Claiming Magique: 1 (5 page)

All business, she said, “I want you
on the mattress.” She raked his chest with her nails, a teasing,
provocative
move. “Please.”

Her
please
did it. Tim was a good little boy, lying
spread-eagle on the shimmery beige comforter.

She went to the nightstand and took
several tissues from the mother-of-pearl box resting on top. So what was she
going to do with them?

What else? She used the tissues to
blot Hunt’s ejaculate from her pussy.

His jaw clenched. Tim grinned as
though that pleased him.

Magique’s
expression remained open yet neutral, her real thoughts
hidden. “Scoot to the left,” she requested, directing him with her finger.

Not budging, Tim put his hands
behind his head. The muscles in his arms bunched. The hair in his pits was a
dark blond, its color matching his wiry pubic hair. His cock was so erect, it
rested on his belly, pointing at his head, exposing his weighty balls. “Why?”

“Don’t talk to her that way,” David
said,
all protective as though he believed they’d soon be
going steady.

Hunt said nothing, watching the
balled-up tissue falling from her hand into the brass wastebasket.

Magique
kept her attention on Tim.

David chanced getting closer to her.
After a brief hesitation, he ran his hand down
Magique’s
arm. “Want to take this into the other room? We can leave Tim in here.”

Tim glared. “Like hell.” On another
muttered oath, he did as she’d wanted. “This better be good,” he warned.

She gave him a look that said he had
no right to question anything.

He didn’t offer another comment,
challenge or ultimatum.

Hunt told himself to get dressed and
fucking leave. It wasn’t like him to put up with this kind of shit from a woman,
even one in
Magique’s
profession.

Did she respond to her other clients
as she’d just done with him? Aroused one minute, all business the next so she
could take care of his friends? Part of him didn’t want to know.

A greater part needed to find out.
To know his true effect on her.

He pushed his frustration aside,
replacing it with resolve, the same as when his lobbying efforts weren’t going
the way he’d planned. During those times, he hadn’t retreated. He’d remained,
observed,
then
fought for what he damn well wanted.

Tonight,
Magique
was what he craved.

Resting her hand on the nightstand
for support, she removed her gold heels, dropping the shoes on the floor. She
turned to Hunt and then to David. “Ready?”

That depended on what she had in
mind.

Always eager to please, David
blurted, “Sure. What do you want me to do?”

Her smile was luminous. “Enjoy
yourself.” Tempering her enthusiasm, she regarded Hunt. “And pleasure me.”

Unlike earlier, this time he didn’t
smile or wink.

Magique’s
expression became a mask of indifference. However, color
rose to her cheeks. No one had to tell Hunt it was because of him.
Only him.

Offering no more direction, she
climbed onto the bed and straddled Tim, positioning his cock on her opening.

He sucked in a breath. She sighed out
her own as she lowered herself onto him, her body swallowing his rigid shaft.
Once she had him fully inside, she draped her torso over his, her nipples
grazing his chest. He panted as though he’d just run a marathon and stared at
her mouth as if he expected a kiss. She turned her head to the side instead.
Given the position she’d asked Tim to take, she was very close to the edge of
the bed.

Hunt moved before David could, not
stopping
until his knees touched the mattress. He was still
flaccid but didn’t care.
Magique
would see to that.
His rod was so close to her face all she had to do was slip out her tongue to
lick it.

Without warning, she did.

Christ. A rush of delight shot
through his body. He tensed at the wonderful sensitivity of his cock.

Pulling her tongue back in, she
said, “David.”

He blinked as one would when coming
out of a trance.
“Yeah?”

Hunt frowned. Why in the hell was
she speaking to David rather than tending to him?

In answer,
Magique
lifted her ass as much as she could without releasing Tim from her cunt,
offering her other opening to David.

“Oh.” His face turned scarlet.
Nodding in understanding, he rounded the bed.

When he didn’t climb on, she sighed,
“You’ll find condoms in the first nightstand drawer, if that’s what you
prefer.”

He stared at her anus as if he
wasn’t certain whether to go in raw or not.

“And lubrication,” she added.

“Oh yeah, right,” he said, backing
up so quickly he bumped into the nightstand.

A laugh erupted from Tim.

She turned back to him and murmured,
“Quiet.”

Hunt snorted at her mild
chastisement. When she shot him a look, he gave it right back. Seconds ticked
by. Her expression went from haughty to helpless, her gaze all female and soft.
She wanted him. And not only for
tonight’s
fuck.
Nothing could convince him otherwise.

Liking what he saw, Hunt winked.
This time she didn’t blush. Something unreadable flickered across her face.

“Got it,” David said and climbed on,
shaking the mattress.

Magique
inhaled sharply as he spread the lubrication on her anus.
She fisted her hands in the silky comforter, moaning in what sounded like
gratification, not distress, as David entered her.

Filled with his cock and Tim’s, she
hesitated a moment, then focused again on Hunt.

He eased a lock of hair behind her
right ear and trailed his fingers over her downy cheek. Her lids fluttered.
More color tinted her face.

“Ready?” he murmured.

A hint of genuine yearning sparked
in her eyes, followed by a tiny frown as though that wasn’t in her plan for
this evening. Why? Who had hurt her so badly that she couldn’t allow herself to
surrender to any man?

Hunt expected her to glance away.
She didn’t, reminding him of the first moment they’d looked at each other, its
heady intimacy. Nor did she answer his question. It wasn’t necessary. Hunt knew
what she wanted. Slipping his hand beneath her chin, he guided his rod between
her lips.

