The Playboy's Ménage (The Billionaire Bachelors Series) (9 page)

“Okay, I’ll admit it. Now I’m intrigued.”

He stopped and turned toward her, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry things got crazy in there, Holly. I wasn’t expecting him to…well, I didn’t think his retribution would include me getting exactly what I wanted so quickly. I should have taken my time but I was worried the other shoe would drop and I wouldn’t get to feel you come around me.”

Holly smiled up at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding? That was the hottest welcome I’ve ever gotten in my entire life. I’m not complaining.
At all.
In fact, I’m hoping we can do it again as soon as I can feel all my fingers and toes.”

“And again and again until you’re too tired to want more and we’re all you can feel. You’re going to get everything you want, Holly. I promise you won’t regret saying yes.”

She wanted Peter. Why was he holding back? “Henry, did something happen between last night and this afternoon? Is he having second thoughts about this?”

About her?

Henry shook his head, but didn’t meet her eyes. “If he was, neither one of us would be here, believe me. I suggest you take a page from my mostly-blank rulebook and just go with it. It’ll make the next few months more exciting.”

More exciting than having two orgasms as soon as she walked in the door? More exciting than watching Peter watch Henry fuck her? More exciting than feeling Henry inside her again?

She wasn’t sure her heart could take it.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Peter?”

He looked up from his desk to see Henry standing in the doorway, glaring. “Playing criminal mastermind. I’m planning on demolishing the Warren building to put up a parking lot. That is, as far as Dean’s uncle knows. He’ll eat that up, the sadistic bastard. A juicy bonus on top of the already substantial offer we’ve made him should his nephew receive a vote of no confidence from the board. If that doesn’t make him push the vote up so we can finish this charade, I don’t know what will. It’s the least we can do for Dean, seeing as you haven’t seen fit to give him his car back. You?”

“I’m trying to decide whether your intent is to chase Holly away with your behavior or you’ve become sexually dysfunctional in your old age. I haven’t seen you in action for a while—maybe the gossip is just that. Gossip. Have you given up on sex, Peter? Or is there an issue you’re not telling me about? There are pills for that, you know.”

“Fuck you,” Peter responded without heat. “I haven’t heard her complain and you have no reason to. As long as I’m in the room, whether you think I’m asleep or not, you’ve gotten what you wanted.”

And with that thought, Peter’s erection returned with a swiftness that stole his breath. He had no problem with the machinery. In fact, it was demanding his attention every hour of every damn day. What
was
he doing? Why was he still holding himself in check? Why had he feigned sleep this morning when Henry dragged Holly out of Peter’s arms to fuck her on the bed right beside him?

Jesus, that had been one hell of a way to wake up. His closed eyes had done nothing to stop the mental images that filled his mind with each dip of the bed, each slide of the covers and Holly’s muffled screams of pleasure.

He’d had to look, peering through his lowered lashes when Henry’s breaths had become soft grunts of mindless pleasure. What he’d seen had nearly brought him to climax without a single stroke of his hand. Henry on top of Holly, her legs stretched over his shoulders and his hips pounding into hers hard enough to break the damn bed. His mouth had hungrily suckled her breasts while his large hand covered her mouth to keep her from waking Peter.

It had been hot as hell and put him through nearly as much torment.

Henry had no clue how much restraint it had taken for Peter not to push him off and take over, not to sink his aching cock deep into Holly’s pussy and finally come inside her. Or maybe he did. Maybe he knew and that was the point. His friend had been bending and twisting the rules over the last few days, trying to provoke him. He challenged Peter’s directions during their “research sessions” with Holly and took advantage of Peter’s presence to stop whatever he was doing and make her come. On those rare occasions when he wasn’t between her legs, he was being a general pain in the ass.

“I thought you’d be grateful for the extra time,” Peter mused. “I can’t imagine what you have to bitch about. You’ve already broken the world record for the number of times Henry Vincent has fucked the same woman.”

