Mine Until Morning

by Jasmine Haynes

  The reality was that he didn’t know if he could sit back and watch her suck and fuck another man. He wasn’t sure he could hack it even if he were part of the sucking and fucking himself. He’d never thought of himself as a possessive, jealous man, yet even as his dick hardened contemplating it, a hole tore open in his chest.

  He never asked if she went on her so-called dates when he was back home or traveling. He didn’t want to know.

  “Would you like to try a little more of that kind of thing?” she asked finally. There it was. He’d made his bed. He’d been the one to say they needed to 218

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  share and explore each other’s lives to see if they could make it work. Except that he wouldn’t take her home to see his family—she sure as hell didn’t want to go, either—and he hated the idea of letting another man touch her. So really, what the fuck were they sharing?

  His head ached. Champagne did that to him sometimes. The car jerked and started in the traffic.

  Yet he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t admit he was so far gone that the thought made him equal parts angry and turned on. After all, he’d asked for it. She’d told him who and what she was, what she wanted, and instead of climbing on a plane and getting the hell out when she’d given him the chance, he’d come slinking back like a tomcat, with what he’d told himself was a compromise. He closed his eyes against the blinding sun on the water and tried to think of yesterday, the therapist’s hands on her, stroking her. Royce had been achingly hard. Instead of being repelled, he’d wanted to fuck Isabel. He willed himself back to that moment. Sheila’s fingers caressing his balls. The creamy skin of Isabel’s breast. The towel slipping lower on the curve of her butt. Her scent. His mouth watered for a taste of her pussy.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I want more.” Mind over matter. She wanted him. She was with him. He was the only one she allowed in her bed and to whom she gave a key.

  He could do this for her.

  He only hoped he could handle the reality as much as he’d enjoyed yesterday’s fantasy.

  ISABEL DIDN’T WASTE A MOMENT SETTING HER PLANS FOR ROYCE IN

  motion. He would go mad for the things she could do for him. She knew the perfect couple.

  “It’s high tea,” she told Noelle St. James. “You can’t have coffee.”

  Noelle wrinkled her nose. “For a price, one can have anything one wants.”

  True enough. Being one of Isabel’s premiere courtesans, Noelle knew the axiom well. While Isabel had chosen a breakfast tea—who cared if it was afternoon?—the waiter had agreed to bring Noelle strong, black coffee. The Rotunda, with its magnificent glass dome, topped Neiman Marcus overlooking Union Square. Posh with white tablecloths and silver tea service, the Rotunda prided itself on catering to its patrons’ needs. Just as Courtesans did. 219

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  Noelle leaned forward, her dark eyes sparkling. At forty, she was an exotic creature with silky black hair cascading down her back and almond-shaped eyes that gave her a sultry, seductive gaze. She was slender and fine-boned despite her height of five-nine, and not for anybody did she give up her spiked heels. They weren’t just madam and courtesan. Noelle was one of her closest friends. She’d met Royce several times at various events Isabel had taken him to, and Noelle was the woman best qualified to help Isabel provide what Royce needed.

  “So, you need a little pistachio crème.” Noelle arched one perfect black brow. Months ago, they’d had this conversation in reverse. Noelle had been looking for that something extra. Isabel had found it for her in the form of Dax Deacon. The two were now a couple even though Noelle still played courtesan to a select group of clients. Dax liked to watch. They had a perfect meeting of the minds. Isabel wanted to show Royce the kinky lifestyle could work for them, too. Or maybe she was trying to justify getting her own way, having her cake and eating it, too, et cetera, et cetera. Whatever.

  “I need Royce to see that there are so many more delicious choices beyond vanilla.”

  Noelle spread her hands, her fingernails crimson. “Of course there are. What do you have in mind?”

  The Rotunda was packed with ladies dressed to the nines sipping on Mumm champagne, tea, and savoring cakes and scones. The early-afternoon sun streamed down through the dome, gleaming in the patrons’ hair, glittering in the glassware. Amid the buzz of chitchat, Isabel crossed her legs, put an elbow on the table, and leaned in. “You and I.”

