Текст книги "End of the Innocence"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter 38
When it all came down to it, there was only one thing to get a man like Brad. A man who had everything, could buy anything, and wanted for nothing. Either a) something he had been deprived of, or b) something he could never get too much of.
I doubted Brad had been deprived of much of anything his entire life. Love. He hadn’t had enough love; it was something I saw at odd times, times when he cradled my face in his hand, and a flicker of worry went through his eyes. He, at those moments, revealed how terrified he was of losing me. I didn’t know how to package love, how to giftwrap that emotion and hand it to Brad. I told him often, as often as I could. But I knew that the more in love he fell, the more afraid he was that I would leave. That I would turn into his mother and choose another reality over this one. I was marrying him. That should be enough of a reassurance.
Hmm ... So b) something he could never get too much of. Sex. Brad had always been in control of our sexual adventures. It was part of the turn-on for me, the willing handover of my body, unknowing of what he had in store for it. But I wanted something more for his birthday, something other than me, naked and willing, waiting for his command. My mind flickered back to his being deprived. He had been shortchanged of something, for eight months now. Another woman. We had ventured into the water, spending one hot night with a blonde Russian, Brad bringing her multiple orgasms without actually fucking her. He had to miss it, had to miss domination of another woman with his cock, seeing the look in her eyes when he thrust it in, the shock and incredulity as it turned from too much to too perfect.
It was time. Since that night, I had waffled and wish-washed my way back and forth over the line of indecision until my head spun like a drunken coed. But the thought always made me hot, always pushed me over the edge when Brad’s head was between my legs or he was buried deep in me. The pleasure he gave me, the incredible heights and depths he brought me to, were too incredible for me not to share—it seemed unfair for me to keep this wealth of sexual knowledge contained solely for my pleasure. When I was with Brad and the Russian, I had loved every minute of the experience, as limited as it was. But to see him inside a woman, to see his thrusts and her moans, his hands gripping her skin, his mouth on hers—the thought was almost too intense to process. During sex, I would get snapshot images, entering uninvited into my mind, and my back would involuntarily arch, my orgasm no longer containable, and my world would turn black in a moment of exquisite perfection.
How would I react in that actual situation? When he spread her legs, touched her body? When I saw that look on his face, the look of lust and ownership, the same look that sent me over the edge, the look I strove for, fucked for, and did anything and everything to provoke? How would I take it, and what if he needed more of it?
Would I really be giving him a birthday present? Or was this just one, big, sex-filled test of our relationship?
♥♥♥
I didn’t even know how to go about setting up a threesome. It was something I had always had Brad handle, not wanting the awkward chitchat, conversation of limits and desires, the meet and greet. And dealing with a woman seemed even more problematic. If I had to, if every sexual standard Brad and I had in place crashed down, I could walk up to a man and bring up the concept of sex. Men were a given, a single man with a working cock wasn’t likely to turn down an offer of no-strings-attached sex. Women were a whole other ballgame. I was a woman who had already been introduced to threesomes, who was familiar with walking into an unknown situation and having a stranger touch me, yet I would still say ‘fuck you’ if approached by a stranger and propositioned for sex. I couldn’t image any woman, other than a prostitute, who would willingly enter into an unknown situation without someone there they were itrustyouwithmylife comfortable with. And ... if there was a woman out there who was that down-to-fuck ... I wasn’t sure I wanted her anywhere near my man.
I decided to call the only expert I knew, Beverly Franklin, a redheaded bombshell who had popped my sex-party cherry eight months earlier. I locked myself in my office and dialed her number.
When she answered, my opening greeting was awkward, my words tripping out, no good way to introduce myself. There was an initial pause, but then warm sincerity flowed through the phone.
“You’re that gorgeous brunette who came with Brad to Masked Innocence! Of course I remember. I’ve heard you tied that man down with an engagement.” The admiration rang clearly through her voice.
“Well, someone had to do it.”
She laughed coquettishly. “I missed seeing you at the Christmas party; Brad said you guys went up to Aspen. How was the snow?”
