men in my life under better control.

Four

“What, pray tell, could I already be in trouble for?” In the brick-walled restaurant, Brad’s face could only be described as pained as he ended a call and stood from a four-top at my approach, stepping aside and pulling out my chair.

I sat, accepting the kiss he placed on my cheek, a kiss that moved, traveling down my neck before I pulled back with a squeal, a smile fighting me tooth and nail to reach my mouth. “What makes you think you are in trouble?” I purred, crossing my legs and reaching forward, dipping a carrot in some hummus and crunching down on it, Brad looking at me in barely contained disgust. “What?”

“That stuff. It looks disgusting.”

I snorted, all sexy purrs now gone. “Disgusting? You ordered it!”

“I ordered it because women everywhere seem to eat it, and I was trying to find something you’d like in this granolified tent that they call a restaurant.”

I smothered a smile, looking around. He had a point. Birkenstocks and deodorant-free patrons seemed to be the vibe this place was going for. It had been a recommendation from my roommate Alex, and was one of the few downtown restaurants that was avoided by the staff. Now I knew why. “No steaks on the menu?”

“Barely any meat on the menu. One free-range chicken dish, the rest all vegetarian. I’ll eat at home, but you need something. Here.” He pushed a laminated menu across the small table, and I scanned it quickly, fighting my own urge to curl an upper lip. The items were all healthy, all organic, and all...unappetizing. I spotted vegetable soup and decided to go with that, setting the menu aside and looking at Brad.

The man was sinful. Tan skin, thick black hair, with bits of silver littering it. Dark brown eyes that held every emotion possible, with the tendency to smolder and cloud at just the moment when it drove me the craziest. Strong features that worked perfectly together to make every grin, grimace and glare heart-stoppingly gorgeous. But honestly, you could run his face through a blender, shave his head bald and starve the man out of his amazing, too-built-for-mortal-men build, and he would still be stop-you-in-your-tracks sexy. Because it wasn’t the looks that really made him sizzle; it was the pure sex that reeked from his pores, the cocky confidence that dominated every move, every touch. And the horrible yet ecstatic fact about the whole package is that he could back it all up with mind-numbing sexual prowess. He knew what he rocked beneath those dress pants, and he knew exactly how to use the damn thing. It was, as I had thought a thousand times before, ridiculously unfair.

“Stop smirking at me.” I spoke through a half-eaten carrot, hoping that my mental drool-fest hadn’t shown in my face, which I fixed into an irritated scowl.

“I’ll smirk at you until you tell me what I have done wrong. I assure you, I have not fucked anybody since you left my house last night.” He leaned back, placing his hands in his pockets, his legs spread. He looked relaxed, which was the last thing I wanted him looking.

Our waitress, an overall-wearing blonde, swung by and I handed her the menu, requesting the soup and a glass of ice water. Then I took him out of his not-even-present misery and reached into my bag, pulling out the spreadsheet Rebecca had emailed me and slapping it onto the table.

He leaned forward, his hands still in his pockets, and glanced at the document before leaning back and shrugging. “So?”

“So? That’s your response? Do you know what this is?”

“Yeah. It’s the questionnaire. Rebecca sends it to all of the important women in my life.” He gave me a grin that indicated that I should thank my lucky stars and dance around hugging myself, so grateful that he graced me with receiving his ridiculous spreadsheet. I wanted to take the hummus and shove it all over his face.

“Let me read this shit to you, Brad. Birthday, time of monthly cycle, favorite authors, favorite clothing store, shoe size, bra size, name of four closest friends, favorite band—”

“Where are you going with this, Julia?” he interrupted my rant, which was too bad, because I was just getting to the good stuff.

“I’m not telling her—or you—all this shit! This is Lazy Boyfriend 101. This is her cheat sheet so that she can buy all the right presents at all of the appropriate times! Text you during social events, reminding you of my friends’ names. This is the stuff we are supposed to discover about each other during dates—things that you are supposed to care enough to find out, and then remember!” I slammed my hand on the table, the noise loud in the small restaurant.

He didn’t move, studying me from his seat, his head tilted as his eyes burned through me. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll tell her to throw away the list, as far as you are concerned. You’re right.”

My mouth threatened to drop open again. That was easy. From the man whom I had expected to fight me tooth and nail, on principle and stubbornness alone.

My astonishment must have shown; he gave a quick laugh and leaned forward. “Rebecca doesn’t know, okay? I told her I was dating someone, and she probably assumed you are like the other girls. I don’t need that list, I know half the shit on it already and will know the rest soon enough. Forget it. I’ll talk to Rebecca and make sure she leaves you alone from here on out.” He grinned at me, reaching across the table and grabbing my arm. “Now, am I forgiven?”

I tried to glare at him, but my anger had abandoned me somewhere around his admittance of fault. My face contorted in a variety of expressions before I finally returned his grin, accepting the tug of his hands and meeting him across the table for a quick, panty-melting kiss.

We parted, the connection broken, and he grinned at me as he settled back into his chair.

“What?” I asked warily, leaning back as the waitress set my soup down.

“Boyfriend.” My quizzical look caused him to elaborate. “Lazy Boyfriend 101—you referred to me as your boyfriend.”

My soup steamed hot before me, and I broke saltines into it and stirred, avoiding his cocky stare. “You’re reading too much into my word choice—I was trying to explain, in simple caveman terms, your gross error in judgment.”

“I’m ready to be exclusive.”

The statement surprised me, and I looked up to find his eyes on me, serious and intense. “Really? Now?”

“Yes, now. We had wanted to see if you were okay with my sexual lifestyle. You’ve had a chance to experience it, you enjoyed it, so let’s move on.”

“Together,” I said, my word more of a question than a declaration.

“You seem to have trouble grasping this concept.”

“I have no problem grasping the concept. I’m just shocked you are pushing the subject. You seem like the type to run from commitment, not seek it out.” I took a sip of soup and watched as he shifted in his seat.

“Julia, what I said to you three weeks ago in the stairwell was true. I don’t like being alone. While I enjoy the flirtations of being single, I would prefer to be in a committed relationship.”

I grinned at him. “So the promise of a relationship wasn’t just to trick me into ditching my inhibitions?”

He had the good grace to look wounded, reaching over and tugging on my hand. He brought it up to his mouth, kissing it gently and looking at me. “I am a man of my word, and ready to commit fully to you. With the obvious exceptions.”

“The exceptions being our group sex partners, not random women you screw on the side.”

His mouth twitched under my fingers and he nodded, returning my hand. “Correct.”

“Fine, I’ll accept your offer of servitude,” I said, glancing at him while blowing on the soup, his amusement visible through the steam. “Since that grants me the power of possession, exactly how many women does Rebecca have a dossier on?”

He shrugged. “Not many. I’ve had five or six extended flings that have stretched for a few months. Rebecca has files on those women.”

I growled through the first spoonful of soup, wanting to march up to her office right now and feed those spreadsheets through the shredder myself. Not that I, with my still-had-the-tags-on-it new relationship, had any right to be territorial. “Well, I was going to hire a pushy assistant and have him, for the sake of invasiveness, send you an STD pee kit, but I guess I’ll cancel that, seeing as you have agreed to drop the questionnaire and keep your pit bull of an assistant at bay.” I grinned at him and dipped my spoon back in the bowl.

“Oh....speaking of that.” The hesitancy in his voice caused me to look up, my body tensing at whatever disaster was lurking.

“Speaking of what?”

“STD tests.” Crap. I was afraid that’s where he was headed. “If you are going to be part of this lifestyle, we need to get you tested.”

Never mind, not where I thought he was headed. “Me?” The incredulity in my voice caused another grin to cross his face.

“Yes, oh patron saint of virtue. You. I know you are probably clean, but for future planning purposes, and in order to get access to the elite clubs and parties, we have to know for sure, and be able to provide documentation.” He lowered his voice, leaning forward. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, wears condoms, but you have to be clean in order to participate. Do you have a doctor that you use?”

Gynecologist. That had been one of the blanks on Rebecca’s spreadsheet, and I had planned on its being my argument’s grand finale—a shining example of the utter invasion of privacy that the questionnaire had been. Now it made a little more sense.

“Yeah,” I muttered, scooping up a combination of noodles and vegetables.

“Do you mind?”

“Not particularly. I mean, I want everyone else there tested, but...” My mouth curved on its own, my own mind realizing the double standard that was about to come out of my lips. “No. I need to do it anyway. I’m due for an annual exam.” I glanced at my watch, swearing at the time. “Damn, I gotta go.” I stood, grabbing my bag, and leaned over, kissing him briefly before glancing at the table.

“I got it, babe. Go. Call me when you’re done for the day.”

I thanked him with my smile, trotting out the front and onto the downtown sidewalk. I made a mental note to call my gyno and see if I could get in to see her this week. As I stood at the busy street and waited to cross, I realized that I hadn’t mentioned the job offer that Broward had extended.

