The Club: Ace

by Jenna Elliot

  Am I getting sucked into this man?

  Not rationally. There is no rational with him. I’m not stupid enough to think level-two candidacy is the place to start a relationship.

  But emotionally?

  This eagerness to please him—not for admission to level two, but because he makes me feel so good—is worrisome. The urge to know about him, to understand how that adorable little guy in the photos with his laughing eyes and trusting smile grew to be a brilliant businessman and decadent sex host is perfectly normal, isn’t it?

  Or is this what Mia warned me about?

  I want to ask if the sex is this spectacular with all the candidates, but I don’t. I can’t think about how I’ll feel if he tells me yes. Or no.

  Thinking isn’t a good thing right now.

  I’m physically drained, not able to reason clearly. Of course, I’m emotionally vulnerable. It’s been an emotional week. The triumph of passing my boards to the rawness of dealing with Jason and all the heartache that brings back up.

  “How’re you doing, baby?” Ace’s voice is warm. His hand gently swishes my hair behind my ear.

  “Fantasy came at a good time for me,” I admit. “I enjoyed it. A lot.”

  “I noticed.” He breathes the words against my ear, the warmest breath that filters through me, and fans a tiny flame inside that isn’t quite out yet.

  Only this man can do this to me.

  “So, how did you get so accomplished at running away?” he asks. “Actually had a moment there when I thought you were going to keep me chasing you around all night.”

  That makes me smile. I’m sure he isn’t used to having to work that hard. “I have four brothers.”

  I feel his expression change, the slightest shifting of his jaw. Easing my head around, I meet his gaze.

  “Big family,” he says, not a question.

  “Four brothers and three sisters.”

  His eyes are so dark at this vantage. I can’t read their expression. “Is that where the eight kids you want comes from?”

  “Mm-hm. I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s really the perfect size.”

  “How do you figure?”

  I like that he asks. “Well, there’s always someone around to do things with, so you’re never bored. And you’ve got enough siblings so you never have to put up with any shit. If someone tries to bully you, you can always get together a decent posse to fight back.”

  He shifts his weight to ease up on me. “Let me guess . . . You’re in the middle somewhere.”

  “Number Four of Seven.”

  He considers that. Judging by the grimace, he isn’t convinced. “Everyone must get along pretty well.”

  “Are you kidding me? They’re all pains in the asses. Each and every one of them.”

  He chuckles, a deep sound that vibrates from his chest.

  “My turn to guess,” I say. “You’re an only child.”

  He only nods, then pulls out. So quickly, the moment is over. What felt like such an intimate connection suddenly leaves me missing the feel of him, his heat, his breath on my neck.

  Ace doesn’t like talking about his family. That much I get. Intimacy freaks him out, too, if I was guessing.

  I shouldn’t get my feelings hurt by that. I’m a candidate. Not his lover. Does he even have lovers? In the real sense. Not in the sex slave sense.

  I don’t know. I don’t know much about this man. Even if he does have lovers . . . I’m not one of them.

  Ever so slowly, I let my feet bear my weight. I search his eyes and see lingering . . . desire? Tenderness? His expression is gentle.

  “This was fun,” I say shyly, feeling as if I’ve been caught thinking about him in a way I have no business thinking. Intimately. “You’re wonderful.”

  “I know.” He grins, all charming bluster. “When you’re off having all those kids, promise you won’t forget me.”

  Forget him? I dreamed of him last night. And I can’t lie. I think about him at odd moments during the day. I find myself remembering his scent, his touch, the way he feels inside me.

  “Well, I suppose if you make more of an impression, I’ll remember you longer.” Bravado, because I really hope he can’t read my mind the way he does my body.

  “You are so going to regret that,” he says.

  But I take off before he can grab me, calling back over my shoulder, “Promises. Promises.”

