Invitation to Seduction: Open Invitation, Book 1 (2 page)

“It’s so quiet,” Virginia said, “it’s almost creepy.”

Stacy huffed. “It’s private. And exclusive. What did you expect, floodlights and a marching band?”

Debbie didn’t find the mansion creepy. Excitement rippled through her at the sight of it. The Sex Club’s mystery made her blood pump faster and her nipples harden. Moisture gathered between her thighs. The darkness beckoned, promised seduction, secrecy, and fantasy fulfillment.
Just
fantasy, she didn’t have to
do
anything. Observe, pretend for a little while. Jaywalk over to the wild side for a night. The clingy black top and skirt Stacy had loaned her, the high heels and stockings with garter belt, even the truly outrageous shade of vermillion Stacy had painted on her nails, all fit her blossoming mood. She’d walked out of her home with the promise to herself that something spectacular was going to happen. Something that would make her feel alive. This was a night for magic and a house that invited it.

Some gorgeous man was going to seduce her with nothing more than a look. Of course, she wouldn’t act on it, but she would believe, for one night, that she was gorgeous, sexy, and desirable. She wanted to add to her store of fantasies that could be put to good use when she was going mad for an orgasm.

Stacy maneuvered the car into the parking garage—which turned out to be under the house—pulled into a spot, and turned off the engine. Porsches, Jags, and BMWs dominated in the underground lot. Sex appeared to be for the rich, at least here.

“Virginia, the invitations, please.” Stacy waggled her fingers, her French manicure gleaming in the shaft of overhead light falling through the windshield.

Virginia pulled the stack of cream-colored envelopes from her purse. Stacy took them with a flourish. “Now, ladies, here are the rules. It’s invitation
only
the first time. After that, women are allowed in without it. Or sometimes a woman might be sent an invitation by a very special someone.” She arched a brow and smiled, which made Debbie think Stacy’d been honored with a special invite at one time or another.

“But men,” Stacy went on, “must
always
have an invitation or they don’t get in. That excludes horn-dog frat boys who don’t know a clitoris from a hole in the wall and aren’t willing to spend the time to learn. We don’t use real names. We do use condoms. They have bowls of them all over the place. Like candy dishes. We say no to whatever we don’t want, and we say yes to whatever we do. If somebody bugs you, you tell an attendant, and the offending party bites the dust. Got it?”

With all the talk about clitorises and condoms, Debbie glanced back at Virginia. She was getting married tomorrow in Las Vegas. Was she out simply for a night of titillation before settling down? Or did she plan on something more? Titillation, Debbie decided, or Virginia would have chosen a more provocative outfit than the peach suit.

Stacy flipped through the gold-labeled envelopes in her lap. “This one’s mine. Serena.” She put a hand to her sequined chest. “I look like a Serena, don’t you think?”
Serena
could do anything she wanted, she had that kind of feminine power.

She handed the second invitation to Virginia. “Regina.”

Virginia wrinkled her nose. “I was going to say something about that earlier. It reminds me a little of vagina.”

Stacy smiled. “Depends on how you say it when you introduce yourself, darling.” Then she got to the last envelope.

Debbie held her breath.

“Desiree.”

Debbie held the invitation lightly in her fingers, the name embossed in gold.
Desiree. Desire.
“I like it,” she whispered. “So this is the name we give if anyone asks?”

Stacy gave her the once-over. “Everyone’s going to ask. No real names, remember.”

Debbie traced the raised lettering. “This place must cost a fortune to get into. You haven’t asked for any money.”

“The first time, you’re a guest.” Stacy held her gaze.

“The first time?”

“Almost everyone comes back.”

Debbie felt the challenge in the statement. For a moment, she got the distinct impression that Stacy knew her entire marital history, even the months and years between lovemaking. She’d given herself away somehow, though she couldn’t remember even hinting at her problem.

Stacy turned in her seat. “We can stick together or we split off. But we’ll meet back in the lobby at midnight.” She checked her thin gold watch. “That gives us three hours.”

Virginia just smiled, a secretive smile Debbie could swear she’d never seen before.