  “You mean he wants a girlie show?” Noelle whispered. Isabel laughed. “No, silly.” She’d tried it, of course, for a hefty price. There wasn’t much she hadn’t done, but that particular thing wasn’t to her taste. “I mean you and I pleasure Royce while Dax watches.”

  Their waiter chose to arrive at that moment, clearing his throat. Noelle smiled, sharing a look with Isabel. It was sometimes exciting to give a nice, discreet shock to a man. This one, tall, dark-haired, midthirties, ears a deep shade of red, had definitely gotten his shock. Yet he said not one untoward word. “Ladies,” he murmured, clearing a space for Isabel’s teapot, their two glasses of champagne, and Noelle’s coffee. “Your treats will be out in a 220

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  moment.”

  They smiled their thanks in unison. Isabel made it a point to always give her servers respect. After all, she was in a service business herself.

  “Cheers.” Noelle clinked flutes with her. “Do you want Dax to do you, too?”

  “I know you don’t like to share, sweetie.”

  Shrugging, Noelle flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I trust you; it’s fine.”

  Noelle fully admitted she was jealous. She liked to be shared, but she wasn’t so fond of doing the sharing herself. Which worked well for Dax, since his favorite sexual act was watching her. Not that he didn’t get his own when they were once again alone. Their relationship was definitely on the outer edges, but Isabel had never seen Noelle so happy. After three failed marriages, she’d despaired of having a lasting, meaningful relationship. She’d become a courtesan instead. Until Isabel set her up with Dax, a match made in heaven if ever there was one.

  “Thanks,” Isabel said, touched that Noelle would make the gesture. “But let’s not push Royce too far the first time.”

  Noelle put her elbow on the table, chin in hand, and stared off dreamily. “I have the most amazing fantasy.”

  “What?” Isabel encouraged her.

  “I’ll tie Dax to a chair and make believe he’s forced to watch me do nasty things.”

  “Ooh,” Isabel cooed. “So now you two are into a little dominance and submission.”

  “Not really.” Noelle laughed, a tinkling sound that turned heads. “Can you imagine me dominating Dax?”

  He was five years older, a sexy, hunky six foot four. No, she didn’t see anyone dominating Dax. Unless he wanted it for a very special reason of his own. Or to please Noelle. The man would do anything for her. Their high tea arrived on a triple-tiered platter. Finger sandwiches, cookies, tarts, petit fours, scones with clotted cream, lemon curd and preserves.

  “Anything else I can get you, ladies?” The waiter’s gaze passed between them, lasting a few seconds too long.

  “A tad more coffee,” Noelle said. “So when?” she asked after his departure. She slathered cream on the scone and took a bite. “Oh God, to die for.”

  They watched their weight. Good health was everything. But one thing you 221

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  learned as a courtesan was how to pamper yourself occasionally. Every woman deserved a treat, whether it was food, a massage, or a very special sexual fantasy fulfilled.

  “Royce is in town for the rest of the week.” Isabel laid a hand over Noelle’s.

  “Thank you for doing this for me.”

  “Of course. We’re friends. I love you, and I’d do anything for you.” Then she winked. “Besides, Royce is”—she dropped her voice a couple of notches—

  “fucking hot.”

  Isabel
laughed. “Yes, he is.” Unlike Noelle, she wasn’t jealous in the least, and she was dying to give Royce an evening he’d never forget. An evening that would have him coming back for more again and again. Noelle picked out a finger sandwich. “Now, tell me everything you want to do.”

  Isabel revealed a fantasy so deliciously sexy it rivaled any treat on the table.

  “NOELLE ST. JAMES?” ROYCE ECHOED. NOELLE. SHE BELONGED TO Dax Deacon. He’d met them. Several times. He knew their story. Noelle was a courtesan. Dax got off on watching her. And yeah, the woman was exceptionally attractive.

  He was buried to the hilt inside Isabel, his balls aching, his thighs quaking as he held her against the wall. He’d hiked her floor-length satin evening dress to her hips and squeezed her delectable ass with shaking fingers. Holy hell, he was about to explode, she made him so fucking crazy with her slutty dirty talk. Especially when they were inside a dark, empty ballroom with the thousand-dollars-a-plate benefit going on right next door.