Almost two weeks. Peter’s balls would be permanently blue if it weren’t for Holly’s wicked, greedy mouth. Her full, slicked-up breasts sliding over his cock. Her willing hands. Peter had found release with her in every way he could without actually having her. Without giving her the ménage she’d come for.

He’d had a plan when it started, but at the moment he was in such a continuous state of arousal he couldn’t for the life of him remember it. He just knew he had to stay strong. They still had time.

Henry blew out a frustrated breath. “For a genius, you are a complete and total idiot. This isn’t a wrestling match or a staring contest, Peter. This is Holly. It’s heaven dropped right into your lap, naked and ready and wondering why you’re hesitating.” He stepped further into the room and lowered his voice. “Are you still pissed at me? Is that it? If I’m the cock block, I can disappear for the day so you can have her to yourself.”

Peter stood, wincing as the fabric of his slacks rubbed against his erection. “No way in hell. Those aren’t the rules of this game, Henry. Holly belongs to both of us for the next two and a half months.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say it. But you’re still pissed at me.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m not pissed and I don’t begrudge your time with her. I used to, I know, but I don’t anymore. I’m being patient. Waiting until it feels right.”

He was so full of shit. It had felt right since she’d walked through the door in her cherry-covered sundress. Maybe there
was
something wrong with him. How else could he explain his behavior?

He was telling Henry the truth. In part. Seeing them together so often over the last few weeks, watching or directing from the sidelines as Henry took Holly over and over again, had been strangely liberating. His jealousy had faded enough for him to realize it wasn’t about Henry having her, it was about not getting to share her with him. And as his friend had pointed out, that was his insane decision and no one else’s.

Henry’s lips twitched. “You sound like a virgin waiting for the wedding night. But I’m not here to tease you. I’m here to invite you down to my recording studio. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to put something together and Holly wants to show it to you now. Believe me, it’s a good surprise.”

Peter studied Henry’s expression suspiciously. “Why do I sense a trap?”

Henry laughed. “For your own sake, stop being clever long enough to get to the basement. You won’t be disappointed.”

He shook his head, unable to resist a request from Holly. “Please tell me you won’t be singing.”

Henry followed him out the door and down the hall. “I won’t be doing anything but enjoying the show. Unless otherwise directed.”

Peter walked down the stairs and across the house toward the recording studio he’d built years ago for Henry’s sporadic visits. Peter had used it himself on occasion when inspiration struck and drew him to the piano, but he knew why he’d made the space. Henry was his family. He’d redesigned every nook and cranny of the old mausoleum, needing to turn it into something the people he cared about could feel welcome in. Needing a home.

He couldn’t remember ever really thinking of this place as a home. Not until recently. Hearing Holly’s laughter and Henry’s guitar, the three of them eating together on the patio outside or talking about her wide variety of occupations in the living room…it felt good. Good enough to get used to.

She wouldn’t stay. He knew that. But he still had time to enjoy it while it lasted. To fill his home with life and passion.

Jesus, he was starting to think like one of Henry’s songs. All sap and no spine. He needed to get laid.

He needed Holly.

Peter opened the door to the studio and froze. The sight that greeted him was no longer the Zen room sparsely decorated with stools, microphones and instruments that he’d seen last week when Henry decided to play for them.

They’d temporarily redecorated it in a style he could only assume was bohemian brothel chic.

Most of the furniture had been cleared out to make way for a mattress—no doubt from one of the guest rooms—which was placed in front of the small raised stage where he’d installed the piano. It was still there, but there was a boom box sitting on top of it. Beside it, Peter saw a sex swing with leather leg straps connected to a chain that disappeared into the ceiling.

“What the fuck, Henry?”

The bearded scoundrel hopped up on the stage and rubbed his hands together. “Welcome to Henry’s House of Holly and
Wood
.” His voice echoed in the small room as he acted the part of lounge performer. “Grab a seat on that comfy mattress and get ready for a one-night only performance by one of this joint’s classiest dames. If loving her is wrong, you won’t want to be right. Put your hands together for your favorite Burlesque queen and mine, Betty Boom-Boom Ruskin!”