Five

The invitation came, as so many did, by private messenger, a tuxedoed male with the bone structure of a model. He wound through the halls of Clarke, De Luca & Broward with familiar ease, taking the elevator to the fourth floor and swinging through the heavy doors of the East Wing. Approaching the elevated semicircle of secretarial desks, he stopped in front of the middle one, waiting patiently until the elegant women raised her silver head and looked at him.

“Yes? What can I help you with, sir?”

“I have a courier item for Mr. De Luca, ma’am.”

“You can hand it over. I’ll be sure that he gets it.”

“I apologize, but I am under strict instructions to deliver it only to Mr. De Luca.”

The woman pursed her lips, fixing him with a stern gaze that did nothing to alter the confident grin on his face. “I believe you have been here before, Mr....”

“Martin. And yes, I have made deliveries here before.”

“Then, Mr. Martin, you are quite aware that Mr. De Luca is a very busy man. I will try to reach him via phone, but if I fail, you will have the option of leaving the item with me or returning at another time. I will not have you wandering around this lobby waiting for his return, understood?”

His grin still in place, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned, the wrinkles in her neck smoothing for one moment, and placed the phone to her ear.

* * *

BRAD WAS MIDSWING in the third stroke of a par four when his cell rang, vibrating inside his pocket, the one distraction he didn’t need at that point in time. He swore loudly as he watched the ball fade to the right, headed exactly where it shouldn’t, a loud splat confirming his error. He yanked his phone from his pocket and glanced at the display. “De Luca.”

“Mr. De Luca, there is a gentleman here, a Mr. Martin, who has an item that he will only deliver to you.”

“Let me talk to him, please.”

There was a rustle, silence, then, “Hello?”

“This is Brad De Luca. Who is the item from?”

“Beverly Franklin, sir.”

Brad chuckled. “Okay. Just a moment.” He lifted his chin, going through the possibilities, then came to a decision.

“I’m going to give you a set of instructions, but I want to make sure that the secretary in front of you does not hear them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leave the wing you are in and return to the elevator banks. There will be an entrance there for the West Wing—Kent Broward’s name will be visible on the door. Enter there and ask for Julia Campbell. You can deliver the item to her. Just her.”

“Gotcha, Mr. D. See you later, sir.”

“Thank you.” He hung up the phone and approached the cart, nodding to the three men standing there. He would give anything to see Julia’s face when she opened the card.

I WAS ELBOW deep in transcript review when Chace Crawford, in a tuxedo, appeared in my doorway. Okay, so it wasn’t the Chace Crawford, but enough of a lookalike for me to momentarily forget Drueit vs. Pace Contracting, which was a feat unto itself. I collected myself and waved him in.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Julia Campbell.”

“I’m Julia.” I stood, stepping forward and shaking the hand he extended.

“I’m Jeff Martin. I have a couriered item for Mr. De Luca, but he isn’t in. He said that I could give it to you.”

I looked at the embossed envelope he extended, my fingers reaching out and taking it before my mind had a chance to process the situation. “Thank you,” I said, smiling at him.

“Certainly.” He gave a small bow and smiled, turning and leaving the room.

I sat back down, leaning the envelope against my computer monitor and staring at it for a brief moment. Being Brad’s girlfriend was turning into a full-time job.

I ignored the envelope and returned to the depositions, reading line after line of transcripts until my contacts started to dry out and I leaned back to take a break. The envelope stared at me, beautiful calligraphy dancing beneath exhausted eyes. I reached for my phone and called Brad’s cell.

* * *

BRAD PARKED HIS cart, tipping the bag-drop boy and stepping up the wide steps of the hundred-year-old clubhouse. It had been built at a time when opulence and masculinity ruled the design world, and every ounce of the building reeked of old money and tradition. He walked through the wide hall, oil paintings and trophy cases, seeing his group of friends at the entrance to the cigar bar. His phone rang and he paused, glancing down and seeing Julia’s name. That took longer than expected. He smiled, holding up a finger to the men and stepped aside, leaning against the wall and answering the call.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hey. You got something.”

“And...did you open it?” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her response.

“No,” she said indignantly. “It has your name on it.”

“Well, I had the courier bring it to you for a reason. It’s an invitation to a party.”

“And...?”

God, the woman was feisty. “And I’d like you to come with me.”

She sighed into the phone. “As your secret girlfriend, I think I’m exempt from any of the boring social events you old people go to.”

Brad smiled at her words, moving off the wall and stepping forward. “It’s an orgy.”

Her breath caught, and he wished he were having this conversation in person. “Oh.”

“But...if that’s too dull and old-mannish for you, I can invite someone else.”

She hissed into the phone, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I most definitely would.”

There was silence for a minute and Brad stopped walking and waited.

“Where’s the party?”

“Does it matter?”

“Humor me.”

“I’m assuming it’s at the hosts’ home. In Irongate.”

“Oooh...fancy. Do you know anyone who will be there?”

“I know the hosts. They typically throw a relatively small party, fifteen or twenty couples, a few singles. There will be group play and private rooms. If you feel up to it, we could just observe, maybe hook up with a single or a couple in a private room if you want. Or we can just stop in, let you see how it works and leave.”

There was a pause, rustled papers, then an abrupt response. “Okay.”

Her agreement came quicker than he expected, and he grinned into the phone.

“Okay. You officially have a date. Read the invitation. We’ll talk later.” He smiled into the phone, then looked up as one of his friends walked by, slapping him on the shoulder. “I have to go.”

“Okay. Wait!” The urgency in her voice made him pause.

“What?”

“It’s this week, which doesn’t exactly give me time to shop. What’s the dress code?”

“Something sexy. No panties.” He hung up the phone and walked forward, sliding it into his pocket.

* * *

I MURMURED SOME form of parting and hung up the phone, flipping the envelope over and running my fingers over the wax seal. I grabbed a letter opener and worked it gently under the flap, careful not to rip the paper as I opened it. I slid out a card, stiff and folded, Brad De Luca printed in perfect calligraphy on the front. Dropping the envelope, I opened the card, almost afraid of what was inside.

Big surprise, an invitation. I pushed away from my desk, spinning the chair in a small circle as I read it.

Well, this is convenient. Twenty-four hours after Brad mentions a sex party, a hot man shows up in my office, envelope in hand. I tapped the invitation against my desk and thought. I had shot out a response to Brad, not really thinking through the implications of what I was signing up for. I wasn’t ready for this. A threesome was one thing. A masked orgy was something entirely different. I had to remember what Brad had said. We could just stop in, see how it works and leave. I could handle that. Piece of cake.

Six

Broward kept me at the office until ten that night, and every night that week, promising me a short day on Friday. Friday, the night of the party. It loomed, mysterious and expectant before me, and I was filled with equal parts anticipation and nerves. By the end of the week I was exhausted, having stumbled inside my house each night, ignoring the crowds that sometimes filled my living room, even the sounds of Zach’s thumping bass failing to delay my immediate slumber. I’d spoken to Brad sporadically, quick conversations squeezed in between Broward’s incessant orders, and Brad kept me fed and hydrated, sending in catered meals every night. The evening deliveries raised more than a few eyebrows, but as soon as everyone realized there was enough to share, the brows dropped and chewing began.

I was able to sneak out for a doctor’s visit on Wednesday, a nerve-racking thirty minutes in which my most private areas were explored and a vial of blood was drawn, with results promised in twenty-four hours. I returned unnoticed, the never-ending pile of work marginally bigger. Broward was abnormally irritable, working with his door closed, moving files out of my line of sight when I would enter his office. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out which case was the source of his angst. From my side, everything seemed to be moving smoothly. He didn’t mention my job future once, a fact I was grateful for, since I hadn’t had time to come to a decision. Thursday, the doctor’s office called, giving me a clean and unencumbered bill of health. And, before I knew it, it was Friday at 6:00 p.m. and I was stepping outside, the dusk light unfamiliar, Broward’s promise of an early day fulfilled. I walked through the garage, glancing toward Brad’s spot, bare pavement meeting my quick-to-roll eyes. Shocker.

A glance at my watch got my mind off Brad’s absence and focused on the night ahead. Brad had texted me that he would pick me up at nine-thirty. Three and a half hours didn’t seem like nearly enough time to physically and mentally prepare for the evening’s activities. I increased my pace, headed for my Camry, a small quiver of excitement running recklessly through my body.

* * *

I STARTED IN the shower, begging each roommate to leave me and the bathroom alone for the next hour. I shaved my legs, underarms and all but a thin strip down below. I exfoliated vigorously, soaked in a hot bubble bath for twenty minutes, then exfoliated again. Getting out, I wrapped a towel around my body and put light makeup on. I then went to my closet.