Stacy yanked on her door handle. “Well, ladies, let’s see where the night leads us.”

* * * * *

Leaning against a column at the top of the stairs, Stephen Knight recognized Debbie the moment she entered. Her website picture didn’t do her justice. Her brunette hair, teased lightly around her face, curled about her shoulders. Her black stretch top clung to her breasts, large enough to fill a man’s hands, small enough to maintain their perkiness. She turned to the side, revealing peaked nipples, yet her hand shook as she handed over the invitation. Her ass begged to be touched in that form-fitting skirt, and sheer black stockings molded to her toned calves. In those heels, her height was perfect for a quick fuck against the wall.

Except that she was so much more than a quick fuck.

This place would give her the shock of her life. He wanted to watch every moment of her journey, to drink in the scent of her arousal, the musky aroma of wet woman. He wanted to see the darkening of her eyes and watch the tip of her tongue sneak out to lick her dry lips. She’d drink champagne; the stuff flowed freely at the club. The taste of it, the bubbles tickling her throat as she swallowed, and the headiness as the sparkling wine seeped into her bloodstream would drive her arousal higher.

Then he’d reveal himself to her. He would touch her if she allowed, kiss those lips, skim his fingers over her nipples, then cup her bottom in his hands. If not tonight, another night. He’d wait as many nights as he had to.

There were things he knew from her emails, her enthusiasm over the custom stained-glass orders he’d steered her way. Her creative mind, her sensitivity, her sense of color and form, her ability to read people, to figure out what they wanted when they didn’t even know themselves. And her need for praise. He could sense her self-respect grow when he marveled at her work, almost as if she didn’t believe the piece was good until he told her. They’d only worked together online a few months, but he’d learned to read her moods. He detected when she was down, more often of late, the tone of her emails more curt, sometimes wistful, and in the last weeks, almost despondent. He read her unhappiness between the lines of everything she wrote to him, even though their emails couldn’t be called personal. At first, she’d politely asked how he was, chatted about work, a new project she’d envisioned, then their business. Lately, he’d sensed her creativity drying up along with her ability to make small talk. She no longer responded to his compliments about her talent, as if she’d completely lost the belief in herself he’d helped her build over the last few months.

There were, of course, the more personal things Stacy told him. Because her friend was tight-lipped about her emotions, Stacy learned more from what Debbie didn’t say rather than from what she did, especially her sudden silences when the talk at their girlfriend get-togethers turned to sex and men.

It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that Debbie Carter badly needed some loving. It didn’t take her manicurist to tell him that Debbie’s husband wasn’t up to the task. He was probably out porking his secretary instead of making love to the beautiful woman occupying the opposite side of his bed.

If he was having an affair, her husband was a goddamn idiot, and he didn’t deserve the gorgeous lady he was married to.

Stephen intended to show her that, while proving to her that she was beautiful, desirable, and everything he’d ever wanted.

Chapter Two

Marble covered the lobby floor, which was like the formal entry hall of a grand home, complete with a ceiling chandelier, Greek columns, and a T-bone stairway with a huge mirror on the middle landing. The lobby was empty except for their hostess, though music floated softly on the air. Debbie had expected a much more sordid atmosphere. This was...classy.

A waiter appeared with a tray of champagne flutes.

The rules buzzed in her head as she sipped champagne. Don’t touch unless invited. Don’t accept unless you want to. And the condom command several times over. Black-suited male attendants located themselves at strategic positions. If anything got out of control, they would take care of the problem.
Feel free to explore all the rooms, stop where you want, partake as you wish.

Like a tour guide at Hearst Castle, their hostess drew them a verbal map. On the first floor to the right, through double doors that had been soundproofed with rubber molding, were the viewing rooms. Performance art. Debbie had heard of such a thing, but she didn’t think this would be anything like what she’d seen on PBS. To the left, through an ornate set of doors was a grand ballroom. It wasn’t in use tonight.

On the second floor, well, every kind of sexual vice you could think of. Couples, women on women, BDSM, orgies. Their guide’s smile never wavered as she described the outrageous activities, and Debbie had to stifle an inappropriate giggle. The private rooms occupied the third level, some of them decorated in a theme, complete with costumes. Though Debbie figured the costumes didn’t stay on for long.

