King's Pleasure

by Adrianne Byrd

  “Get on with that, man.” Jeremy laughed, even though his ego inflated a few more inches.

  The friends moved farther into the expansive house where the entire glass wall at the back of the house showcased an incredible view of the sun setting over the ocean. With summer’s longer days, dusk usually hit late in the evening.

  Jeremy stopped for a second to take it all in. “I love this house.”

  “You want to buy it?”

  “You’re selling it?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yeah. Turns out that wives don’t like their husbands keeping bachelor pads.” Dylan shook his head. “Who knew?”

  “You don’t say?” Jeremy chuckled, but he was seriously considering the offer. He loved L.A., and he loved Malibu even more. “Let me think on it and I’ll get back at you.”

  “A’ight, but don’t leave me hanging too long. Malibu is still a hot market. It’s one of the main reasons why I wanted to have the party here. It’s a bachelor-and-farewell party all rolled up into one.” Dylan’s eyes grew misty. “I need a drink. Damn, I’m getting married!”

  “Aah,” said Dave Killion, Dylan’s best man, who popped up like a jack-in-the-box with a tray of tequila shots. “You said the forbidden word. Drink!”

  Dylan rolled his eyes as he reached for one of the shot glasses.

  “What’s the forbidden word?” Jeremy asked.

  “Married,” Dave answered. “Consider that your only warning.”

  “Got it.” Jeremy gave him the thumbs-up and then watched as Dylan tossed back his shot.

  “I still can’t believe that I’m losing this place,” Dylan moaned.

  Jeremy struggled not to laugh. It was usually during the last twenty-four hours of bachelorhood that all the things brothers were truly giving up finally hit them. Losing the crib was one thing. Their only private space was about to be reduced to just a “man cave” in the basement—if they were lucky. He knew plenty of dudes who were still begging or negotiating to have even that. Their wardrobe would decrease to a quarter of the closet where they could own no more than three pairs of shoes—usually, two pairs for work and one pair of sneakers. God forbid if there wasn’t enough space for the entire department-store-size shoe collection that the missus was bringing to the table. Not to mention the guest pass to the feminized bathroom issued by the wife, where a stick of deodorant and one bottle of cologne that she’s selected resides in the medicine cabinet.

  “Actually, I’m going to need some more liquor,” Dylan announced after Dave strolled off.

  Jeremy followed him. “How’s it going, Robbie?” Jeremy shouted above the music.

  The bartender glanced up and smiled. “Never better, Boss Man.”

  Jeremy glanced over at the tip jar and saw that it was already full. “Looks like it’s going to be a good night.”

  “It’s always a good night at Bachelor Adventures’s parties.” He winked after spouting the company line.

  “Heeeeey, now, that’s what I’m talking about.” Jeremy gave Robbie the thumbs-up. “Hit me with a Heineken.”

  “You got it.” Robbie turned toward the portable chiller and grabbed one of the green bottles. “Here you go,” he said, popping the top and setting it down on the bar.

  “Thanks.” Jeremy stuffed a couple bills into the tip jar and then turned around to take another survey of the growing party. It was just an hour into the bash and already a few of the ladies had done away with their bikini tops, and more than a few of them were tossing smiles and winks his way.

  He turned up the bottle to swallow, and began his mental checklist of possibilities for the evening. What am I in the mood for this evening?

  Malibu being Malibu, the selection had more vanilla than his preferred chocolate, but there was enough of an assortment to keep his libido in the game.

  When the sun disappeared, the bamboo and seashell Tiki Torches were lit, along with several campfires, to give the partygoers outside on the beach enough light. With beer in hand, Jeremy moved around the crowd, primarily checking on his employees and the groom-to-be.

  On deck, his two nude models lay still on buffet tables with an assortment of sushi and sashimi placed strategically over their bodies. Some of the men made their selections by carefully using chopsticks, while others got their jollies off by using their mouths. As a precaution, Jeremy had two security guards posted near the girls to make sure that guests didn’t get too carried away.