The idea of a sex party was foreign and, as much as I hated to admit it, exciting to me. Images from Eyes Wide Shut filled my head, though I doubted any event of Brad’s would be as cold and reserved as that scene had been. He said we could stop in, see how it works and leave. That was what I needed to keep in mind. That this was a sightseeing expedition and nothing more. My mind wandered back to the threesome that Brad had orchestrated a few weeks ago. How I had agreed to “try it” for ten minutes and at that point I’d be given the opportunity to back out. How, when that time frame had been reached, and his voice had come through the darkness, offering me an escape, I had never been so aroused, and the thought of stopping had seemed pure insanity. I suddenly realized how drug addicts became addicted. The threesome had been my gateway drug, and I now hovered at the edge of the cliff, ready and willing to jump into the dark depths below. More than willing, soaking wet at the thought of it. I knew, without even entering the party, that I would stay.

Nothing in my closet screamed Sex Party, so I aimed for club wear instead. I chose a red minidress that was tight on the bottom, loose and flowing on top. I ignored Brad’s directive and put on panties, a black lace thong. Slathering my legs in lotion, I was spritzing on perfume when I heard the doorbell ring. I grabbed small faux diamond studs and a black clutch, then headed for the door.

My roommates Alex and Zach were smoking weed on the couch when I walked through the living room and opened the front door. Brad stood there, dark, delicious and sexy in a white button-up shirt and dark dress slacks. His dark hair and tan stood out in stark contrast to the white shirt. I leaned against the door frame, and his eyes swept over me with an appreciative grin. Stepping forward, he braced a hand on the frame and kissed me, trailing his free hand down my open neckline.

I pulled away from the kiss and blushed, flicking my eyes inside at my roommates. He chuckled and put his mouth to my ear. “You know people are going to see a lot more than that tonight.” My cheeks burning, I waved to my roommates and pushed him out, toward the limo idling at the curb.

“Good night, gentlemen,” Brad called out. Alex and Zach giggled in response, and I shut the door, taking Brad’s outstretched hand. We walked to the car, his hand exploring my bare back and short dress along the way, and I swatted his hand as we arrived at the car. Brad opened the door and I ducked inside.

* * *

“YOU SHOULD MOVE.” I turned to look at him, confused. We were moving, the limo driving north through town.

“What? Why?”

“Your roommates. Weed? You don’t need to get caught up in that.”

“I’m not gonna ‘get caught up’ in anything.”

“If the cops bust your house, you are just as likely to be arrested as they are.” I glowered at him, avoiding his reasoning by opening my clutch and pulling out lipstick.

“I don’t think cops ‘bust’ houses over weed. Besides, I like my house.”

“Really? What’s your favorite part? The mildew in the shower or the worn-out carpet?”

“It’s the finicky hot water pressure I adore, thank you very much.”

I stuck out my tongue at him, uncapping the lipstick and carefully applying it.

He laughed, grabbing my knee and squeezing it gently. “We have a stop to make on the way.”

“What kind of stop?”

“Hair and makeup.” His cell rang and he straightened his legs, reaching in his pocket to pull it out. Glancing at the screen, he silenced the phone and put it back in his pocket.

“Hair and makeup? I already did all that.”

He glanced at my worried face with a reassuring smile. “And you look absolutely gorgeous. This is more for the mask aspect of the party. Jessica and Marco are masters of creative disguises. As much as I hate costumes, it does add to the ambience of the party, as well as relax a lot of inhibitions.”

I gripped my purse and thought of the peephole mask I had tucked inside. Not the sexiest thing in the world, it was the only thing I had that would be considered a mask. I was grateful for the opportunity to choose a different one. “I’d think you would have a closet full of swinger costumes. You know, velvet capes, top hats, canes?”

He fought a smile and leaned over, brushing my lips with his, the brief contact not nearly enough for me. “I prefer a more discreet approach. And that is pimp attire, not swinger.”

“Oh, that’s right. Swingers wear suspenders and fedoras, right?” My smart response earned me another silencing kiss, and I grinned against his mouth, stealing an opportunity to grip his hair and deepen the kiss.

“So.” I tilted my head and looked at him. “You’ll be fine with us just popping into this party, watching some stuff and then leaving?”

He turned in his seat, my eyes finding mine and holding them hostage. “Of course. Are you getting cold feet?”

I frowned. “Not cold feet—I’m just a little nervous.”

“Okay. That’s normal. What are you nervous about?”

I shrugged. “Just the fact that it’s an organized sex party. I get uncomfortable at being approached. I don’t like the pressure of turning someone down. I think that’s what stresses me out.”

“First of all, all of Beverly’s parties have one cardinal rule. Women do the instigating. Men can’t approach you, and you will make any decisions about what will occur. Think of it as a feminist’s wet dream.”

I turned that over in my head, leaning against him and trying to figure out what I would want if it was all going to be up to me.

He frowned, running a hand down my hair and rubbing my neck gently. “I don’t want you to be stressed. This party, this lifestyle, is about enhancing our sex life—not causing it or you discomfort.”

“But if I’m not okay with the swinging, then we break up.”

“I don’t expect you to be okay with everything from the get-go. You can ease into this. We are taking the fast route, and we don’t need to do that. I just didn’t want you to miss out on this party and have to wait three months for the next one.” He frowned at me. “We don’t need to go. I have no issue with saying ‘screw the party’ and going home.”

I shook my head. “I’m not going to know if I’m okay with it until I’m there. I want to go, but I want you to know that I’m not going to want to do anything that I don’t feel comfortable with.”

He stifled a laugh and quickly brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it quickly. “I have no interest in scaring you away. If you want to leave, we’ll leave. If you want to stay, we’ll stay. Tonight, you are the boss.”

My eyes flashed at his in the darkness. “Hmmmm.... I like that.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

I watched his face as he ran his lips over my hand, squeezing it briefly before dropping it to his lap. “Will this work out?” I asked suddenly, shifting in my seat to face him fully. “You and me, exclusive?”

“At this party?”

“No—in normal life. Us having an exclusive relationship, with you being so...” I grimaced, trying to find the right word. “Slutty,” I finally managed.

He smiled, his gaze traveling over my face, the depths of his soul staring out through those dark, confident eyes. “This isn’t my first relationship, Julia. I know you think I will whip my cock out at the first woman who breathes my way, but I assure you—I can handle commitment.”

“As long as you have additional stimulation. Beyond me.”

“Well, there is that, yes. But your involvement in the activity is what makes it so stimulating.”

I snorted at that. “Bullshit.”

He cocked his head at me. “The other night, if I hadn’t been involved in that threesome, would you have enjoyed it?”

I frowned. “If you hadn’t been there, I never would have had sex with him.”

“Ignore that logic for a moment and envision the situation as two different possibilities. One, just you, me and him. Then imagine the situation with you, him and another guy. Would the experience have been the same?”

I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes and envisioning the scenarios. When I removed Brad from the equation—my trust in him, his sexual presence that made every touch electrifying, his ability to somehow know exactly how much I could take, how far to push my boundaries in order to give me the most mind-shattering experience that I was willing, at that point in time, to experience. I finally sighed and opened my eyes, meeting his. “No. It wouldn’t have been the same.”

He grinned, pulling me in one quick motion onto his lap. “And you make things different for me. You don’t know it, but you captured me quickly, with your faux innocence, the nerdy-glasses, pencil-skirt look that you were trying to pull off. When I saw you later, dressed to the hilt, pure sex from your stilettos to your hair, I didn’t believe it. Saw you as playing a part. But—” he breathed, reaching out and trailing a finger over my open lips “—you are pure sex. When you are in your element, which is typically when you are stuffed full of cock, I’ve never seen a more sexually perfect being in my life.” His mouth twitched, and he pulled me to him for a soft, gentle kiss. “I fell for the feisty, smart-ass Julia that calls me on my shit. But I’m owned by the vixen that you become behind closed doors.” My response was lost in his next kiss, a heady, desperate kiss that consumed both of us, hands fisting in hair, an erotic fusion between two captive souls. I was glad that he took my response, because I didn’t have a coherent thought in my head.

Seven

Our kiss was interrupted by the limo’s slow turn into a short driveway, the suited chauffer waiting an appropriate amount of time before opening our door. The makeup stop turned out to be a small bungalow in an established neighborhood, a black Porsche Boxter in the driveway. Lights were on in the house, and Brad rang the doorbell, holding my hand on the front porch.

“Be patient with Jessica,” he whispered. “She gets a little excited if given too much free rein.”

I laughed. “Patient? Every woman wants free rein with a makeup professional. I’ll just try not to have too much fun.”

