Pulling himself together, he stepped out once more. She was at the other end of the hall, making her turn like a runway queen. Some guy put his hand out, not quite touching, a question in his upturned palm. She sidestepped, shook her head, and moved on.
Stephen backed off and headed down the stairs. He knew where she'd go next. He'd be waiting for her. And she'd be his.
At least for tonight.
* * * *
Sex perfumed the air, hot, sweaty, musky. The walls seemed to ooze with the scent of come. The darkness hid the peak of her nipples and the flush heating her skin. Strobe lights flashed at the far end of the hall, beckoning. She knew he was here somewhere, felt his eyes on her, his thoughts touching her even as she'd searched for him. He wanted to fuck her. He'd wanted to the other night, but he'd held off, watched instead, like a hunter stalking his prey. Tonight, she'd let him do it. Oh God, yes. Tonight, she beg him to, she'd drag him outside to her car, or to an upstairs room, a bathroom stall, a broom closet, anywhere.
Moisture coated her bare thighs. She'd ditched her bra and panties in the car. All she wore now was the short skirt, her see-through blouse, and the heels that screamed fuck me.
She headed down the hall, following the beat of the strobe, ignoring the beckoning doorways on either side of her. The focal point of the large room she entered was a stage outfitted with a bed and three performers. Last time, there'd been only two. This showed much greater promise. The spectacle had barely begun, the woman still dressed and the two men stripped to their jeans. With each flash of the strobe, the actress lost an article of clothing, first the red blouse; then the black skirt. All that remained were wisps of lace at her breasts and thighs. One of the men leaned into her, his lips to one breast, his fingers to the other. Another flash revealed the second man between her thighs. Lace flew into the air, disappearing and reappearing in the pulsing of the lights.
She stood in the back, behind the low railing that encircled the room. It created a wide aisle for people to move about or to stand and watch. Hot, wanting, full and ready, she clasped the brass rail, her grip tight, almost painful. She struggled to catch her breath as Man Number Two put his mouth to the woman's mound and sucked. She couldn't see the finer movements of his tongue, but she felt them deep inside, as if he were licking her clitoris, putting his fingers inside her pussy. It wasn't only the center-stage tableau that brought her close, so close to orgasm. It was the scenes unfolding on the mattresses strewn about the floor. Lovers watching, lovers tasting, lovers readying themselves, mimicking the movements of the actors. A feminine moan as fingers eased into hot wet folds, as a tongue caressed, as a cock entered. She gripped the rail, forcing herself to stand upright when she craved to be amongst them, craved the touching, the filling, the contact.
Last Friday night, she'd come for the titillation, the kinky excitement. Tonight was altogether different. Stronger. More powerful. This time she knew what she wanted, knew she would have him, knew she would let him do anything he wanted to.
It was wrong. Crazy and stupid. She didn't care. The obsession had begun; taken hold of her like a fist tight around her innards, her heart. She didn't care at all about the man who lay asleep and snoring at home in his bed. Her bed.
She smelled him before he touched her. A light spicy tang, barely there. Still, his scent tantalized her, reminded her of that last time, the soft caress he'd given her between her thighs. The promise. He knew she'd be back for that. She'd returned for so much more.
She concentrated on the threesome. She could no longer tell the men apart. They'd turned the woman, brought her to her hands and knees, her mouth milking one cock, her pussy sucking in the other. The man rammed home, his butt muscles flexing with each thrust.
Her pussy contracted as if she were the one on the stage, filled, a cock deep inside; another in her mouth. She squeezed her thighs together, intensifying the pressure on her clitoris.
Her lover's hand slid beneath her skirt, along her inner thigh. With a fingertip, he traced her center, barely dipping into her folds. She almost came. He cupped her; then ran his hands over her hips, her butt. He trailed two fingers up the crease between her cheeks; then back down to the joining of her thighs. Lips against her hair, he whispered into her ear. "Open up."
