The Club: Ace Page 2

  Okay . . . His cryptic answer only puts me more on edge. Suddenly, my head swims with visions of Ancient Romans celebrating to the god Bacchus and the nocturnal orgies during the Louis days of Versailles.

  And the man beside me could be a sun god himself.

  After leading me into a room where two women stand behind a desk, Ace unbuttons his shirt. I have no clue what I’m supposed to do, so I just stand here as he peels away his shirt and hands it to the women, like they’re hat checkers at a restaurant.

  I’m treated to a show as Ace removes his diamond-faced Rolex, then kicks off his Versace studded-leather shoes. I try not to gawk as he unfastens his belt buckle and slides the supple leather through the loops around his waist. It’s hard, I won’t lie. The one thing I do know about Ace is that he is unreal hot with his tawny blond hair and black-as-sin eyes.

  He’s got this olive skin and curly blonds filling in all the curves and hollows of his chest. Cut and lean, but powerful. Not a boy’s strength, but a man’s. I’m getting wet again just ogling this pretty man. And when he drops his pants . . . My pussy actually gives an appreciative clench.

  I’m electrified. The tests. The anticipation. Ace’s striptease. And, oh man, the dude goes commando. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, who wears clothes to an orgy? I know Ace is into the action around here. I have no clue what kind of action but, God almighty, I hope I get to find out tonight.

  I’m gawking. No help for it. Between his tawny hair and big, hard body, he reminds me of a lion. And when his lion-sized, fully-erect dick swings free, all I can do is swallow hard and hope I don’t melt into a puddle with whipped cream and sprinkles floating on top.

  He gives his pants to the check girls, thanks them, and extends his hand to me.

  Takes me a sec to jolt my over stimulated self into action. I’ve never seen Ace in any way but clothed. And he’s seriously more gorgeous without the pricey duds than he is with them, which is saying something. By the time I slip my hand into his, I can tell he’s amused. Laughter glints deep in those dark, dark eyes, and he doesn’t try to hide it.

  He’s apparently used to strolling around butt naked to be admired. I’m pretty comfortable myself. My dad always said if I hadn’t been born to a good Catholic family, I’d have been a nudist, given how often I used to bolt off the front porch au naturale as a kid.

  Let’s just hope my comfort level holds up, because when Ace nods to two doormen-slash-bouncers, double doors swing wide and I come face to face with another planet.

  The venue, hall, whatever is huge. The place is decked out like some period film. There’s a banquet table, longer than anything I’ve ever seen, beneath a crystal chandelier. There’s a stage on one end, a dais on the other, and sofas, chaises, and chairs filling the square footage in between.

  And there are people everywhere. Naked mostly. Except for the leather collars, nipple clamps and chains breaking up all the skin. Enough to fill a porno prop house.

  “Come in, Emme. Meet the courtiers,” Ace says.

  A court. That’s exactly what this is. Judging by all the gazes suddenly on us, I just walked in with the king.

  I’m still trying to take it all in when Ace opens his arms wide. And lion-like he roars, “I’m herrre. Come to Daddy.”

  Honest to god, we’re swarmed. Women and men come over and hug him or shake his hand, reminding me of a king and his court. I’m pushed to the side and don’t mind at all. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. And I can’t be sure what Ace will do if anyone brushes up against my whipped-cream covered boobs. Will I fail? I don’t want to risk it. At least not until I wrap my brain around what’s happening here.

  The buzz around his grand entrance gives me the opportunity to observe. Women openly fondle Ace. And he clearly adores the attention. His face lights up. He might as well be a big purring pussycat.

  I overhear more than one person call Ace “milord,” but I’m too busy trying to process what I’m seeing that I can only take in so much at once. There’s a crush of naked bodies near the stage, and the longer I stare, the more I make sense of what’s happening at that end of the room. A lot of fucking going on in a mosh pit. Oh, my.

  We’ve got grinding hips. We’ve got mouths and hands traveling everywhere. We’ve got laughter and moans and demands, and all this to beat of the band on stage. They’re all naked, too, except for the almost-comical curly white wigs they’re wearing, throwbacks from a history book.