“Hola! I’m Marco!” A small muscular man in skintight black jeans, a white tank top and a hot-pink boa opened the door with a dramatic flourish. Behind him, I could see a curvy brunette, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and she waved enthusiastically. They moved aside for our entrance and between the hugs, handshakes and introductions, I discovered that the two were roommates, and seemed to be familiar with Brad; he headed past them to the living room.

Talking a mile a minute, Jessica pulled me into the dining room, where she had a long table covered with every makeup, hair care and skin product known to man. I saw what looked like the entire MAC lineup, as well as half of a Sally’s Beauty Supply store. I was shocked the table didn’t cave in under the weight of it all.

Brad collapsed into the living room couch, crossing his ankles and settling in. He picked up a remote and starting flipping through the channels, Marco scurrying around him, fluffing pillows and chatting him up excitedly. I saw a brief look of pain cross his face, and then I was gently pushed into a chair by Jessica. She turned on a mirrored spotlight, illuminating my face, examined it closely, then sat back with a satisfied smile.

“What look do you want to go for tonight?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a party like this before. Won’t the mask hide a lot of the makeup?”

She clapped her hands and smiled at me excitedly, and turned and grabbed a thick binder from a nearby stool. “Tonight, the mask is going to be the makeup. Let me show you some examples. Then you can pick out what you like.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to move in with Jessica and Marco. She was a freak of makeup nature, able to create distinct and beautiful masterpieces on ordinary faces. I did my best, but was torn between six different looks in her binder. I couldn’t decide—they were all so beautiful and different—but finally chose the one that I thought would camouflage my looks the most.

Marco had given up on Brad, and stood at a clothing rack that was pushed against a back wall. He was going through clothes, occasionally pouncing on an item and bringing it to Brad. Brad so far had rejected all of Marco’s suggestions, which was causing increased agitation to the small man. “How can you like none of these?” he complained. “I am showing you some beautiful pieces!”

Brad called to me from the living room. “He wants me to wear a jeweled thong, Julia! Talk some sense into the man.”

I frowned at Marco and shook my head, causing Jessica to swear at me. I went back to being still and tried to behave while she continued to apply eyeliner.

“I’ll just wear the same thing as last time,” Brad called to Marco.

“There is something wrong with a man as beautiful as you hiding your face. If you’re going to go that route, then at least let Jessica bejewel you.”

“Real men don’t get bejeweled,” Brad said, turning up the volume.

* * *

FIFTY MINUTES LATER, with air kisses and monetary gratitude expressed, we left the small bungalow different people than had arrived. If I can say so myself, I looked amazing. Not Julia anymore, I was now a mysterious, exotic siren. I still wore the red dress and strappy silver stilettos that I had been picked up in, but everything else had changed. Jessica had added extensions, thickening and lengthening my dark brown tresses. On my face, she had created an eye mask, with shadows, liners and a faux lace pattern. She added fake lashes and had painted my lips movie-star red that she promised would stay on “no matter what I did with my mouth.” I planned on testing out that theory.

Brad looked, well, exactly the same. Gorgeous, sexy and feral, and the closer we came to the party, the more intense his eyes became. He was aroused, I realized. He had taken only one item from Carlos, a black executioner’s hood. I was both scared and excited to see what it would look like on.

We got in the car and I waited till the driver shut the door before I turned to him. “I—”

His mouth was on me before I got the second word out. He cupped my chin in his hand and took my mouth with his. He pulled hard on my neck and I leaned forward, his other hand grabbing to pull me onto his lap. I straddled him, grinding against his crotch while we kissed. His hands gripped my ass and then traveled in between my legs, and he pulled away from my mouth with a sexy scowl when he felt my panties.

“What’s this?” he murmured, sliding a finger underneath my thong and dipping inside me, causing my eyes to close and my breath to hitch.

“I think they’re called panties,” I whispered, pushing against his hand, wanting more than his finger inside of me.

“You are already wet...” he breathed in wonder, sliding a second finger in with the first, stretching my pussy tight around his digits and moving them together in wonderful unison.

I groaned and ground against him, and he slowly withdrew his fingers, sliding his wet fingers over my clit and then away, and my eyes popped open, missing the pleasure. I pouted down at him.

“I want to keep you hot for the party,” he said gruffly. He looked up at me, smiling in the darkness. “You look so different.”

I tilted my head, grinning. “Good different?”

“I like the normal you better. This is good, though, makes me feel like I’m with a strange woman.”

I bit my lip and looked at him deviously. “Strange women can be bad.”

“I like bad,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers brush my sensitive skin, once again tugging at the lace of my thong.

Eight

The limo came to a stop at a large metal gate, monitored by a valet with a clipboard. After he’d conferred with our driver, the gates opened and we moved forward. Brad pulled on his hood, and I shivered at the transformation the simple black fabric created. All I could see was his eyes, and I hated not seeing his mouth. He expressed so much with it, from the tightening of his jaw to the curve of his grin, and I felt lost without that road map. I reached up the neck of the hood and felt his lips, curved, and I smiled back at him. He pushed my hand down and I looked out the window, fascinated by the upcoming events.

The driveway was curved cobblestone and lined with lit palm trees. Pieces of the house were visible, but it wasn’t until the limo came to a stop that we saw the full home. It was a huge, sprawling, Mediterranean-style estate, with an ivy-walled courtyard and a modern fountain in front. Two more men with clipboards straddled the entrance to the courtyard, though I think they were there more for effect than purpose. Brad gave them a name, “Ano,” and we were waved through.

“Ano?” I whispered, gripping his huge biceps tightly and trying not to trip on my heels.

“It’s an alias. One I use for swinging. You should think of a name to use tonight.”

I wrinkled my forehead, trying to think of a name that sounded sexy, but still realistic. There are so many pronounced differences between men and women. If I had attended this party with a woman, she would have given me ample time to prepare for something as important as my false identity. I should have asked more questions. A dozen names flitted through my mind, but they all sounded wrong. I finally discarded the task, figuring I’d have time to pick an alias later.

The courtyard was gently lit by the flames of two white stone fireplaces, one on either side. We walked through the dramatic area, going up a few steps and entering the home through two large ornate doors. The party was apparent as soon as we stepped inside.

Brad had mentioned fifteen or twenty couples, but there had to be at least fifty people in this room alone. It was a wide room, with huge columns and towering ceilings, colorful silks and lace tented above us, creating a ceiling of passion. The room had two dark leather sectionals, facing each other, with big gold and cream pillows scattered on them. A food bar was on the left side of the room, a wet bar on the right. Beautiful people were everywhere, wearing everything. Masks ranged from small black cat eyes to huge feathered ensembles. Women wore everything from sheer dresses and lingerie to Oscar-worthy evening gowns. The common denominators seemed to be rich and beautiful. Huge diamonds glittered from ears and fingers, and the normal factors of life—wrinkles, cellulite, imperfect features—seemed to have left these women alone. I wasn’t sure if it was the low lights or the masks, but everyone looked beautiful here. At close examination, there were wide hips, small breasts, and big noses, but those imperfections turned to perfect individuality beneath the overriding wave of sexuality and confidence displayed.

We seemed to have arrived at the precipice between friendly mingling and hot sex. As I watched, a woman pulled two men to a sectional and knelt between them. I quickly adverted my eyes and heard Brad chuckle next to me. “You don’t have to look away. They want to be watched. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here.” He grabbed my ass, sliding his hand up my dress and squeezing my bare skin. “You look stunning.”

I smiled at him, glad for the reassurance. He reached for my hand, and we entered the crowd. Brushing through the crush of bodies, we approached the bar, manned by a shirtless Adonis wearing only a bow tie and dress pants. He smiled appreciatively at me and nodded to Brad.

Brad asked for two glasses of champagne and we walked out the French doors to the pool, a massive blue-lit expanse of carnal opportunities. There was a couple already inside, naked bodies latched together in the lit water. I blushed and we walked to a lounge set and sat, looking back at the house and the crowd inside. More people were starting to spill outside, and soon we would have company. But for now it was quiet, except for the moans of the couple in the pool.

Brad pulled off his cloth hood, his hair mussed and sticking up, looking adorably hot. He took a swig of champagne and ran his hand down my bare back.

“You okay with this?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.” I flashed him a smile. The party felt refined, classy with a strong undercurrent of sex. “What’s the deal with the party, the hosts?”

“The hosts.” He smiled. “Dan and Beverly. I represented Beverly a few years ago in a divorce. We fucked a few times during the process. When she married Dan she reached back out to me. Figured this would be up my alley. They host a few parties a year and are very selective about their invitation list. That’s what I like.”

“Do they personally know all of the guests?”

“I’m not sure. They probably met most of them through AFF.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a social networking site. Think Facebook for Swingers.”

“Are you on it?”

“Not right now. I go through phases, depending on what’s going on in my life, who I’m dating.”

“Everyone here is so attractive. I kind of expected...”

He laughed at the uncomfortable expression on my face. “There is an application process involved to be invited to events such as this. Photos are one requirement.”