She did, spreading her legs for him. She thought he'd enter her with his fingers, wanted him to, but he gathered cream and skimmed forward to her clitoris. Circling, he caressed her. She looked down at her hands on the rail, her knuckles white, black, white, black in the throb of light. She moaned, joining the other voices. Come soaked the mattresses on the floor, cries of pleasure pounded against her ears, and the incessant stroke of his finger on her clit brought her to the edge of madness.
"I'm going to fuck you now. I can't wait. Not another second. Bend over."
He pushed at the top of her spine. She shoved her ass at him, begging him without words. God, she wanted this, needed it.
After a few brief moments while he donned a condom, the tip of his cock breached her vagina, and she shoved back against him, taking him. Pain shot through her body. She was wet, ripe, but tight and unused to a man inside her. He put a hand to her hip and started a rhythm that eradicated the ache. And he never let up on her clit.
She fought to keep her eyes open, needing to absorb the sexual feeding frenzy on the floor, on the stage, the rawness of fucking, and the feel of hard cock deep inside. Below the music, the voices, the moaning, she gloried in the slap of flesh on flesh, his against hers.
Faster, his cock, his fingers, her breath, her racing heart. She climbed, lost sight of the room and all sense of time as he pounded her. Someone was screaming, and the strobe hammered against her closed eyelids. Fire swept through her, from her nipples to her clitoris to uncharted territory at the center of her womb. Then it consumed her, as if she'd shot out of herself and straight into the flames of a burning sun.
He was still inside her when she came back to herself, his cock pulsing. His ragged breath sawed in her ear. He held her flush against his body, trapping her to him with an arm beneath her breasts, the other across her abdomen. Held her as if he couldn't let her go.
Then he whispered to her. "I want to bury my face in your pussy. I want to make you come until you think you're going to die. I want to fall asleep with my cock inside you."
CHAPTER SEVEN
He'd die when she went home to her husband. Such a fucking fool. Stephen had wanted her, he'd had her, and now he refused to face the consequences.
She felt so right in his arms. His cock still throbbed, buried deep inside her. She smelled so damn good as he buried his face in her hair. Fruity. Something citrus. He pushed aside her hair and kissed her neck.
"Let's get out of here," he whispered. He didn't want to share anymore. He wanted her to see him, to talk to him. When he took her again, he wanted no one else's eyes on them.
Her body had tensed against his. "No, I have to go home."
Not yet, God, not yet. "It's early." He rotated his hips lightly against her backside; then pushed deep, needing to remind her that he was still inside her. His balls tightened, and his cock hardened. She moaned and dug her fingernails into his arm beneath her breasts. "Don't go," he whispered.
She leaned her head back on his shoulder, letting out a long sigh. "I'll stay. For a little while."
He pulled out and zipped himself one-handed. Shit, he had to get rid of the condom. How the hell could he keep her with him? The moment he let go, she'd bolt.
Smoothing her skirt down over her sweet ass, he turned her; then took her hand. "Come on."
He pushed through the mass of bodies, keeping her hand securely in his. Their clasped hands felt so goddamn right. The light in the lobby almost blinded him as he shouldered open the double doors.
Setting her in a corner, he rubbed her arms. "I'll only be a minute." He wanted to beg, but commanded instead. "Don't leave."
Lip-gloss glistened on her mouth. He had yet to take those lips, to taste her. Ben
ding his head, he cupped her face in his palms. Touching his lips to hers, he licked the seam, urging her to open to him without words. She parted, stroking his tongue with hers. Her champagne taste sizzled between them.
"Stay right here," he murmured once more, holding her gaze with his, waiting for her promise, demanding it.
"All right."
He left her with one last glance over his shoulder, his heart in his eyes, if she chose to look hard enough, and a lump in his throat.
* * * *
Now would be the time to escape.