Aspen. The day after my parents left, we locked down the house and flew west, locking ourselves into a chalet and fucking for three days straight before coming home. Snow? I hadn’t even noticed. “It was great, though I hated missing the party. But Beverly, the reason I called is that Brad’s birthday is Friday.” I explained my predicament, hoping that she didn’t take the question the wrong way.
She thought for a moment. “Honestly, Julia, if you’re trying to find a single woman yourself, you’re probably best going to The Montley House.”
I repeated the name, drawing a blank, my naïve mind trying to find something familiar in the words.
She laughed. “Why don’t I take you there tonight? It’s a place easier shown than explained; plus, they won’t accept you without a referral.”
I blushed. “That would be great, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Let’s meet for drinks first. I need to give you the lay of the land before you make your selection.”
We made plans to meet at seven-thirty. I hung up my cell and Googled ‘The Montley House,’ finding zero results. Any place that successfully hid from the internet could only mean trouble. My stomach flip-flopping, I returned to my files and dove back into work.
♥♥♥
I almost forgot about the damn chicken. I was mid-dial into a call to Brad when I remembered the baked chicken breasts. Martha lightly battered them in flour, mixed with some type of crack, before slow-baking them, and they tasted out-of-this-world amazing. There were few things in life better than her chicken, and I wasn’t missing it for anything. I hung up on Brad, his hello cut off by my thumb, and I thought for a moment before dialing him back.
“Yes?”
“Sorry about that, forgot I was getting on the elevator. Martha’s making baked chicken tonight.”
“I know. I’m on my way home now. Are you leaving the office?”
“Yeah, but I can’t stay long. I was just going to grab dinner and then go; I’ve got plans with the girls.”
“Why don’t they come by the house for dinner? You know Martha will have plenty.”
“I think they have other stuff to do, but I’ll ask.”
“All right. See you soon. Love you.”
“I love you, too, babe.” I hung up the phone with a smile, grateful that he hadn’t pushed any more. My lies tended to fall into a million pieces at about question three. Anything before that, I held up pretty well. I let out a breath, walking through the plan in my mind. I would go to Brad’s house, gorge on Martha’s cooking, change into something worthy of a mysterious outing, then go and meet with Beverly. I grinned, embracing the delicious secret. I was, basically, James Bond in stilettos.
Chapter 39
Julia was lying. There was something in their earlier conversation on the phone, something off. And now she was nervous, eating but fidgeting, glancing at the clock too often for practical purposes. Deception was never good, it was an evil snake that planted doubt in the mind of others, and he could feel it stealing over his body. He stood, grabbing his plate and paused on his way to the sink, kissing her neck and flashing her a smile. She flushed, looking down.
He continued to the sink, scraping his plate and glancing at her. “Where are you guys going?”
She hesitated. “Olives. Becca heard it was good.”
Yes, Olives was good, if you didn’t mind paying thirty dollars a drink. A little rich for college student blood. Brad headed to the den, a headache growing.
♥♥♥
I changed, and then changed again, my first outfit looking like a cat burglar’s. Frustrated with my lack of knowledge about Montley’s, I finally decided on a simple black dress, choosing one that was more daring than conservative, hoping it would fit the vibe of whatever mousetrap Beverly was leading me into. I slid on Jimmy Choos and a cropped leather jacket, then headed downstairs, calling for Brad.
He was in the den, a t-shirt and sweatpants on, baseball playing on the television, and he glanced up at my entrance, his eyes taking in my outfit in one, slow scan. He stood, walking over and stopped before me, his hands on his hips. I looked up at him quizzically. “What?”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
“You look way too good.” He let his eyes drop, and he trailed a finger along and up my side, the contact causing my breath to hitch, his finger crossing over my breasts and down the dip in my neckline.
I reached out and grabbed his finger, wrapping my hand around it. “Stop. Stop that or else I won’t be able to think straight.”
“Go change.”
“What? I’m not changing! Besides, Olives is fancy, so what’s wrong with this?” I looked down at my outfit in dismay, his finger catching my chin and pulling it up until our eyes met. He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine and I stared back defiantly. He grinned suddenly and pulled me to him, his mouth taking mine, a long kiss that stole my breath. He squeezed my ass as we separated and turned, heading back to the couch and settling in. I stared at him, baffled. “So ... the outfit is okay?”
