Thigh High (22 page)

She couldn't get any photos tonight, but she should be able to track some of these men and get photos later. Maybe one of them had brought a camera. Or maybe even video. A lot of people seemed to enjoy taping themselves. Hollywood was full of phony sex-tape scandals engineered by publicity-hungry celebrities.

But the women are here because they want privacy.

Right. She'd forgotten that. Careers could be damaged, not to mention corporate profits, if stories of this house's real purpose came to light.

If someone had known about her cameras they could have messed them up while she was in the shower earlier.

There was no way the women would talk about the auction. Maybe Matt could shed some light on the whole process from his side.

He was up next, and her receptors went on high alert. His attitude, his body, his searing focus on her and the memory of his kisses, the way his hands had taken her over the edge, called to her.

“Bid for me?” he'd asked.

Without a doubt!

Faye Grantham shifted her shoulder toward Matt, smiled at him with a comment only he could hear and the bidding began. Instead of posing the way the other men had, Matt simply stood and stared at Carrie with clear intent.

The bottom dropped out of her belly.

Barely aware of shuffles all around her, Carrie realized the women had tracked Matt's gaze to her. The spotlight of attention was now hers. It was clear she was a first timer and no one knew her.

Some of the women tossed her looks that made it plain they didn't want her scoring such a juicy looker as Matt her first time out.

The bids rose quickly and higher than any for the other men so far. Tongue-tied, Carrie watched her chance to be with Matt slip away as her editor's contribution was surpassed.

She raised her hand at that point and wiped out her savings. If this article helped her career, she'd be able to replace that money soon. She hoped.

With the bids finally topping out at over two thousand dollars, she waited with her breath held as an expectant hush fell over the room.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars,” came a voice from behind her. It was the same woman who'd commented on Matt's red briefs. Carrie turned but couldn't tell which of the avidly attentive women had outbid her.

Too much. Twenty-five hundred was too much. She couldn't swing another five hundred dollars, and she gave Matt a silent apology.

Faye repeated the amount once, twice, and suddenly Matt stepped up to Faye and lightly clasped her forearm to stay the final announcement.

“Three thousand,” he said.

“This is highly irregular, Matt,” Faye responded, although sultry humor laced her words.

“I pay, I choose.”

Faye smiled enigmatically. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

“The bid stands.”

The murmuring around Carrie rose high as the ceiling. Apparently this result was unprecedented and Matt's desirability rose along with the voices. Clearly he had his sights set on Carrie, so there were no more bids.

The moment the bidding for Matt closed, he made his way to her.

Matt Crewe belonged to Carrie MacLean for one weekend.

All thought of ambition fled, overtaken by sheer thrilling lust.

A weekend full of Matt and sex. A girl couldn't ask for more.

G
etting through dinner was a bitch. Never mind the meal itself, just getting to the dining room had been a challenge. After messing up the bidding process and throwing out all chance of being one of the guys, Matt had failed at getting Carrie upstairs to her room. She had insisted on blending in and eating dinner just like everyone else.

But Matt had a gut feeling he and Carrie weren't like everyone else. They were marked somehow. Different. And this weekend would change them both.

The ideas were fanciful, but he couldn't deny them. He still couldn't wrap his head around the idea that he'd paid three grand just to sleep with a woman. And he hadn't even paid
her
for the privilege!

Where had his objectivity gone? His cool observance of the proceedings had disappeared the moment he'd stepped through the gates of Perdition. He'd been attracted to Carrie on sight, but one step onto the grounds had his version of horny hitting sky high. In spite of knowing something was wrong with this house, all he could focus on was Carrie. He could not keep his mind on track.

At least for now Carrie was beside him, eating as if her mother were at her shoulder telling her to clean her plate. She didn't smile or engage anyone in conversation. Carrie focused entirely on the food and service, as if to stop eating would bring disaster.

The disaster was that he was sitting here in a pair of briefs with the hottest woman in the room keeping both hands public.

He slid his right hand to her thigh, while he reached for his crystal wine goblet with the other. She froze, her hands poised elegantly over her plate, her knife and fork still.