I tilted my head, raising my eyebrows questioningly.

He smiled, running his hand through his mussed hair. “I didn’t send any photos of you, not that I have any. They know my taste, and trust that I wouldn’t bring an unacceptable guest.”

Unacceptable? I shifted uncomfortably, playing with the hem of my dress. “It seems like a lot of money in there.”

“Dan and Beverly are kind of snobs in that respect. Money also weeds out a lot of the crazies.”

“Good. I don’t let crazies fuck me.”

He laughed and pulled me to him, kissing me deeply. “Let’s go back in. If you see something you want to do, just let me know. This will be a good test for us.”

“In what way?”

He stood, towering over me, and flashed a grin, pulling his hood back on. “Because I plan on enjoying the party also.”

Nine

We walked back into the house, my stomach in nervous knots. I was glad for the disguise, for the layer of protection it gave me. Brad held my hand firmly, guiding me as we moved through the noisy crowd, chatter, laughter and murmurs surrounding us. There were a few long glances, a few friendly smiles, but no one approached us or said anything as we passed, and I was grateful for that. I needed some time to adjust and figure out what was going on. We left the packed foyer and walked down a few steps into a darkened great room. The couches were set at different angles, some facing the windows, some open to the center. A round stage had been set up in the middle of the room, a chrome stripper pole coming out of the middle and stretching all the way to the top of the vaulted ceilings. Two women, both nude, danced on the stage, twirling around the pole and caressing each other. This room had a definite club atmosphere, laser lights creating a harmony of colors on the ceiling and techno music pumping from speakers. A woman untangled herself from a sea of bodies on a couch and stood, walking over to us. She had fire-engine-red hair and wore a black leather mask and matching minidress. I took a discreet peek at her feet and tried not to swoon. Black spiked Louboutins. She gave me a big smile and wrapped Brad in a tight embrace, brushing her hand lightly over his package in the process.

“I’d know this hunk of meat anywhere, even with that creepy hood,” she cooed. Reaching out a hand to me, she gave me a blatant once-over, causing a blush to spread over my face. “I’m Beverly Franklin,” she said, with no trace of snobbery. “I must say, you are utterly gorgeous. Not that I’d expect Brad to show up with anything else,” she added with a grin, squeezing his big arm. “Brad, you go sit down, I’m going to give your friend the grand tour.”

I had a brief recollection of a strip club tour, one that had conveniently pulled me away from Brad a few weeks earlier. My eyes flickered around the room, at the numerous sexual possibilities in front of him. I felt momentary panic at the thought of being alone, away from him, and him away from me. “I, um...” I faltered, looking to Brad for rescue.

“Stick to her, Bev,” he said, stepping backward, his face impossible to read behind the black cloth. “She’s new. Remember that.” He nodded at me and lifted his glass, and I frowned at him, swearing that I could see his shoulders shaking in a laugh. I turned to Beverly and smiled tentatively, downing the rest of my champagne with a strong gulp.

* * *

BEVERLY, THOUGH IN her forties, had an ass like a supermodel’s, and the leather clung to her perfect body as if it had been painted on. She was bubbly and friendly, not the stoic and snobby host I was expecting. She wrapped her arm in mine and navigated us out of the laser-filled great room.

“I didn’t catch your name, sweetie.”

I tensed, my thoughts bumping around in my head until I grasped a hold of a name and blurted it out. “It’s Jessica.” The tattooed makeup artist had unknowingly rescued me.

“Jessica, Brad said you were new. Is this your first party?”

“Yes. At least, of this sort.”

She laughed, a musical giggle that floated away as we walked through the kitchen, a granite-filled masterpiece, full of chefs and shirtless men who were filling hors d’oeuvre platters. Off the kitchen was a hall, and she pulled me down it, the lighting discreet and dim.

“This is what I call the sex hall—there are four bedrooms off it, and if you want to play privately, or with other couples, these rooms are available.” We peeked in the first room and I froze.

A man knelt, naked and beautiful, his back a chorus of tanned muscles, candles throughout the room creating flickering shadows on his skin. In front of him stood another man, black and naked, a dark leather mask, similar to Beverly’s, obscuring his face. The black man was huge, Brad’s size, but not as cut or defined as Brad. His cock was long, dark and in the kneeling man’s mouth. A woman, stunning, dressed in an azure-blue floor-length evening gown and a huge feathered mask, stood on the other side of them. Her elegant attire was contrasted by a leather riding crop, gripped tightly in one hand. As I watched she stepped forward and slapped the kneeling man, hard along the buttocks. Her voice, calm, controlled and authoritative, rang out in the quiet room.

“Suck it harder. All of it.”

The man obliged, and the black man groaned, his legs tightening. I saw a cock twitch in the darkness and realized the white man was hard. Very hard.

I felt Beverly tugging on me, and I blinked, stepping back, but not before my eyes locked with the woman in the room. She smiled, slowly and securely at me, and then I heard her speak to the men. “Now. Get up, both of you, on the bed. I want you to use those hard cocks on me.”

I tried to stifle a gasp, and followed Beverly, her hand tugging, pulling me to the next room. For a reason I couldn’t explain, I felt my panties sticking to me, wetness pooling.

Ten

Brad leaned against the wall, obscured by the shadows, invisible. He watched the two women walk away, watched Julia, her face as she looked in one of the bedrooms with Beverly. He saw her expression change and wondered what she saw. Maybe it had been a mistake bringing her here. Maybe she wasn’t ready.

Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to turn and he watched as a girl entered the room. Alone, wearing white, her face covered with a veil. Even in the dim light he could see through the sheer fabric of her dress, erect nipples and bare skin underneath, nothing else. She was nervous, tentative. She gripped a glass of white wine tightly in her hand and looked around the room. He stood upright and moved out of the shadows, his steps sure and confident.

* * *

“I’M SORRY, WHAT did you ask?” I had missed whatever Beverly had said, my mind still filled with images from the first room.

“I was saying that we decorated the four bedrooms in color themes—kind of to fit different fetishes. Me, myself, I just like straight sex with different men. I don’t travel too far outside that box. But I like watching all sorts of things. That room back there was the red room.”

I nodded, vaguely remembering that the room had a red theme—dark red walls, cream carpet, red lamps and bed coverings. In another world it might be considered designer disaster, but in this setting, it fit the mood of excess.

“This next room is the blue room. I find more mellow couples tend to use this area,” she whispered, pushing the door open farther. We peered in.

Now, aware of the color schemes, I noticed the room itself first. It sported robin’s-egg pale blue walls, white furnishings, and large abstract art on the walls. There was discreet uplighting, but the room was mostly lit by candles. Two couples occupied this room, one on the bed and one on the floor, cushioned by large pillows. Both couples seemed to be caressing and kissing each other, hands gently moving everywhere. We moved on, me needing less encouragement this time.

The black room was next. “Whips and chains?” I asked, reading into the color choice.

“Not here,” she laughed. “S and M is a whole other culture, one we don’t participate in. Not because we don’t agree with it. It just has its own groups and parties. What you saw in the first room—that’s as dominant as it gets here. The black room is mostly for GB stuff. It’s the largest guest bedroom we have.”

I didn’t have a chance to ask what GB stood for, and didn’t need to, once we peered in. Six men surrounded one girl. She was voluptuous, with large natural breasts, a soft but slim stomach and wide hips. She was bent over, on a large bed, two men at her feet, one in her pussy, another in her ass. She screamed, loud and in pleasure, and they both moved in unison, fucking her deeply, then pulling slowly out. She supported her body with one hand, and used the other to jack off a skinny man who knelt, naked, before her. The other men touched her, squeezing her breasts, smacking her ass or waiting impatiently for a chance at her mouth. Everywhere I looked in the room, there was movement, skin-on-skin, mouth-on-skin, and sounds filled the space. Slaps, moans, muttered phrases.

I watched, transfixed, as the woman came, long and loudly, her body shaking with the exertion and clear juice squirting from her pussy. The man who had been fucking her, a thin man with a cock like a fucking Clydesdale’s, swore in amazement at her gushing pussy and pulled out, using his fingers to finish her off. He wore a dark green mask, and pulled the mask up to get a better view. His handsome face was filled with desire and wonder and sex, and I felt sudden familiarity, as I realized that my emotions matched his. What was I doing? Standing here gaping! I had an image of what I must look like and turned away suddenly, ending the view of the room and my hidden fantasy.

* * *

KATE WAS RUSSIAN, in the States on a six-month visa. A visa that could be extended if her boss—and sponsor—Mr. Gunter, agreed to continue her employment and fill out the necessary paperwork. Mr. Gunter had strongly suggested that Kate accompany him tonight. Her hesitancy at his request had displeased him, and the request had turned into a demand, complete with consequences if she did not comply. So she had yielded, and now here she was.

