I have plenty of green. This game is never about the money. It’s about the chase, the thrill, the high of bringing this type of bliss to a woman, often for the first time. Of introducing something to her that she may never have experienced before but that might make her lose her mind with lust. And I’ve become addicted to making the woman I’m with come, come hard, then come harder than she ever has before, whatever it takes. Pleasure is the cure. Pleasure is always the goal.
I slide my hand lower along her skirt, cupping her through her clothes, letting her know where I’m headed. The catch in her breath tells me she wants me there, wants me to keep going.
My lips devour hers; my tongue strokes inside her mouth. We are hungry, greedily sucking on each other.
Every single second of kissing her is a sensual feast, especially when she breaks the kiss to utter one enticing word.
That makes me want her even more.
6
Sage
I’m a good girl.
At least I was. Once upon a time, maybe in another lifetime, I was vanilla.
I’d never thought about being in a triple scoop though. Never had this chance. I didn’t even know I’d want two men.
The only thing I was truly aware of when tonight began, back in my suite with the makeup, the hair, the jewels, and the clothes, was that I needed something.
Contact.
Connection.
Touch.
That feeling of being alive in my body.
Of being sensual.
I didn’t know that would mean two men.
But now, at the masquerade, I’m a new woman, a naughty woman, a kinky woman.
And if this is bad, bring it on.
Because I want more.
I want more of these sensations colliding inside of me, smashing, banging, crashing. Coming from all over me, from behind me, from in front of me. From all around me.
I never knew that pleasure could feel this way. That two men not only meant pleasure would be doubled, but amplified, played in surround sound, broadcast in high definition.
I feel so much. I feel everywhere—in my bones, in my cells, on my skin.
I am ravenous. I crave their hands all over me. Their lips everywhere. Breaking the kiss, I make my plea. “More.”
That’s all I can say, so I say it again, so needy. “More.”
I beg for it.
And they heed the call.
“We’ll give you everything you want,” the man behind me says in his delicious accent.
They somehow come closer, crowding me, the Englishman with his hands on my ass, gripping and squeezing, the American in front of me, pressing his pelvis against mine, grinding, letting me feel the full outline of his thick, hard cock as his hand travels along my dress.
As his lips crush mine.
Behind me, the blond stranger slides his lips along my neck against my hair, kissing me in the most sensual way, sliding his nose along my skin, inhaling me. “You smell so fucking good. I want to lick you, kiss you, eat you,” the Brit whispers while the American consumes my mouth with hard, hungry, demanding kisses.
One makes me swoon; the other makes me burn.
I am theirs to play with, and do I ever want to be played.
More than I ever expected.
My first stranger slides his lips over mine, nips and bites, heating me up, then kissing me so damn hard. He covers my waist with his hands as the kiss turns hotter, deeper.
And soon it is a lavish kiss.
It is rich with heat, colored with desire.
Tongues and need.
Breath and want.
The want is everywhere, radiating through each cell in my body, pulsing to every corner of my being as they seduce me in an alcove tucked away from the rest of the fete.
The faint strains of music from the dance floor float past my ears.
Pleasure coils in my belly, tightening and growing hotter between my legs. The man behind me slides his hands to the edge of my cheeks and then slams his pelvis against my ass.
I yelp in pleasure. He grinds against my ass while squeezing my cheeks at the same time, and I love what he’s doing with those big hands while the man in front consumes my lips.
I’m trapped between them, caught deliciously between two men who arouse me, two men who turn me on.
Two men who know exactly what to do to me.
Who know precisely how to make me feel like magic.
The American slides a hand down my legs on a fast track for the hem of my skirt again, then it’s going straight under, up along my thighs, and right to my wet, hot center. His hand glides across the panel of my panties, between my legs, and he groans. “Oh, lovely bird, you are soaked.”
Somehow I manage to form words. “I’m aching. Can you please do something about this sweet ache between my legs?”