The hostess smiled. “Now you’re free to move about at will. The ladies’ lounge is right through there.” She pointed to an unobtrusive door that Debbie had mistaken for a coat closet.

“Regina,” Stacy said as soon as the woman left them, “your choice, since it’s your party. Where to first?”

Virginia tapped her lip. “Orgy Galore.”

Stacy grabbed her hand. “Good choice. We’re off, ladies.”

Debbie trailed behind as they climbed the stairs. The music was only slightly louder in the wide, second-floor hall. Wall sconces provided a muted illumination. Here, people milled about, sipping champagne, talking, laughing, and moving from room to room. The women were dressed in anything from cocktail dresses and long gowns to sexy, tight clothing like Debbie wore. Male attire ran the gamut from tuxedos to jeans.

Exiting a door, a couple leaned against the wall for a long kiss, the man’s hands stealing inside the woman’s unbuttoned blouse. Debbie stared as he openly massaged her breast. “You know, I think I’m going to wander by myself.”

Virginia stopped in the middle of the hall. “Are you sure?”

Debbie felt the soft strains of the music inside her, a forties standard. She didn’t want to share this night with her friends. This night was hers alone. She backed away. “I’m going that way. I’ll see you at midnight.” Like Cinderella.

* * * * *

Stacy caught his eye, giving him a brief nod in Debbie’s direction. Stacy had secured his invitation and given him his instructions. He was to follow Debbie, take care of her, and show her a good time. Stacy was good at issuing orders, but she’d relinquished all control to him the day she’d given him Debbie’s web address, told him of her friend’s magnificent artwork, and suggested he recommend her windows to his clients.

Whatever happened now was between him and Debbie.

* * * * *

Debbie stopped at the fourth doorway just short of entering and gripped the jamb to steady herself. So much going on around her, sex, the sounds of sex, the scent of it. She sipped her champagne to calm herself, but the bubbles went straight to her head. She put a hand to the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

A couple bumped her arm as they entered the room. The man’s eyes fell to the swell of flesh above Debbie’s low-cut neckline. Then, raising his gaze to hers, he smiled and licked his lips.

Moisture rushed between her legs. God, he found her desirable. It was magic, momentous, maybe even the
something spectacular
she’d been thinking of earlier.

The man’s broad shoulders disappeared beyond the door. She knew she’d follow. Not for him. But for herself.

Straightening, she entered.

Sconces lined the walls as they did in the hall, leaving much of the room dimly lit. An abundance of comfortable sofas, chaises, overstuffed chairs, and ottomans consumed the room. Every available seat was occupied.

At first glance, the sight was tame, a civilized gathering of well-dressed yuppies. Social drinking, small talk, laughter, and the soft beat of yet another standard tune. Except that man over on the sofa had his hand up his companion’s skirt. As Debbie watched, the woman spread her legs slightly and put her hands on top of his, guiding him. And over there, on a chaise, a woman in a long gown pulled down a man’s zipper and removed his cock. He set his drink on a nearby table, then laced his hands behind his head as she stroked his penis, crooned to it, then took him in her mouth. For what seemed like forever, Debbie couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight of that erect cock sliding in and out of the woman’s shiny red lips.

My God, sex was everywhere if you just looked. In the soft light of a sconce, a brunette rocked herself gently on a male lap. He bunched her lemon-yellow dress in his fists and revealed his cock sliding in, sliding out. The penetration mesmerized Debbie. Her eyes trailed his fingers as he stroked up the back of that lemon dress. She met his gaze. He was the man who had passed her in the doorway. The one who had licked his lips. He stared at Debbie as he fucked the other woman. The heat in his eyes said she could have the honors next, if she chose.

“Excuse me.” A woman pushed past her, forcing her farther into the room. The blonde’s nipples peeked above the line of her dress, which was short enough to reveal her pubic hair.

Moving aside, Debbie leaned against a table, traded her empty glass of champagne for a full one, then drank as if she were parched. Maybe ditching the others had been a mistake.