by Mel Teshco
She swallowed, and then cleared her throat. “I’m thinking we might need a cleaning service to treat this chair for stains before the dinner tomorrow night.”
He pulled a succulent piece of chicken from a metal skewer and popped it into his mouth. “I’ll call the service in the morning,” he said with a smile. He traced his foot up her leg. “In the meantime…let’s have some fun.”
***
In the master bedroom, Camilla stood before the bevelled mirror of her dresser, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering in her belly, bigger than any proverbial butterflies.
She reached for her bottle of Shalini fragrance—another gift from Drake—before dabbing a touch at the pulse point on her neck. But she didn’t fool herself. No beautiful scent or any amount of beauty salon treatments, hair, nails and facial, could guarantee success at her first Double D party.
She could already imagine high society queen, Nella Pouache, peering down her sophisticated, cosmetically enhanced nose, or exchanging a pained glance with Jorja, at her epic dinner failure.
She sighed. No matter how much Drake empowered her, she wasn’t up to the challenge of the night ahead. Deep down she’d always be plain, hard-working Camilla with her work-roughened hands and a chain-smoking single mother who did the best she could for her only child.
With a leaden stomach she pivoted on her stilettos, away from the four-poster bed and huge windows with stunning views of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge.
She smiled a little. She wasn’t in the headspace right then to think about how much loving had been done in that bed, or to appreciate the views. She had to consult with her chef on the menu, talk things through with the event planner and oversee the table settings and flower arrangements.
Her mind churning over the next handful of hours before her guests arrived, she wasn’t aware of Drake standing in the bedroom doorway until she nearly ran into him.
She put a hand to her throat. “Drake, you scared me!” A smile tipped the corners of her mouth, despite her anxieties. “I didn’t think you’d been able to get away from work.”
“Are you kidding me?” he growled softly. “Nothing could have kept me away.” His eyes flared as he took her in. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
Her smile stretched into a relieved grin. Drake had a way with words, where swearing only added to the compliment. “Your bank account mightn’t appreciate the effort.”
“Screw the bank account.” His stare fairly glowed, alight with promise. “You’re my present, and I intend to unwrap and slowly savour.”
Fire burned through her veins even as a protest formed. “I need to make sure tonight is perfect—”
“Relax, my love. Everything is running like clockwork. The event planner is here to take away your stress.”
Drake had talked her into using the same planner who’d successfully organised many of his business functions. She had to admit it had been a relief to have someone there to advise and organise what should have been a relatively simple dinner party.
Except nothing about the Double D Dinners were simple. It was complex snobbery and rivalry she had yet to wrap her head around. “You’ve checked on things with her?”
His hand was warm through the material of her dress at her waist as he marched her back a few steps. “Yes.” He kicked the door shut. “Now let me do what I promised.”
Holy shit.
Desire fought against practicality.
Her voice came out in a squeak. “But I’m already dressed.”
He smirked, a look of unadulterated possessiveness. “Then don’t change. Let the ladies speculate over your rumpled dress, your mussed bed hair and your musky bouquet.”
Need, fierce and sharp, rushed through her even before he pressed her back on the bed, his big body moving over hers. He leaned down and kissed her once, hard and even a little savage, before he moved his head back a little, his eyes holding hers. “Let me pleasure you.”
She nodded slowly and lay back. The skirt of her aqua gown slipped apart, thanks to the thigh-high split. With a thrumming growl, Drake moved low and she jerked at the first erotic touch of his mouth at the top of her thigh, his fine stubble prickling her sensitive skin.
He used his tongue as an instrument of pleasure, swiping along her inner thigh and making her leg skitter with sensation, her pussy flooding with moisture.
Dear Lord, it was the build-up, the anticipation; knowing he was about to torment her with his tongue and lips until she shook with lust and quaked with orgasm.
She lifted her hips the moment his head moved to her pussy. He pressed a hand on her thigh and gently pushed her back to the bed. Her breath released slowly, and then ended on a startled gasp as he swiped his tongue over the lacy crotch of her thong.
Pleasure danced through her clit and prickled nerve endings in every part of her body. At his next swipe she moaned long and loud, her hips again lifting of their own accord as she thrust her cunt against his clever tongue, careless that her thong was two seconds away from being drenched with her own juices.
His voice rumbled between her legs. “I can smell your musk. Fuck, love, I need to taste you, need my tongue inside you and all over your clit.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. His words alone were about to see her leap into orgasmic bliss.
She couldn’t find her voice, let alone her sanity. Both seemed to have fled. Still, she found the strength to lift her arse as he pulled the skimpy thong down her legs before threading them over each sharp stiletto and tossing them aside.
His appreciative stare slid over her bent knees and thighs splayed as wide as the dress would allow. Her cheeks burned while every other part of her body radiated warmth. He made her feel mouth-wateringly beautiful, like she was spread out for him for the very first time. He put a knee onto the mattress and moved between her thighs. When he circled a finger idly around the outside of her clit she wanted to growl and scratch and bite. She froze as that same finger moved, then dipped a little into her tight, wet heat. But he didn’t push further inside, didn’t ease the ache one bit.
Instead he removed his finger and touched the wet tip to her clit. She jerked at the sharp voltage of sensation. Dear Lord. He knew just exactly how to press her buttons, literally. She was about to come and he’d barely begun.
