Here’s your invitation to The Sex Club, elegant, classy, sexy, every woman’s fantasy, every man’s desire…
Virginia Hansen believes she’s a three-time loser in marriage, each time confusing the passion and lust of immediate attraction for lasting love, with disastrous results. For her fourth trip down the aisle, she demands stability and companionship, without passion or lust clouding her judgment. But Virginia will soon discover that trying to harness her deep-seated sexual needs is like trying to tell a raindrop not to fall. Buried inside, Virginia has overpowering desires and the need for a man’s seduction to turn her inside out. When she begins craving seduction from her new husband, her carefully constructed, stable world might very fall apart.
Brett Branoff has finally found the right woman. Everything in his life is about his career, even down to his choice of wife, and Virginia has the same needs and goals as he does. He’s willing to bank his sexual desires and forgo the bedroom fireworks to accommodate the perfect, self-assured, even-tempered wife. But when Brett uncovers the hidden wanton beneath Virginia’s elegant business suits, everything he thought he wanted pales in comparison to his newfound desires. Brett soon discovers that perfunctory sex once a week isn’t enough to satisfy him, not when he knows that Virginia is capable of so much more. Now he plans on sending his wife an invitation to pleasure she simply can’t refuse.
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This excerpt contains sexual material
Invitation to Pleasure
© 2012 Jasmine Haynes
Yesterday, she was Virginia Hansen, three-time loser at love. Tomorrow, she’d be Mrs. Brett Branoff, wife to a handsome, intelligent man. But tonight, at The Sex Club, she was Regina, a sexy, desirable woman who could have her pick of men.
She knew she was desired by more than one man tonight. She could feel it. Beneath her tailored silk suit, her body spoke to her. One couldn’t wander The Sex Club without feeling the heat, without succumbing to its allure. The demure lines of her suit only enhanced the appeal, contrasting with the sexy lace garter and stockings under the sober facade.
Many eyes had touched her tonight. Many more would. Later. She’d come to The Sex Club tonight to shock and titillate herself. And she’d definitely done that so far. For now, though, Virginia and Stacy were taking a respite in one of the club’s bars.
Music drifted over them from unobtrusive speakers. Tables ringed the dance floor, love seats and chairs on the outside flanking the walls. Stools lined a mahogany bar outfitted with every libation imaginable. The music wasn’t loud enough to make conversation impossible, and candles burned on each table, scenting the air with a light cinnamon perfume.
“It’s not like what I expected,” Virginia mused. Sure there was rampant sexual activity and the scent of pheromones heating the air. “It’s sort of tame, in a way. I mean, the champagne, the mood lighting, and everyone’s dressed so”—she shrugged, trying to find the right word—“nicely.” It was inadequate, but she’d seen ball gowns, cocktail dresses, tuxedos, suits. Even those attired less modestly, women in tight skirts or low-necked outfits, were nonetheless...neat. She leaned forward. “I mean, where are the nipple rings and black lipstick and spiked hair?”
Stacy rolled her eyes. “That is so stereotypical.”
“Maybe. But I really thought it would be more kinky, more crass and crude, you know, whips and chains, lots of leather, mesh, studs, risqué outfits, but this is classy.”
“That’s because of Jud McCord. He caters to more refined tastes, to an affluent community. It’s the contrast that turns on his clientele, the cocktail party surroundings, with the kink layered beneath.” Stacy smiled. “And believe me, there’s a lot of kink going on.”
Virginia had seen plenty of that, too. She and Stacy had observed in several rooms, including Orgy Galore and The Massage Parlor. The name of the game there was to find a unique way to employ a vibrator, by yourself or with a partner. There’d definitely been unique uses. Virginia wasn’t sure she was dexterous enough to try them all.
“People come here looking to let go of their inhibitions,” Stacy went on. “It’s about sensuality as much as it is about sex. I don’t want to feel as if I’m coming to some dirty back alley dungeon and playing with a bunch of creeps.”
“Well, I’m still not sure I like the idea of Debbie wandering around by herself.”
Stacy flapped a hand. “She’s fine. Don’t worry about her. Jud has rules, and all she has to do is call a passing waiter and any problems are nipped in the bud. Trust me, she’s a big girl, and she can handle herself.”
They were all big girls. Virginia had turned forty almost six months ago, and Stacy had just hit forty-five. Debbie was only a year younger than Virginia.
Debbie. She’d seemed a little downcast at their last few dinners, and tonight she’d disappeared into the crowd soon after they’d arrived. Something was up with that woman. “Is she okay? I’ve been worried about her.”
Stacy glanced at her champagne glass, twirled it by the stem. “I’m sure she’ll work out whatever’s bothering her.” She added nothing else.
That’s what Virginia liked the most about Stacy. The three of them, Stacy, Debbie, and Virginia, had known each other for years, having at one time worked for the same corporation. They kept in touch even as their lives moved on, and still got together regularly. But Stacy, privy to all their secrets laid bare over a good manicure, never revealed what was talked about. Virginia knew Debbie wasn’t happy, but Stacy never breathed a word of what Debbie was going through. Virginia was glad, since it meant her own secrets were safe with Stacy. She didn’t care for anyone else, not even Debbie, to know how debilitating it had been stumbling through divorce court three times.
