All Night Long

by Melissa MacNeal

  Then the woman sprang from the floor, so inflamed she had to put out that inner fire. She pushed them both backwards by giving Lola a shove on her chest.

  Skorpio grunted, chuckling as he went down with Lola on top of him, while Odette positioned herself between their four legs. Rubbing and riding—writhing like a snake trying to shed its skin—Odette now lay directly on top of her.

  And dammit, Lola felt herself beginning to spasm. Rising from both ends at once, frustrated yet fascinated, because Skorpio held her so tightly around her chest.

  “Let me—”

  “Take it!” he said hoarsely. “Take her, Odette! Fuck her—be relentless! Make her come!”

  His partner was only too willing. The beauty with the black hair straddled their hips, and Lola got a massage from above and below. Her poor body didn’t know who to respond to: Odette’s weight rested against her pubic bone, and she could feel Skorpio’s erection stroking where her fingers had been moments ago.

  They were all panting, but Lola cried out first. What a desperate, despicable—downright delicious!—predicament, to be held prisoner between them, until she could take no more! And then to have her hips wiggle like they’d never stop—

  Next thing she knew, Odette was tossing her aside, onto the bed. Lola protested, but before she could move, the other woman had slung her long leg over Skorpio and impaled herself on his manhood.

  Triumphant, she hung on like a bronc buster, raring back so her breasts jiggled with each thrust and her hips angled forward with each rampant stroke. Thoroughly amused and aroused, Skorpio grabbed her hips to set the tempo up a notch or two, until he was buried deep inside her.

  Their climax was like nothing Lola had ever seen in the best porn flicks. But dammit! Skorpio had promised himself to her today! They’d led her to believe that “whatever Lola wants” was the theme for this encounter!

  Wasn’t it? Or had she only imagined the captain wanted her? Was he using that velvety voice and those midnight eyes to lead her into thinking whatever he wanted her to believe?

  With a wicked laugh, Odette fell forward onto the handsome captain. He kissed her with gusto, obviously as enthralled by their lovemaking, and their deception, as she was.

  Then they both looked at Lola, so alone on the crumpled coverlet yet mere inches away from them. Odette’s lip curled.

  “Too bad you didn’t learn your lesson onstage yesterday. This is only part of your penance for what I saw in the pool last night,” she said in a menacing whisper. Her eyes glowed like a cat’s and she looked ready to unsheathe her claws. “If you think you can sneak around with Rio, and no one will know you’ve reneged on Skorpio’s generous bargain, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought, Lola. Now get out of my sight.”

  Odette stood up, making Lola feel even lower.

  “Aric’s waiting for you. He wants you, too—but don’t think you’ll get away with that, either!” she continued her tirade. “This ship is a fish bowl, and all the little fishies report to the big ones.”

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, a bitch in heat moving to the finale. “And from where I see things right now, you rank right up at the top of the water, Miss Wright. With the floaters and the scum.”

  How was that for afterglow? While Lola was no quitter, it was time to make herself scarce. She slipped off the bed, yanked her rumpled clothes from the floor, and went to the front room to get dressed.

  Of course Cabana Boy was there to witness her degradation. His upper teeth indented that thick lower lip as he controlled his—what? Laughter? Humiliating remarks? Lola suspected he’d watched them the whole time, bringing himself off, just because the people on this ship seemed to play that way. Monkey see, monkey do.

  Monkey strum, monkey cum.

  “Get me out of here,” she muttered, disgusted because she’d fallen for Skorpio’s tricks again. “And get me a—”

  Grinning, Aric pulled a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. “Light, Priestess?”

  Was it a sincere offer, or that damn microphone again? She swatted the Camels from his hand and stalked down the hall.

  27

  An ivory envelope was tucked under the suite door, with her name printed in a perfect calligraphic script. Tonight was the formal ball Clive Kingsley had invited her to!

  Lola grinned. Not surprising that the charming Brit would write as properly as he behaved. And who could forget the hint of promise in his debonair voice when he’d mentioned this event?

  It had to be more fun than getting screwed over—rather than screwed—by Skorpio, didn’t it?

