Kristi grabbed her screwdriver from the table and smothered a groan into the glass’s rim. How had the evening come to this?
She’d agreed to meet up with the Ngo sisters at Shenanigans for a business meeting. Having lived in Seattle since her freshman year in college nine years ago, she should have known that Shenanigans was not a restaurant but an upscale, female-targeted strip club. But she hadn’t. And now she was forced to make a move toward Tarzan’s gyrating crotch or suffer the consequences of looking like a woman who wouldn’t put her mouth where her money was, so to speak.
The Ngos owned Wild Honey, one of the largest adult toy and outfitter chains on the West Coast. Their stores were impressive, from the inventory to the clientele. Kristi had never ventured inside, but the pictures and testimonials on their Web site said plenty. What Wild Honey didn’t have was Kristi’s unique variety of pleasure gadgets. She’d never planned on selling the toys apart from the small-time on-line business she’d started two and a half years ago after quitting a life-consuming product-design job with a Fortune 500 company; however, the generous figure the Ngos offered to exclusively carry her products had changed that. She was in debt up to her eyeballs from supplier and distribution expenses. She could sign a contract with the twins tonight and bring her finances into a very healthy shade of black.
Unless they realized she was a sham who could only vouch for the immense satisfaction derived from her solo-user apparatuses.
To be fair, the last time she’d tried out one of her toys in the company of a man, he had been turned on by it. So much so that he’d come in his jeans. It was for the best. Even if he’d waited to find his release inside of her, she wouldn’t have gone along for the ride. When it came to a guy locating her G-spot and making her climax, not even a detailed map and directions could help. She’d long since given up on test-driving her couples’ toys. As such, she couldn’t personally speak for their effectiveness. The Ngos wouldn’t have a reason to expect that if she followed the universal suggestion, which was becoming more like an annoyingly obsessive mantra, and touched the beefcake.
Kristi slammed back the remainder of her drink and slapped the glass onto the table. To a chorus of raucous cheers, she reached for Tarzan’s sweaty thigh. A little brush and she would save face with the Ngos while appeasing the horde of female piranhas surrounding her.
Her fingers touched down on glistening, rock-solid muscle, then quickly slid upward with the momentum of the beefcake’s next shimmy. She sucked in a stunned gasp as her fingers kept going, disappearing beneath the loincloth until they connected with another naked, sweaty muscle. Warmth swept into her cheeks as her knuckles grazed a semierection. Moisture dampened her panties, reminding her that while she couldn’t come with a man, she had no problem getting wet with one.
But she wasn’t getting wet over Tarzan—at least, not any more so. He was a prop. And she would treat him as a prop. She had to if she wanted the Wild Honey contract.
Kristi turned her hand around and his cock slipped into her palm. Silky smooth but interestingly not fully erect. With so many female admirers, she’d assumed he would have a massive hard-on. Maybe he was gay. Out of sheer curiosity, she folded her fingers around his cock and squeezed. His shaft gave a twitch and expanded in an instant, the extensive girth making it impossible for her thumb and fingers to touch.
Oops. Guess he wasn’t gay.
But she was suddenly dying of thirst. With her unoccupied hand, she fumbled on the table behind her for her drink. Someone placed a glass into her hand, and she took a long swallow, remembering too late that she’d finished her screwdriver. Something far more potent singed its way down her throat.
A whistle sounded in the near distance. Tarzan lifted her hand from beneath his loincloth and brought it to his lower torso, gliding it over sculpted abdominal muscles and up to a broad chest waxed free of hair. He traced her fingers over his small male nipples until each puckered, and then pulled her hand higher still. She had no choice but to rise to her feet. Instinct had her tipping back her head and meeting his eyes, seeing the sinfully wicked invitation burning in them. A smile every bit as naughty curved full lips. He had a crook in his nose that suggested it had been broken at some point in time. She’d always been a sucker for broken noses—it gave the owner’s face a whole new level of character.