“You can call off the wedding, you know.”
That’s what she liked the least. Stacy always knew when Virginia had a bad thought and zeroed right in on the cause.
“I have no intention of calling it off.” Brett was perfect for her fourth—and last—trip down the aisle. “He’s considerate and respectful.” With hair as dark as midnight and a strong, aristocratic face, Brett was handsome, but more importantly, he exuded the strong qualities she’d been searching for in a man. “And I like him, believe it or not.”
“You talk about him like he’s a warm coat you can take out of the closet when there’s a chill.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything. Let’s talk about your criteria for marrying him.”
“The most important was that I knew him before I jumped into the relationship.” Brett’s company had become a supplier of Virginia’s firm eighteen months ago. She’d worked with him for a year before they even started dating. She’d ferreted out the man he was instead of jumping in headfirst with her eyes closed. This time she was not letting lust impair her judgment. “He is the most ethical businessman I’ve ever encountered.”
Stacy snorted. “Observing how he directs his business affairs has nothing to do with how he’ll act in a marriage.”
“You’re wrong on that one, Stace. How a man conducts himself in a stressful business meeting shows exactly what kind of person he is.” Brett was commanding, his temper never rose, even when one of the VPs harangued him. He had all the answers, and the ability to bring calm to a heated exchange. If she were honest, his handling of volatile situations had actually turned her on.
“It’s one element, sure. But you approached the whole relationship like you were conducting a job interview.”
“Oh no, I’m not. Look at what you did.” Stacy raised a hand and started keeping count on her fingers. “Five dates at fancy restaurants, each discuss your previous marriages on the sixth date, sex after the seventh date, introduce him to your friends at the three-month mark, then get engaged. It’s like an old-fashioned arranged marriage except that you did the arranging.”
“I just don’t want any big surprises.”
“You can’t choose a husband based on a checklist.” Stacy mimicked writing on the table. “Must be stable, check, sensible, check, handsome, check, ambitious, check, civilized, check, a good companion, check, decent bank balance, check.”
“I never asked what his bank balance was, and it’s not his wealth I care about.” She wasn’t simply being materialistic.
“No, you want security. And I understand that completely.”
She wanted a partner, not a man who became a boy the moment life threw a few curves. In her experience, when the going got tough, the so-called tough started to whine. She wanted someone to share problems with, a helpmate, not a hanger-on who drained her energy reserves and her savings.
“But where’s all the emotional high in that little checklist of yours, Virginia?”
Virginia shook her head. “That’s what I don’t want.” She’d had the highs, only to have them snowed under by the lows.
“Look, I know you haven’t had the best of luck in men.”
“The best luck?” She blew out a disgusted breath. “Thanks for putting it so diplomatically, but I freely admit I used bad judgment.” She’d jumped into marriage before she really knew the man she was marrying. Not just once, but three damn times.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Stacy said sagely.
Virginia wasn’t about to go into the whole thing again. Stacy had seen her through two of the divorces. “The important thing is that Brett wants the same things I want.” Peace and companionship. He’d had an unpredictable marriage to a volatile wife, and that was putting it mildly.
“But you can’t give up fantastic sex because it wasn’t on your freaking checklist.”
The sex wasn’t bad. It might not be earth-shattering, but it was good enough. Brett made love the same way he entered a business meeting, civilized and controlled. She had to admit, in his bed she was a bit controlled herself. He wanted calm and serene, and that’s what she gave him. It was almost frightening to think of giving more. She might actually start expecting more, and that would make her vulnerable. In this marriage, she was not going to allow a speck of vulnerability.
But Stacy didn’t let the issue drop. “Six months, a year from now, you’re going to start wanting more. For God’s sake, Virginia, you chose to spend your last night of freedom at a sex club fulfilling your final fantasies. Don’t tell me you can live with boring, comfortable lovemaking for the rest of your life.”
Once Stacy started talking about her escapades at The Sex Club, Virginia couldn’t get the place out of her mind. It was true, she wanted a last fantasy before settling down with Brett. She just hadn’t realized Stacy would use that to needle her.
Stacy’s glance fell across the room, her attention suddenly diverted, which pleased Virginia no end, since the discussion had taken an uncomfortable turn. Following Stacy’s gaze, she spotted a tuxedo-clad gentleman heading to their table. “Who’s that?”
Ah, the legendary owner of The Sex Club, who catered to fantasy and affluence. Tall, with flecks of gray shot through his dark hair, he was positively yummy. Not that Virginia wanted a yummy man tonight. No, she had other plans for herself.
He leaned one hand on the back of Stacy’s chair, his body bracketing hers, his gaze on her. “Ladies, I hope you’re having a good time.”
“As always. This is bachelorette number one, Virginia.”
He smiled, all white teeth and gleaming eyes, except that the gleam seemed a whole lot brighter when he was looking at Stacy. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”
Virginia felt a blush rise to her cheeks. What must the man think that she was at a sex club the night before her marriage? But then he owned the place, and he’d certainly seen and heard a lot worse. “Thank you.”