  “So, Aric dahling,” Lola teased when he peeked over her shoulder, “what’s a girl have to do to get her favorite stylist to give her a fabulous new ‘do for this ball tonight?”

  Cabana Boy shrugged, yet she saw a secret shimmer in those pale green eyes. “Just part of my job, ma’am,” he replied in a petulant voice. “And God knows if I don’t do my job—”

  “Oh, stop whining.” Lola ran a flirtatious finger down the alluring indentations of his bare chest. “If you didn’t enjoy fixing my hair and face, you wouldn’t have done it last time—or even hinted you knew how. You can’t fool me!”

  Damn that smirk! It was a silent reminder of how Captain Scandalous had just deceived her. Again.

  “Whatever you say, Priestess.”

  He mocked her with a bow, and she playfully kicked his butt. Then Lola went to her closet, glancing outside in the vague hope she’d see a handsome Spaniard smoking a little cigar on her balcony. She whipped out the dress of eggplant—no, aubergine and cabernet—stripes Kingsley had recommended, turning to Aric again.

  “This is it, slave boy. Make me look fabulous, and maybe I’ll reward you with a little something,” she tossed over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom.

  She was not expecting Cabana Boy to drop his pants and follow her into the shower.

  He adjusted the water temperature to something warmer than she preferred, and then squeezed a generous dollop of body wash into her scrubbie.

  “If you want to have the best time tonight,” he murmured, massaging her back with suds, “you should forget about making it with Kingsley. He’s not your type.”

  “And who are you to presume what my type—”

  When Lola pivoted in the shower’s spray, her earlier suspicions were confirmed in Aric’s grin. “So. Our concierge, the designer of knockout ball gowns, doesn’t ball the clients he outfits.”

  “Dear old Clive has some singular tastes, yes.”

  Aric’s gaze raked over her bare body as he continued his scrubbie massage over her breasts, watching the swirl of white, lacy bubbles coat her skin like a tight-fitting cami. “But nothing else on the ship matches this event for sheer spectacle. He’s into glitz and glamor.”

  Lola had to grin at the word spectacle, because here in the steam, Aric Petrocelli resembled that remark. Young and smooth and tanned and gorgeous and oh-so-nonchalant about his body. His gold chain shimmered wetly—no crystal camera on it this time—and while he sported an erection, he wasn’t putting any moves on her.

  “So are you coming tonight?” she asked.

  He smirked at her double-entendre. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  What did she see in Cabana Boy’s eyes? While he obviously wasn’t just washing her as part of his job, the lowering of his languid eyelids suggested secrets about to unfold. And while she was wishing for one night without any nahsty surprises, Lola had to admit she was having more fun paying off Fletch’s debt than she would’ve had with the man himself. For one thing, she wouldn’t have had this sleek, sexy young man tending her personal needs…

  Aric was now kneeling on the floor of the shower, his saturated curls clinging to his head as he brought the scrubbie up the inside of her thigh…and higher…until he held the bright green, soapy muff against her own.

  With a brazen grin, he started rubbing her there, in suggestive circular motions. He locked his gaze into hers.

  “You
are so hot, Priestess,” he whispered.

  Lola’s breath caught. Had he really said that—about her? Or was the hiss of the shower disguising his words? “I—you surely can’t mean—”

  “I mean, the shape of your body—the softness of your skin—the way your sex smells,” he said in that husky young voice. “Well, I’m signing your dance card early, Lola. Don’t take this wrong, but Clive had ulterior motives for inviting you there tonight. Not for sex—although they say he’s an all-night kind of guy.”

  “You think sex is the only reason I like men?” she teased.

  But then her moan echoed in the shower stall. Cabana Boy was coaxing her legs farther apart, until she had to lean back against the wall because he was so relentlessly washing her. Down There.

  His chuckle sounded villainous. And indeed, the kid got her excited to the point she needed him to finish what he’d started—was ready to prop her foot on his shoulder and demand some tongue—when he stood up.

  Grinned at her.

  Pivoted her in the spray, gently ducking her head so he could lather and rinse her hair. As he shut off the water, he pressed into her for a quick kiss before opening the shower door.

