Thigh High (21 page)

The bulge at his crotch scorched as she reached for his fly and unzipped it. She felt bold, wild. So needy.

His hands skimmed up her legs, paused at her garters, then moved on to heat her naked thighs. She shuddered in anticipation of his touch at her center.
Get on with it.

“I'm glad you changed out of your jeans. This is much easier.” She widened her stance to give him room. He took it and palmed her through her wet panties.

She found heaven in his fly and sprung him free with a quick jerk.

He groaned at her touch and incredibly seemed to grow even larger in her hand. She swirled her thumb across the tiny slit at his tip and smeared the slick bead she found. “Oh, you're so hard, I want—”

He cut her off with a deep kiss that stole her mind and raged through her body. His tongue, like a devilish imp, seduced hers, coaxed and invaded, heated and laved.

His fingers tapped insistently against her, and she pressed her pussy against them. Muscles deep under her flesh clenched and released as need made her reckless. Her clit pulsed with each gentle tap.

The party sounds were gone now, replaced by their hard breathing and hushed moans.

“Let me take off my panties.”

“Too late,” he said. The pop of tearing cloth punctuated Matt's words, sounding loud in the quiet of the bow window. Carrie thought she heard a cheer go up at Matt's rough and ready actions.

M
att's fingers slicked across Carrie's slit. She melted, slippery with honey, as she sagged with relief at his touch. His thumb—oh!—his thumb found her clit and smeared her juices in tantalizing circles while she slid her hand up and down his cock.

If she dropped to her knees to taste him, he wouldn't be able to continue the magic he was making with his hand. Frustration rode her hard as she reached for release.

Suddenly taken by two fingers at once, she crooned into his mouth in acceptance. “Oh yes, do it. Make me come.”

He turned her back to the wall and pressed close while his fingers danced in and out of her. Her pussy felt swollen and needy, her clit full and ready. Tension curled and rolled and grew, gathering strength against his onslaught of rippling sensation.

She crooned and came with a gush and spasm that shook her.

Matt's cock jerked as she moaned again. With a strong flex, he buried his face in her neck and locked on. His teeth against her pulsing neck, the rush of knowing she could make him come in mere seconds, snapped his control. He flexed again and spurted with a low moan.

She gushed and rolled against his questing thumb grinding her achy clit into orgasm. “Unh…”

His hold on her neck eased, her legs trembled, her arms felt lifeless as the last pulses faded.

“More,” he said against her ear. “I already want more.” His breath sent shivers down her spine.

She pulled her head back to look up into his face. He looked as stupefied as she felt. She nodded. Unbelievable as it was she had to admit, “Me too.”

“Bid for me?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, loose and easy. The flash of his white teeth and intelligence in his eyes dazzled her. It was as if she'd looked at him through a veil of sexual need and seen nothing but a hard mouth and jutting cock. But there was a man behind the desire. A person of worth and intelligence.

She smiled back at him, fully engaged in her moment of discovery. Was he seeing her for the first time too?

“Wow, you're a knockout when you do that.”

And she had her answer. Her face warmed with pleasure, and it didn't matter that they'd been crazed by sexual torment, because they'd found each other now.

He leaned in to her ear again. “Sorry about the panties.”

A clock in the parlor struck the hour and the party noise from the other side of the curtain went from muted to loud. The babble and murmur of voices became suddenly clear.

Odd.

A woman's voice called, “Time, gentlemen. We need you to retreat to the dressing room. When you return, the bidding will start.”

“You've been paged,” Carrie said. He pecked her cheek and tugged at the curtain to leave their private cocoon, but he turned back to her before stepping into the parlor.

He dropped the curtain, set both palms on either side of her face and kissed her fully on the lips, drawing her desire up from her depths again.

By the time she opened her eyes and the world stopped spinning he was gone.

“Shit, woman, get a grip,” she muttered. She smoothed a palm down her belly and wondered if her editor would spring for the amount of money she was willing to spend for one weekend with Matt Crewe.

By the time Carrie stepped out from behind the draperies, the men had left the parlor. She checked her watch. She'd been with Matt for a full thirty minutes. Which made no sense. Once they touched, it had taken no time before they were coming together. She'd had orgasms before, but that one was spectacular.