A shudder wracked her as he traced light figure eights along the flesh above her knee. He slid the silk of her black skirt higher up her thigh, fingers unerringly aimed for the sweetest spot on her body.

She looked at him then, and her gaze flayed him where he sat. Hot and needful, she opened her lips to speak but no sound came out. Her eyes went wide and pleading.

To stop? He wasn't sure he could. He leaned in close to her ear. “I want to touch you. Let me.”

Her eyelids drooped in a way that said she wanted it too. “Not here, in front of all these people.”

He glanced around the table. Aside from Liam, Faye's lover, he was the only man with a hand out of sight. “As soon as it's polite, we're heading upstairs. Do you have a room yet?”

“On the right at the top of the stairs,” she said. “Four-poster bed.”

“I want you in it.”

Another shudder went through her.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. “Feel that draft?” she asked, with a quick glance behind her.

“No, I'm on fire.” Good thing, considering he was next to nude. Still, she shivered as if she'd been tossed into a blizzard naked.

As hostess, Faye kept the dinner conversation moving, but Matt couldn't track any of it. His attention wandered to Carrie and locked on. Course after course arrived in front of him, but all he could do was pick at the food. His hunger was for the woman at his side, stoic in her silent, mechanical response to the meal.

The food smelled good, looked fantastic. The labels on the wine told him this was the best he'd ever had. Italian. French. Lusty and bold. Not a flavor was murky, not a scent undiscerned, but all he could feel, smell and see was Carrie. He pulled the taste of her into his mouth from memory and conjured it on his tongue throughout the meal.

He probably shouldn't have messed with the auction. The whole idea behind his research was to experience the clubs the way they were, without embellishment or personal bias. He needed to be objective. Skewing the bidding to have Carrie for the weekend was a huge mistake.

Fuck that. He wanted her, she wanted him. They were in a strange situation in an even stranger house. Besides, he had a pretty good handle on how this particular club worked anyway.

You don't need to focus on Perdition.
The thought came from nowhere but he had to agree. Perdition House was a fine place. A woman's home, a family legacy. He wasn't out to ruin Faye Grantham's good name. Nor did he want the auctions to stop.

His book was about the why of sex clubs. The need for people to congregate for sex for whatever reason. Like minds, like tastes, like fetishes. Whatever.

So bringing up the name of the house wasn't necessary. He decided to make reference to the idea of a club for heterosexual women. That was all he would write.

If his editor wanted details, he'd provide them. Otherwise, he'd leave the place in peace. He liked it here. The grandness of the old mansion, the heavy furnishings and wall coverings, all spoke of a bygone era. Perdition House operated as a haven away from the rat race of modern life. He wouldn't ruin it with unwanted publicity.

On that thought, he glanced to the head of the table and caught Faye's appraising gaze. She smiled happily as if privy to his decision. She raised her glass of wine to him and tilted her chin in a silent thank-you. Then she leaned toward her lover's ear and whispered to him.

Liam Watson's gaze shot down the table to his. A curt nod of thanks and he went back to moving his hand under the table, while Faye's eyes drifted close and her ruby lips parted.

Carrie's fingers on his naked thigh speared into his attention. Heated pinpoints tracked from his knee to his groin as she turned her body toward his. Her eyes glittered in the light from the flames of the candelabra in the center of the table. Her nipples went hard as he watched.

Christ, she was hot. Ready. Wet, he guessed. Wet and open. He already knew the scent of her aroused flesh and wanted to taste her again.

“It's warm in here,” she said softly, flesh rosy in the candlelight.

“Then why do I feel a chill at my back?” He turned to see, but the pocket doors to the hall were closed. There shouldn't be a chill. And hadn't they just said this in reverse? Now he was the chilly one and she was too warm.

“This is a drafty house. And from the oddest places too. Solid walls, the draperies. The chill just seems to move around.”

“Yes,” he said, focused more on her touch than her words.

“So, Matt,” she said brightly, “how did you find Perdition House? The auction and…everything.” Her voice slowed when she noticed him staring at the hair that curled by her ear. He wanted to lean in and nibble her there, and he figured she knew it.

The feel of her deft fingers on his thigh tantalized and enticed him to lean close. “Slide your fingers up my leg, Carrie.”