“Yeah. Very ... Hot,” he drawled, picking up the remote. “You coming back here tonight or staying at your house?” He seemed utterly unconcerned with my response.
“I was gonna stay here,” I said slowly.
“Call me if you end up drinking and need a ride.” He flashed me a gorgeous smile and leaned forward, watching the game closely.
I turned, checking that I had my phone and headed for the back door, sending one final glance backward at the den.
“Love you, babe,” he called as I opened the door and stepped out.
“Love you, too,” I said, pulling the door closed and digging for my keys. Weird.
♥♥♥
Brad relaxed against the leather couch, listening as Julia’s SUV started up, a throaty purr that rumbled past the den on its way out. Wherever she was going, it wasn’t to meet the girls, and it probably wasn’t Olives. But, when he stared into her eyes, those brown depths that held his heart, he was reminded of who she was, and she was trustworthy. She had never given him any reason not to trust her. And if she needed to lie to him, there was a reason. He’d just have to wait to find out what that was.
Chapter 40
Olives was definitely not my kind of place. Any bar that had a valet was too high-brow for me. I left my car with an acne-covered kid and headed in, gripping my purse and looking for Beverly. It was easy to find her, her shot of red hair sticking out like a flag. I shot a quick smile to the hostess and bee-lined for her, moving through a throng of suits, silks, and perfume until I finally reached her table. She beamed when she saw me, standing and giving me a hug.
“Julia! So glad you made it. Let’s move to the back, it’s quieter back there.” She grabbed my elbow and we hustled, moving to a rear room where the air was lighter and the volume half as loud. Fanning herself, she slid into a small booth and gestured for me to take the opposite seat.
“This is better,” I said, grinning at her across the table.
“I know; it’s pure madness out there. Everyone packs in like sardines until nine, and then there’s not a soul in this place. It makes no sense. I would have started back here, but didn’t want you to get lost in that crowd. A young thing like you, those men wouldn’t have let you get too far.” She winked at me and caught the eye of a server, who stopped by and took our drink order.
“So. Brad’s birthday. What kind of girl are you thinking about?”
Well, that was easy. So much for awkward skirting of the issue. It was one of the reasons I had called Beverly. Frank conversation was certainly appreciated. “I’m not really sure. Can you tell me more about The Montley House?”
She leaned forward, her gorgeous face highlighted to perfection with flawless makeup and diamond drop earrings, her blue eyes burning with mischief. “Montley is the underground red-light district for this city, if a red-light district dealt in thousand dollar bills and professional security. They only have seven girls, and they only cater to clients with a personal invite. I’ll be your invite. I called Riley and told her who you were and what you were looking for. She’ll walk you through the girls they have. Are you wanting more of a submissive or aggressive girl?”
I blew out a breath, considering the choices. “Probably submissive. I don’t want a girl who acts beaten; I just don’t want one trying to run the show. Brad will want to do that.” A thought occurred to me and I frowned. “Every other experience we’ve had, the other person has been a willing participant. I don’t want to force or pressure a girl into this.”
Beverly laughed and leaned forward, flashing a playful smile. “Julia, these women are not at Montley because of financial need. They make more in one night than most women make in a year. They are there because they love sex. Not to mention—can you imagine having to force any woman to have sex with Brad? Good lord, Julia. When I first hired him as an attorney, sex was the last thing on my mind. I hired him because I was told he was lethal in the courtroom. But any woman who spends five minutes in that man’s presence wants his cock. That’s just the way it is. Whomever you pick tonight ... trust me, they’re going to enjoy every minute of the experience.”
She sat back, smiling at the waiter as he set down our drinks, twin martini glasses of sexual confidence.
♥♥♥
I stopped at the second drink, the room a little fuzzy and Beverly getting more beautiful by the second. She knew everything and everyone, and spoke about our lifestyle like it was Wisteria-Lane-normal. It was refreshing, to be able to gasp about the awkwardness of a threesome gone wrong, or giggle when she told me of a sixteen year old kid who somehow snuck into one of her parties.
“I’m telling you, Julia, he stood there for one minute with his mouth hanging open, frozen in his tracks, and then he turned white as a sheet and took off! We probably ruined that boy for life.”