  I need a moment to recover, and I shoot past his bed into his en suite, which is another room unto itself. Huge mirrors, framed in gold scroll frames. Black granite countertops and slick Italian cabinets. There’s even some kind of computer on the toilet. Probably comes with a built-in seat heater for the two days a year he actually might need it in South Florida.

  Dude isn’t kidding when he says he likes nice things. There’s a walk-in rain shower, done in black marble, and what looks like fourteen-carat gold faucets. Would he really spend that kind of money on freaking faucets?! I can’t even imagine. Maybe he would. The showerhead is actually hidden up in the black mirrored ceiling.

  “Water temperature preference?” a computerized voice asks, startling me.

  I gasp aloud, and just as I realize the voice must have come from the equipment gauge beside the shower, I jump again when Ace says, “Water on. Standard temperature.”

  He’s suddenly there, sucking up all the air with his big, naked presence and incredibly-erect dick. How he does that I have no clue either.

  The water turns on, and he motions me inside, and although I’m expecting the water, the warmth surprises me. Ace steps in and lathers his hands then, without a word, he rubs me down with soap. He begins with my back, kneading my shoulders and easing out the very last of my tension.

  He has clever hands, and talented fingers. No surprises here, but he finds every tight muscle, every aching joint and soothes me as he works out the kinks. The way he treats me does come as a surprise, as if I’m a piece of delicate art, precious to him. It’s that thoughtfulness that sucks me right in again.

  I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t. I’m operating on borrowed time, so anything I want to know about him, I have to find out now. I choose my topic with care.

  “How long have you lived here?” I take the soap and lather up my hands.

  “Why do you ask?” He soaps my ass, slowly.

  “Curious.” My tone is light as I turn and soap his shoulders, appreciating his firm muscles, his tanned skin.

  “I fixed up the penthouse when Jax and I bought the building about five years ago. I don’t stay here all the time.”

  “How come?”

  “I get bored staying in one place for too long.”

  “Oh.” Not much to say about a man who doesn’t put down roots. I soap his chest, his hips, his taut abs. His dick. How does he stay so hard when I know he’s already come?

  “I follow the party circuit,” he says. “In spring I’m usually in Cannes. I summer in Aspen and in fall, I take the yacht to the South Pacific. I try not to miss Mardi Gras in Rio. So wherever I am is pretty much my home.”

  “You have friends waiting for you everywhere, I’ll bet.”

  “Acquaintances, not friends,” he says quickly.

  I hear something in how quickly he corrects that statement, something I don’t think he meant to reveal.

  “Yeah, big difference there,” I say with a shrug, keeping things light, hoping to continue the conversation, but he only turns and rinses away the soap.

  Then he steps out of the shower, does a quick dry with a thick towel. Another man might wrap it around his waist. But Ace is not other men. He tosses it aside, hands me another, then pours himself a whiskey and me another glass of wine.

  I dry off, take the glass. I try again. “Ethan speaks very highly of you. Do you consider him a friend?”

  “He’s a business partner.” He eyes me over the rim of his glass. “What’s with the interrogation, Emme?”

  I shrug, try to appear casual. “I’m just curi
ous about the man who does things to me no man has ever done.”

  Leaning an elbow on the bar, Ace considers that, and his gaze is intense as he watches me.

  I don’t want to overstep my boundaries and fail this test, but I sense there’s so much more to him than he seems, so much of him that’s hidden. He surrounds himself with beautiful, willing women, but this glimpse of his real life . . . Family unavailable and no friends. His life just seems lonely, and that touches me. I don’t think he’d be okay with that thought.

  “No mysteries here, Emme,” he finally says. “I like nice things, and I like to party.”

  “I’m a big believer in partying. I’ve been telling Mia to lighten up for years.” But partying has a purpose—to have fun, to relax, to balance and unwind from life’s stresses, to set a definitive line between work and play, to distract one from the heartache of cheating exes . . .

  Partying doesn’t replace having people to care about, people who care about you. Partying doesn’t mean running from place to place without ever setting down roots, never letting anyone get close.