He smiled, then turned the gleam back on Stacy, and the wattage went up. “Duty calls. Have fun. Talk to you later?”
They both stared at his retreating figure, and what a figure that was. “He’s melt-in-your-mouth hot,” Virginia whispered. “Have you...” She let her voice trail off.
Still watching him, Stacy shook her head. “No. Some friendships aren’t worth screwing up simply for a good”—she tipped her head at Virginia—“screw.”
As much as Stacy loved her matchmaking, she steadfastly maintained she wasn’t the monogamous type. Yet Virginia sensed a little sizzle between the two.
“That’s the last thing I’ll say on the subject,” Stacy backtracked as if Jud McCord had never interrupted the conversation, “except this. In your quest for stability and companionship, I think you’re selling yourself short. And maybe you’re selling Brett short.” Stacy smiled, a sultry, almost knowing smile. “I’m not sure you know him as well as you think you do. I’d be willing to bet that man has hidden depths.”
“What on earth gives you that idea? Just a minute ago you said I was settling for something less than what I really need.”
“Well then”—Stacy spread her hands—“make the most of what you are getting. Despite his sophisticated, urbane facade, there’s something compelling in his eyes. Like a banked fire just waiting to rage out of control.”
“Give me a break. You couldn’t possibly have seen that.” She’d brought Brett to one of Stacy’s cocktail parties. The conversation had been polite and superficial. Stacy was imagining things.
Yet Stacy gave her a long look rife with meaning. “You’ll never know unless you give it a shot.” Then she dropped her voice to a seductive whisper. “Let him surprise you, Virginia. Let him make you burn.”
Virginia’s belly crimped. She did want to burn. But she had innumerable burn scars, and the risk of a repeat wasn’t worth it. She’d let her sexual needs dictate her actions in the past and ended up with disaster on her hands. No, she was happy with the relationship she’d established with Brett. “I’m not—”
Stacy zipped her lip. “That’s all I’m going to say. Now go enjoy the club. I know you’ve got plans.”
When they’d first decided on this sojourn, Virginia had taken the club’s number from Stacy and made her own arrangements, though she hadn’t told Stacy what they were. Nor had her friend asked, respecting her privacy, at least on that subject.
Stacy glanced at her watch. “You’ve only got until midnight.” Which was the time they’d agreed to meet back in the lobby. “Go before Debbie shows up.” Stacy glanced over Virginia’s shoulder. “If she shows up.”
“What about you?”
“I’m enjoying the sights right here.” Stacy looked pointedly at the dance floor where a woman was sandwiched between two men, her dress around her waist, one guy taking her while the other held her aloft.
Virginia’s pussy contracted. Beneath her peach suit, her silk panties dampened. If she wasn’t careful, she’d drench her skirt. Watching sex turned her on. Didn’t the idea of watching turn most people on, even if they didn’t admit it? Tonight, she’d watched enough to feel desire thrumming through her body like a vibrator on high speed.
It was time to stop watching and put her plan into action.
It was time to burn, to use Stacy’s terminology. Her last time, and Virginia was damn well going to make the most of it.
* * * * *
Following her without being detected was easy. There’d been that dicey moment when her friend had turned his way, catching him off guard, but he’d ducked into an alcove, and after that, it had been clear sailing. They didn’t examine faces but bodies and positions, walking slowly, glancing in doorways, rarely looking back as if each new sight was more intriguing than the last.
He’d realized, at some point in the evening, that she wasn’t going to turn around. As if she sensed his desire and lured him in by pretending she wasn’t aware. He moved in closer.
Her choice of attire might have seemed circumspect to the casual observer, but the well-cut suit molded to her breasts tight enough to reveal the bead of her nipples in profile. The knee-length skirt formed to her backside, outlining each firm cheek as she walked, hugging her contours, drawing attention to the delicate play of feminine muscle. She strolled languidly, as if she expected men to see the hot-blooded woman hidden beneath the elegant suit and neat knot of blond hair piled atop her head.
His cock knew. He’d been hard almost from the moment he’d stepped inside the club, from the moment he saw her.
His greatest chance of discovery now was when she started down the stairs, alone, her friend left behind in the bar. He hung back in the shadows of the landing in case she noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.
But again, she didn’t turn.
She disappeared through the swing doors off the lobby. The viewing rooms. She enjoyed watching. He’d likely find her in the arena.
He took the stairs quickly, his cock throbbing. Striding through the doors, he closed his eyes briefly as music assaulted him, the strobe light beating against his eyelids as it flashed up and down the hall from the room at the end. The arena. Where she could watch the stage show. Perhaps it would be a one-woman, three-man act, each filling a different orifice at the same time. She’d like that. Her pussy would be dripping. He could have her then. Bury himself in her. Make her scream when she came.
Opening his eyes, a flash of peach and a silk-covered leg disappeared into a room on the left. So she wasn’t going to the arena. It didn’t matter. He would have her. Here. Where her passions were at their peak.