Bet on Ecstasy (Pact of Seduction)

by Kennedy, Stacey

  Dammit, she needed to stop shivering. Kole’s smile widened, and he clearly fought against his laughter.

  Bella bounced on the bed. “I bet once you get sandwiched between those two hotties again, you’ll wonder why you sat here staring at them on the computer for so long, contemplating this instead of fucking them.”

  Kyra grunted. “Bella, you’re such a pervert.”

  “I know.” Her grin was sure-as-shit satisfied before she jumped off the bed and leaped at Kole, who caught her in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist while he tucked her nightie over her butt to fortunately hide a view Kyra didn’t want.

  Kyra shook her head, laughing. Her heart warmed at their happiness. Maybe she was slightly envious of their relationship; she wanted that—to find true love. Nonetheless, she was thrilled that Bella had found Kole. “Night, guys. Thanks.”

  “Send that text,” was all Kole said before he took a giggling Bella back down the hallway.

  Once she heard Bella’s bedroom door shut, Kyra placed her laptop on the floor and tucked herself into bed. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and drew in a deep breath. Before she could chicken out, she got right to it.

  I’m in.

  She hit the Send button and went to place the phone back on the nightstand when a loud beep echoed in her room right before Brock’s text popped up.

  Hello, kitten. Are you always a night owl?

  Butterflies rushed through her as she could almost hear his voice. It would appear that way since she was up late, but she was so far from that.

  No, I’m not usually up late. Are you?

  Yes, always.

  She blinked at the screen having no idea what to say next. She frantically thought up something, since the pause was awkward and she knew he was sitting on the other end, probably smiling, waiting for her to respond.

  Why?

  She hit Send and groaned. This wasn’t about talking and getting to know him better. This was about raunchy sex…again. She needed to stick to the plan. Hadn’t she already told herself the smart part of her was stronger than this?

  I’m best on six hours of sleep. About our date, when are you available?

  She exhaled, so relieved that he’d shifted back to the important. Even if she wasn’t quite sure she liked the idea that he called it a date. That wasn’t what they were planning, or she hoped. Another meeting at their office would do just fine.

  Tomorrow is good.

  Terrific. We’ll see you at Blackfoot at 5:00.

  Her heart hammered. This sounded like a date. Was it a date?

  Before she got the courage to somehow ask that and set him straight that wouldn’t be happening, another beep came from her phone.

  Oh, and Kyra…

  She paused, holding her breath.

  Wear something sexy for us, kitten.

  Chapter Five

  Blackfoot, one of Baltimore's restaurants, was fine dining at its best with its modern design and five-star cuisine. Brock had many business dinners sitting at the corner table he now shared with Kyra and Smith. Though none of those dinners included him thinking lewd thoughts.

  He couldn’t quite keep his hands off Kyra. Maybe that’s why he sat in next to her to ensure he didn’t have to deny himself. Hell, he even noticed Smith touched her for no other reason than it seemed an impulse.

  There was something about this woman…something damn special.

  Kyra picked up her wineglass, her eyes still crinkled in amusement at something Smith had said. Brock zeroed in on her pink-painted lips that wrapped around the rim of the wineglass. She took a deep swallow of her wine before she lowered the glass, then licked the moisture off her lips. “Your mother, what was she like?”

  “A horrible, godforsaken bitch,” Smith muttered.

  It pleased Brock that she finally asked personal questions. So far, she’d been impeccably closed off. Though, regardless of the conversation topic, he also nearly groaned. His cock throbbed as his awareness to the woman next to him was nothing he’d ever experienced. Every move she made seemed like a direct assault on his control not to forget they were in a busy restaurant, bend her over the table, lift her skirt, and drive his cock…

  He grabbed his beer and took a huge gulp. This dinner with her would be damn long.

  Tonight, Kyra had shown up in a red skirt that looked proper enough, if he didn’t know what was beneath that skirt. Most wouldn’t pay attention to the fact that she didn’t wear stockings, but that told him she wore no garter and likely only had on panties.