She took him in without pause,
greedily, in fact.

He gasped in pleasure.

Her mouth’s wet heat was more than
he could have imagined, cranking up his testosterone, putting his body into
overdrive. Beads of sweat rolled down his chest. His throat tightened, keeping
him from vocalizing. Sooner than Hunt had expected, he was thick and hard
enough that containing all of him would have proved difficult for most women.

But she wasn’t that, was she? Not
your ordinary call girl, Jack had said.

She demonstrated that again, opening
her throat, guiding him inside until her nose touched his pubic hair.

Hunt’s knees sagged and his hair
stood on end. The feeling was like nothing he’d experienced, and by god, he’d
experienced a lot. Sexy, decadent, uncivilized came to mind to describe what
she was doing, along with something he hadn’t expected. A surprising tenderness
in the way she licked and suckled his shaft, honoring this part of him.

He cupped the back of her head,
wanting her to keep at the task, nothing else, resenting her attention to his
friends.

She continued to ease her cunt up
and down Tim’s shaft. David got into her rhythm, alternating his pumps with
hers.

Hunt did the same. There was no
other choice. She liked group sex. She was in charge tonight. She’d made that
quite clear with everything she’d done—her knowledge of their backgrounds, her
directions in bed, her choosing which one of them would have her first.

Hunt had claimed that privilege, but
only because she’d allowed it.

She tended to his cock with more
than skill—with an inner fire that seemed to say she’d never tasted anything
better. Her tongue flicked against the bumpy skin at the back of his crown,
then swirled over the head, exploring its contours.

Hunt shuddered, huffing out breath
after breath. He tried to hold off, but couldn’t. His satisfied groan mingled
with Tim’s and David’s.

They were all her willing slaves,
hers to use.

As the last of his ejaculate poured
into her mouth and she drank him dry, Hunt fought his fatigue.

It won, of course. Within minutes,
he was sprawled at the foot of the bed,
Magique
next
to him, followed by Tim, while David lay across the length of the mattress near
their heads, all of them gulping air.

Before Tim thought to do so, Hunt
gathered enough strength to roll toward
Magique
. He
cupped her breast, thrilled at its softness, knowing he wanted so much more and
would have it.

This wasn’t over. He was going to
learn all that he could about this woman, beginning with her real name.

Alexa
Marsh left the bath, her nudity protected by a plush white
robe, its texture pleasant, though hardly as delightful as a man’s skin.

His.

She pursed her lips at the obtrusive
thought and her persistent longing that even a warm soak hadn’t suppressed.
Shaking it off,
Alexa
padded down the hall to
Ronnie’s living room, pausing at its entrance.

More than a thousand square feet,
the area was modern in design, boasting a polished black floor, its walls and
ceilings a lattice work of white and black squares with recessed lights in the
center of each, all of them lit. Framed geometric designs in varying shades of
blue hung above the black marble fireplace and in numerous other locations,
adding a splash of color and a dramatic flair. Sheer blue drapes covered a wall
of windows, the
glimmery
fabric resembling a cascade
of water. Past it was a view of the District, lights brightening the streets
and buildings even at this late hour.

On one of the white leather sofas,
Ronnie slept. She’d been waiting for
Alexa
to return
from the house on R Street, one of several Ronnie owned and used in her
business.

Torn between waking the woman so
they could talk and allowing her to get as much sleep as she could,
Alexa
studied her friend, looking for any signs of
distress.

At fifty-eight, Ronnie appeared far
older than her years should have allowed. Surgery and chemo did that,
accentuating the lines around the woman’s mouth and at the corners of her eyes.

A pang of sadness and worry gripped
Alexa
, the anguish almost too much to bear. She sucked her
lower lip, wanting last year back when Ronnie had passed the ten-year mark,
cancer free. It was as though the cruel disease had never happened. At
fifty-seven, she’d retained her great
looks,
her black
hair streaked stylishly with a bit of gray, her delicate features the envy of
many young women.

Then the cancer had returned in
Ronnie’s remaining breast, the disease more aggressive this time. Most of her
beautiful hair was gone now, except for some wispy bangs. A pale blue scarf,
which matched the shade of the drapes, covered her head. She wore a white
velour robe as
Alexa
did. Around Ronnie’s throat was
her signature string of pearls. Never was she without them, even fighting to
wear the jewels in surgery.

“What’s the harm?” she’d challenged
her oncologist and the surgeon who’d performed her first operation. “I want to
look nice. What kind of a man would deny a woman that, especially when he’s
going to take her last boob?”

Alexa
fought the urge to giggle even as tears clouded her eyes.
How ballsy Ronnie had behaved, even though the woman had been so damn scared.
Alexa
had felt it in the way Ronnie had squeezed her hand
before the nurses rolled her gurney into the OR. She’d clung to
Alexa
as a child would, the same as
Alexa
had done with her so many times in the past.

Ronnie was
Alexa’s
BFF, the maternal figure she’d never had. Some may have found that odd,
wondering how a so-called madam could be motherly when she was using another
woman’s flesh to enrich herself.

It wasn’t like that at all.
Alexa
had approached Ronnie first, not the other way
around, making it
Alexa’s
decision to get involved in
the business. Ronnie had never wooed or swayed. She’d accepted
Alexa
for who she was with the proverbial warts and all.
She listened, rather than judged. She loved unconditionally as a parent should.