Kristi’s attention shot back to his mouth with the damp swipe of his tongue across the tips of her fingers. Her pussy clenched as he closed firm lips around her first finger and sucked hard. His free hand settled at the small of her back, urging her closer, until his erection prodded into the softness of her belly. His hot mouth began an erotic dart-and-thrust game with her finger, and her nipples stabbed to aching awareness.
Oh boy. He was good. And it was hot.
The hand at her back moved lower, cupping her ass through the fabric of her modest black business skirt, squeezing an ample butt cheek. He jerked her to him at the same time he brought his pelvis forward. The plump head of his shaft slid past the confines of the loincloth to press into her belly button. She could feel his precum soaking through her thin pink cotton shirt. Smell his primal scent on the air. Or maybe that was hers. Her panties were drenched with her essence, her thighs throbbing with jealousy for the sensual treat her belly button received.
Sliding her fingers from his mouth, Tarzan began working his way down her body. His tongue replaced the press of his erection. He circled her belly button, licked over the wet cotton. The look on his face as he tipped back his head to eye her was sheer and exquisite pleasure. It shouldn’t excite her so much that he liked the taste of his own cum, but it had the blood sizzling in her veins. She balled her fists to stop from reaching for his hair, curling her fingers in the thick raven locks.
Oh yeah. It was hot in here. Getting hotter all the time.
He lifted up the hem of her shirt a few inches, blew on her sensitized skin. Drawing in a hard breath, she reached behind her, fumbled to find a glass of something. Anything. “Need. More. Drink.”
Laughter was followed by a glass being placed in her hand. Kristi gulped back the unknown drink like a dying woman. Tarzan’s tongue settled on her bared skin, moved in sinuous circles. The rise of her belly wasn’t enormous, but it had never been flat a day in her life. He didn’t seem to mind her fuller figure. Didn’t seem to mind at all that she was dressed completely wrong for the hedonistic atmosphere, the last woman in the club who should want his attention. He just eased her back onto her chair and fell to his knees at her feet as if he planned to worship her.
He lifted her foot into his lap, and she bobbled in her chair. Using both hands, Kristi held on to the sides of her seat. She watched through a haze of liquor and desire as he slid a black sling-back from her foot to curl his tongue around her big toe. Her pussy gushed with juice, and she heard herself cry out as distantly as if she was a voyeur watching the scene play out through someone else’s eyes.
She blinked as another face swam into view. Another dark-haired beefcake, working his big, magical hands up her leg, along her burning inner thigh.
But, no. It was the same guy. Not two. Just one. Couldn’t be two. Not with so many other women anxious and screaming for attention.
She had to quit drinking. It was messing with her head. Making her forget she was here on business. That all she would achieve by allowing a man to get her wet was the need to go home and finish the job on her own. Her throat too dry to bear, she grappled behind her for a glass. She would quit drinking, just as soon as her thirst was quenched enough so she didn’t feel like she would go up in flames.
Was it a bad sign that her tongue felt like used toilet paper?
Against an unsettling sixth sense that she would live to regret it, Kristi opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed onto her face from a part in the curtains on the other side of the bedroom. She squinted against the light as ache ratcheted through her head.
The toilet-paper effect had definitely been an omen.
A leg brushed ag
ainst her left one—a hairy leg. A hairy leg that didn’t feel like it belonged to her Jack Russell terrier, but a man.
A man. With her in bed. And she had no recollection of how they’d gotten that way.
The hairy leg rubbed up against hers again, followed by an arm wrapping around her middle and a groggy, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she returned quietly.
“Hey,” he said back. From her right side.
How was that possible? He couldn’t be lying on both her right side and her left side.
The bed shifted to her right, and a broad back, tanned and toned to perfection, appeared in her line of vision. A deep male voice asked, “Jack?”
The arm around her middle moved away, and another broad back, this one not quite as tanned but equally toned, appeared. A second deep male voice questioned, “Spencer?”
So that was how he’d been on both sides of her. Because there wasn’t one man in bed with her but two. Perfect explanation. If she was a frigging mutt!
