Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2 (12 page)

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

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

 
    
She clung and rocked, her eyes squeezed
tight.

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

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

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

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

 
    
He wanted to be the only one.

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

 
    
I
wanted someone to do that to me.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

 
    
“I congratulate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
    
Virginia herself saved him from making a
complete spectacle.

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

 
    
Wilson set his drink down on a table, one
of the extras Virginia had provided, and clasped her hand in both of his. “I
was congratulating your husband on his latest merger.”

 
    
Her eyebrow rose in a perfect arc, and she
regarded him with a warm smile. “Which merger would that be?”

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

 
    
“You’re too kind,” she murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

 
    
“Virginia. I need to talk to you.”

 
    
“Of course, dear.”

 
    
Dear?
“Privately.”

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

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

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

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

 
    
She hissed in reaction.

 
    
“I thought about dragging you down in the
middle of the living room carpet and doing this in front of all of them.” He
bent and sucked the turgid point of her nipple into his mouth. She squirmed
against him.

 
    
He pulled back, skimming his hands along
her arms. “You’d have liked it, too.” It would have shown Garrett exactly who
she belonged to in no uncertain terms. He shook her lightly. “Tell me you would
have liked it.”

 
    
Her eyes searched his face. “There’d be
consequences.”

 
    
“Fuck the consequences.” He leaned in,
letting his breath bathe her skin. “You would have loved it.”

 
    
Her nostrils flared, and he knew the
answer. He’d tasted it in her hot, hard nipples. But she didn’t capitulate;
instead, she pushed at his shoulders. “We can’t do this now.”

 
    
“I’ll have this
now
.” He took her mouth and ate off her lipstick, then invaded with
his tongue. She didn’t fight, she simply allowed, and he couldn’t stand her
nonparticipation. He wanted her in the act completely.