She did. To within an inch of his raging package.

“Go to the tip, Carrie. I want to feel you.” With their heads nearly touching and their eyes locked on each other, the other diners disappeared behind a fog. The sound of the quiet conversation around the table muted and the clatter of dishes and cutlery disappeared.

Finally her hand slid across the cool silk of his briefs to his waist. She hooked the waistband of his briefs down to rim the head of his cock. Her fingertip crossed the tip. Heat flashed through his belly at the contact. He jerked in his seat, the movement tugging at the fine linen that dangled into his lap.

Her knife slid off the table and she ducked to pick it up. The witch tipped her tongue across his cock head as she made a show of fumbling for the knife on the floor.

He sat bolt upright as she licked him in a wicked tease designed to fire all cylinders. Needing to stop her, but needing more of the incredible sensation of her mouth, he palmed her head and leaned forward to give her some privacy while she plunged her mouth to his base and held still.

For a long moment, he just closed his eyes and
felt.
Her heated mouth, her silken flesh inside it. The wetness as she held him, still and silent.

Just as he thought he might be able to bear the torture, she moved her tongue against his shaft. He jerked again and his cock throbbed as she flicked him once more.

Then she swallowed. Each slick, tiny muscle in her mouth worked him. Sweet heaven!

She released him as suddenly as she'd latched on and came up smiling. The knife gleamed in her hand while his heart pounded so hard it hurt. She set the knife on the table beside her plate, and a server replaced it with brisk efficiency.

She smiled her thanks and sliced her next piece of meat as if nothing had happened.

This woman blew his mind and she was his for the whole weekend. A man couldn't ask for more.

T
he bedroom at the front of the house had seemed cold and spare when Carrie had arrived. Without much thought to her surroundings, she'd dumped her suitcase and laptop on the bed, then headed downstairs to watch the other women arrive five minutes apart. Not ten, not fifteen, but exactly five minutes went by between arrivals, just enough time for each guest to register.

She'd returned to the room to shower and prepare for the evening. Lots of time for someone to mess with both cameras. So much for being clever enough to bring two.

Alone for a few minutes while Matt collected his bag, Carrie noticed the room seemed different than it had earlier. It drew her in with a cozy atmosphere. The drapes had been drawn and an artificial log burned in the tiny fireplace. Dappled shadows and light danced across the Persian rug. She thought of naked bodies twining and writhing in the glow from the fire. A bow window sat directly over the spot where Matt and she had trampled each other to take care of their mutual need.

Her laptop was where she left it on the bed, and the sight of it reminded her that she should make notes. On what though? The draperies in the parlor holding her in their icy grip came to mind. She could imagine her editor's response to an article based on her wild imaginings. No one would believe she was held helpless while cold fingers played her pussy.

Momentarily stumped, she thought harder. Her article needed a different slant. Besides, she wasn't about to tell the world about her sudden attack of hormones and the way she'd behaved with Matt.

Her cheeks heated and she palmed them, disbelief at her own behavior rampant within her. She had to pull herself together. Her sudden sexual appetite was more a cause for dismay than celebration.

But it was celebration she wanted. More than anything. To dance, to sing, to enjoy sexual fulfillment. Joy rose at the idea of an entire weekend celebrating the most intimate actions of man and woman.

Her outrageous act at the dinner table still rattled her. But, oh, the sexiness of licking his cock, taking the chance on being seen, of getting caught, still made her pussy weep. The spice of her daring actions had the power to make her want to do more outrageous things.

As soon as Matt arrived, she would ask him some questions about the auctions. How the selection process worked and if he'd saved a copy of whatever questionnaires he'd filled out.

Then she'd fuck his brains out.

She giggled in the quiet of the room and felt a hominess surround her. Delighted with her plan, she felt the heaviness in her lowest belly grow. She was up for an all-nighter if Matt could manage it. From what she'd seen he would have no problem.

Salacious need coursed through her.

To tamp it back, she opened her laptop and booted up, praying that the computer still worked properly. If she didn't get her notes typed up now, while her mind was relatively clear, she may forget something important.