Oh. My. God. There were two men in bed with her! Not one, but two. And they were naked. And…Kristi peeked under the covers. Yep, she was definitely naked. Naked and sore. It felt like someone had rammed a toaster between her thighs. And her ass…nope, not even gonna go there.
She sat up, glanced at each of the men, and noted they were vaguely familiar, definitely attractive if you were into that whole dark, built, hot-as-sin package, and opted to leave it at that. “Kristi.” She wriggled from beneath the covers and crawled quickly down the bed. Her head spun as she slid off the end onto her hands and knees. “Now that we’ve figured out who we all are, I really need to be going.”
Clothes. Clothes would be good. Ignoring the throb between her temples, she searched the garments scattered about the floor. Two pair of men’s pants. Two pair of men’s boxers. Two men’s shirts. How convenient, since she’d slept with two men.
Jesus. She had to get out of here. Like now. Even if it meant leaving naked.
Then again, leaving naked was probably a bad idea. The alarm clock on the stand next to the bed revealed it was almost one. People were bound to see her rather healthy, very pasty figure jiggling down the sidewalk as she ran off in search of her sanity and lose their lunch.
Kristi didn’t want to stand up and face the guys and the reality of what she’d done to end up naked and sandwiched between them. But she did so in the hopes one of them could direct her to her clothes. They sat exactly how she’d left them, having a stare down that reminded her of some animalistic alpha-male face-off to see who won first rights to the prime-breeding female of the pack.
The joke was on them because neither was getting her. Nor were both. Not again.
Hysterical laughter bubbled out before she could stop it. The guys quit staring to look at her. Two sexy smiles formed. Two hard male chests puffed out. Muscles had never done it for her any more than bravado. She had to still be drunk because her pussy squeezed with excitement over the idea they were silently warring over her.
She sighed. When she decided to give men another chance at locating her G-spot and providing that all-consuming O, she did it in a big way.
“It was fun,” she managed when they continued to look her way; then she wondered, Was it? She’d never been so sloshed as to forget the bulk of an evening. She’d definitely never forgotten sleeping with someone, though there had been several encounters she might as well have slept through.
Jack tossed back the covers and slid from the bed. He stood, towering nearly a foot over her five-foot-two frame, and stretched, running his fingers through tousled raven hair as muscles rippled from his ears to his glutes. There was action between his legs, too, but not of the rippling variety. More of the bobbing. “Don’t you live here?”
Kristi stared openmouthed at his enormous erection. Good Lord, the guy looked like he’d just stepped off the pages of Playgirl. Guess it wasn’t a toaster to blame for her soreness.
His question registered then. Heat suffusing her body from her perusal, she looked around, noting the familiar peach, lace-trimmed comforter atop a late Victorian, mahogany, four-poster bed. A white wicker hamper set off to one side of the room, the open slats revealing a kaleidoscope of color. That explained where her clothes went.
She struggled not to cringe over the reminder of her naked state. She was comfortable with her body when it was one man eying her. Two men…two men, both of whom were equally naked, eyeing her felt sinful. In the kind of wickedly carnal way that had her sex tingling and her nipples standing on end. “I meant you should be going. Both of you.”
Jack’s gaze moved to her aroused breasts and his smile grew, showcasing a dynamite set of pearly whites. She said a little thank-you prayer that he was gentleman enough not to comment, instead turning away to pluck a pair of black boxers and khaki pants from the floor.
The roguish gleam in Spencer’s eyes and the way he openly looked his fill suggested he didn’t suffer from a gentleman complex. Finally, he, too, looked away. Scrubbing a hand over a face centered by a neatly trimmed, dark brown mustache and shadowed with stubble, he glanced at the alarm clock. “Shit. I didn’t realize it was so late. I gotta be on stage at two.”
The sixth sense Kristi had experienced upon waking returned. “On stage?”
“I requested extra shifts this month,” Spencer explained, slipping from bed to yank on red boxers. “They don’t normally schedule us back-to-back otherwise. Dancing’s a lot of fun, but it’s also a helluva lot of work.”
