Chapter Six

His gaze holds mine again, unfalteringly. Only this time, his eyes do something I’ve never witnessed before. They smolder.

So sensuously, so scorchingly, so…beseechingly.

My breath catches in my throat.

The tingle along my clit is now an incessant cry for him to touch me, to taste me, to take me places I’ve never gone before.

Oh, Jesus, I want nothing more than to close the small gap between us and feel my curves meld to his defined sinew. Tilt my head and let his mouth crash over mine.

I’d used the moniker for this evening as a play on the name of the auction. If “kinky” was what drew attention, then I’d follow that lead. Currently, however…

I don’t need to present the illusion of an erotically naughty side of me. There’s no illusion at all—a wickedly wild part of me is emerging with every breath I take.

I absently deposit my flute on top of the chessboard—somewhat symbolical, I’d say, though I hadn’t planned that. It was just a convenient resting spot. I tug the sash at my waist so that the coat falls open. His jaw sets, his teeth grinding. Heat flares again in his glowing irises as he stares at me, riveted.

“What are we going to do about this?” I ask, knowing my pebbled nipples are pressing against the lace and that the scent of my arousal is distinct—and taunting.

He, too, gives up his glass. Then his hands slip under the material at my shoulders. As he pushes the sleeves down my arms, his head dips to mine, and he murmurs, “We’re going to treat this like the fantasy it is—and you’re going to do everything I demand of you. Then I’ll pay you. Come Monday, at the office… This never happened. Understand?”

I nod. My heartbeats are reverberating throughout me, hammering in my ears and in my veins.

But he’s not done.

“Full disclosure, Nikki…”

His gaze flashes to the door that, I presume, leads to the bedroom.

Glancing back at me, he seductively—though earnestly—says, “I’m not alone this evening.”

I can’t breathe.

Mostly because Jameson is gazing so intently at me, and I have never seen anyone’s eyes shimmer so mischievously and yet so seriously at the same time.

There’s so much unspoken in his blistering irises. Conversely… I almost feel as though I can read his thoughts. His incredibly naughty thoughts.

I don’t know what to make of his comment of not being “alone.”

I mean, there’s the obvious connotation—that he actually is not alone. That behind the closed door that leads to the bedroom, there’s likely another woman awaiting Jameson Richards’ grand entrance.

So I surmise he’s purchased two of us for the evening.

The question is… What does he have in mind? Strictly girl-on-girl action for his viewing pleasure? Or is he interested in a full-on threesome?

I’m simultaneously shocked, scandalized and…intrigued.

He doesn’t give me more than a few moments to consider all this before he takes my hand and gently tugs, so that I follow him.

The unknown has my inner thighs flaming and my adrenaline flowing.

Not to mention what his hand lightly gripping mine is doing to my insides. Skin-on-skin contact is exactly what I’ve craved since I laid eyes on this man, four years ago, when I started my climb up the corporate ladder to his executive wing. He is as magnetic as he is magnificent.

I’m not dragging my feet here at all, I’m willingly going along with him. Despite not knowing what (or who) is ensconced behind Door #1.

I hold my breath as he depresses the lever and escorts me inside.

And… Oh… Holy, holy…

I instantly realize I’m not getting said breath back anytime soon.

My eyes are wide again.

Jameson’s head bends to mine and he says, “Remember, this is a fantasy…”

His, clearly.

Because mine only involves me and him…naked and tangled up together.

Yet standing across the room from us are three others. Count them… Three others.

Two beautiful women with long blonde hair and large breasts and killer figures. And one light-toned African American male who is…an Adonis unto himself.

They’re all naked, sooo, naturally…. I can put one and three together. I slide my glance toward Jameson—dressed in his impeccable tux—and deduce he’s keen on watching what comes of this foursome. Apparently, voyeurism is his form of participation.

Admittedly, I’m perplexed. But there’s really no point to that. I’m here to do his bidding, whatever that might be.

He releases my hand, extracts his iPhone from his pants pocket and tells me, “You have to give your final consent.”

Okay, I have one “escape” left.

I stare at the Consent button on the screen. I don’t have to press it. I can go home.

Except… All I really see is the number Micah showed me. (Well, around the fringes of my psyche, I’m reminded of the “kneecaps” threat.)

I’ve come this far—and I need the payout.

So, I rip a similar page from Neo’s book in the Matrix, selecting the big red button.

This. Is. It.

No turning back now. I must embrace the identity I’ve assigned myself this evening.

Jameson moves past me, pours himself a cocktail from the drink cart and settles in a burgundy leather, wing-backed chair in the far corner.

He says to his guests, “This is Nikki.” To me, he introduces the others as, “Amber, Alex and Lisa.”

I give a fragile smile. Theirs practically sparkle, like a toothpaste commercial with a shimmering glint against their incisors.

Literally, they look like the collective cat about to eat the canary.

And you know who the canary is.

I swallow hard.

Jameson takes a deep drink. Then he quietly commands, “Tie her up.”

I gasp.

The others don’t miss a beat. Pretty Blonde Lisa steps forward to take my hand and guide me to the enormous four-poster bed.

“Lie down,” she daintily instructs.