  “No time to foo-foo around,” he said lightly, grabbing one of the plush ivory towels. “Have to get the Priestess ready to be seen. Have to make her nothing less than stunning, so Clive can show her off.”

  It sounded like window dressing, didn’t it? Was something wrong with this picture?

  Even though she’d told herself—and Cabana Boy—that he was way younger than she preferred, Lola wouldn’t have kicked him out of the bathroom had he propositioned her right now.

  But he didn’t. Just dried her nicely, limiting his reactions to an admiring smile. But damned if he didn’t extend his arm across the door when she was ready to leave the steamy, white room wearing only a towel wrapped around her hair.

  “Just so’s you’ll know,” he said in that low, throaty voice, “there’s nothing in this world hotter than a woman who keeps herself charged up. Guys can tell she’s willing—not easy, just aware. Ready to be a player. But ready to walk away if he treats her like a cage is waiting, once he gets her home.”

  “A cage?” Lola pondered this as they walked into the bedroom. “That sounds like something from Whispers. Pretty kinky.”

  “Not if he treats you like a dog, it’s not.”

  That was cutting too close to home! Lola slipped into the thick terry robe hanging on the closet door, eyeing him pointedly. “Let’s leave Fletcher out of this, shall we?”

  “You got it. Sit your pretty ass down and let’s turn the Priestess into Cinderella.”

  Lola wasn’t sure she understood his mixed metaphors, but she couldn’t argue with Aric’s results. This kid had poked fun at Kingsley’s nontraditional talents, yet he himself had gotten extensive training in cosmetology.

  Again he wound her wavy auburn hair into a chic knot, this time pulling a single tendril loose to hang at her right temple. Again he worked a miracle with the eye shadows and foundations in her makeup case, using subtle strokes and quick flicks of his fingertips to create a look so polished—so professional—Lola could only stare at the transformation in her mirror.

  By the time he escorted her downstairs, in that exquisite dress that whispered with each step, she felt like a billion-dollar baby. Felt herself radiating positive vibes and yes, the message that she not only loved looking this fabulous—she could make good on the assumptions every man in the room would have!

  Kingsley was clearly bowled over.

  “My word, Lola darling,” he breathed, circling her in his inner office. “I imagined this gown as a showpiece on you, but you’ve outdone yourself! I can’t wait to introduce you to others, who’ve been so eager to meet you.”

  “Actually, it was Aric who—”

  But when she glanced around for Cabana Boy, he’d disappeared.

  “No doubt he’s gone to get himself ready,” Kingsley said with a rich chuckle. His blue eyes danced as he smoothed the gown’s angel-wing sleeve, and then tucked her arm beneath his. “It’s going to be a night like you’ve never known, dear Lola.”

  What could she say? They hadn’t even arrived at the dance, and here she was strolling down the corridor of a luxury liner, wearing a dress that sold for more than she earned in a week, with the man who designed it! A night like no other, indeed!

  Kingsley was decked out in a Caribbean blue tuxedo with a sequined jacket that was a cross between Elton John and Elvis, yet his sense of glitz made her giddy. Not a single one of her clients would try that jacket on—nobody else she knew would venture out in formal wear so outlandish! Yet this Brit looked so in his element, so confident in his elegance, it was a thrill to be with him. To be whisked into a ballroom she’d never seen in the ship’s diagrams, in her travel catalog.

  When Clive opened the door for her, Lola’s jaw dropped.

  It wasn’t just the huge ballroom, which had been transformed into an island paradise with neon palm trees and fiber-optic parrots that flashed in a succession of bright colors. And it wasn’t the scantily clad triplets who called themselves Three Way, singing their hearts out to a beat they throbbed to—although Lola had to admit they gave sister act a whole new twist.

  No, it was the roomful of people like she’d never seen in real life: slim young room stewards and waiters dressed in sophisticated tuxes with blinding white shirts, all dancing like they’d done time onstage and were damn proud of it. Some of the men—even older staff members—sported dinner jackets of peacock, and chartreuse, and even an electric shade of rose, yet here in this fantasy ballroom they looked exquisite. Absolutely stunning.

