One Exquisite Touch: Book One in The Extravagant Series

by Lauren Blakely

  For a kernel of jealousy to form. For it to grow roots, dig deep into me. For it to clutch my heart in its green-eyed grasp.

  But that doesn’t happen.

  Something’s different with us. With Cole and me. I don’t want to compare myself to his past, yet I can sense that the two of us have something . . . unique.

  “Neither one of you wanted to?”

  “We both enjoyed that it started that way. But I don’t think either one of us cared deeply if it continued that way.”

  “What about Daniel?”

  “He rarely wants more. He’s happy with the physical. Only the physical,” he says heavily. Sadness crosses Cole’s eyes, and that tugs on my heart. It’s a sadness for his friend. For that part of Daniel that’s empty, like he told me at the dinner. Giving a woman pleasure, more pleasure than perhaps she’s ever known, makes me feel less empty.

  “So Daniel was content for the three of you to be friends?”

  “He was.”

  “How did it start with Georgia? Like it did with me?”

  This time, the silence lasts longer.

  A lot longer.

  And worry thickens in me.

  “Look, Sage,” he says, sitting up in bed, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “It started as a game. You might not want to hear this.”

  It comes as a warning.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  But I need to know. And I can handle it. I want honesty. I want trust. “No judgment. Tell me. I want to know,” I say, earnest and truthful.

  “It started as a game. In college. We played it as a game. We made bets.”

  “What sort of bets?” I ask, my brow furrowing.

  He swallows roughly, and I tense. Have I touched on an aspect of his past that’ll turn me off? My stomach churns as I wait for an answer I might not want to hear.

  “We would celebrate business victories that way – with bets. We’d place wagers on who between the two of us the woman would want to lead the tryst. We’d bet on which man she’d want more than the other,” he says, and a part of me wants to let my jaw drop in shock and say, How dare you.

  But another part is unbearably turned on.

  And is thoroughly understanding.

  I have my kinks. They have theirs.

  If I believe what Eliza said—There’s no shame in desire. There is no shame in wanting. If everyone consents and everyone is safe, that’s really all that matters—then I can’t judge Cole and Daniel for their sex games.

  I can’t, and I won’t.

  Because my kink is being a part of their games.

  It’s being their plaything.

  Having them use me for their pleasure, and for my own. For my own multiplied pleasure.

  “Does that bother you?” The worry in his question cuts straight to my heart. Makes me want to reassure him too.

  That’s what surprises me.

  But also what doesn’t surprise me at all.

  Because everything he said makes sense.

  I reach for his face, sliding my thumb along his stubbled jaw. “Did you win the bet with me?”

  A glimmer of a smile shines in his eyes. “Yes. But in all honesty, he threw the bet. He wanted me with you. He said you’d be good for me.”

  Pride bathes me. Because I am good for him. And he is good for me. “Daniel was right. We challenge each other. We are good for each other.”

  His shoulders relax. His lips curve into a grin. “You’re not bothered?”

  I shake my head. “No. The opposite. I’m honored, and I’m turned on too. I like that I was part of your game. It thrills me. And I like it because you wanted more of me. You wanted me without games.”

  He growls, his eyes narrowing. “I want you, games or not. Bet or not. Threesome or not. I want you. I want whatever you’ll give me, however you’ll have me. This thing with us has played out the way it has because I am obsessed with you. Because I want to give you pleasure. Because I can feel how much you want to be coveted. And I want to do that for you, in and out of the bedroom,” he says, laying his dirty wishes on the line, but somehow his heart too.

  Maybe they are one and the same.

  That’s how they feel to me.

  That’s how mine are to me.

  Maybe that’s what feels different. Unique.

  This openness, this honesty, this level of trust.

  “I want everything you’ve given me,” I say.

  “I want you all to myself, and I want to share you if that’s what you want. But only if it’s what you want, what you crave. If you want more, if you want a night with Daniel and me, I can make that happen.”

  A sly grin slides across my face. “Lady’s choice, right?”

  “Always,” he says, roping an arm around my waist.

  I sidle up against him, curling my body around his, running my hands along his arms, down his chest, over his abs.

  “I want my two Prince Wickeds one more time before Daniel leaves, and then I want you all to myself.”

  A groan seems to rip from the center of his chest. “That can be arranged.”

  And so, we make plans.

  But some of my plans include coming clean.

  Even though that’s not entirely what this lunch with my sister is. It’s a working lunch in my office to discuss Max and Alex, when the shows will begin, and how we’ll trade off marketing the magicians and then marketing Stone in the “Experience Vegas” campaign.

  As we plot and work our way through Asian chicken salad for me and edamame and sushi for her, I take a break, clear my throat, then say, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “You stole my Princess Leia figurine when we were in fourth grade and I couldn’t find her in her badass snow outfit?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes. I love Leia. She is the best princess of all the princesses.”

  Ivy holds up her chopsticks to make a point. “True words.”

  And there are more true words to come. They feel a bit like a confession, and a necessary one. One that gives me butterflies. I don’t want to upset Ivy with my news. I don’t want to worry her either. But then, I know my sister. And I have a feeling that she’ll understand.