“What happened to that girl, the Russian who was there the night of the Masked Innocence party?
“Who, Kate?” She closed her eyes briefly. “When I think about what almost happened in our house, I get sick. That creep who brought her ... the whole point of me agonizing over a guest list is to make sure people like that don’t end up at our parties. My husband understands that now. Kate lived with us for a few months until we got her citizenship sorted out. Now she works in Customer Service for one of our companies. She’s doing well, looks marvelous. Not as pale as she was that night.”
Brad walked her around to the far side of the bed, laying her back onto it, her bare skin creamy white against the blood red duvet. He ran his hand down the center of her body, her skin quivering from his touch, and she gasped as his fingers reached the place where her legs met. My gaze felt physically glued to the scene, and I blinked, the intensity of my stare drying out my eyes.
I blushed, hoping the dark bar hid my tell, pushing my memories back. I had handled that experience well, jealousy not a problem, arousal overriding it in one, easy sweep. Would Friday be any different? Kate had been a fumbling, inexperienced partner. What if this hired vixen blew my sexual attempts away? Reminded Brad of all of the sex and women he was missing out on? But my decision was made. Even if it all led to that, if she was the catalyst to that epiphany, I wanted to know that now; I wanted this breakdown to happen before the wedding, before the joining of our lives was complete. Brad had voiced it, in simple enough terms, when we had discussed a prenup. We are not getting divorced. Ever.
I didn’t know about a divorce, didn’t know any legal contract in which the word ‘ever’ could really be applied. But it didn’t matter what was on paper, or my finger, or filed with the courts. Whether or not our marriage lasted, I would always and forever, madly deeply love the man. My heart was being sewn together with his, each day and night that passed adding threads to the stitch. And our wedding, our exchange of vows, would be the knot tying the whole package together. At that point, it would be too late; my heart would forever be his. No matter how long the marriage lasted.
So this was important. For better or worse, I needed to know if this was something I could handle, and more importantly, if this was something we could handle.
Beverly had asked me something, and I looked at her expectant face. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“I said it’s getting late. Are you ready to head to Montley?”
No, I want to go back home and crawl into bed and run from my insecure fears. “Sure.” I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 41
Apparently, when you reach a certain level of god-awful money, it comes complete with a driver. A helpful accompaniment in our case, since neither of us was in a condition to drive. The man pulled up in a gray Maybach, and we bundled into the backseat, nervous anticipation causing a shot of adrenaline to shoot through my body.
“Do I need cash?” I whispered to Beverly.
“No, they won’t take any money tonight. Riley will handle payment with Brad after the fact. They know we are good for it, otherwise we wouldn’t be considered as clients.”
“And how much is this all going to cost?”
She shrugged, folding down a mirror and checking her makeup. “If you don’t want the girl to stay the night, if she is just there for a few hours ... it’ll depend a little on the girl, but probably ten, fifteen grand.”
Holy fuck. This gift just went way out of my price range. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but a five-figure sum wasn’t it. I swallowed. Beverly flipped up the mirror and glanced at me. “What’s wrong? Is it the money?”
Yes. “Not exactly ... I just wasn’t expecting ...”
She interrupted me with a wave of her hand. “Brad will pay for the girl. That will all be handled by him, and trust me, he won’t mind in the slightest. You are giving him permission, which is your present. The cost is a normal expense in his sex life. It won’t give him a second’s pause.” She patted my leg reassuringly. “Breathe, Julia. Get some life back in those beautiful cheeks. We’re almost there.”
And two minutes later, my face still pasty white, the Maybach slowed, iron gates opened, and we pulled into a cobblestone drive, the gates closing securely behind us.
The doors to the car were opened as soon as it came to a stop, white-gloved men in tuxedos opening the doors with a polite smile. They escorted us to the entrance of a three story Gothic mansion, the brick covered in ivy, oil lanterns flickering light over the brick, twin sentries of illuminations flanking the front door. The white gloves moved past, opening the doors, and we were suddenly in the foyer and asked to take a seat. They gave half-bows, heads moving All-American good looks in unison, then returned to the front, leaving us alone in the grand room.
