When Olivia had stepped back into her discarded, and now wrinkled, dress, her plan had been to set the carpets ablaze with her turbo-charged retreat. She’d planned to hide out the rest of the trip in the hopes of not being spotted until it was time for the shuttle to drop her off at the airport. She’d just been fucked hard by a guy and gave another the most professional blowjob she’d ever managed. Hell, she shouldn’t have been proud of such a thing, and she knew it, but the look on Clint’s face as she’d sucked him off was so awestruck, she felt wanton and provocative.
They must have thought she was one of those “thirsty” bitches who earned her keep with what she did between the sheets, but she’d just gotten caught up in things, and it had been exhilarating…until she took the time to think about it.
She’d gotten as far as the door when Clint caught her by the waist and pulled her against his gorgeous, nude body. The man was shameless and should have been. He was fit without giving off the impression he’d spent hours in the gym cutting himself into a perfect, physical specimen. She didn’t like when men looked like they tried too hard.
His cock hung between them and was pressing against her dress, but with him kneading her ass the way he was, she couldn’t muster up enough indignation to care. He could massage her into a whimpering, useless lump if he wanted to, and she wouldn’t complain.
At least not until later.
“Join us for dinner, O? We missed out on lunch.”
“And by dinner, you mean…”
He grinned, and all at once there was a draft on her ass. He’d nudged her dress up in the back. “Eating food. Unless…” He brushed his lips against her cheek and caught her earlobe between his teeth then pulled it. “…unless you were thinking about something else. I didn’t get to finish.”
Ken crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned his head to the side. “You are so brazen, Clint.”
“If you don’t ask, how are you supposed to get what you want? Besides, being brazen is how I got you, isn’t it?”
Wait. The guys were good company, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be gotten.
“Uhhh…” She nudged Clint’s roving hands free of her ass and cursed herself for the evidence of her arousal dampening her thighs. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she couldn’t go twice, but that didn’t mean the touch didn’t feel nice. She wouldn’t mind him exploring her, but not if it meant she was some gay guy’s object of curiosity. Still, most who were only experimenting probably didn’t eat pussy. She turned to Clint. “You said Clint was your first, so are you gay or bisexual?”
He shrugged. “Neither.”
“You’ve got to be one or the other.”
“Why bother with labels?” Clint asked, and his hands where there again, cupping her ass as if he couldn’t get enough of it.
Looking up at his face from that angle, she realized there was something familiar about him she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“So…you like women? Both physically and emotionally, I mean.”
“Hmm…” Clint said then nudged her right knee up and wrapped her leg around his. He ground his pre-cum-slicked cock against her belly.
Ken was right. Clint was brazen, and for some reason, she wasn’t all that put off by it.
“I’m pickier with women,” he said.
“Thanks a lot,” Ken grumbled. At least he’d put his boxer shorts back on. She didn’t know if she’d be able to think straight if both of them were walking around naked as jaybirds. She felt a bit like a porno fluffer. She wanted to arouse them, just because she could.
But it wasn’t just that. She wanted to play connect-the-dots with the freckles on Clint’s chest and shoulders. She wanted to sit on Ken’s lap and carefully examine all the intricate tattoo work on his neck, shoulders, and arms.
She shouldn’t want to play with two boys at once, but she couldn’t shake the idea of having them both at once as they took her to her brink and pushed her beyond it.
And because they were at The Beaudelaire, no one would ever have to know.
Clint chuckled and let Olivia’s leg down. “Don’t be mad, Ken. All I meant is that men hit my radar harder.”
Radar. Why did that word seem to have such a strong connection to Clint? It had something to do with his familiarity. God, she hated not being able to put two and two together. She was smarter than this.
“A woman’s got to be spectacular for me to pay attention to her,” Clint said.
“Huh.” She nodded, though she wasn’t really listening. She was going to figure out from where she knew this guy before her brain exploded from the curiosity.
“So, dinner? We can dine under the stars tonight,” Ken said. “I think they’re providing togas. You should probably wear as little as possible to accommodate for it.”
She scoffed. “Easy access to go with all that wine on the menu, huh? Nice try. Bacchanal was a Greek thing. Togas were Roman.”
“I do love a smart woman,” Clint said.
“I have a lot of free time to read, and a brain that tends to vacuum up useless trivia,” she said.