Earlier she had stood in front of him, naked, washed thoroughly by his staff, and he had picked out this outfit, a ridiculous white mesh dress that showed every part of her, and a white veil that did nothing to disguise her young face. He had dressed her, slowly, touching her skin and groping her curves as he pulled the material over her body. He had not tried to have sex with her. Not yet. But tonight must be the night. Here, at this party, where Americans were having sex everywhere, on couches, in pools, against the wall right next to her. She saw movement in the shadows; then a hulk of a man appeared, stepping into the light.

He had impossibly broad shoulders and muscular arms that his expensive dress shirt couldn’t hide. Standing, silent and sure, he looked straight at her, waiting. She took a few steps forward, tentative, wanting to see more but needing to be closer to do it. He turned slightly and was fully illuminated by the light.

He wore a black hood, simple dark loose fabric with two eyeholes cut out. She wasn’t sure if it was the hood or his body, but danger radiated from this man. His eyes, the only part of his face she could see, were dark brown pools of sexual intensity, blatant arousal in them. She paused, scared of him and the sexual heat that emulated from him, even with ten feet between them. Then she felt a hand on her back.

Mr. Gunter’s voice purred in her ear and she stiffened, closing her eyes briefly. Thin hands ran down the sides of her body and then moved up her front, squeezing her breasts and massaging them. She opened her eyes, looking into the eyes of the hooded stranger briefly, then looked away, ashamed, her lip trembling. She tried to be strong, tried not to cry. The hands moved up and gripped her neck, turning her face, and she felt Mr. Gunter’s pursed lips on hers.

* * *

I WHIRLED, RUNNING into Beverly’s big breasts, our faces almost colliding, and she took a step back with a wince. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” The girl’s squirting pussy was imprinted in my mind, and I clenched my legs together, wanting Brad here, now, instantly.

“Sure,” she said slowly, looking at me intently. “Is this too weird for you? It can be a lot to take in—”

“No,” I interrupted her, shaking my head and trying to smile. “I like it here. I just remembered something I wanted to ask Brad about.”

She shrugged. “Okay. You don’t need to see the last room. I can just tell you about it.” She looped her arm through mine and leaned close, her breast touching me. “It’s called the snack room, and is a lot of fun to visit during the party. It has lots of fun food you can eat off each other, or you can lie on the buffet table and have everyone nibble and lick things off you.”

I smiled politely, trying to listen but not able to get my mind off the woman in ecstasy and the circle of hard, waiting cocks.

The bedroom hall led back to the crowded foyer, and as we eased through, Beverly was stopped by several people. I finally leaned to her and whispered in her ear that I would see her later. She nodded gratefully to me and started chatting up a couple by the bar. I moved quickly through the crowd, avoiding eye contact and beelining for the great room. I stopped at the entrance, my eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, trying to find Brad in the dark, pulsating, room.

I saw him, alone by the window, huge and imposing, and felt a flood of relief. He was watching a couple on the couch—a young blonde with an older man—Brad’s eyes unreadable but dark. I quickly walked to him, and he slid an arm around my waist, pulling me to him.

“How was the tour?”

“Good. Interesting.”

“Good. Interesting,” he mocked, his hand trailing down my hip, teasing the skin at the bottom of my dress.

“Stop that,” I muttered, trying not to lean into his touch. “Yes, it was interesting. Beverly is very sweet.” A breath caught in my throat as his hand traveled higher, pushing up my hem. His attention was focused on me, thoughts of everything else disappearing, and the intensity was unnerving. “Why don’t we find a private place and—”

He grabbed me, shoving me hard against the wall, yanking my dress up till my lace panties were exposed, and spread my legs expertly with his knees. I sputtered a protest, but all that came out were whispered curses, my desire to not draw attention to us overriding my need to get him to keep his fucking hands to himself.

“Why don’t we skip the private place?” he said, his voice strong in my ear.

He slid two fingers in me, his eyes flickering at my soaked wetness, his fingers moving in and out, his thumb gently making delicious circles around my clit, the sheer fabric increasing the pleasure. I protested, quietly but fervently, but my words dropped off and my legs weakened. Sagging, I let my head drop back as I entered an unworldly plane of pleasure and arousal. He pulled on my dress, sliding the red fabric off my shoulders, and I felt the silky material fall away from my skin, leaving my breasts exposed, my nipples puckering in the open air. I looked around desperately, worried about who might see. My eyes met with one man, then two, who watched with aroused interest before my head dropped back and I felt an orgasm hovering.

Brad did incredible things, his fingers and thumb making my clit stand hard and juices ooze from between my shaking legs. I gasped, gripping his shoulder and looking gape-mouthed into his smoldering eyes. “Do you like people watching you?” His voice was authoritative, demanding, and my rebellious side tensed at the tone. I protested weakly, my words turning into unintelligible moans, his words ringing true in my slutty core. “Do you?” His voice was now a rough whisper, and I moaned, opening my eyes for a moment, long enough to see another face, another pair of eyes on me. A man walked by slowly, close enough to hear, and I let out a strangled cry despite myself.

His fingers disappeared for a moment; then I heard a ripping sound as my panties became victim to his strength. I sagged against the wall, waves of pleasure growing in time to the vibrating bass, the slow circle resuming around my clit, the fingers sliding back inside my soaking pussy.

“God, you are wet,” he growled in my ear, and I could hear the wetness, the slick sound of his actions. “Almost as wet as I’m going to make that sweet little blonde on the couch.” Opening my eyes wide, I saw carnal activity all around and tried wildly to focus, to see who he was talking about. Perverse snapshots of different possibilities battered my mind. Brad with me, Brad’s hands, cock, mouth on someone else, her pleasure, my possession. My mind desperately tried to grasp on any form of sanity, but the sexual need, the slutty side of me that was in full unadulterated glory, took the thoughts and savored them, the competitive side of me feasting on the challenge. Then I saw her, the young blonde on the couch, her body lying back, perfect cream tits exposed. The sight, the thought, the jealous arousal sent me over the edge, and an explosion of pleasure erupted in my core, my screams bursting out, unable to control myself.

My orgasm was long, hard and insanely good—visions filling my head, my eyes opening intermittently, seeing faces, hearing words, knowing that a room was watching—the knowledge stretching out the orgasm, and I was close to sobbing when it ended, my body collapsed against him, legs useless.

I sagged in his arms, my thighs wet, body quaking. I had just come, in front of this whole room, men staring, my breasts hanging out, my panties ripped and tossed on the floor. I should have felt like a slut, a dirty whore. But instead I felt liberated, aroused. It was an interesting discovery, to know that I liked being dirty. I wanted to be stared at, pointed to, to have men lining up to fuck me. Inside, I felt a release of some tie, some leash undone, and I knew my descent into sexual awareness was just now starting. I wasn’t sure if I could ever tie it back into orderly place.

Eleven

Kate watched the hooded man as he stood in front of the brunette beauty. She slumped against the wall in front of him, her legs shaking, small breasts heaving. Her scream had broken through Kate’s mental block and caused her to look over, to see his fingers inside her, his mouth at her ear. Her face a masked vision of orgasmic pleasure.

The image caused Kate to tighten, aroused despite herself, and Mr. Gunter groaned, feeling her body twitch. His hands on her breasts, squeezing and pinching them, moved downward, and Kate winced, shutting her eyes tightly. “No,” she said softly, too softly, and he laughed above her. “No!” She said it louder, pushing on his shoulder, and began to cry a bit in spite of herself, her body shaking and tears beginning the path down her face. She tightened her eyes, and willed herself to be strong.

When she heard it, loud and clear despite the noisy room, she froze, body stiff and rigid. The sound of him unzipping his pants, the rustle of clothing as he pulled out his cock. She glanced down, whimpering slightly, his thin, stubby dick already hard, sticking out like a dagger from his body. He was leaning over, his hands at her opening, preparing it for his bareness, and then he was gone. She blinked her tear-filled eyes, and saw the hooded man.

He had Mr. Gunter by the throat and was pressing him back, against a column at the entrance to the room. He whispered something in Mr. Gunter’s ear, something that made the old man’s eyes go wide in response. Kate sat up, pulling the sheer dress quickly down and standing, the room spinning briefly from the sudden movement. She sat, willing the room to still and searching for the strength to be able to go over, stop him, fix this. Whatever the big man was doing, he had to stop, had to leave Mr. Gunter alone. She couldn’t go back to Russia. Couldn’t go back to her family.

The brunette, beautiful, her eyes still glazed in euphoric pleasure, her skin flushed, sat down next to her, taking her hand. “I tried to stop him,” she whispered. “When he saw your face...” There was a loud crack and they both looked up. The big man stood over Mr. Gunter, his hand bloody, Mr. Gunter limp on the floor. A redheaded lady appeared and spoke urgently with the hooded man. The brunette put her arm around Kate and gripped her tightly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered.