  I don’t say any of that. I just sip my wine, interpreting his sudden intensity to mean I’ve thrown him, even a little.

  “I hope you don’t regret bringing me up here,” I finally say to fill the silence. “I like seeing this glimpse of you. All this . . .” I wave my hand gesturing to the club downstairs, the lavish lifestyle inside this penthouse. “This is so new to me. The club has been a big adventure.”

  I lead him back to familiar ground, and he’s good with that. I can tell by the way the chiseled edges of his gorgeous face soften. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.”

  “Well, it’s come at the perfect time in my life.” I try another route, sharing something personal.

  “Why’s that?”

  “For the past six years, my life has been about getting through school so I can have a future. I work a lot to keep the loans down and study even more to keep my scholarships. Not a whole lot of time for much else.”

  “So you unwind here?”

  I raise my glass. “And celebrate. I passed my state boards this week. Accountancy.”

  “Congratulations.” He raises his glass, and some of the shadows fall away. “Celebrating with sex. My kind of girl.”

  I like that he thinks so, but I also can’t help but wonder if this is why he owns a sex club—so he always has admirers around. Any time of day or night he can see friendly faces, acquaintances, but never let anyone get close.

  Or is he just a sex addict? There’s probably not a dude in this universe who wouldn’t love to trade places. Ace seems to have it all, looks, health, and wealth, but does he really?

  “We’re going to make tonight memorable, Emme. To celebrate your accomplishment.” He knocks back a whiskey, and his eyes rake over me with predatory intent.

  It’s amazing how fast he revs up his sexuality, going from zero to two hundred in the blink of an eye.

  He pours another whiskey and brings it to me. Plucking the wine glass from my hand, he offers me a sip from his glass.

  “And I know exactly how to make tonight special, Emme. I’m going to take your sweet virgin ass. I’m going to sink my dick deep inside and give you the orgasm of a lifetime.”

  Raw excitement swoops crazily through me, makes my pussy tighten between my thighs and my breasts suddenly tingle. His promise burns through me with the same fire as the whiskey, and I gulp another fortifying mouthful, earning a smile from him. The first since I started asking him about his life.

  “Ready?” he asks, dark eyes glittering.

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him, but I’m not actually sure about that. I only know I trust him. Maybe I shouldn’t. Not when I know so little about him . . .

  But he wants me right now, and that feels so personal, not at all like a test. I don’t know why. But I know.

  “I want you to be my first,” I say, and I mean it.

  14

  Emme

  ACE’S DARK EYES lock with mine. “You want me to be your first, so you’ll never forget me?”

  In that instant I know that forgetting him won’t be possible. Maybe it’s all the whiskey. Maybe it’s a knee-jerk reaction to the tension. Or, maybe, it’s just my damned nerves, but I reach out to stroke his cheek, a gentle touch that has nothing to do with sex. “Oh, Ace, don’t you know you’re unforgettable?”

  “Flattery, Emme?”

  There’s something so deep inside of me that wants him to feel close to me, even if only for a little while. I want to see the tenderness in his eyes, and that eases all my fears about what’s ahead, stokes my determination to handle this challenge the way I’ve handled all the others.

  Ace won’t hurt me. I trust that.

  “Not flattery. Honesty.” With a smile, I let my hand drift away.

  Taking a final sip of his liquor, I hand back the glass. “I’ll bet there are women in a myriad of cities wishing they could be with you tonight. But I’m the lucky one.”

  “Yes, you are, doll.” He sets the glass aside and, with a sudden move that makes me gasp, he clasps me around the waist and lifts me against his chest.

  I lift my legs around his waist and wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him.

  He lets one hand slip down to my ass, while the other threads into my hair, tugs back my head, forcing me to hold his gaze. Those dark, dark eyes glitter.

  “Very lucky, Emme. I promise.”