Her legs wouldn't move. Her lips still tingled with his kiss. The sheer fabric of her blouse tantalized her nipples. She needed to feel his touch on them. She wanted more. More of his kisses, his tongue in her mouth, his arms around her, his cock inside her, and his come filling her.
She needed to hear him whisper all those beautiful things to her over and over. I want to fall asleep with my cock inside you. She needed so much more of the sensation.
She closed her eyes and sagged against the wall. She craved the zest of his semen in her mouth, the feel of his cock between her lips, his hands in her hair, a groan torn from his throat. And those words that wrapped around her frozen heart.
"Hey, you look at little lost over here all by yourself."
She jerked and opened her eyes. A man hovered. Close, but not too close. Tall, blond, and wide, like a linebacker or a bull-rider, he braced himself against the wall near her head. He didn't touch, that wasn't allowed. His cologne surrounded her, a gentle, almost intoxicating scent.
"I'm here with somebody else," she said.
"But he's left you alone, hasn't he." Not a question, but a flat statement. As if he assumed her "date" was enjoying himself upstairs with someone else.
"He'll be right back." She looked past him to the door through which her lover had disappeared.
He smiled and put out a finger to trace the line of her nose without actually touching her. "He'd be an idiot if he isn't. He shouldn't leave you alone. Some shark will definitely hit on you."
"Are you a shark?"
He bared his teeth and crinkled attractive blue eyes. "I saw you standing over here, your eyes closed, looking like you needed to be kissed, and you turned me into one."
Somehow her need had been written on her face. He was younger than her lover, probably in his mid-thirties, with a low voice that caressed. Lines at his mouth suggested he laughed. A lot. He smelled good, and he looked good...
"He will be back," she said, looking once more at the closed door of the men's room.
"Call me selfish, but I hope he won't be."
If he'd been more overt, more unattractive, or less sure of himself, she wouldn't have been flattered. But he did flatter her. She smiled slightly, liking the attention.
He pushed away from the wall and held out his hand. "Let's make a run for it, before he gets here."
She looked from his hand to his face and those very charming eyes. "No, thank you."
He cocked his head. One corner of his mouth lifted as he assessed her. "I don't mind a threesome. Not if it's with you."
"But I mind." Her lover spoke from just beyond the big guy's shoulder. He wasn't as tall or as wide, but his tone of voice more than made up for it.
Still smiling, the blond man turned. "You shouldn't leave her out here by herself."
She looked at her lover and wondered if he knew she wouldn't have gone with anyone else no matter how long he left her. She might have run away, but she wouldn't have taken another man's hand.
Impassive face, expressionless except for a dark glint in his eyes. He stood with his feet slightly apart, his hands at his sides. Like a gunslinger ready to do battle. For her. Finally, looking at her, he said, "She isn't alone anymore."
With those words, she knew he referred to so much more than this moment, this night. She pushed away from the wall and stepped forward to take his hand.
The blond man smiled and said, "Lucky man." Then he melted into the swimming pool of bodies and disappeared.
Squeezing her hand and letting his gaze follow into the crowd, her lover murmured, "Yeah, I am lucky." Then he looked down at her. "He made you feel good, didn't he?"
She dipped her head so he couldn't see the truth, but he lifted her chin with a finger until she was forced to meet his eyes. "It's okay you felt that way. You're beautiful and desirable, and I'm not the only one here tonight who wants you. I want you to know that." He cupped her throat. "Every man here wants you." He turned, pulling her beneath his arm; then bent to her ear. "See how they look at you."
"I don't think I see the same thing you do."
"Over there. That one." He pointed to a man near the bottom of the stairs, a curvy brunette at his side. "He's not seeing her, he's looking at you. Watch his eyes."
She did. Turned half toward her, the man let his gaze slide from her high heels to her short skirt; then to her breasts in the see-through blouse.
Her lover eased her in front of him, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "Look at them all, see them watch you."
Her breath caught in her throat. She saw several men's gazes on her. A lot of men. Eyeing her, salivating over her. She leaned into him, felt the hard press of his penis at the small of her back.