  He wanted to find out what panties she wore.

  Or maybe she didn’t wear any.

  Her black blouse had a pink lace cami beneath it, implying modesty. To him, it only made him more eager. His cock hardened in a second flat at the sight of her long legs and her shiny black high heels.

  He’d asked her to wear something sexy for their date tonight, but she didn’t show it like most women did. She looked dressed appropriately as if she were going to work. The sexy came in the form of her lace cami that showed a tiny hint of cleavage, and her killer heels. Her idea of sexy paid off; she looked far sexier than a woman who chose to wear something tight and revealing.

  She took another sip of her wine, then cocked her head and nibbled her lip, clearly confused at Smith’s statement about their mother. Brock interjected to explain why they had such hatred for the woman who had raised them. “Our mother wasn’t motherly.”

  Kyra frowned. “But she adopted both of you, didn’t she?”

  Brock leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, understanding her confusion. No one but Brock and Smith knew the truth about their dear old mom. He stayed silent as a waiter strode by the table, then said, “Marjorie was our foster mother, not adoptive.”

  Smith took a drink of his red wine. “A foster mother who only took us in for the checks.”

  Kyra placed her wineglass on the table and looked at them again, her eyebrows drawn together. “What checks?”

  Brock unfolded his arms and lowered his hand to her thigh, spotting the concern in Kyra’s features. A caring woman too, he liked that. “Marjorie received a monthly stipend for each eligible foster child she took in, which was why she fostered kids. It was never about loving children or wanting to provide them a home.”

  Kyra stared at him for a long moment before she took Brock’s hand on her thigh and reached for Smith’s on top of the table. “Did she feed you?”

  Brock inclined his head, thinking her sympathy sweet. “That was one thing Marjorie did do. Three meals a day and one snack before bed.”

  Kyra looked down at Smith’s hand joined with hers. “Where is Marjorie now?”

  “Dead,” Smith bit off.

  She lifted her head, and her eyes searched Smith’s. Her voice softened. “You have no other family?”

  Brock shook his head, running his thumb over the silky skin near her knee. “Just each other.”

  Something shifted in Kyra’s gaze, a tenderness he hadn’t seen from her reaching the depths of her eyes. She’d been so strong, confident, and focused. Now, she looked undeniably gentle. He liked that look on her.

  Kyra’s sympathy for their loveless childhood shone in her expression, and maybe now she understood why they stuck together as they did—because they always had to. They’d tried living apart right out of high school when Brock moved in with his ex-girlfriend and Smith rented his own apartment: they were both miserable.

  Once Brock's girlfriend dumped him for speaking of wanting a threesome, he moved in with Smith and told him the reasons behind the breakup were because Brock held an interest in a ménage relationship. Smith indicated his interest too, and one month later had been his and Smith's first ménage encounter. They’d never looked back. While they each dated separately, it wasn’t what either of them wanted, so they’d both given up and stuck to sex clubs.

  Sharing women just worked.

  Brock didn’t want the night ruined because of a past neither he nor Smith
could change. He slowly moved his hand upward on her thigh and met the hem of her skirt. When she gave him a look, he paused as she said, “You want to do this now?”

  “Yes. I want to do this now,” Brock replied. “That conversation changed the mood. I want to lighten things.” He smiled. “Watching you come will do that.”

  “Do I need to remind you we’re in a restaurant?” Kyra looked around quickly as she held his hand, stopping his travels. “And that we’re surrounded by a lot of people.”

  “Nope, I’m well aware.” He attempted to move his hand up her thigh, but she pinned his hand to her leg.

  Her eyes narrowed, even if the refusal on her expression looked weak. “What if I say I don’t want you to?”

  Smith lowered his voice. “Kyra, we all know you won’t, because you don’t want him to stop. Move your hand away. Let us have some fun with you.”

  Only a short pause followed before Kyra released Brock’s hand, allowing him to continue to move his hand up her thigh. “Tell us, Kyra, what do you do for a living? Your ad never said anything about your employment.”