The three-story foyer stretched before us, the arched windows along the back glowing with views of a blue pool and up-lit palms. I flexed my hands, aware of the dampness of my palms. I could see where the exorbitant fees went. The room’s dark floors, large stone columns, and fresh flower arrangements screamed high class, no condom dispensers or neon lights here. The window dressings alone had to have set someone back six figures. From somewhere, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingered. Faintly, I heard the click of heels, moving with brisk efficiency toward us. The staccato was a countdown, and I tensed in anticipation, my nerves high, second-guessing what the hell I was doing here, what I was thinking, what ...
The clicks rounded the corner, and then she stood before us.
She was gorgeous; my first introduction to The Montley House, and I was already blown away, slightly insecure at the idea that other women in this house could compare to this statuesque woman. In her late thirties, if I had to guess, the age barely settled on her, her face clear and unlined, large blue eyes intelligently assessing me through thick lashes. Her hair, blue-black tresses, was pulled back and away from her face in a casual bun that somehow seemed perfectly pulled together. A dark purple dress with velvet accents hugged her curves, and she gave Beverly a warm hug and then extended a graceful hand toward me. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Riley.”
I stood, shaking her hand, impressed by the firm grip and her gracious smile. “I’m Julia. Beverly has spoken very highly of you.”
She smiled. “Let’s move into the sitting room.” She held out a directional hand, and we moved into a round room containing a small seating cluster of two leather chairs and a loveseat, a large fireplace dominating the room. She gestured to the chairs, and I sat, Beverly leaning forward and gently touching my arm.
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“Julia, why don’t I wait for you in the car? Then you can have privacy with Riley.”
I hesitated and nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”
She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm. “Take your time, I’ll catch up on my phone calls.” Then she left, and I was alone with Riley. There was a brief moment of silence, a moment where I really wanted to stand up and chase Beverly down, waving my arms dramatically and escape back to the comfort of her car.
“May I offer you anything to drink?”
“No, I am fine. Thank you.”
She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and looked into my eyes. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about our house and how it works. We have six girls who can be reserved as singles, doubles, or triples. Our home has several rooms that you can use, or we can send the girls to a location of your choosing. If the girls leave this house, there are several security measures that come into play, so that will be something for you to consider. What kind of experience are you looking for?”
I wet my lips, considering the question. “I was hoping for a threesome scenario, a girl to join me and my fiancé. It would involve sex on her part, she and I pleasing him together, that kind of thing. Nothing involving BDSM, or anything like that.” I squeezed my hands nervously and met her eyes.
She smiled. “That is a very common request, and one that any of our girls could satisfy. What kind of man is your fiancé? Sexually, what is his style?”
I blushed, trying to find the correct words to communicate the enigma that is Brad. “Brad is ... Brad is a very dominant individual; he likes control. But in the bedroom he is very much a pleaser. He gets off on pleasing a woman, and I think he pulls a lot of his confidence from his sexual abilities.” I paused. “Does that make sense?”
“I understand what you are saying perfectly. Let me show you our book of girls.” She stood, walking to a low chest, and opening it, pulled out an embossed book. She sat down on the leather loveseat and patted the seat next to her. I moved, settling in next to her, and studied the book, curious about the girls inside.
She skipped the first girl, skimming past a few pages of photos and then stopped, a buxom blonde staring out at me with a playful, open smile. “This is June. I wanted to start with her for a few reasons. One thing for you to consider is her body type. Do you prefer a girl with your body type, or someone different? Many men only go for one type.”
With Brad being the town’s biggest slut, I didn’t have to wonder about his tastes. Hell, he’d been with Beverly, her red hair setting off the generous curves perfectly placed on her forty-year old frame. Alexis, the platinum blonde stripper, with firm muscles and large implants. Stephanie, the brunette bombshell whose framed nude photo had pouted from above Brad’s bed, a Marilyn Monroe body complete with a wave of sexuality. Then there was me, different than all of them. The man had one type: female. Nothing else seemed to matter. A terrifying realization—my competition stretching in every direction. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s open to different types.”
“Well then, what are you attracted to?” Her voice was so calm; I didn’t understand the question at first.
“Me?”
“Yes. This is as much a sexual experience for you as it is for him. Whether or not you plan to play with the girl, I don’t want you turned off by the looks of her. Is there a body type you’d prefer?”