They carried Mr. Gunter away. Kate saw him move, in their arms, and wondered what was going to happen now. The big man appeared in front of her, his eyes dark, and Kate felt a curl below her stomach, a tightening in her body. He bent, a question in his eyes, and when she nodded, he picked her up, cradling her small body against his. He carried her through the party and out the back doors.

* * *

BRAD CARRIED THE blonde, her head curled into his chest, her hand gripping his large biceps. She was Russian, from the sound of her accent. He took her outside, down the side of the pool, and headed to a pool house at the end. I opened the door for him, and we walked inside miniature opulence. The pool house was a baby version of the mansion, identical in style and appointments. There were two bedrooms, and he laid her on the bed in the smaller room. I hung back, not sure what was going to happen next.

Brad’s earlier words, his muttered threat to pleasure the Russian, now, in the elegant light of the bedroom, seemed as insane as the bloodied man that they had carried away. So much had changed in that one instant. He had been standing before me, my eyes struggling to focus, legs trying to stand. Then a sound had come from behind us, a cry. Out of place, asexual in tone. Brad had frozen, his eyes meeting mine, face hardening below his hood, a coldness coming over his entire being. Who he became, in that instance, was almost scary. It was a hardened Brad, the light gone from his eyes, his hands turning unintentionally rough. He had lifted me, helping me find my balance, ensuring that I could stand on my own. Then he had turned, taking in the scene in one glance, as did I. Then he was gone, a blur of movement, violence and protection.

What I had envisioned during the throes of my orgasm, the images of Brad and the Russian that had taken the fire of my arousal and doused it with gasoline, wasn’t this. Wasn’t her lying damaged on the bed, him as her protector. I had actually wanted him to be with her, wanted to see how I felt when his hands touched her skin, when his lips brushed hers, the feeling of possessiveness when I watched his cock claim her tight body. I had, as ridiculous as it sounds, embraced the opportunity to watch him, to feel that competitive drive as it warped my arousal into new levels. But this, his concern, her vulnerability, was too personal, and I felt the evil tendrils of jealousy snake into my mind. He could fuck her, but he couldn’t care. My psyche wouldn’t allow that, despite the compassion I felt for her.

Lying back on the bed, she stared up at him, confused and wary. He started to speak, his words muffled, then reached up and pulled off the mask.

* * *

KATE INHALED INVOLUNTARILY. The black fabric pulled away to reveal an Italian god. He had olive skin and a thick head of black hair. Strong, handsome features, he would have been too beautiful if it weren’t for the overwhelming strength of his features. The man smelled intoxicating, and reeked of masculinity and sex. He spoke, his voice deep and gruff.

“Beverly said you can stay here. Get some rest. In the morning she will help, find you a new place to stay. It will be okay. Are you Russian?” His voice had gentled but was still dangerous to her, to any clear thoughts in her head.

She nodded. “My visa is almost expired.” Her voice sounded weak, broken, and she hated her stilted English.

He nodded. “That’s fine. Don’t worry.” He brushed his hands lightly, almost accidentally, over her as he pulled a blanket over her body. She pushed herself up, grabbing his shoulder, a question in her eyes, and he shook his head.

“I’m not here for that. I was just trying to help.” He pushed her gently down, his fingers caressing her almost imperceptibly and she inhaled, his touch sending desire in hot streaks throughout her body. He turned, his strong silhouette filling the doorway, and closed the door gently, sending the room into darkness. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts jumbled and fighting for attention.

Twelve

We spoke in hushed tones, in the second bedroom of the pool house. Beverly had joined us, hanging up her cell as she entered the room. I paced, worried. “Is that man okay? Did you really need to punch him? Are the police being called?” I asked rapidly.

He leaned back against a dresser, his arms crossed, looking impossibly sexy despite his bloody knuckles. “Julia, everything is fine. That scumbag will be fine, and will not press charges.” His wry tone calmed me down somewhat, but my nerves were still on edge. “Beverly, can you assist her in the morning? Get her clothes and breakfast, give her a ride?”

Beverly straightened, fixing Brad with a glare. “I’m not tossing her out like a lost puppy. She can stay her indefinitely. The guesthouse is available. I can always use someone to help out around the house.”

“If you need my help...”

Beverly waved off Brad’s offer. “Stop that, Brad. You’re a guest! I never should have allowed him to come with her. The invitation was a favor to my husband, and we didn’t know who he was bringing. This is my fault, and I’ll fix it.” She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, thinking, and then walked over to us, kissing me briefly on the cheek and squeezing my arm. “I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of the party. Brad, I expect a bill for your security services.” She winked at him and left the room, closing the door behind her.

I walked over to him and he took me into his arms, holding me tightly, and I relaxed against his chest. I wondered if he was still in the mood. A noise caused me to turn and I rotated in his arms, still pressed against his body.

The Russian stood, now naked, in the doorway. Her tight body and firm tits were goose-bumped in the cool room. Her eyes were pools of dark want and she stood, unsure, nervous in cheap heels. “I need you,” she said clearly, only a slight accent in her voice, her eyes locked with Brad’s. “Please.” I felt his thickness harden against my body and I stepped aside, watched him walk forward and stop in front of her. Guess that answers my question.

Brad looked down at the girl, his eyes sweeping over her naked body before coming to rest on her face. Her lips were full and pink, her eyes dark and longing. She licked her lips, her tongue lingering before disappearing in her mouth. He grabbed the back of her hair gently and pulled, tilting her head back so that she looked into his face.

“Why?” he whispered.

She frowned, confused. Her lips moved without speaking for a moment, and just a small gasp of air escaped her mouth. He loosened his grip on her, and she relaxed slightly, then spoke.

“Why what?” The accent was still there, her voice young and sweet.

“Why do you need me?”

“I don’t know. I just, watching you, with her in the other room...” Her eyes darted to me, then returned to his face, her expression searching him to understand. I understood. I knew the effect that Brad had on me, how I yearned for his touch, for the release he could give me. But I also knew what Brad was asking, what he was worried about.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his hand releasing her hair and traveling down, trailing on her skin until he broke contact, almost brushing her nipples. She sagged a little, exhaling softly, staring into his eyes.

“This isn’t for what you did. I wanted you earlier, thought of you then. Please,” she begged, her small hands reaching up and unbuttoning his top button. “Please,” she whispered again, moving down to the next button, her hands exploring his strong shoulders and sweeping under his shirt.

Yes. This was what I had wanted. I understood his concern, his desire to not take advantage of her vulnerable position. But I wanted my Brad back, I wanted the sex god who had taken my innocence and turned me into this deviant slut. I saw the need she had and my pussy panted for him to fill it, to be the man who I was falling uncontrollably for.

I took control, making the decision for him, closing the door and locking it, the loud click causing him to look up and meet my eyes. Staring at him, I tugged on one strap and then the other of my red dress, sliding it down my hips until it dropped to the floor, nothing but me underneath. Stepping over to a plush chair set in the corner of the room, I sat, facing the bed. Spreading my legs, I ran my hands over my inner thighs, squeezing, then gently teasing my already wet slit. I raised my chin and stared defiantly into his eyes. I know you are in there, baby.

He looked at me darkly, his eyes following the motion of my fingers, then studying my eyes, reading them, my confident stare meeting his. A slow, sure smile spread over his features. He shook his head, looking upward as if to heaven, then down at the petite blonde still grasping his shirt.

He walked her around to the far side of the bed, laying her backward onto it, her bare skin creamy white against the bloodred duvet. He ran his hand down the center of her body, her skin quivering from his touch, and she gasped as his fingers reached the place where her legs met. My gaze felt physically glued to the scene, and I blinked, the intensity of my stare drying out my eyes. I looked inside myself, tried to read the swirl of emotions that filled my core. Had I been right? Was this what I wanted? Jealousy was there, a hint of it, wandering outside the peripheral of my mind, trying to decide if she wanted to join in on this party. But a stronger emotion, lust, was first and foremost. It was like watching a disaster, and not being able to turn away. You know you shouldn’t look, but you ache for it so badly. Yes. I wanted to watch. A perverse, competitive part of me wanted to see him in action, to watch, and then join in the passion. Brad lifted his hand from her body and spoke, his words quiet, commanding. “How many men have you been with?”

She stiffened, tried to speak, then licked her lips, and words came out. “I never been with a man.”

Uh-oh. This might be a problem. My dreams of a hot and heavy sex fest faded slightly. Brad’s eyes darkened at her response, and he looked over at me, meeting my eyes, his face unreadable. Don’t stop, baby, I begged with my eyes, taking my fingers and pushing them inside me, my breath increasing in time with the thrusts of my fingers. Please. Just give her something.