Utterly spectacular when all they'd done was grope each other. She couldn't figure out where the time had gone. She'd never had full-out sex last for thirty minutes. In her experience most men were damn quick on the draw. She'd learned early that she had to rev herself up plenty with her superb imagination way before the main event if she wanted to get anywhere.

But Matt was different. Something about him called to her. She flexed her inner thighs in memory. He'd torn her panties open in his need.

A cool breath of air tickled the hair on the back of her neck, and she shuddered. She swiped her hand across the chilled flesh and thought she heard a giggle from behind her.

A woman two feet away rubbed her arms in an unconscious effort to warm herself. Another was reaching for her wrap, another stood in front of the fire, hands on the mantel, expression rapturous.

As Carrie watched, the woman threw her head back and let out a hushed sigh. With a shudder that worked her from her hips up to her shoulders, the woman looked to be in the throes of a nifty orgasm. Carrie decided to check out the mantel.

If she'd seen a couple on the rocking chair and felt those chilly hands in the drapery folds, maybe she wasn't the only one seeing and feeling…things.

With a nonchalant attitude that belied her inner thoughts, she moved over to the other side of the parlor to inspect the fireplace. The mantel was carved with buxom women and heavily aroused men enjoying sixty-nines all the way up from the floor to the center of the mantel.

The woman who'd been shuddering in climax suddenly popped open her eyes, licked her lips, then smoothed her skirt before turning away.

Carrie reached out to tap the woman on the shoulder to ask what had just happened, when another server stuck a fresh wine flute in her hand.

Yes, a drink. That's what she needed, and the question she'd been about to ask the orgasmic woman flitted away, out of her head.

Feminine chatter rose to the ceiling as the women's groups moved and flowed one to the other. She allowed herself to be carried along, picking up bits and pieces of information.

“Faye's man is gorgeous,” she heard one woman say in an undertone to another.

“A lawyer,” came the response. “Liam Watson. They say he's hung like a bull.”

“Who's ‘they'?” The woman took a drink of her wine. Her glance flew around the room seeking out the identity of the lucky woman in the know.

Carrie froze in place, straining to hear.

“Word is, he worked in skin flicks in law school. Very hush-hush.”

“Really?” The woman wriggled her hips and stared unabashedly across the room at the hostess and her escort, a man dressed in loafers and cords, topped by a T-shirt under a suede sport coat. Underdressed for the occasion, but man enough not to care, Faye's lover exuded friendly but watchful possessiveness over his woman.

Faye didn't seem to mind; in fact, she trailed her fingers across his flat belly when she thought no one was looking. Every time she did, he leaned in close to her ear and said something that heated her cheeks.

Carrie returned focus to the overheard conversation. “No hard core. I doubt he'd have been able to get away with that. I believe it was simulated sex. But still, a man would have to possess some impressive attributes to get into the business.”

“Impressive,” the friend repeated with a sigh. “Did you meet anyone of interest?”

“An art student this time. I checked him out. His attributes were…interesting.” She chuckled suggestively.

“You know what they say, more than a mouthful's a waste.”

They laughed together and moved on to join another group of women. The hugs and air kisses Carrie witnessed told her they knew the other women well.

Her research had shown these auctions had been going on for a year or so. The first weekends must have been kept ultra-secret, because she couldn't find a definite date for the first one. It seemed incredible that in such a short time, the information she gathered was foggy. There were signs of misrepresentation and red herrings during her search for information.

The pocket doors opened with a quiet whoosh, getting everyone's attention. She waved away another drink, needing to keep a clearer head. Her thoughts were jumbling up and over each other for prime position. She couldn't keep anything straight.

Not that it mattered, because the auction was about to start. Sexual need rolled like thunder through her veins. It was easy to blame her behavior with Matt on too much wine, so she decided not to drink another drop.

That resolve lasted until the men walked in again. Heat rushed through her from the floor up to her scalp at first sight of them. She swiped a wine flute off a tray and tipped two fingers into the cool liquid. She patted her neck with the wine in a desperate bid to cool off.