She made notes on her sexual arousal, starting with the way she'd responded to Matt at first sight in the driveway. From there, she noted the wall had gone cold at her back. Then she moved on to the way the draperies had felt around her.

Things got fuzzy after that, because that was when Matt had walked into the parlor. Once their gazes locked, her memory nearly deserted her. The chronology of events was gone, replaced by sensate memory. She remembered his scent, the way he felt under her fingers, the taste of his kisses, his flesh, but nothing of how they'd actually decided to step behind the draperies into the bow of the window.

A chair was about all she could recall that didn't involve a sex act. An odd rocking chair, with shortened rockers. Wicker back, no arms and very low to the ground. She'd seen…something…but the images escaped her for the moment. She left a couple question marks in the notes to remind her to come back to that section later.

Some of the time behind the draperies was blank, but the orgasm she'd had on Matt's hand had been indelibly marked by her brain. Certain she would be able to conjure the sensation again for at least a decade, she grinned as she typed her notes on it. Grinned and flushed and heated as her fingers flew over the compact keyboard.

Her pussy twitched as if that part of her body wanted to relive the whole experience. She moaned as the physical memory of her release shook through her.

Matt opened the door and stepped inside with a duffel bag in his hand. He turned away as he closed the door, then gave the key a slow, certain turn to lock the door. His profile was sharp in the golden light cast by a single soft white bulb in a bedside lamp. His shadow against the wall looked misshapen and distorted.

He studied the doorknob and key lock, in no hurry to face her. Next, he closed the door to the bathroom, making sure that too was locked.

Expectant silence stretched as he squared his shoulders. A hiss rose from the fire as if rain had dropped from the chimney. But the sound only proved the silence between them.

He finally swung to face her. “Hi,” he said, his voice intense and deep. The front of his boxers tented and a chill shot from his corner of the room straight through her.

She gulped at the sudden icy feel, her stomach and chest flexed as the shaft of cold moved from front to back. When it passed, she settled the laptop on the floor away from the bed, then moved across the room to him.

He watched as she approached. His fine sculpted chest rose and fell with each breath. The nearer she got, the more she heard his breath until the sound of each one filled her and pulled her toward him.

Invisible strings stretched out and coaxed her near. She followed, unable to stop or think as she approached him.

He was so beautiful. Strong, intelligent and sexy as hell.

Nothing called to a woman more than a man who wanted her. Not just any woman, but her.

Matt Crewe wanted Carrie MacLean, and she would not deny him.

Could not deny him.

Like a preordained cataclysm they came together in a sudden rush of seeking mouths and grasping hands.

She had far too many clothes on, she realized as he made short work of them.

They landed on the Persian rug in a heap, hands roaming. His neck felt hot, so hot under her lips. She nipped him in her eagerness and he bit back.

Her shoulders shook when he finally opened her bra and swept the cups apart. Wet heat enveloped her nipple while his tongue twirled and flattened the rosy bud in turn.

She slid her hand into his briefs to cup and squeeze him lightly. He groaned and his balls tightened into hard nuts.

“You paid for me,” she said.

“There isn't another woman anywhere that could make me as hot as you do. Carrie, I can't get enough.”

She responded to every lick, nip and deep kiss he offered, thrilling at the attention and deep affection behind every move. It was too much, too soon to think of this as making love, but that's how she felt.

“Oh, I want this. You. I want you.” She said it over and over, coaxing him out of his briefs.

Finally naked and able to see each other in the pretty firelight, they looked their fill.

“I love your breasts,” he said, molding each one in turn. He swept his hand down the flat plane of her belly to cup her mons. “I love how wet you get.” His fingertip rolled her clit side to side, creating a tidal wave inside her. His other hand skimmed her cheek, then tipped her nose. “I like your nose. It's perfect. The most perfect nose I've ever seen.”

She laughed. “You, Mr. Crewe, are a little off the wall.”

But she loved that he commented on her nose.

“In a room full of smart women, you stood out, Carrie. When I stepped into the parlor, it was your watchfulness that caught my eye. You were cataloguing every man and woman in the place, and it was clear how intelligent you are. And how much you thought you didn't belong. But you're head and shoulders above every woman in the house in the smarts department.”