  As minutes ticked into hours, the drunken games changed from Pin the Condom on the Model to Booby Dodgeball (throwing a ball in the shape of a boob and hitting another player). Jeremy joined in on that one and won.

  By the time The Dollhouse Dolls’s glistening bodies did what they did best, working the portable stripper poles, the party was classified as being off the hook. One of his popular dancers, Dime Piece, had one brother fiendin’ so hard that he let her walk him around the room on his hands and knees with a gold leash around his neck.

  Still clamoring for more, Dime ordered two of the bouncers to tie him to a coffee table where she then proceeded to climb on top of him in the classic sixty-nine position and simulate a sexual act. The look on dude’s face let everyone know that he was in hog heaven.

  By midnight, the Dolls had finished their acts, but the party was far from over. Dylan eventually showed up at the bar, shirtless and with his fly open, demanding another drink—which was the last thing it looked like he needed.

  Jeremy greeted him with two potential honeys tucked under each arm, and his own smile stretched across his face. “How you holding up, Dylan?”

  His buddy turned toward him, smelling like Mary Jane and looking higher than the satellites orbiting the earth.

  “Dr. J, man. You throw the best damn parties,” he slurred.

  Another satisfied customer. “Thanks, bro. I’m glad to see that you’re having a good time.”

  Dylan looked at the two ebony beauties next to Jeremy and struggled to straighten up. “You don’t look like you’re having too bad a time yourself.”

  Jeremy laughed. “You know me. I get in where I fit in—most of the time.”

  “Awww…that’s my dawg!” Dylan held up his fist for a bump, while Robbie set the next drink down for the groom-to-be.

  When Dylan’s gaze lingered on the ladies, Jeremy leaned down and whispered, “Why don’t you two be nice to my friend here?”

  They shared a brief disappointed look, but then slid over to either side of the man of the evening and poured on the charm.

  “Damn,” Dylan said. “Nobody can say you’re not a generous man.”

  “My momma always taught me to share.” Jeremy laughed, but while he was laughing, he caught sight of the most unbelievable hourglass figure out of the corner of his eye.

  “Whoo, girl. Shake it!”

  Jeremy’s head twisted all the way around as his gaze zoomed toward a stunningly beautiful cinnamon-brown beauty in a white bikini top and matching wraparound sarong. “Who is that?”

  Despite being a man who was accustomed to seeing beautiful bodies, Jeremy was positive that he had never seen curves that lush and dangerous in his entire adult life. Baby Girl was so fine that he personally wanted to call and thank her momma for doing one hell of a job.

  And man, could this chick move. Rock, rock, dip and back it on up. Baby Girl. He shook his head. She had just the right bounce and jiggle to set it off.

  It was hard to look at her without a brother twisting up his face because she was putting a hurting on everyone watching her. Before he knew it he was rocking his own hips as if he was already partnered up with her on the dance floor.

  She’s the one, he decided as his erection stretched down one side of his leg.

  Jeremy didn’t immediately bounce up out of his chair. Instead, he spent a good deal of time itemizing a mental list of all the things he wanted to do to her—some were illegal in twelve states.

  His gaze finally inched upward, but she was moving and grooving so much that it actually
took a moment before she finally turned so that he could see her face. When she turned, Jeremy’s heart stopped.

  At least, that’s what it felt like—because there was suddenly an unbelievable pain in his chest. Baby Girl had the face of an angel, with round, doll-like eyes, big-apple cheeks and a pair of incredibly shapely, full lips that reminded him of the singer Angie Stone. He loved a nice set of lips.

  Suddenly, a brother pulled up all onto her bumper, and jealousy stabbed him so hard that it was a good thing he didn’t pack heat or CSI would have been all up in there tonight. With an inner strength that he didn’t know he had, he forced himself to hang back and watch Baby Girl’s reaction. Hell, for all he knew, the brother could be her man. No sense in looking crazy until he had a few more facts.