  But the women! Such elaborate hairdos and out-there makeup…lean or lush, these ladies filled out ball gowns that outdid Cinderella a thousand times over, with sparkling trims and colors that outshone an electric rainbow.

  Lola couldn’t help gawking. Except for Kingsley, she didn’t see a soul she knew, yet she wanted to meet every one of these attendees and hear their stories. Not just because they came from so many countries, but because they were glorified servants living their night life to the hilt.

  “It’s as though you not only created each gown expressly for the woman wearing it,” Lola observed with awe, “but the dress now determines who she is. The same way this ultra-sophisticated gown has transformed me. Taken me from Portland to Paris for the evening.”

  The concierge beamed at her. “Thank you for noticing that, darling,” he crooned as the music grew more raucous. “It’s quite the ego trip, to say I designed most of the gowns in this room—as well as some of the more colorful tuxes. It’s a whole realm of psychology in itself, color is. Don’t you agree?”

  “Oh, yes. While I’d never have chosen this gown for myself, it works a magic I hadn’t anticipated,” she mused, watching the crowd dance.

  How can the wait staff afford this designer formal wear? her rational side cut into the fantasy.

  But Lola decided not to ask. Better to compliment Kingsley than to question the priorities of those he’d outfitted.

  A sparkly gown of candy pink caught her eye then, and she waved excitedly. “Why—that’s Miss Christy from the spa! In the dress you were finishing the other night.”

  “Makes her complexion just glow, doesn’t it?” Kingsley agreed as the masseuse grinned back at them. “And no ordinary gown would handle her assets.”

  Miss Christy was sticking out in all the right places—including the slit that opened all the way up to her tailbone, exposing lush butt cheeks swathed in iridescent stockings!

  “Good Lord, she wouldn’t even have to undress to—” Lola mused aloud. She watched the busty blonde shake her booty as she sang along with the triplets. “Miss Christy only has to lean over, and—”

  “One could discover a whole new galaxy, complete with two moons,” Clive quipped. He glanced toward the stage, nodding to the music’s catchy beat. “This band gets everyone up and moving, but I�
��m sure you’ve surmised that Randi, Candi and Dandi are not among my clients.”

  She laughed at that one. The three skinny blondes crying into those mikes, jiving as the girl-gang band behind them played heavy-metal, wore bikinis to show off their tattoos and piercings. When the drummer segued into a solo, the trio yanked off their tops to reveal their nipple rings and chains, which began swinging in sync, like miniature jump-ropes, when the triplets shimmied together.

  “Oh. My. God!” Lola blinked, gawking outright. “How do they—?”

  Clive rolled his eyes. “Far be it from me to improve upon that talent! But seriously, dear Lola, I’m so very flattered that a professional clothier like yourself finds my designs distinctive.”

  The concierge shifted then, to stand between her and the stage, so she wasn’t distracted by those gyrating butts and boobs.

  “I’ve checked you out online, Miss Wright,” he continued in that low, melting-chocolate voice she’d first been drawn to. “I truly admire the way you’ve made yourself the empress of menswear. Hoping, of course, you might want to feature my designs in your Well Suited shops. Or on your web site, perhaps.”

  Her stomach did back flips when Clive’s sparkling blue eyes held hers captive. What was it Aric had hinted, about him being gay?

  And why are all the really interesting men not interested in women? she mused with a sigh.

  Lola didn’t have the heart to point out that these gorgeous Kingsley Court gowns didn’t figure into her menswear collection—not the way Clive was challenging her with his aristocratic grin.

  But then he bowed slightly, stepping back. “I know this has taken you by surprise, and that such a decision requires careful thought. I’ll await your answer patiently, Miss Wright.”

  “Thank you! I—” Once again the Brit’s gentility left her breathless. “I hope you’ll understand that I’m not writing you off if I—”

  “And I hope you’ll understand, dear lady, that as the host of these events, I must oversee the details that keep our staff coming. So to speak,” he said as he bussed her temple. “Please help yourself to the buffet, and to a glorious time tonight! If you’re open to surprise and delight, that’s what you’ll find here.”