  Dipping his head, he bites my earlobe, a lion marking his territory. Who knew my body could recover so quickly? My pulse jets from zero to sixty as I breathe his scent deep into my lungs and instinctively react.

  My pussy clenches, and I grind against his belly. My body is back on familiar turf, too, anticipating what this man will do to me. I have no fears. No doubts. He’s simply such a master of my body that my wants will be well cared for.

  He carries me to his bed, and lays me down gently. I expect him to join me. But he walks to a nightstand instead, opens a drawer and pulls out restraints.

  My mouth goes dry, the lingering taste of whiskey mixed with excitement.

  “Give me your hand,” he demands.

  I obey, and he uses a leather cuff to secure my wrist to the headboard. I wonder if he’s afraid I’ll try to get away when things get intense. With my arm stretched over my head, I won’t be going far. But I’m comfortable, just vibrating inside with a crazy mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

  And such a need to be close to him. Tonight’s our night. And I don’t want to think about tests. I don’t want to think about triumph or failures.

  I only want to please. Please him.

  When he holds out his hand for my other wrist, I don’t know what to expect. My stomach swoops as he restrains my other wrist to the bed. He won’t be able to flip me onto my belly this way, which is the image I have in my head. Obviously that’s not his plan, and I’m glad. I want to see his face, read his emotions as we share this first.

  If I need the code word, I’ll give it. It’s that simple.

  But as he kneels over me, I find it impossible not to arch upward like a flower opening toward the sun, needing to be touched, reassured. And he knows. His gaze travels the length of me, and his expression softens. He traces the curve of my breast with a barely-there touch, just enough to feel the heat of his palm against my skin. My nipples pucker, inviting him to greater liberties, but he only outlines my belly, then the curve of my hip. My insides swoop wildly as he traces that whisper of touch over my abdomen, between my thighs.

  He trails his fingertips down my legs as if he’s familiarizing himself with the terrain of my need, familiarizing himself with all my sensitive places.

  Goosebumps splay over my skin when he caresses the back of my knee, and he smiles, knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

  Relaxing me. Soothing me. Reassuring me.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His voice is a gravelly whisper in the quiet.

  More honesty, becaus
e I see appreciation in his face and feel beautiful. My whole body melts beneath his praise, his feathery touch, his arousal. He wants me. I see that, too.

  A languor steals through me, every muscle in my body melting into a sensual haze. He grazes his palm over the juncture between my legs, and my pussy weeps with wanting him. All I can do is spread my thighs wider, offer him everything.

  But he only traces a fingertip lightly through the moist folds there, making me yearn. Sliding that finger through the moisture, down, down, down, he reaches that oh-so sensitive place. My virginity.

  He applies only the slightest pressure, a prelude of what’s to come, and I tremble. He just stands above me, looking like a sun god with his hair shiny in the soft light, his body so cut and hard. My body unfolds inside, a play of sensations I’ve never felt before, an ache building deep, deep inside.

  Then he sinks onto a knee beside me, and climbs onto the bed, up between my legs, lifting my knees until my thighs are forced to spread wide to make room for him. And my ass tips upward. He reaches for a jar on the bedside table, but only drags his fingers through its contents.

  I have no idea what comes next, and I’m vibrating inside with the uncertainty, the yearning.

  “Close your eyes, Emme,” he says, voice still soft.

  I let my lids flutter shut, blocking out the sweet sight of him. And I wait.

  And wait.

  My ass has never felt so exposed. My pussy is wet. I’m panting, and he hasn’t really done anything except relax me, and kindle the fire within. When his mouth comes down on mine, I’m so surprised, I gasp. Then his lips are nipping, teasing, taunting. And I meet the demand of his kisses, so hungry for his demand. His possession.

  And, as his tongue plunges into me, his fingers tease my pussy and clit, slowly, slipping and sliding. Whatever is in that jar is thick and slick, gives him ease of access as he maneuvers his fingers around, in and out, up and down. Until I can only arch against his touch, my pussy greedy and clenching.