Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2 (16 page)

 
    
Brett tucked his cock away, his slacks
tenting over the enormous erection he sported. “She’s worth every penny.” That
half smile creased his mouth again. “I know what I’m talking about.” He looked
down at her, stroking her temple with just the tips of two fingers. “You will
never find another to give you such ultimate satisfaction. You will never want
another.”

 
    
Despite his words filling the room, he
spoke only to her. Her heart flared, and her pulse jumped.

 
    
His fist pumping fast and hard, the man
didn’t even get that they’d just had a moment. “I want to come on her face.”
His eyes had begun to glaze. His breath rasped in his throat, his mouth open to
grab a gulp of air.

 
    
“Nothing of yours touches her, not your
hand, not your cock, and not your come. Do it on the floor,” Brett demanded.

 
    
The man’s eyes bulged slightly, then he
threw his head back, and his semen spurted in an arc from his cock, splattering
the hardwood at the edge of the expensive carpet. An attendant quickly cleaned
it up.

 
    
After a deep sigh, the stocky, now-florid
man glanced at Virginia as she nestled against Brett’s thighs. “Don’t worry,”
the guy muttered, “there’s more where that came from. You’ll savor every drop
as much as I’m going to savor you.”

 
    
She realized her original assessment of the
crowd was correct. Though good-looking, the man was still ordinary. Thick blond
hair, a solid chin, a passable nose, and decently defined muscles, he wasn’t
bad. Yet there wasn’t one single outstanding feature.

 
    
She’d wanted men to desire her, to lust
after her, to jerk off for want of her. Perspiration beaded on her forehead,
and a flush swept her body, but with Brett’s hand slowly stroking her hair, she
closed her eyes and savored his caress far more than that man’s come down her
throat.

 
    
“Sit.” Brett pointed, and the guy scurried
back to his place on the sofa.

 
    
Tugging once more on the chain leash, Brett
helped her to her feet. Sliding a hand along her nape, he tangled his fingers
in her hair and drew her head back. “Look.”

 
    
The assembly was one writhing mass of
sexual activity. A rigid cock sinking into a warm, fleshy woman. A dress
raised, fingers flying. A beating fist eating the length of a hard dick. A face
buried deep in the folds of a lady’s pussy.

 
    
“That’s what you do to them,” Brett said
low at her ear. “You make them wild.” His words, his breath in her hair, his
hot body turned her inside out. “You are their desire, and tonight, one lucky
man in this room will pay a fortune to have you.”

 
    
He stepped back and raised his voice to the
room. “Gentlemen, determine your bids. Tender your offer on the note provided,
put it in the envelope, and seal it.”

 
    
She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
Trust me.
Part of her knew he wouldn’t
force her to take the winner, but another piece wasn’t so sure. He thrilled and
terrified her at the same time. Maybe those dueling emotions were exactly the
kick he wanted to give her. Raise her excitement by raising the stakes.

 
    
Brett held her close against him as order was
restored and furious discussion within couples began. “I forgot to mention one
small detail,” he said for her ears alone, his words a mere breath, his gaze
fathomless. “Whoever wins the bid has to then fight me for you. And it’s going
to be very bloody.”

 
    
Her heart skipped a beat, another, then it
soared. “You are such a Neanderthal.” She loved it. “And if one of those
harpies tries to touch
you
, I’ll rip
her arm off.”

 
    
He blinked, slow and sensual. “I love a
bloodthirsty woman.” Then he molded her hard against him, forcing her manacled
hands against his chest, and delivered a deliciously hot, bruising kiss.

 
    
Brett let her go as the two waiters carried
a narrow wooden table to the center of the room and set it down just in front
of her hitching post. That moniker made her laugh. Where did her devilish man
come up with these things?

 
    
A waiter collected the envelopes, then
handed the stack to Brett. Virginia couldn’t tell which bid had come from which
man. And she didn’t care. Brett could beat any of them at this game.

 
    
“By the way, my wife chooses the winning
bid.”

 
    
Voices raised. “Hey, I thought it was the
highest
bid,” and “You can’t keep
changing the rules.”

 
    
Brett smiled, teeth bared. “There’s only
one rule you need to abide by. And that is that
I
make all the rules.”

 
    
He slit the first envelope and read. “Fifty
thousand.” Then he ripped the paper in half and tossed it over his shoulder.
“Idiot.”

 
    
The next one. “One hundred fifty thousand.”
He glanced up. “Better.” And placed it on the table. The third. “Seventy-five
thousand.” He shook his head. “Loser.” He sent the card sailing across the
room.

 
    
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to throw
herself at him.

 
    
He slit another envelope and read. “Now
this one I like.” He held it out for her to see. Five hundred thousand dollars.
Some man was willing to pay half a million dollars for her. It was
mind-blowing. Something squeezed her heart. The bid had to be from Brett. But
what if it wasn’t?

 
    
He opened the last, read, and made a sound
like the bleep on a game show when the contestant screwed up the answer. “A
paltry two hundred fifty thousand.”