  Not everyone greets Ace. The action in the mosh pit doesn’t slow down. I drag my gaze away and see a few couples fucking in nooks and crannies. There’s even a threesome, two guys doing a girl all stretched out on a plush oriental carpet. The chandelier throws most of the light into the center of the room, but the place is by no means dark. I see more swinging dicks and boobs in one place than I have in my entire life.

  That’s when I finally get a load of the banquet table. There’s food to be sure, but there are people there, too. My eyes feel as if they’re bulging out of my head as I take in the blonde stretched out on one end of the table, platters of strawberries and other cut fruits in front of her, a fountain drizzling dark chocolate on her breasts and white over her thighs. There’s a guy stretched out on the other, his erection peeking through the circle in the middle of an angel cake.

  Holy moly! If this is level two, what the hell goes on in level three?

  “Let me introduce you to our newest candidate, Emme,” Ace says in a dull roar. Loud enough to drag me out of my head.

  Good thing, too, because suddenly I’m the center of attention. I smile through greetings, well wishes, applause and even laughter, but I must look like a deer in the headlights because Ace steps close to check on me and whispers in my ear, “What’s your color?”

  “Just color me a leprechaun.” The shock’s wearing off. I wave happily to an Asian girl leading away two men on leashes.

  “What’s the yes part again, sir?” I ask, referring to my participation in this elaborate scene.

  That makes him laugh. He surveys his domain, the crowd that’s starting to break up and head off in search of pleasures. “You’ll be a platter tonight. Think nourishment. Your job is to serve my hungry courtiers.”

  “Oh.” I really hope that wasn’t it by way of explanation because I’m not clear on what he wants me to do.

  Am I supposed to just take a seat and let courtiers lick my boobs? My belly gives a crazy swoop at the thought. Is this what I want? I don’t know. But I do know at this moment I’m fascinated.

  He leads me to the banquet table, but before we get there, Ace is waylaid by a guy in a suit. Since he’s dressed, he must be important.

  “Give me a minute, Emme,” Ace says. He flags a woman propped against the table. “Audrey, assist Emme for me.”

  “Yes, milord,” she says before Ace strolls off with the dressed guy, treating me to a prime shot of the flexing muscles in his extremely well-shaped ass.

  The woman—Audrey—brushes an assortment of snack crackers from her thighs and hops away from the table.

  “Your first time?” she asks.

  She’s tall and willowy with tattoos. Her hair is spiky short and so black it’s blue in the light. Like me, she’s naked, except for the hoop earrings that dangle to her shoulders and what appears to be some sort of pimiento spread on her breasts.

  I nod. “I’m a level two candidate.”

  She flicks crumbs caught in her pubic hair with a look of distaste. “I flunked the first time.”

  I want to ask her what happened, but decide that’s probably too personal a question. “So what do we do?”

  “What we’re told,” she says simply.

  “We don’t . . .” I wave at a mass of writhing bodies in front of the stage, still grinding away to the beat of the music, “do that?”

  “No worries, honey. We’re here to serve the food.” She glances pointedly between her chest and mine. “I’m the appetizer, and you’re the dessert.”

  I’m about to ask
what I should do next when a George Clooney look-alike with a dark beard shows up. Only he’s taller and more muscular.

  “Oh, naturally,” Audrey adds with a scowl.

  The Clooney look-alike glances right past me to the buffet on Audrey’s breasts.

  “Starving here.” He flashes a good-natured smile that gleams white from the dark beard and mustache.

  Audrey rakes her gaze over him. “I seriously doubt that.”

  He just gives a huge, rolling laugh and motions her onto the table. “You need to bend back. I can’t reach you.”

  “Because your muscles are getting in the way?” But she does what he says, propping her butt against the table and arching back until her breasts spear high enough for him to easily reach them.

  “It’s that mouth of yours that keeps getting you in trouble.” He leans over Audrey, easily twice the size of her willowy body, and she practically vanishes underneath him. “I can think of much better uses for that mouth, princess.”