He reached forward again, running his hand from her knees, up her inner thigh, past her apex, over her stomach, and brushed it lightly over her breasts, her nipples standing at attention under his strong hands. He exhaled deeply, placing a hand over each breast and squeezing them, watching them swell under the pressure. She gasped, arching her back a bit, and a sound close to a whimper came out. He straightened, looked at me again and beckoned with his hand.

“Julia. Come here.” I shook my head at him, my fingers moving slowly inside me, and he frowned, his expression unyielding. I finally stood, stepping over the crumpled pile of my dress and crossed the room until I stood next to him, and looked into his face questioningly. He turned, looking down at my nakedness, my breasts upturned to him, my heels tilting and displaying my body in a way that made beautiful all my curves. He ran his hands over me, not gentle and discovering, as he did with her, but possessive and demanding. Yes. He grabbed me as though he needed me, as if he were a man in the desert and I were his mirage. He pulled me tight to him and feasted on my neck and mouth, and when we finally separated, we were both panting. “On the bed,” he ordered, and I kicked off my heels and climbed onto the softness, brushing against the soft skin of the girl. On my knees, moving farther onto the bed, I paused, over her body, our eyes meeting.

There is something extremely sensual about eye contact. It is often more penetrating than physical sex. I looked into the pale blueness of her, and saw only wanton need. Need that, ever since I met Brad, I was very familiar with. I smiled, and her mouth curved in response, her eyes glued on me. Then she gasped and they shut, our connection severed. I looked back and saw Brad, his fingers moving with slow and steady precision in and out of her.

I turned, straddling her body, facing him, my ass to her head, and looked into the depths of his eyes. He was aroused, and I smiled at the dark look on his face. Possessiveness and desire lay in the lines of his face. I leaned forward, claiming his mouth with mine, and ground softly against her writhing stomach, my pussy leaving wetness on her skin. I felt small, soft hands tugging from behind me, pulling me back, and I parted from Brad, staring into his eyes as I allowed her to pull me, and lay back, atop her, my back hitting her soft breasts.

Her hands explored me, and I felt her lithe fingers running down the gully of my stomach, up the curve of my breasts, squeezing the flesh of my nipples. She was unashamedly curious, and her soft pants increased in cadence with Brad’s fingers, her body arching beneath me.

“Switch places.” The order was gruff, and Brad’s eyes were black with need. “I want to fuck you.”

I rolled off her, and he unbuckled his belt, watching us hungrily as she climbed on top of me, not lying as I did, but instead faced me, her knees on either side of my stomach. Brad groaned, his pants gone, moving close to us, and pulling me slightly so that my pussy lay flush against the edge of the bed. He ripped open a condom packet, his cock popping hard and ready, and my world went black when he entered me.

I came up for air, my senses reengaging all at once, her beautiful face above me, her breasts soft against my mouth, long hair tickling my neck. My legs, up in the air and spread, Brad inside me, then out, then in, the delicious friction of his pelvis on my clit. She moaned above me, eyes closed, and I realized he had fingers in her once again.

“God, she is so tight.” Brad’s voice floated down to me, and I looked up at the girl, her moans growing as she rocked her body above me. She looked down, her eyes meeting mine, then focusing on my mouth, and she hesitated, then leaned down to me. Brad’s statement was so erotic, the sum of all things present too much for me, and as her breasts touched mine, her mouth so close, I came, one of those stiff, tight, every-muscle-in-my-body-is-immobile orgasms. I gasped against her mouth, tightening around his cock, and he groaned my name as he increased his speed. It was long and hard, and I lost reality for a while before coming back to earth. My senses regained, I reached up and pulled her head down to mine.

She tasted like peppermints, her tongue small and delicate in mine, so different from the possessive kiss I had shared, moments before, with Brad. Then her body stiffened and her mouth was gone, and she threw back her head, her rigid body telling me what was coming.

When she came, it was strong, her moans turning to yells, a string of Russian words that we instinctively knew the meaning of. Brad somehow managed to keep up the furious rhythm with his fingers till she collapsed, shaking and quivering, ragged breaths on top of me, and he never stopped the delicious rhythm of fucking me, his speed increasing once she rolled off my body. He reached the point of pounding, my body shaking with the force of it, his face beautiful in its sexual intensity, and I was close to coming again when she finally recovered from her climax. She propped herself up, watching me, watching my face as it clenched and I bucked, and as my hands reached out to grab on to something, anything, she was there, her hands on mine, her greedy mouth on my nipples, and I exploded again, every muscle in my body tensing as waves of pleasure rocked my core.

Thirteen

After Brad thoroughly touched, licked and coaxed the Russian through three orgasms, she fell, exhausted, on the bed, a smile plastered to her face. She reached for me, pulled me to her lips and kissed me once, gently. Her hands turned my head and I felt her breath on my ear, her accented voice speaking. “Thank you. For sharing.”

I tried to think of an acceptable response, but my mind was useless, drugged with champagne and sex. I smiled, and she rolled over, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over her body. Brad gathered our clothes and pulled my arm, tugging until I was upright and naked in front of him. He looked down, staring at my nakedness, then leaned over, kissed me gently along my cleavage, scooped me up and carried me out of the room and into the other bedroom. He avoided the bed, setting me on the floor, and I looked up at him in puzzlement.

He lay on top of me, completely bare, his arms keeping him light on my body. “I haven’t come yet,” he whispered.

I smirked. “I know. But I’m a little tired. I was thinking about going to bed.”

He nuzzled my neck, biting it gently while he pushed against me, his shaft sliding up between my legs, almost inside me, but a fraction too high. I groaned, untangling my legs from underneath his body and wrapping them tightly around him, my pussy now impossible to avoid, my need wet against him.

“Going to bed, huh?” His arrogance in my ear, my moan in response. His cock, so close, so teasing, there but not yet inside, lying hard against my ass instead.

“Maybe I’ll stay up a little longer.” I gasped as he was finally there, just the tip of him inside me, and I dug my heels into his back, panting, trying to push him farther in. He leaned down, whispered something against my mouth, then kissed me, softly, sweetly. As un-Brad-like as anything I could imagine. He tasted my mouth, trailed kisses along my jaw, sucked gently on my bottom lip. And when I finally relaxed, finally surrendered to his mouth and kiss, my legs going slack, he pushed his cock all the way in, taking my breath. I almost orgasmed right then, my need had been so great, then so fulfilled, his cock insanely perfect inside me. It took about a minute of deep slow strokes, almost painful in their perfection, and then I was done, shattering into pieces in his arms, my mouth open, frozen, as the swells washed over me. I was whimpering by the time I was done, and he held my face in his hands, looking into my eyes, his fire burning into me.

What had just happened, in the other room, that had been us, an experience we had shared, the blonde somehow an extension of our union. But now, alone in the room with each other, I was captivated, held in his arms, him filling me, his strokes quickening, our eyes locked in identical pools of lust. Then he took in a quick breath, closed his eyes and buried himself deeper, his thrusts stronger. I wrapped my arms and legs tight around him, riding his wave of orgasm, burying my face in his neck, his strong heat inside me.

He rolled over, pulling me with him, and I lay limp across his chest. I ran my hands down the clefts of his body, his skin damp with sweat, his muscles tight from exertion. His eyes were closed, and I pulled myself up until my face was above his. I ran my fingers lightly over his face, awestruck at the beauty in his strength. God, I was in trouble. In more ways than I could count. I didn’t know what I would become if I stayed with him, to what further depths I would plunge inescapably into, a slave to his sexual drugs. And I didn’t know what I would become if we parted, and how I would ever again find sexual satisfaction without the man.

We could just stop in, see how it works and leave. I made a mental note not to fall for that one again.

Fourteen

The limo moved quietly through the dark streets. Curled into a ball in Brad’s arms, my body limp, weakened by orgasms, four-inch heels and champagne, I watched passing streetlights flickering by, softened by the car’s dark tint. I closed my eyes and let my body go limp, kept warm by Brad’s jacket tented over me.

A few minutes later, on the verge of sleep, I heard him talking, softly, and my ears strained to catch his words.

“I need you to take care of something.” Brad spoke into his cell, looking out on the passing lights.

“What, a body?” The voice laughed roughly, loud enough that I could hear it. He shifted, and I saw his jaw tighten, face hard.

“There’s a Russian girl, at 42 Hemingway Drive. In the morning, have Maria call Beverly Franklin—I’ll text you her number. Tell Maria to offer assistance to Beverly, see if there is anything she can do to help out with the girl’s situation. Have her mention our contacts in immigration.”

There was silence for a moment. “You fucking this girl?”

“No. Not that it matters.” Brad’s voice changed when he was on the phone. Softer in volume, but harder in tone. The smooth cadence and cultured voice were gone, replaced with a rough brogue and steely tone. He ordered rather than asked.

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”