  His mysterious angel-slash-sex kitten turned and smiled over her shoulder at her new dance partner. Though she dipped and rolled her hips, he quickly concluded that the two-step-challenged brother wasn’t her man. And when it became clear that dude couldn’t keep up with what she was working with, Baby Girl gave homey the cold shoulder.

  “Damn, he went down in flames,” Dylan said, watching the same scene.

  Hell, Jeremy had forgotten all about Dylan and the two honeys still holding up the bar. Jeremy’s singular focus was on the woman that could clearly give his dancers a good run for their money.

  Jeremy watched brother after brother step up. But one by one, she shot them down with either a roll of her eyes or a sudden twist of her back. Baby Girl wasn’t playing on the dance floor.

  “Cold,” he mumbled, but what still impressed him was Baby Girl’s skills.

  “Why don’t you get up there?” Dylan said, elbowing him. “Show us how it’s done, dawg.”

  Tempting. However, something else coursed down the center of Jeremy’s back. Nervousness. The emotion was so new to him that for a couple of minutes, he didn’t know what to do. Rejection was never something he’d even considered before.

  “A body like that,” Dylan slurred, “was made for one thing, and one thing only—sin.”

  Jeremy bobbed his head in agreement. It had been a minute since he’d been up in somebody’s church and he certainly wasn’t interested in being saved tonight. He glanced around, and with a quick eyeball check he was pretty sure that the laughing beauty was drawing nearly every man’s attention. Playing the odds, he knew that if he didn’t bust a move soon, a worthwhile competitor would surely knock him out of the game before he even got up to bat.

  “Don’t tell me you ain’t gonna make a move.” Dylan laughed. “I’ve never known you to turn down a challenge.”

  Jeremy cut an annoyed look over his way. “Then you know that I’m not going to start tonight.” He twisted his head back toward the floor. “A hunter needs to study his prey before he makes a move.” However, it only took a few seconds for some major action to start happening along the seams of his pants.

  His gaze performed another slow drag down her long neck, graceful shoulders and incredibly perky and very real breasts. Every inch of this woman’s body was a work of art. Flat stomach, small waist and an ass he wouldn’t mind spending time bouncing quarters off—or just bouncing off it himself.

  That brought a smile to his face.

  “She’s got to be an actress. Please say she’s an actress. I’ll make her a star,” Dylan promised.

  “Calm down, Lassie,” Jeremy said. “Your bone is showing.”

  Dylan glanced down and finally zipped up his pants, but not before peeking into Jeremy’s lap. “Looks like mine isn’t the only one. You might want to hit that with a hammer before you think about standing up.”

  Jeremy chuckled, tossed back his drink and then stood up. “Stop hating on the pipes, man, and carry your ass on back to the minor leagues. I got this.”

  Chapter 2

  “Promiscuous” bumped from the DJ’s speakers and put Leigh Matthews’s body into a trance. A good beat always had that effect on her. And tonight she needed the music to mentally take her to another place.

  The men that stepped up to her trying to impress her failed to do just that—mainly because men were the last thing she wanted to deal with. In all honesty, she was sick of the games and the lies. Sure, she got a kick out of it when men approached her and tried to get their bump and grind on. But it never took them long to realize that she wasn’t interested in taking it any further than that. As quick as they rolled up on her, they got dismissed.

  Still, there was a certain satisfaction watching them lose their cool when she got her hips dipping and rolling and her ass popping and backing up. She didn’t mind them fantasizing and spitting weak game in her ear. It was good to know that she still had it like that. Lord knew DeShawn had stopped appreciating her and started taking her for granted.

  How much longer was she going to put up with it? How much longer was just being his good girl—the one he always relied on to welcome him back with open arms—going to last?

  Hell, did she even love him anymore?

  Eyes closed, Leigh allowed herself to become one with the music. Her limbs flowed with the melody, while her hips rocked to the hard-driving bass. It wasn’t long before she was turning herself on. She rolled her hands across the top of her chest, then let them flow over her breasts, glide down her hard-earned abs, and then rolled over her hips.