I bit my bottom lip, reaching out and turning the pages, glancing at the girls who adorned each page. I had been expecting, coming to this house of sex, to encounter botoxed foreheads, silicone lips, and breasts swelled to unnatural proportions, tattoos and piercings decorating hardened bodies. These girls were nothing like that. They were the fresh-faced natural beauties that adorned Victoria’s Secret catalogs, impossible specimens, smooth skin over perfect bone structure, thick hair, soft curves that were either natural, or perfectly enhanced.
Only six girls were in the book, but they managed to cover every spectrum between them. November was exotic, dark hair, green eyes, a mixture of cultures blending perfectly across her skin. January was blonde with light blue eyes, Nordic features, and full, natural breasts. She glowed in her photos, her skin looking velvet soft, light pink nipples that matched soft lips and pink cheeks. June, the first girl Riley had stopped at, was the typical American beauty—tan skin, long legs, blonde hair, and large breasts too perky and perfect to be natural. Her white teeth and sunny smile stretched across three pages, and from some of her poses, she seemed to be double-jointed in multiple ways. August was pure fire, red hair with sexual energy that jumped off the page, pure sass evident in every pose, grin, and wink. April and May were twins, both brunettes, with flawless natural bodies, enough muscle tone to indicate fitness, enough curves to make them every man’s wet dream.
I flipped back and forth through the books, getting frustrated with myself, with my lack of decision-making ability. I was stopped by Riley’s firm hand placed over mine. “Is it that you like more than one? Or you don’t care for any of them?”
I shook my head. “They’re all beautiful; they’re just all so different. It’s hard for me to choose.”
“Let me tell you my thoughts. I would suggest either January or May. They are our girls who have spunk, but need leading. If Brad is an alpha male, he will want to direct the situation. You need a girl who will wait for orders, not try and set the pace. I don’t want to put you with a submissive, or else there will be no challenge. These girls are a good blend of the qualities I think you need.” She studied me, her intelligent eyes watching as I processed her words. I nodded quietly, flipping the pages back and forth between the two girls.
It was hard for me to imagine May without her twin; the two girls fit so well together, their bodies aligned in almost every pose. She was similar to me, her breasts fuller, but our coloring was the same, our faces both holding a trace of Italian heritage. January was different, and I felt pulled more to her, my eyes tracing over the lines of her body, and I had a sudden, perverse question of how her breasts would feel in my hands, the weight of them, so much larger than my own. I blushed and shut the book. “January. Let’s go with her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Is she available this Friday?”
“It will depend on the time. Let me check.” She stood, moving out of the room, and returned with a small leather book, settling into one of the chairs and opening it up.
“How would ten in the evening work for you? I can put her down for four hours.”
How much does four hours cost? “That would be wonderful, though I don’t imagine us needing that long.”
“And will you come to the house or will you use another location?”
I hesitated. “You had mentioned rules and arrangements if we use somewhere other than this house. Can you go over those?”
“Certainly. Any meetings outside the house require our security to attend. Two men will accompany the girl and wait outside the room. They will need to be in earshot the entire time. That rule is for the girl’s safety and is non-negotiable. If, at any point during the evening, the girl feels uncomfortable, or is asked to do something that wasn’t discussed in this meeting, she may call for the security detail and leave, and full payment will still be required.”
I nodded and ran through the possible locations in my mind. I couldn’t see bringing Brad to this house. He would want to be in a situation he had control over. “I’d like to do it at his house.” I gave her the address, watching her write it down with perfect penmanship.
“Wonderful. Is that where I should send the bill? It will be couriered.”
The bill. My cheapskate innards clenched at the exorbitant possibilities. “Yes, that would be fine.”
She closed the book and smiled. “Do you have any questions? I have everything I need.”
I shook my head, my breath starting to flow more naturally at the realization that we were done. Done. And I had survived. “No.” I braved a return smile. “Thank you.”
She stood, pulling a business card out of the black notebook and passing it to me. I accepted it, rising to my feet, and we moved through the quiet house until we were back in the three-story foyer. A black tuxedo materialized out of the shadows, and a man’s hand opened the front door.