He pushed a button on the boom box and hurried to Peter’s side, pressing one hand down on his shoulder insistently. “Sit down,” he whispered. “She wants you sitting down.”

The door to the recording booth opened and Peter stopped breathing. He sat. Jazz played softly in the background as Holly swayed seductively into view. “Hello, boys.” She blew them a kiss and stepped up on the stage, her hands on her hips as she struck a Jessica Rabbit-esque pose. “Happy to see me?”

If he got any happier he’d embarrass himself in a way he hadn’t since he turned twelve and Henry’s older brother let him borrow his porn collection. Holly was perfection. From her forties-style hair to her fire engine-red lipstick and thick lashes, she’d gone all out for her role. Sadly, she was wearing too many clothes—a floor-length shimmering ruby skirt that flowed around her like water, a red corset with black piping, long black gloves and a black, sheer scarf skimming her shoulders.

As soon as he got over his shock, he was going to rush the stage and rip it all off.

She fluffed her hair and winked at Peter. “Since this is a private party, I’m planning a very special surprise. More than one, if you must know. I hope you enjoy the finale, because I already know I will.”

Holly reached behind her and pushed a button, changing the song to a bawdy striptease classic. Henry clapped and whistled as she started to sway to the music, slowly pulling off her gloves, twirling them and tossing them toward the men.

She turned on her heels gracefully, looking over her shoulder with an expression so mischievous Peter had to smile. He heard a rending sound and one arm crossed over her chest while the other shot up into the air, holding a scrap of red fabric. When she turned back toward them there was still a corset around her waist, but her breasts were bare.

She dropped her arm and Peter saw tassels attached to red hearts covering her nipples. He moaned and started to get to his feet and she stopped swaying, shaking her finger at him as if to scold him. “Not until the finale, handsome.”

Peter swore and sat down again, unable to take his eyes off her swinging tassels. She began to dance again, her movements more sensual as she wrapped her scarf suggestively around her wrists as if she were bound before letting it join her gloves on the floor off stage.

“Take it all off,” Henry groaned.

Peter silently agreed with the sentiment.

Holly lowered her hands to the waistline of her skirt teasingly. “Remember,” she warned in a sweet, siren’s voice. “Stay in your seats until the show reaches its big climax.”

The same sound he’d heard when she’d taken off the top of her corset filled the room and she ripped off her skirt. It fluttered in the air for a moment before landing right in front of him. Peter made a pained sound. After her striptease there would be a trip in an ambulance, because he was going to have a heart attack.

Holly wasn’t wearing underwear, but she wasn’t naked. Two straps on either side attached to a red butterfly sex toy. She thrust her hips forward for her dance and he could see it went inside her, and that there was a small stimulator pressed against her clit.

Definitely going to have a heart attack.

She frowned prettily. “Now where is that thing? I know it’s around here somewhere?”

“I’ve got a thing for you,” Henry called out with a laugh. Peter punched his arm without looking away from her performance.

She moved to face the piano, giving both men a clear view of her heart-shaped ass. “Aha,” she cried victoriously, widening her stance and bending over to pick something up off the stage.

Peter lowered his hands to his pants and started to work on the button and zipper. She was wearing a butt plug, complete with a red, glittering gem.

Henry swore, seeing it too.

She stood up again and faced them, smiling innocently. “Here you go, handsome. For being such a good boy. Enjoy.” She threw something at him and Peter caught it instinctively, his mind unscrambling long enough for him to realize what it was. A remote control for her strap-on.

He turned it on and she shivered, her full breasts quivering with the movement, tassels swaying. “Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, handsome, you certainly know how to make me shimmy. I think it’s time for my
pièce de résistance
. Just let me slip out of my shoes.”

She bit her lip when he turned the toy on high and set the controller down, unbuttoning his shirt as he watched her. “Someone’s impatient.”

But her character was fraying around the edges. Betty Boom-Boom was becoming Holly again in her pleasure. She walked over to the swing, gripped its hand bar and raised one long leg, sliding it into the strap before lifting herself off the ground, setting the swing to rocking.