“Yes. Yes, I can.” In a heartbeat, the American dips his fingers underneath the panel of my panties, and I cry out. Louder than I’ve been before, and for a flicker of a second, I imagine someone hears me.
Someone finds us.
The wicked thrill of discovery ignites a riot of sparks in my body. I don’t want to be caught, yet I can’t deny the possibility is electrifying.
That’s why I’m too loud.
The Englishman knows it. He pushes the outline of his cock against my ass while he moves a hand along my neck, over my chin, toward my mouth. “Love, you’ve got to be quiet. We don’t want anyone hearing what he’s about to do to you. Let me cover your mouth so no one else can hear you come.”
I shiver from his commanding words, from the way the two of them are conductors, my body the instrument.
“Yes, but first,” I say to the man whose hand is between my legs, “tell your English friend how it feels to touch me. Tell him what it’s like to play with my pussy.”
As I say those daring words, I feel bold, decadent.
And so damn powerful too.
Because they both groan. Savagely. As if they’re surprised to be given such a lusty directive.
“She feels so silky, so damn slippery,” the American rasps out as the Brit presses his palm to my mouth, covering my moans. “And her clit is aching for my touch.”
The Brit moans near my ear, nibbling on my earlobe. “Is she going to come for us soon?”
Gasping against his palm, I answer him with a nod, while my first Prince Wicked strokes my clit faster.
“Her pussy is so wet. So fucking slick. I bet she tastes spectacular,” he rasps out.
I feel spectacular, trembling everywhere, my knees quaking.
My sex aches so deliciously.
The American slides a finger inside me, then brings that same finger to his lips, sucking off the taste of me. He moans. “Like honey, like salt.”
His hand travels back to where I want him. Where I need him to fuck me with his fingers, to take me over the edge, but I can’t deny the Englishman behind me.
So I decide to be helpful.
I dip my hand between my legs, coating my fingers, then I lift my right hand behind me, offering it to that man.
“Oh, love, you read my mind,” he whispers all hot and dirty in my ear as he draws my finger into his mouth, and the suction from his wicked tongue makes the desire inside me crackle higher, burn hotter.
Pleasure coils between my legs, pulsing in hot waves as one stranger sucks off my taste, and the other one fucks me with his finger.
Hitting that spot inside me.
Crooking it.
Sending me into another world of bliss.
Ecstasy slams into me, consuming my entire body, taking over my mind, my cells, my sense of reason.
The Englishman’s hand clamps tighter over my mouth.
I come with a muffled cry.
My orgasm crashes over me in wave after wave, like I’m coming from both directions.
My climax lives everywhere.
On my skin.
In my bones.
Far into my mind.
> And it lasts for ages, for blissful, wondrous ages of white-hot pleasure.
A pleasure that spreads so deep all I can think is I want this again.
No. I need it again.
Maybe even like this. With both of them. All of us. Hidden away from crowds, but not all the way. Not entirely.
But before I can say a word to my two masquerade men, a voice calls out from down the hall.
“Cinderella, where are you? Time to go.”
I tense. It’s Eliza, using her nickname for me. And that means it really is time to go.
I straighten my spine, run a hand over my skirt, and try to compose myself, to form words. “Maybe I’ll see you . . .”
I’m not sure where to go next. How to tread. This is all so new.
“You will, lovely bird,” the American says. “You will. In two weeks. The weekend after next. In the executive ballroom. There’s a party at The Invitation that Saturday.”
“You must come again,” the Brit adds, and the double entendre isn’t lost on me.
“I must. And perhaps you two must as well,” I say.
It’s a promise I’m not sure any one of us can keep, but the sound in Eliza’s voice made it clear my coach is about to turn into a pumpkin.
I leave as the clock strikes midnight.
* * *
Want to know what happens next with Sage? Will she see Cole again? What will she do when Cole shows up at her office the next day? Read ONE EXQUISITE TOUCH to find out! Available everywhere!
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An Extravagant Tryst Page 5