Matt was the third man through the door, and she downed the wine in three gulps. Gorgeously seductive in a bright red pair of silk boxer briefs, he sported sculpted muscles, long legs, and a sexy sprinkling of chest hair that made him stand out from the bulky, hairless other men.

Matt was seduction personified.

His eyes scanned the room, obviously seeking someone. He made eye contact with her and her breath held as she read his signals. The man wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Hallelujah.

The parade of men strolled across the front of the fireplace to stand for inspection.

Murmurs of approval rose around her as Carrie studied the lineup. She needed to watch carefully so she could jot notes in her room later. She wished for her digital camera but try as she might she hadn't been able to get it to work. Even her backup disposable had died. Both had tested fine before she left home.

Matt flashed her so many heated looks she wondered how she'd find time for notes.

Some of the underwear the men wore boggled her mind. There were body slings made of slinky nylon with elastic-looking straps over the shoulders. See-through mesh pouches on a couple of the men left nothing to the imagination. The hunks wearing them swayed with each step, their packages outlined by the black netting. Some of the men wore leather, and some even had on studded collars. She shivered, thinking there may be some code in the clothing she wasn't privy to.

The men gleamed in their male beauty. The lighting cast them in perfectly delicious colors of chocolate, beige and bronze. Each one carried himself with the sure knowledge of sexual prowess and virility.

She scanned the line of men as they continued to flow into the room, every one looking like sex kings. They shone with slick oil, the planes and rounded muscles of their pecs and taut abs perfection.

Matt was the only one without a tan. The others had obviously been on tanning beds for weeks. Matt's color was light buff, tinged with the powerful tint of sexual arousal. His nostrils flared, his belly tightened with each breath and his eyes burned into hers. She melted and decided that even if her editor balked at paying, she would add money of her own. She did a quick mental calculation of her bank account.

Troubling as hell was the fact she wasn't the only woman to notice him. A voice from behind her crooned in a sexy purr about the man in the red boxer briefs.

“He's looking right at me,” Carrie heard from over her left shoulder, and she wanted to turn and tell the bitch to back off, but she couldn't draw that kind of attention. Blending in was the only way to stay for the weekend.

She gritted her teeth and ignored the woman, in spite of the low-pitched growl and seductive hiss she kept up.

The bidding started and a few women around Carrie dug deep to buy the men they'd marked for their weekend of pleasure. The sexual temperature in the room rose by several degrees as each man stepped up to the front of the line to display himself to the best advantage.

What should have been an upsetting, distasteful display of flesh peddling took on an aura of sexual expectancy for everyone in the parlor, men included.

Faye Grantham's voice softened to a purr as each man moved through poses designed to heighten the women's awareness. Hips gyrated slowly, hands slid along thighs to outline and cup their organs. Each man got hard before the women's eyes. Their cocks rose up their bellies, burgeoning and jutting, thick and full. Some of them peeked out the top of their varied underwear. All of them made the women's mouths water.

Carrie was no exception. The women around her shifted where they stood, their thighs squeezed and released, their nipples beaded and obvious under their clothes. The air warmed to unbearable.

To her left, a woman sighed and moaned lightly. Carrie turned to see and watched a hand slide from a belly to a crotch and brush lightly. But the crush of the crowd prevented her from seeing the face of the woman who sounded way past control. All Carrie saw was French-manicured fingernails clenching black silk. That description worked for most of the women in the room, including her.

It had to be the house. There could be no other explanation for everyone's behavior. Hers. Matt's. The woman who'd had an orgasm by touching the mantelpiece.

Her article took an amazing shift as she considered the ramifications of all she'd seen and experienced.

She faced the front of the parlor and found Faye Grantham's gaze locked on her. The other woman's full red lips kicked up at the corner, and a tilt of her head made Carrie's heart race.

Ambition. The motivator drove Carrie hard. And Faye was the answer to a prayer. There was an incredible story going on at Perdition House, and she would get it. She wasn't sure what was happening yet, but this story would carry her to the top of her profession. All she had to do was get rock-solid evidence.