Kristi had noted more than the fact that he, too, surpassed the six-foot mark; she’d caught a flash of his cock before he’d covered it. Not only was it just as big as Jack’s, but it was pierced with a ruby stud that the mere sight of had her clit throbbing. She’d designed more than one toy to simulate a pierced penis. The sensation of a piercing scraping over an aroused clit was orgasmic to the max.
Had she climaxed last night from the brush of his stud?
She forgot about the question as Spencer’s words caught up with her. Her belly did a slow roll. He’d said dancing, but what he meant was stripping. As in she hadn’t slept with two random guys she’d picked up after leaving the strip club. She’d slept with two strippers who probably went home with a different woman every night of the week.
Oh boy. Her parents would be so proud.
Ultraconservative, tighty-whitey wearers through and through, they were the reason she’d planned to keep her sex-toy business small-time—she didn’t want to run the risk of her name being tied to her merchandise. Her parents were just too proud of her product-design position. Her father, a high school career counselor back in her small Oregon hometown, used her as the example for success. If he knew the truth, that she’d left the well-paid and respected position behind to make orgasm-inducing goodies, he would never look at her the same. Then there was the way her folks would react to finding out she’d slept with two men at once—two men who were strippers, at that. It would make her reaction seem like just another of the bad jokes she was known for.
She had to get them out of here now, when hopefully the bulk of her neighbors were at work. “I’m sure you guys do this kind of thing a lot, but it’s a first and last for me. So, not to be rude, but if you can be gone when I get out of the shower, I’d really appreciate it.”
2
“This never happened,” Spencer said to Jack the moment Kristi closed the door on the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom.
Fuck no, it hadn’t, Jack thought as he pulled on a wrinkled short-sleeve polo shirt. He refused to entertain thoughts he’d had his dick anywhere near Spencer’s last night. For the sake of the job, they had to get relatively close, do some minor touching, but that was where it ended. “Agreed. Whatever ‘this’ is.”
Spencer smirked as he tugged on his T-shirt. “You don’t remember?”
He’d been working with the guy too long not to know when he was full of shit. “Neither do you. I’d say Cai slipped something into those shots she bought us.”
&
nbsp; “Kim was acting just as naughty last night. Not her style.” Pulling on his jeans, Spencer nodded toward the bathroom door. “I’d say hers either.”
Despite the fact that she’d boldly slid her hand beneath his loincloth and grabbed hold of his cock—a move that earned her a misconduct whistle and could have gotten her thrown out of the club if he’d wanted—Jack had to agree. Kristi didn’t seem the naturally naughty type. From what he remembered of last night, she’d been wearing clothes more suited to a mild-mannered businesswoman who’d been thrust into a scene she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Her shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair had been twisted into a classy style just as out of place. He blamed her contrasting appearance and actions on his response to her handling.
When he had first taken a part-time, second job with Shenanigans two years ago, he’d developed an erection within seconds of going on stage. These days, it rarely happened. The same could be said for his behavior. In the beginning, he’d gone home with a woman every other week or so. Nowadays that was never the case. Cai’s after-dance shot and whatever secret ingredient it held had to be responsible for his being here now.
He spotted his loafers and Spencer’s tennis shoes lying haphazardly in front of the closed bedroom door. He tossed Spencer’s shoes at him. “The way Kristi’s acting, she doesn’t remember what happened either and doesn’t want to.”
“Then let’s get the hell outta here.”
Jack slid his feet into his loafers, then opened the bedroom door. A streak of white and brown fur shot past him, coming to a stop in front of Spencer. With a series of high-pitched yips, the dog wrapped its front paws around Spencer’s leg and started dry-humping it.
The bathroom door clicked open, and Kristi came rushing out in a mint green robe that only covered an inch or two of her creamy white thighs. Her cheeks were tinged with pink, suggesting she’d either been scrubbing her face or was embarrassed about the situation. Jack would guess the latter.
Operation G-Spot Page 13