"But you're mine," his whispered into her ear.
She shivered. Yes, she was his. Yet she reveled in the desire of all those men. Her nipples hardened. She moistened between her legs. Then she pushed back against his erection, rubbed him, and let him know that the others didn't matter beyond this moment of titillation.
He nipped her lobe; then said, "Let's get out of here. I want to be alone with you."
He turned her once more, took her hand again; then leaned in to rub his nose against hers. The caress was so sweet, so familiar, and he was so there. He made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
Raising her fingers to his lips, he grazed her knuckles with a kiss. There was something about a man looking in your eyes when he touched you. Her heart beat a little faster. "Where are we going?"
He pivoted, pulling her along with him. "It's a surprise."
With a moment's hesitation, she let him step ahead of her.
He felt the slight lag and stopped while the crowd flowed around them. "I'm not taking you to my place. You don't need to be frightened."
He didn't frighten her. Not right now. But she didn't know him. She'd let him fuck her, but she didn't know him at all, or what he might be capable of. There was also the issue that had troubled her for the last four days. "You sent me the invitation, didn't you?"
His lack of answer confirmed her suspicion.
She drew in a breath; then let it out slowly. "How did you know my address?"
He tipped his head back and swallowed, his eyes a shade darker when his gaze met hers again. "You don't have to be afraid of me."
"Did you follow me home on Friday?"
Again, no response. She didn't want to be afraid of him. But...
He tugged on her hand, pulling her close so that his voice was the only thing she could concentrate on. "I want you. For tonight, if that's all I can have. Then I'll leave you alone." He rubbed his face in her hair. "If that's what you want."
The damage was already done. Whatever he might plan, he had enough information about her to execute. Right now, she wanted to believe him.
He waited, her hand held to his chest, over his heart.
The viewing hall doors flapped open with a burst of laughter and loud music. Someone bumped her arm. She stood in the middle of an overfilled lobby, naked beneath her skirt and her breasts covered only by a thin, see-through blouse. Sex upstairs, sex downstairs, sex everywhere around them, yet his dark gaze on her wasn't about sex at all. It was passion, it was fire; it was what she'd been longing for, dreaming of, fantasizing about. She shivered.
If her life fell apart tomorrow, she would always have tonight.
"I'll go with you." Wherever he wanted to take her.
* * * *
He'd borrowed a friend's car. Not that he figured she'd leave with him, but he didn't want the truck, with the company logo on its side, sitting in the underground parking. Now, Stephen damned the bucket seats. He wanted her right next to him.
Her scent filled the car. Citrus and sex. More than the handbrake sat between them. She hadn't said a word since he'd closed the passenger side door. He sat tongue-tied, his guts twisted into knots, like a first date at sixteen.
For a moment, when she'd stood there looking into his eyes, waiting, wanting, he'd wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to say she'd given him the address herself, months ago, so he could mail the commission checks. But he couldn't kill the fantasy, not yet, just as he couldn't let her go home. So he'd said nothing, let her draw her own conclusions, and hoped to hell they didn't scare the shit out of her.
She'd started regretting her decision the moment they entered the garage. He'd felt her doubt in her withdrawal, her hand slipping from his, the distance between them growing in feet and in silence.
He didn't take her far, only a fifteen minute drive from the club to the reservoir. The park closed at dusk. He pulled over just short of the gate. The moon glimmered across the smooth surface of the water, and when he opened the door, warm summer night air caressed his face the way he wanted her to. He stood, waiting for the soft snick of her door latch to tell him she followed.
The grass leading down to the water's edge had been clipped recently. The sharp clean tang of its fresh shave rose up from the ground. He wanted to make love to her down there. In the moonlight. Amidst the stars. He wanted to take her in the sweet night air.
"It's beautiful," she said, as she came to stand beside him. Close, but not close enough.
The Sex Club Page 6