  “Yeah,” she murmured before nipping his earlobe. “You need two mouths on you, Royce. You need to feel how good two tongues can be.” She whispered mind-blowing images in his ear as he thrust inside her. “One of us licking your balls, the other sucking you.”

  While every man had dreamed of it, only Isabel would think of providing it.

  “Tell me you want it,” she urged.

  “Christ.” He plunged deep, pulled out, rammed into her again, grunting.

  “Fuck.” He couldn’t resist her. She was like no other, offering a man unbelievable fantasies. Yet he held back the one word she needed.

  “I want you to have it,” she panted as he fucked her hard, harder, his body 222

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  punching her up against the wall.

  All night, she’d touched and teased, whispered and seduced, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d had to have her. She’d known right where to take him. Isabel always knew.

  “I need to give this to you.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, pushed his head back, and kissed him hard.

  He felt himself drowning in her, his orgasm building up from his balls, his cock ruling his brain, giving in, releasing in a great snap that slammed them both into the wall.

  Every man would want this. Any man could need this. The scent of her intoxicated him; the feel of her claimed him. She was perfection, offering him the world. She made him want things he’d never thought he needed. All he had to do was say yes to her.

  “Fuck, yes, please.” He couldn’t have stopped himself if his very life depended on it. Yet he prayed she wouldn’t ask him to let her do Dax Deacon after she’d given him to Noelle.

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  8

  THEY STARTED WITH CHAMPAGNE COCKTAILS AND OYSTERS

  ROCKEFELLER, then moved to the elegantly set dining table for Caesar salad, French onion soup, and a main course of Abalone Almondine. For dessert, the women would feast on Royce.

  Despite the innocuous chitchat and laughter, Royce understood that very well. His heart rate was up with anticipation and trepidation. It was a deadly combination, the push-me-pull-me of fear and desire, the one forcing the other higher.

  He laid his napkin by his plate. “That was perfection. You’re a marvelous cook.”

  Noelle laughed, a smoky, sultry sound like a Diana Krall melody. “You’re so sweet, but Dax”—she petted the man’s hand—“he hires the most marvelous caterer when we entertain.”

  Of course. “Then my compliments to the chef, whoever he or she may be.”

  He lifted his glass of Far Niente chardonnay, a lush wine with an extraordinary spicy oak aroma. Expensive, of course.

  Royce had been raised in a well-to-do family, but nothing like this. They’d entered Dax’s estate through an electric gate along a drive bordered with bushes that would be magnificent with blooms in the spring. A vaguely Frank Lloyd Wright style with floor-to-ceiling windows in living and dining room, the house overlooked the churning ocean just outside the Golden Gate. A dark and stormy night—like the proverbial Gothic novel—the waves crashed at the base of the cliff. On a summer day, you’d see the sailboats covering every square inch of white-crested ocean. Although, come to think of it, he wasn’t sure many ventured beyond the bridge, preferring to sail the bay waters instead. Now, a midwinter night, there was only darkness, the storm obscuring the lights, if any, along the opposite shore. He could see nothing, and no one was out there to see them.

  Noelle laid her fingertips on the table and rose. With three-inch heels, she was a magnificent Amazon, sleek black hair, creamy skin, dark, mysterious eyes. It was no wonder Dax could barely look anywhere else but at her. He’d added his two cents to the conversation, but for the most part, the man observed. Six224

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  four at least, Dax Deacon was more than a match for Noelle in height, but he was as blond as she was dark. Despite the civilized tuxedo, he watched her like a Viking warrior with his eye on the war prize.

  Royce wondered how Dax could share. It didn’t fit the intense gaze. Yet Isabel claimed he got off on watching Noelle. No matter what she did or whom she did it with, Noelle St. James somehow involved him, calling him, having her date call him; sometimes Dax even went along to observe. It was a freaking odd relationship. Yet somehow it seemed to work for them. Besides, who was Royce to judge? He was dating the madam.

  “I think we should get a little more comfortable, don’t you, Isabel?” Noelle winked at Dax. The only answer was a slight twitch along his jaw. Wearing a flowing skirt and camisole of some gauzy tie-dyed material, Noelle slid her blue and lime green scarf from her throat. The bright plumage did her coloring justice.