She fiddled with her dress strap and nibbled her bottom lip as Ken looked her up and down. It was as if he was plotting a course of attack, but the truth was if he just asked nicely, she’d let him in. Saying he was an amazing screw would be an understatement. It’d be like saying the Grand Canyon was simply a ravine.
“Come on,” Clint said, and he ran his hands up her spine before he let them rest at the crook of her neck. He drew her in close, thus enveloping her in his spicy male scent, and her reflexive response was to sink her teeth into his shoulder to mark him.
The sound of his hiss cleared her head. She pushed back from him and covered her mouth. “Sorry,” she said from behind her hand.
Clint’s eyes narrowed, and slowly he gave her a knowing grin. He looked down at the bruise on his chest and rubbed it. “See. You are hungry.”
She chuckled nervously and backed toward the door.
“It’s all right,” Ken said. “He bites back.”
Oh, shit.
Clint was either a little scary or a lot dominant. Maybe both. She didn’t mind a little pain, enjoyed it even, but not from one-night stands. Shit. It wasn’t even night yet.
Seemed like these two guys wanted to play some more, and she was curious enough to see what would happen. But she needed some time alone to find out what she could about them. Ms. Gibson may have nudged Clint in her direction, but Olivia didn’t know shit about why they were at the Den. Changing clothes would be a good enough excuse to slip away.
She put her back against the door and looked from one man to the other. Both of them had a curious expression on their faces. “Okay. I’ll go shower and meet you downstairs on the lawn.”
“So, under the stars like Ken said. It’ll be a cabana orgy.” Clint’s voice took on an ominous burr that had her clenching her pussy. He pressed his hands on either side of her face next to the door and leaned in close to skim his lips across hers. “We’re not going to share you, not with anyone else.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t.”
“You like showing off?”
Actually, until she came to this place, she hadn’t thought she did. That had always been her least favorite thing about fetish clubs. She liked a little extra attention but not too much scrutiny. She skimmed her hands down his naked sides to his hips and barely resisted the urge to grab his hard shaft. She wanted to drop to her knees and properly worship him. Again.
Her brain was a fucking mess, and it was because Clint was in her space, weaving some sort of magic spell she couldn’t break. She took a deep breath and nudged him back.
Ken was pulling on a T-shirt on and covering all that ink.
“I just don’t want to waste hours at a formal meal. I want to be able to move around.”
“Fair enough. What time are you meeting us?” Clint asked.
“You really do have a one-track mind, don’t you?”
He shrugged and pulled that damned smirk again. She wanted to kiss it right off his face.
“How about we formally introduce ourselves, before any more so-called meals transpire?” she asked.
He pressed a hand to his chest and gaped in feigned outrage. “Our full names? That implies a level of commitment I’m not sure you’re ready for.”
She rolled her eyes but had to laugh. “I’m Olivia Patterson.”
Ken said, “Ken Brook, like a stream, and not with the extra E like the girl’s name.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ken.” By now, almost every part of them had met, so swapping last names shouldn’t have seemed so damned intimate. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Clint picked up her weak right hand and gave it a squeeze she barely felt. He kissed the back of it, and she became enraptured in his sea-foam stare. “Clint Morstad.”
“Morstad…” she whispered as he turned her hand over and kissed the tender underside of her wrist. Morstad… Radar…
She did know those names, just not how. She really needed to spend more time out in the real world, and not just in planes or holed up in her apartment with her nose in books.
“Okay, Mr. Morstad.” She stretched up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the lips, which quickly escalated into a smoldering French kiss that had her nipples taut beneath his crush, and her knees shaking.
She gasped and pushed him back a few inches.
He winked.
Damn him.
“See you for dinner,” she said, nearly wheezing.
She stepped away from the door, and he pulled it open. She strode toward the staircase like a woman on a mission and whispered Morstad over and over, afraid she’d forget it.
Maybe Clint was someone famous. There’d been a non-disclosure agreement in the contract she’d signed for the Den of Sin weekend, which was to protect the wealthy and famous who sometimes played there.
If Clint fell into either of those categories, she’d know he was probably just looking for a weekend toy. She was under no illusions these trysts should mean anything, and she hadn’t come here looking for a relationship, but she didn’t want to think she was some disposable thing they’d both forget about the moment they returned to their home.
She was sick of not being remembered.