  “I’m seeing Cole Donovan,” I say, chin up, words strong.

  She answers me with a do tell arch of her brow. “The Cole Donovan?”

  “Yes. The Cole Donovan.”

  “You’re sleeping with the enemy?” she asks carefully.

  “I am. But he’s not really the enemy.”

  “I know, I just really wanted to say that.” She sets down her chopsticks, takes a drink of green tea, then pats the couch cushion. “I require details.”

  I join her on the couch, and I serve up some of the details from my threesomes. My sister smiles like the Mona Lisa as I share.

  “What is that grin all about? You’re enjoying the details of my indulgences?”

  She laughs, nodding vigorously. “I’m enjoying them because they make perfect sense to me. Twins and all,” she says, a little vaguely.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I might have indulged in one too,” she says, and at first, I’m surprised to learn that I’m not the only Carmichael who has enjoyed the pleasures of two men.

  But then, I’m not that surprised either. Ivy and I have that twin connection. We are our own people, but we also share some of the same tastes.

  And some of the same tastes in bed, it turns out.

  “Well, we’re clearly going to need to break out some wine and chocolate and have a much deeper dive into all our dirty secrets,” I say.

  “Count on it.”

  I turn more serious. “But more importantly, do you still trust me to run this hotel with its best interests in mind?”

  Ivy gives me a soft smile. “I’ve known you literally my entire life. I trust you with everything.”

  My throat catches, and I hug my sister. I didn’t know I needed that permission till she gave it, but I’m so glad
I have it now.

  32

  Sage

  At the end of a long and stimulating Saturday, I walk past the jewelry box display in the lobby of The Extravagant.

  Smiling at it, I feel a little like I have a private joke with the lobby sculpture.

  A jewel for a jewel.

  I’m wearing one.

  Been wearing one all day long.

  I went to meetings with a purple jewel inside me.

  My sister and I had lunch with Max and Alex. We met with Stone’s bodyguard about the coverage during his two-week stay.

  And the entire time, I wore this . . . jewel.

  I’m naughty, and I love it. I love all my dirty secrets.

  When I return to my suite, I’m both relaxed and wildly aroused.

  And ready too.

  Because that’s the point.

  Inside, I strip off my work clothes, unclip my hair, and make my way to the shower, turning it on, adjusting the water to hot.

  After shimmying out of my lace panties—a new gift from Cole, and this pair is black—I step under the water, letting the steam wrap around me.

  And then I reach behind me, about to take the jewel out of my ass, but I tap it first.

  And ohhh.

  Ohhh yes.

  I’m buzzing everywhere.

  And I see no need not to pregame.

  So I do, enjoying a shower session with two of my friends—my trusty shower toy and the new toy.

  Yet another gift from my man.

  Wear it all day. And wear it to the party tonight.

  That’s all the card on the gift said when it arrived first thing this morning.

  After I enjoy the first of what I hope will be many Os, I work out the plug, wash it thoroughly, and then indulge in a long, hot shower.

  Once I’m through, I turn it off and take my time getting ready, spreading lotion on my legs, brushing mascara through my lashes, and applying the rest of my makeup.

  I blow-dry my hair, brush it out, and curl the ends.

  Then it’s time to visit the closet, where I find a bustier. A black one that’s easy to snap into myself. I slide on stockings, clipping them into garters, and when a knock on the door booms through my suite, I saunter over to answer it, like a cat.

  I feel like a cat.

  I peer through the peephole to confirm it’s my man.

  When I see his handsome face, a wild thrill rushes through me.

  Cole Donovan.

  He’s wearing a tux. Holding a black mask.

  My rival. My lover. My partner.

  Without any panties on, I open the door.

  His eyes narrow, and he growls—a low, animalistic rumble as his eyes devour me. Eat me up.

  His gaze turns my temperature up one thousand degrees, and he closes the door, scoops me up, carries me to my bedroom, and sets me on the bed.

  “Let me taste you. Let me have you before the party.”

  Perched on the edge of the bed, I’m like a queen in lingerie, sitting tall, legs spread wide. “You can have me, but I have to tell you something,” I whisper, as he peppers dangerously decadent kisses along my inner thighs.

  “Tell me,” he rasps against my skin.

  I give him my confession. “I already came.”

  The groan that comes from his chest is wild.

  “Then you’ll come again,” he says, and peers up at me. “Where’s the gift I got you?”

  I gesture to the bathroom. “Lube is in there too.”

  He’s a man on a mission, and thirty seconds later, he’s back, on the floor, between my legs. Licking me.

  Eating me.

  Consuming me.

  His tongue flicks the most delicious lines up my wet center, and when he reaches my clit, he stops, stares up at me, and grins wickedly. “Later tonight, you’ll get this again,” he whispers, then shares a few dirty details of how he wants to have me again this evening.

  His words ignite a wave of lust in me so powerful that I grow wetter, hotter.