  She shivered beneath Brock’s hand. Her breath whooshed out before she sucked it back in, and once again, gave them a disapproving look. “And you want me to talk while you're doing that?”

  Brock’s hand inched higher up her sexy thigh and finally sneaked up underneath her skirt. “Open wider for me.” He hesitated until she opened her legs for him, then continued. “Yes, that’s right, nice and wide.” She spread her legs wider, giving him access to her panties, which he was pleased to discover were lace. “As to your question, yes, Kyra, we’d like to learn more about you.”

  He tickled her inner thigh, close to the edge of her panties, and she inhaled a sharp breath. “I work in management for Silverholt.”

  Brock glanced at Smith to see his eyebrows arching before Smith asked, “The PR agency?”

  “Yes,” she exhaled.

  Now, Brock understood the level of confidence she had exuded. Kyra had worked among and dealt with many CEOs and other high-profile clients. “What do you do for the company?”

  He tucked his finger under the hem of her panties and moved them aside, exposing her pussy. Her cheeks now flushed brighter, and her pupils dilated as she whispered, “Manager of public relations.”

  Brock slid his finger over her swollen clit, and when he lowered his touch, he wasn’t at all surprised to find her hot and wet. “How long have you worked for Silverholt?”

  Her eyes rolled back into her head and closed for only a second before she snapped them open to him again, all heated and very sexy. “I’ve worked there since I graduated from school, and I’ll always work there.”

  Smith gave Brock a curious look, and Brock also didn’t understand her reply. He turned to Kyra as he continued to rub her lower lips, drawing her arousal up to her clit and swirling the bud. “Why are you so sure you won’t leave?”

  “My father owns the company.” She licked those plump lips, and her voice became raspy. “Or I should say he owned the company.”

  Brock withdrew his hand from her slick heat and settled it on her inner thigh. “We had looked into Silverholt as a possible PR agency when we moved to Baltimore, but chose to go with Oldbank instead.”

  Her cheeks were still flushed, yet the hazy arousal in her eyes had faded. “I know. I remember when HighDot merged with MDR Software, and we heard we lost the account.” She smiled, giving them a nonchalant wave. “Business is business.”

  Brock studied her, now realizing Kyra had pain in her past too. “We chose Oldbank merely because your father had passed away around the time we moved to Baltimore. We thought the company might be in for big changes and would be unstable because of that.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s business, not personal. I never mix the two. And you’re right—big changes did take place after his death.”

  Smith’s head tilted, his eyebrows drawn together. “If your father owned Silverholt, why don’t you run the company?”

  She slid her fingers around the rim of her glass. “Because I don’t want to. Never did.” She gave a halfhearted shrug. “I love my job and didn’t want to move up the corporate ladder, so to speak.”

  Smith exchanged a long look with Brock. Now, it made sense why Kyra wasn't impressed by their wealth. She was wealthy herself. In fact, Brock suspected incredibly wealthy. Most people who came from old money didn’t flaunt it, and Kyra didn’t exude the air of a rich woman.

  He liked that about her.

  More so, something else impressed him. Kyra clearly knew what she wanted in her life, and she went for it. That made Brock relate to her. “You stayed in your position at Silverholt because you love your job?”

  She gave him quite the cute look and even sweeter smile. “I went to university for my job, of course I love it. My father knew I didn’t want to run the company. After he was diagnosed with lung cancer, he arranged it all so I didn’t have to deal with the company’s ins and outs when he died.”

  Smith regarded her while he rubbed his jaw. “You seem pretty adamant that you wouldn’t ever change your mind about taking over at Silverholt. You’re young, Kyra, how do you know you won’t want that position in the future?”

  She gave them both a hard look. “Important jobs, like your jobs, mean long working hours. I’ve seen it with my father. He worked day and night, and it destroyed his marriage to my mother. That life never interested me.”

  Brock wanted to disagree with her, because deep down he thought if he loved a woman enough, he could make time for her. But he also saw truth in what she said. If a woman didn't understand what running a business entailed, no relationship could last.