  Yet to Royce’s mind, Isabel eclipsed her in simple black velvet and pearls.

  “Yes, quite,” Isabel said, rising from the table, trailing her fingers along the collar of Royce’s white dress shirt as she headed to the living room, wineglass in hand. “You look so starched in that suit jacket and tie, Royce. Maybe you should take it off.” Two steps down, she wandered across the thick carpeting, walking right out of her high-heeled shoes.

  He could feel his breath, his heart, his blood in his veins, his mind cataloguing every nuance of the rise in his desire. Their scents combined in an intoxicating blend of sweet, fruity, musky, aroused.

  He followed her as if she were a siren, the choice gone as he left his jacket tossed over his chair, his tie loosened.

  “Oh, you can do better than that,” she whispered, fingering his shirt buttons. She slid one after another after another with long, coral-colored nails. She pulled his tie, tossed it on the dining room steps, then trailed a finger down the center of his chest, finally laying her palm against his heart. Royce swallowed, the tempo of his pulse giving away his emotions. She smiled, went up on tiptoes, whispered against his ear. “I’ll make this so good for you, baby.”

  She would. He had no doubt. Physically, she would give him a night like no other he’d ever had. But what about the morning?

  It wasn’t a typical guy thought. But then, Isabel was no typical woman. 225

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  “So, what should we do with old Dax here?” Noelle mused. Royce turned slightly, bringing Isabel flush to his side, his hand on her nape at the base of her hair knot.

  Up the two steps, onstage, Noelle circled the table, trailing her green and blue scarf along the cream carpet. She stopped beside Dax’s chair, legs spread, high heels planted. His back to them, he tipped his head to gaze up at her.

  “Stand up,” she ordered in little more than a whisper. He rose. The air crackled between them. Royce felt like a voyeur, the sensation incredibly hot. Beneath his touch, Isabel stirred, drew in a breath. She felt it, too. Like standing on the precipice outside the living room window, the ocean beating and churning below.

  Noelle closed the gap between them, her breasts brushing Dax’s tuxedo jacket. “Turn the seat around to face the living room.” />
  Dax flipped his chair’s position without taking his gaze off her.

  “Sit down, hands hanging at your sides.”

  The tall man did as ordered. Even several feet away, Royce could discern the blazing heat in his blue eyes. The tuxedo jacket didn’t manage to hide the bulge in his pants.

  She straddled him, her multicolored skirt draping his legs, and Royce felt the special communion between them.

  “You want this,” he thought he heard her say.

  “Fuck yes,” Dax murmured.

  Royce felt an answering flicker in his cock. Fuck yes, he wanted it, too, despite what came in the morning. He laid his arm across Isabel’s shoulders, tightened the grip, hauling her as close as he could get her. She shivered against his side.

  This was what she’d always wanted for him.

  Noelle slipped the end of her scarf through the slats of the chair, then around Dax’s wrist. Tying it off, she wrapped the length over his chest and secured his other hand.

  “You can’t move.”

  He shook his head, his lips curved. Royce was sure he could wriggle out of the knots, but he wouldn’t try.

  Cupping his cheeks, Noelle kissed him long, deep, then finally backed off to survey her handiwork. “He looks so pretty in blue and green, doesn’t he, Isabel?”

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  She tossed her long hair over her shoulder.

  “Delicious,” Isabel murmured, but when he gazed down at her, Royce found her eyes on him, the blue as blazingly hot as Dax’s. Noelle turned her back on Dax, skipping down the two steps. “So what are we going to do to your honey? Make him perform a sexy striptease for us?” Her eyes sparkled like stars in a clear night sky. He’d have thought they would choreograph the whole event ahead of time, but Isabel shook her head. “We’ll strip him down together.”

  Clinging to his side, she followed the arrow of hair with her finger down to his navel. Goose bumps trailed his skin in her wake. “Help me,” she urged Noelle. Wrapping her hand around his biceps, Noelle did the same, her touch slightly cooler than Isabel’s. Together they traced the line of his belt. There was a certain symmetry to their movements, one on either side of him. He felt a moment’s discomfort facing a man tied to a chair as they peeled off his shirt like gift wrap.