Her belly fluttered at the compliment. It was good to know this wasn't all about tits and pussy. “There was no way you could tell any of that from our conversation outside. I was a hag to call you the talent.”

He snorted. “I knew even then that if I didn't get to you, some other man would, and I couldn't let that happen.”

“You felt that way at first sight?”

“At first sight,” he confirmed. “I was in a cab directly behind yours and I followed you on foot.” Then he tilted down to kiss her and she lost all semblance of intelligence and let sensation take over.

With a quick flip that surprised her, Matt knelt between her knees, then set her ankles on his shoulders. He snugged her ass up close to his thighs and slid a condom on.

“If I don't get inside soon, I'm going to bust. Okay?”

“Thank you. I'm way past needing foreplay. Slide on in, big man.” Empty, oh, she was empty.
Do me. Now.

He chuckled and pressed the head of his cock between her folds. With a straight push he entered her, filled her, caressed her from the inside.

They stilled in the moment and waited while they each felt the other. The heat, the clasp of muscles, the slick heady balance of woman to man.

Slowly then, with a reverence that took her breath, Matt moved. Slightly at first, with utmost consideration for her comfort, his cock tantalized her inner walls. As she adjusted, he moved faster, harder, with urgency riding them both hard.

Sensation took her quickly to the peak where she hung for a long moment before toppling over the crest.

Her orgasm built in her channel, creating havoc along her nerve endings, up her back to her chest, where it exploded and she flew apart.

Unaware of anything but the incredible release, she held on to Matt, desperate to ride it out. As the world came back to intrude, she felt his cock flex deep inside as he pressed and held her ass still for him.

He groaned and growled with his spew and took her back into release again. One on top of the other, it was a first for her. She'd never come twice before. She'd never come apart in a man's arms before either.

“This is all new to me, Matt. You're incredible.” Talented, the man was so damn talented.

The firelight flickered and flamed across them, still entwined but sated. They rested together shoulder to shoulder as they watched the light dance along the high ceiling.

 

The next morning, sweaty and satisfied for now, Matt stretched out on the four poster beside Carrie. She settled her head on his chest and draped a leg across his. Her skin felt smooth, enticing in its softness, and she fit against him perfectly. The musk of sex rose all around them, the sheets were in a hell of a state, but none of that bothered him because all he could feel was her.

Carrie, warm and sated next to him.

He smoothed his palm in a rhythmic sweep up and down her arm while she breathed in the scent of his skin. “You're wonderful, Carrie. This is fast turning into one of those unforgettable nights.”

“Now that I can think again, can you tell me why you bid at the auction?”

“I wanted you and only you. Seems straightforward enough to me.” Now wasn't the time to mention his book or the fact that he'd probably made a mistake by messing with the auction. No woman wanted to be considered a mistake.

“We both know these auctions aren't about charity, Matt.” She raised her head and looked at him. Her lips still glistened from his kisses, his cock was still semihard and her head had turned toward questions lightning quick. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was questioning him for a reason.

“So, what are they about?” he asked.

She grinned. “Most of the younger men are still in college. That much was obvious. The older men looked jaded enough to be pros, but you don't seem to fit either category. I'm just curious.”

“Curious.” He repeated to give him time to come up with a suitable response. If she guessed he was doing research for a book, it would be game over. She'd tell Faye and he'd be kicked out.

But you decided to give the charity auctions only a passing mention. You promised no specific details about Perdition House would be published.

“I needed the money,” he said. “I'm between jobs and I heard about this gig.” He shrugged. “I sure didn't expect to find someone like you.”

“If you're between jobs, can you afford to pay the three grand? Because I could kick in some.” She grinned and ran curious fingers down his belly.

“It's my privilege to spend this time with you. I'd already like it to be longer than a weekend.”

“Me too.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“Tacoma. You?”

“Near the Canadian border.” Which wasn't a complete lie. He couldn't tell her the truth, that he'd flown in from upper New York State, so he kissed her, hard and fast. A thrill raced to his cock as she responded exactly the way he needed her to. “Let me take you to the bath. Did you see the tub in there?”

She nodded, her eyes glazed with desire as he lifted her easily into his arms. “Near the border, huh? That's pretty far from Tacoma.”