  Soon, she forgot about the number of men crowding her space, trying to rock a two-step or the whack-ass “lean back” that didn’t require them to even move their feet. Seriously, if you can’t keep up, then step the hell aside. Not until she could feel the first beads of sweat rolling down her face did she flutter her long lashes open. When she did the sexiest pair of eyes she’d ever seen watched her from across the room.

  Dark.

  Chocolate.

  Hypnotic.

  Everything from her toes to her nipples tingled, especially when her gaze expanded to take in the magnificent specimen those eyes belonged to. Good Lord. Am I dreaming? The man was as solid as an African warrior ready to wrestle a lion with his bare hands. The thought of wrestling with him butt-naked with a bottle of baby oil crossed her mind, and then a heat wave flushed her entire body. Maybe tonight she didn’t have to be such a good girl.

  Judging by the look in his eyes, her mysterious stranger was thinking the same thing. The question now was what type of games were they going to play before they answered the call of their bodies?

  Their gazes still locked from across the room, Leigh rocked her hips and touched her body in a way that one would have to be blind, crippled or crazy not to know what time it was. She tossed her thick hair back, giving him a sneak preview of what she looked like in the throes of passion.

  Her smile slid wider as his gaze roamed over every inch of her body. It wasn’t long before the rest of the crowd melted away while she concentrated on giving him his own private dance. It was a tall order, seeing as how she was in a house full of professional strippers and weekend party girls.

  She turned, giving her mysterious gawker a backside view of what she was working with. While she worked her hips and jiggled her ass, she still felt her future lover’s gaze caressing her frame. The image of them grinding together in a heated fury made her tits hard as rocks and her bikini bottoms as wet as if she’d just stepped out of the ocean.

  Leigh turned to see his face again just as he said something to the dude next to him holding up the bar, before he finally stalked toward her.

  He even walked like a man among boys. His gait, long, smooth and sexy as hell, made her knees knock. But it was those dark, penetrating eyes that hypnotized her.

  She needed him—wanted him.

  When he was just halfway through the crowd, her body caught fire. She was more than willing to bet that nibbling on all that chocolate could send a woman into a diabetic coma. Then again, if a girl’s gotta go, she may as well go out with a smile on her face.

  Five feet away— Damn, it didn’t make any sense for a man to be that fine.

  Four
feet away— Wouldn’t it be hot if he just ripped her clothes off right there in the middle of a crowded room?

  Three feet away— Would anyone notice or care if they went at in the middle of the floor like it was the wild kingdom?

  Two feet away— If he so much as touched her, she was sure her bikini bottoms were going to be hit with a tsunami of honey.

  One foot— His large hand snaked out across her waist and just as expected, her clit exploded and her knees buckled. Luckily for her, she had his broad chest to fall back against while she tried to catch her breath. Damn—a one-touch orgasm. Who would’ve ever thought?

  As an added surprise, her future lover was not a simple two-step brother with a bump-and-grind routine. He had skillz—yes, with a Z. He rocked, dipped and moved like he was born on the dance floor. Leigh had long subscribed to the notion that how a man danced was directly correlated with how he performed beneath the sheets.

  It wasn’t long before they were moving as one and definitely scorching up the designated dance floor. While a few beads of sweat rolled down her hairline, Mr. Sexy-As-Hell remained calm, cool and dry. It wasn’t long before she wondered if she could keep up with him—on the dance floor and between the sheets.

  One thing was for sure, she wouldn’t mind finding out.

  For three songs, their bodies moved and grooved against each other in ways that were more than just suggestive—they were scandalous. Leigh’s breasts ached to the point that they were painful and her heart dropped so low that she was convinced that it was now pounding away inside her clit.

  Another two songs later and they were still at it, with hardly an inch between them—at times exchanging the same breath whenever her breasts and his chest grazed each other.

  A few times Leigh caught his gaze dropping to her nipples. A second later, his tongue would roll across his lips, making them glisten. Never in her life had she ever had to suppress the urge to kiss a complete stranger. But here she was, drawing on every ounce of willpower.

  And losing.