  In fact, it’s why they’d joined the Castle Dolce Vita, and why Smith had been riding his ass to hire new employees. They didn’t have the time to locate women for casual encounters. The castle gave them access to what they needed and desired, and in the short free time they had daily.

  Glancing away from Kyra to Smith, Brock noticed Smith’s clenched jaw. Brock understood—the conversation had once again turned serious. As he’d done before, he set to lightening the mood by sliding his fingers to the junction between her thighs.

  The moment he reached wet, hot flesh, Kyra gasped. Brock gathered her wetness up to her clit, where he rubbed the bud beneath his fingertips. He stared at Kyra, who now gripped the table as she looked out at the busy restaurant. Each time he slid his fingers lower, he noticed her more wet than the time before.

  Kitten liked being naughty.

  Hell, he loved it too.

  Smith leaned back in his chair and sipped at his wine, watching her. That curve of his mouth he always had when he enjoyed something erotic appeared on his face. Brock couldn’t restrain his half grin too. Beneath his hand, he sensed Kyra’s rising climax in the tremble of her thigh.

  He moved faster and rubbed harder against the swollen bud, taking a quick look at the others sitting at their tables in the restaurant. No one paid any attention to them, nor did they notice that right at this moment Kyra erupted into orgasm, causing her to bang her knee on the table, rattling the glasses on top.

  Not even the waiter had any clue when he appeared at the table with a tray in hand, all because Kyra had stayed perfectly silent. Brock had done his best to move only his hand, not his arm. No one but the three of them knew what had taken place.

  Their dirty little secret.

  Brock wanted more.

  The waiter placed their orders of Brock’s steak dinner, Smith’s chicken and rice, and Kyra’s pasta on the table. The server turned to Kyra. “Do you need anything else, miss?”

  “No.” She exhaled, raising her head with a beaming smile. “I’ve got all I need, thank you.”

  Chapter Six

  The two-story Tuscan-style mansion with its rustic features was a no-brainer when Smith saw it as a possible home to purchase. From the stenciled ceiling beams to the large chandelier over the foyer to the lanterns hanging down
the hallway, it all made this house feel like home.

  After he unlocked the thick hardwood front door, he waved Kyra in as Brock stayed out on the porch with him. Inviting her into the house was unusual. Their sexual encounters happened either at work, a hotel, or at Castle Dolce Vita, never at their home.

  Maybe because of the hardships Brock and Smith had suffered as children, the personal space and the thoughts of home were something they protected. But Kyra had been the first woman invited into their house.

  Smith wouldn’t pretend that didn’t mean something. It had been unspoken between him and Brock, just a simple nod, that had Smith asking Kyra to come back with them tonight. He wanted to know more about her, he wanted to enjoy her. More than anything, he wanted Kyra to know them.

  He watched her as she stepped into the foyer with its large wooden staircase in front of her. She scanned the high ceilings, hardwood floors, and arched doorways before she smiled back at them. “Your home is beautiful. It reminds me of Italy.”

  Smith followed Brock into the house, shut the door behind him. “In Italy, Brock and I vacationed at a home that looked similar. It’s one of the reasons we purchased the house.”

  She looked at them, surprise widening her eyes. “Oh, you both live here, like roommates?”

  Smith chuckled, understanding why she found that fact so interesting. It was odd for two grown men who were in their early thirties and were as wealthy as they were to live in the same house. “We’re used to sticking together. Why change something that works?”

  Brock kicked off his shoes, shrugging at her. “Exactly, and it's comfortable.” He gave Kyra a once-over, then grinned. “Sadly, I need to go and make a business call.” He turned and headed through the curved doorway toward his office.

  Kyra followed Brock with her gaze, but Smith knew well enough how to command her attention. He leaned against the door, folded his arms. “Take off your clothes.”

  She jerked her head to him, her eyes huge. “Pardon me?”

  He never stepped toward her, or made any move, and simply repeated, “Take off your clothes. Leave the heels on.”