 
    
There was a commotion at the side door the
waiters had been using. One of them entered carrying a box a foot tall.

 
    
“It appears we have one more bid,” Brett
told his audience.

 
    
She counted up the envelopes. Five. Which
covered all the men in the room. Except for Brett.

 
    
There was a hush as the box was placed on
the table.

 
    
“Regina.”

 
    
Her heart was trapped in her throat. “You
do it.”

 
    
He lifted the lid off the base. Virginia
just stared. She couldn’t believe it. There sat her mother’s pirouetting
ballerina. Her blue tutu made of porcelain-dipped lace seemed to twirl. The
colors were still vibrant. And perfect. The figurine looked real right down to
the cherubic bud of her lips.

 
    
She put a trembling hand to her mouth. “How
did you find it?”

 
    
“It’s amazing what you can acquire when
you’re willing to spend as much time as it takes and pay whatever price is
asked.”

 
    
His careful consideration brought a lump to
her throat and tears to her eyes. From the moment he’d asked her what the
missing ballet dancer looked like, he’d been planning to find it for her. He
made her want to cry.

 
    
“The choice is now yours, Regina.”

 
    
He’d stacked the deck. He knew exactly
which she’d pick. A pity she wouldn’t get to see him bloody anyone. She kind of
liked the Neanderthal. But she loved Brett for being the man he was. A man with
more hidden depths than she could ever have imagined. “You know which one.”

 
    
“Say it.”

 
    
“Your bid. The ballerina.”

 
    
He tipped his head and gave her that
adorable half smile. “It didn’t cost five hundred thousand dollars.”

 
    
“It’s worth a lot more than that to me.”
And Brett knew it.

 
    
She handed him her gold braid leash. “And
now, I have to do anything”—she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth,
demonstrating just how well she sucked—“and everything”—she pulled his hand
down between her legs demonstrating just how wet she was—“my winner demands.”

 
    
“Would you really have made me to do one of
those men?”

 
    
He tossed her velvet cape to the carpet and
secured the end of the leash around a bedpost. “You’ll never know, will you?”

 
    
He’d wanted to drag her to the plush
Persian carpet in front of his assembled bidders and fuck the hell out of her
with those avaricious eyes on them. His mind had been screaming.
Mine, mine, mine.
It had taken all his
control to lead her out, parade her through the halls of the club like the
prize she was, and get her home.

 
    
His balls ached with the effort of holding
back. But he’d needed to make love to her in
their
bed, needed to push her to the limit in that bed. Without an
audience. He wanted her to scream for him and him alone.

 
    
Next time, he’d let her scream at the club.

 
    
“Get on your hands and knees.” Still fully
clothed except for his suit jacket, he crawled across the bed like a prowling
jungle cat. “You are such an exhibitionist, and I think you need punishing.”

 
    
She smiled, a sultry, promising smile, then
did as he bade. The short length of chain between her confined wrists forced
her to her elbows rather than her hands, pushing her pert ass high. When she’d
done that in front of his guests, he’d almost ripped open his pants and impaled
her. Almost. The rules he’d set up with Jud McCord to avoid any potential
illegality resulting from the auction were exacting, and he’d expended too much
effort choreographing the affair to take his pleasure of her before the main
event. He’d wanted her to see how much other men would pay to have her for one
night. And then he wanted her to know he’d commit violence rather than let any
of them have her. Yet even that sweet suck had been almost too much. No lie,
ten seconds in her mouth had him on the edge.

 
    
Snugging up against her backside, he
smoothed a hand along her side to cup one breast and possess a tight nipple.
“Whose breasts are these?” he murmured.

 
    
“Mine,” she whispered.

 
    
He pinched lightly. “Wrong answer. They’re
mine. And if I ever catch another man touching them, I’ll tear his fingers
off.”

 
    
She drew in a quick breath.

 
    
Still crouched over her, he slid a hand up
her thigh to the sweet wetness between her legs. “Whose pussy is this?”

 
    
“Mine.”

 
    
He barely heard her answer, but the
clenching of her muscles as he entered her with two fingers filled his cock to the
breaking point. “You are so wrong. Again. It’s mine. And I’ll slice off the
dick of anyone who tries to enter.”

 
    
She wanted possession, she wanted jealousy,
she wanted an all-consuming need for her. And Brett wasn’t lying. The thought
of another man taking her made him crazy.

 
    
He rolled her to her back and slid down her
body until his mouth rested just above her fragrant, beckoning pussy. Taking
her clit with his tongue, he swirled around the little button, then sucked it
into his mouth. Her breath sighed from between her lips, the sounds of pleasure
and need whispering across his skin. Then he raised his head to look at her.
The bedside lamp illuminated her face and cast shadows across half her body.

 
    
“Who’s clit is this?”

 
    
She gazed at him over the slopes and
valleys of her body. “Now that’s definitely got to be mine.”

 
    
“I fear you need punishment”—he sucked her
clit until she gasped—“to help you figure out the correct answers.”