  The Clooney look-alike must really like pimientos because he makes a meal of both her breasts. Audrey endures his thorough attention. I don’t think she actually enjoys what he does. Or maybe she’s just not supposed to show what she feels.

  Imagine the platter. Be the platter.

  I don’t know. I want to ask, though. When he’s done, he laves her breast clean with a wet towel from a warmer.

  “Are you done yet?” Audrey asks.

  “No double-dipping,” he tells me as he’s reapplying more pimiento spread with a silver spoon from a nearby bowl.

  He obviously didn’t miss my introduction.

  Still, seems like it takes him an awfully long time to do the job. Audrey must think so, too, because she says, “Just you wait,” when he finally moves back from the table.

  I believe her. She’s fierce with her spiky hair and tattoos and her lean legs drawn up on the table.

  “I dream about it, Audrey.” Mr. Muscleman says and takes off.

  “You’ve got pimiento in your beard,” Audrey calls after him. She rolls her eyes and says to me, “He won’t get laid with pimiento in his beard.”

  I laugh. I’m really in another freaking galaxy.

  “I can’t believe Ace left you with me.” Audrey leans back on her arms. “All right, everything you see me do. You do the opposite. You should be okay then.”

  “They let candidates try again if they fail?”

  “Not candidates. I’m an apprentice.”

  “The difference is . . .” I let my question trail off.

  She considers that, her mouth pursing thoughtfully. She’s really a beautiful woman with delicate features and striking eyes. In fact, the more I look at her, I’ve got to wonder how much the spiky hair and tattoos are to distract from how exquisitely feminine she is.

  “You’re here for a good time. I’m here for a vocation.”

  “Okay.” I want to hear more, but then Ace emerges from the crowd, and my pulse leaps. What is it about him that keeps me on edge? That he’s in charge of me? That he’s testing me? That I have to please him? Or that I want to please him?

  I can tell right away that he’s playing the host again. His charming smile back in place. His deep laughter easy. His dick still impressively hard.

  He takes one look at me and says, “You aren’t ready to serve yet.”

  I’m not? I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

  “My fault she’s not ready. I had a hungry guest,” Audrey says and beats a retreat a few places down the length of the table.

  “I’ll do the honors.” He holds a jar of cherries in one hand and a whiskey in the other. He hands me the whiskey. “Don’t drink or spill it.”

  I take the glass, resisting the urge to down it in one gulp. He motions me to lean back against the table, so I prop my butt against the table and lean back the way Audrey did.

  Reaching into the jar, he plucks out a handful of cherries. “Hm. How are we going to do this? Spread your legs, fox.”

  I do as he says, but my distraction is over. Almost instantly I feel a tingling rush to my boobs as I arch my back and spread my thighs. On display in a room filled with people. But it’s not everyone else’s presence that’s making my blood start to hum. It’s Ace. Naked. Propped between my knees as he considers my most private places.

  “Sundae. Only way to go.” That decided, he stands, looming over me until my view narrows down to his broad chest. I can feel the heat of his skin almost pressed against me; inhale the male scent of him on every breath.

  Then he’s back between my legs, setting another can of whipped cream beside me as I try to pace my breathing.

  He plucks a cherry from the jar then dangles it between my legs. He looks straight into my eyes and presses the cherry against my clit. Juice dribbles between my thighs, down the crack of my ass.

  “What’s your color?” he asks.

  “Green.” I don’t hesitate.

  He rubs the cherry back and forth, a rhythmic motion that’s strange and exciting at once. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “This is wicked fun.”

  “Be even more fun when our guests feast on your cherries . . . with their tongues.”

  Heat rises to my face. I can’t help it. I feel decadent. Sexy as hell.

  He shifts his gaze back to my pussy again, and stops the seductive motion. The cherry vanishes, and Ace goes to work with the whipped cream.

  “Arch your back and spread your thighs wider.”

  I do as he commands, catching Audrey’s eye from her perch down the table. She gives me a wink of encouragement.

  My stomach swoops, dives. My nipples are hard. He creates a frothy masterpiece on my pussy and inner thighs, drizzles chocolate on my thighs, then goes to work with the sprinkles and cherries. He even perches one on each nipple.