  “You like that, sweetheart,” he says, then returns to eating my pussy. I thrust against his mouth, wrap my hands around his head, and fuck his face till I’m moaning and riding the knife’s blade of pleasure. Till exquisite agony twists in my body. Till the first crush of bliss spirals in me.

  And right when I’m chasing the prize, he slides a finger down to my backside, presses it against me, and pushes in.

  His finger is slick, lubed up, and he works it inside me, then another, and I buck against him, almost there.

  Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he pulls out his fingers, and pushes back in with something cool.

  Something I spent the day with.

  With the jeweled plug.

  And I lose my mind.

  A brand-new wave of white-hot bliss crashes over me as he pushes the toy inside me and I come.

  Pleasure overwhelms me. It floods every cell. It fills every pore. It is me, and I am pleasure.

  The world slips away into ecstasy.

  When he rises, he shoots me a devilish grin. “That’s just the beginning.”

  I can’t wait for what’s next.

  But the thing is, I get to decide.

  And I tell him what I want. I slide a hand over his face, hold his jaw, and meet his gaze. “Let’s make a bet. We are all the stakes.”

  33

  Cole

  One last bet.

  One last time.

  Sage and I enter The Invitation together. I’m in a tux with a black mask in my hand. She’s in a sinful Venetian dress, slit up the side, long in the back and short in the front. Her mask is silver, sparkling like diamonds, ready to put on when we reach the ballroom.

  “You’re brilliant for brilliant and beautiful for beautiful,” I tell her.

  She shoots me a sexy, powerful glance, her blue eyes twinkling with dirty deeds. “Do you think compliments will make me throw the bet your way? You still won’t get me to bend.”

  I laugh. “Woman, I’m not trying to get you to bend.” Then I whisper in her ear, “Unless it’s over the bed, or over my desk.”

  “Don’t forget the table. You could bend me over a table,” she offers as we sweep through the casino.

  My hand slides down her back, curling over her ass. I squeeze her hard.

  She snaps her gaze to me. “You’re doing that to me in public? Among the roulette tables?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. And you want it,” I say in a low growl.

  “I do. I definitely do,” she says, chin up, tall and proud by my side, like she wanted. Anyone can look at us. Anyone can see we’re together.

  Let them look. Let them enjoy the view. The very public view.

  We reach the ballroom, and we separate.

  Our masks are on. The masquerade begins.

  Sage moves fluidly through the crowd, her lithe body weaving between men and women, men and men, women and women, all in their finery, satin and tulle, lace and silk, and secrecy.

  Secrecy is possible with masks.

  Gold, silver, white, black. Faces are half-covered, shrouded in mystery, flanked by feathers, by beads, and by the wish to play. Sage stops to chat with her friend Eliza, who’s clutching the arm of a burly, bearded man. Eliza whispers something to Sage, then heads off with her date, though they look more platonic than romantic. I turn away from them, watching my woman as she weaves through the masquerade, music floating, drinks pouring, glasses clinking.

  Daniel goes first.

  On the dance floor, he finds her, slides up against her, and takes her hand. He’s wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask.

  Fitting.

  So damn fitting.

  I make my way to the bar, order a drink, and watch the woman I crave.

  The woman I covet.

  The woman I’m absolutely crazy for.

  She’s perhaps twenty feet away.

  Far enough that I feel like I’m spying on her, but close enough that I can catalog her every move. Her visceral reaction, too, as my
friend slides his hands around her waist and curls them over her lower back. My skin sizzles, knowing what that does to Sage. Knowing how sensitive her back is. How the woman gets turned on from a brush of fingertips there.

  Then again, nearly everything I do to her—and we do to her—makes her wild.

  Her whole body is an erogenous zone if you play her right. Hit the right notes. I can. Daniel can. We can.

  The bartender slides me a glass. I thank him, knock some of the drink back, and stare shamelessly, enjoying the view of the best show in the hotel.

  As Daniel’s hands trace gentle lines near the top of her ass, Sage shudders. I can tell she’s growing hotter. I can tell from how she moves with him. How she wraps one arm around his neck, then the other, letting her head fall back.

  Such a gorgeous hedonist.

  As they dance, he bends his face to her, cheek to cheek, whispering in her ear. I groan inside. Lust slams down my spine, my cock thickening as a tremble runs over her body.

  A visible fucking tremble. Even from a distance. It is the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My chest rumbles of its own volition.

  My throat groans, with a mind of its own.

  I take another swallow of the liquor, the tension in me mounting, along with the prospect of pleasure, as Sage grows more aroused.

  I can only imagine the things Daniel’s saying.

  I don’t have to imagine what they do to her though. Because they’re doing everything we want.

  They’re melting her. They’re breaking her down. They’re wrecking her.

  That’s what we want for her tonight. A hot, wet, turned-on-beyond-any-and-all-reason woman ready to be fucked both ways.

  34

  Daniel

  The game has never been this close.

  And maybe it’s never been this necessary.

  Or this electric.

  This illicit.

  But then, I’ve never gone this far with it. Multiple trysts, multiple times. Never wanted to. Never needed to. I’ve been content to walk away.

  That’s what I do. I walk away, and it’s perfectly fine.