  He smiles when he steps back to survey his handiwork. “Better stay really still, or you’ll lose your cherries.”

  He’s not kidding. Every time I take a breath I can feel a cherry list sideways, anchored only in whipped cream.

  “Now stay there and serve dessert,” he says. “Oh and there’s just one more thing . . .”

  “What?” My voice is raw.

  “If you cum, you fail. This isn’t about your pleasure, Emme. Got that?”

  “Yes.” No. Not really. Isn’t an orgy supposed to be about pleasure? I suppose the test is to see if I’m such a noob to the scene that I can’t control myself.

  And I’m already horny. I can’t lie. I’m turned on by everything happening around me. Sheesh. Why wouldn’t I be raring to go with Ace touching me so intimately?

  Not to mention all the hot guys in this room. It’s a hall filled with beautiful people, bodies buffed and toned. Even Mr. Muscleman. And there are eddies of power here. I feel it emanating from both men and women, and it excites me.

  If I tip my head to the left, I see a woman on a chaise with a man on each side of her, each sucking a nipple. She’s clearly in control. If I glance to the right, there’s a guy in a conga line of connected body parts on the dance floor. All public. Watching so many people exploring pleasure excites me.

  If I look straight up, I can see my reflection in the mirrored ceiling. My ass tipped up. My thighs spread. All my lady bits decorated like a yummy sundae.

  No one is interested in me, and I finally relax. My gaze follows Ace. He gives Audrey instructions. Leads her across the room and props her against a fountain with her butt high in the air. He stacks more appetizers on her cheeks. Cheese and crackers, I think. She certainly doesn’t look excited. What kind of vocation would leave her so unmoved by being here?

  People come and go. Some of them take food from Audrey with their fingers. Others use their lips. She squirms, unable to hold still. Ace admonishes her.

  I vow to hold still . . . no matter what. I don’t want my cherries to roll away. I don’t want to fail. This whole scene is just too fascinating. The courtiers all ooze a predatory confidence that’s primi
tive and sexual.

  Damn it. At first it’s easy holding my position, but as time wears on, I start to get fidgety. I want someone to pay attention to me. I imagine what it will feel like, their hands and lips and tongues, and shiver in expectation. To distract myself, I hold my breath and tilt my head to search for Ace. He seems to be everywhere. There’s always a gorgeous woman with him. Sometimes two, one on either side.

  But he’s not attentive. In fact, he barely seems to notice them. Unless I miss my guess, women seem to be an accessory to him. He wears them like other men might a gold pinky ring. I catch his gaze on me, his expression assessing.

  I refuse to fail. But this position is really starting to get old. I think about how I look, my ass tipped up, whipped cream and cherries on my breasts. The sweet juice inside my pussy. The chocolate drizzling my inner thighs.

  I wish Ace was going to be the one to take my cherries. With his tongue. I like the idea of him on his knees, paying homage to me. Oh, yeah, that would be special. A memory I’d never forget.

  As if he’s reading my thoughts, Ace shows up, a fashionable blonde on either side. “You ready for some action, fox?”

  “Yes, sir.” Oh, hell yes. Especially from him.

  His dark eyes gleam when he says, “Emme has cherries for you girls.”

  3

  Emme

  GIRLS?

  I stiffen my spine without moving a muscle and remind myself that I asked to be admitted to level two. I was curious. Eager. But I know the instant I look into Ace’s amused expression he’s trying to push me past my comfort zone. And he certainly has . . .

  But I’m determined to pass this test. I brace myself as the women descend toward me. They’re beautiful. Sisters definitely. Maybe even twins. They’re hungry for the dessert I offer. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  First contact is nothing more than a caress of silken fingertips along my throat, but my reaction is instant. The anticipation, maybe. And the forbidden, too. My body galvanizes, a sudden current of awareness rips through me until my pussy clenches and breasts swell. My nipples peak through the layers of sweetness. So stiff that a damned cherry rolls off its perch and oozes through whipped cream toward my arm.