He massaged her clit in lazy little rotations. “Isn’t this nice, my love?” he asked huskily. “I’m thinking the party is the last thing on your mind. Right now it’s just you and me and the bedroom.” His eyes darkened. “And soon all your focus will be on your sweet little cunt and that first rush of climax that goes all the way to your toes.”
“Just. Do. Me. Now.”
His grin triumphant, he bent his head and did exactly that. His tongue strummed her clit like a musician’s deft fingers on guitar strings. She gritted her teeth as tickling heat wound through her, faster and faster. She lasted ten, maybe twenty seconds before she exploded, louder than a firecracker.
When Drake finally lifted his dark head, she lay on the bed, replete and halfway out of it. She couldn’t move. A delicious numbness had worked its way up her thighs and to every muscle in her body.
His eyes gleamed, his lips wet. “I think it’s safe to say you’ll be relaxed tonight.”
He straightened while she gathered her strength. Wow. She was floating in a sea of bliss, where gentle waves helped keep her afloat, though all she wanted was to sink under and let sleep take her in its arms. Except the time was slipping away and she could hardly greet her guests lying on her back, with her dress ruched up around her waist and her pussy gleaming.
Though come to think of it, at least a few of the women might appreciate the display.
Drake retrieved her lacy thong. Holding it up with a gleam in his eyes, he drawled, “You really don’t need this.”
She sat, unable to ignore the illicit thrill sweeping through her at his suggestion. “Do you like the thought of me entertaining the other women without my underwear?”
“You really need to ask me that?” he all but growled.
She glanced at the tented front of his designer pants and arched a brow. “I guess not.” She stood too, resting her hands on his chest before idly flicking one of his nipples with a manicured nail. “I guess the real question is—can you wait until after the dinner to have your wicked way with me?”
His chuckle came out hoarse. “If bookwork doesn’t bring my dick into submission, I’m certain a good workout will.”
The dress settled into place around her with a little swish, though she was all too aware of the dampness between her thighs. But true to her husband’s word, she did feel relaxed. With a frisson of awareness, she stepped toward the dresser’s mirror once again. “How do I look?”
He stepped behind her, her head just reaching his jawline, despite her skyscraper heels. “Like you’ve just been thoroughly pleasured,” he murmured throatily.
She bit into her bottom lip, lifting one of her hands to try and pat some strands of her elaborate hairstyle back into place. “I do?”
His stare roamed over her hair. He took hold of the diamond pin clasping the upsweep in place, and slid it free.
Her eyes went round as her hair tumbled in a cascade of fiery red curls past her shoulders. Her face flushed. “The hairdresser spent hours taming my hair!”
“Trust me, the other women will admire it just the way it is now. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Except the mirror told her she looked even more bedroom-tousled now than she had before. “Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
His hand clasped hers. “Care to walk me to the front door?”
“Of course.” Being alone held no appeal whatsoever.
He nodded. “I’ll be thinking of you. Ring me the moment the last guest leaves.” His smile verged on predatory. “Then we’ll finish what we started.”
“Maybe I can skip tonight’s dessert and hurry everyone home,” she said, voice breathless.
His laugh echoed down the hallway, where a study, two guest bedrooms and a main bathroom were located. The clatter of dishes, along with wafts of cooking scents, reminded her that dinner was close.
She glanced at the huge steel and chrome kitchen to her right, where their chef and two hired assistants were prepping for the night ahead. To her left, huge bi-fold doors had been opened up for the unseasonably warm weather. Her guests would eat outside on the balcony tonight, with balmy sea breezes and spectacular views an accompaniment to their fine dining experience.
The event organiser ushered Willow Adams through the front door as Camilla and Drake walked toward the entryway. Greetings were exchanged along with air kisses.
“You look gorgeous,” Camilla said to Willow. She wasn’t lying. Even without the slinky, silver gown with its sparkly décolletage, the other woman fairly glowed. A pendant from Willow’s latest jewellery collection—an elegant, handcrafted silver dreamcatcher—just added to her allure.
Had some lucky man had his wicked way with her?
Willow smiled, her eyes bright with warmth. “And I’m not kidding when I say you’ll definitely be the star tonight.”
Camilla flushed a little at the compliment. “Virginia helped me with my wardrobe.”
Willow nodded. “That woman is a goddess when it comes to fashion.”
Drake cleared his throat. “Ladies, I think it’s time I made my escape before the rest of the women arrive.”
Willow giggled. “Relax, I came early to make sure Camilla doesn’t feel too anxious about the night ahead.” She sent him an approving stare. “But I’m sensing my young friend isn’t one bit frazzled.”
Drake’s eyes glinted before he bent and kissed Camilla, his lips gentle, restrained. He pulled back slightly and murmured, “Bye gorgeous. You’ll knock it out of the ballpark.”
She drew in a steadying breath. “I’ll do my best.”
“Just…enjoy yourself. That’s all I ask.”
He pulled his stare from hers, then bent to kiss Willow on the cheek. “Thanks for looking after my wife.” With that, he pushed through the door and strode toward the private elevator that would take him to the ground floor.
“Everything looks well under control,” Willow said as she and Camilla walked out onto the balcony, where a huge flower centrepiece of Australian native banksias, pemelias and grevilleas were showcased on the outdoor table.
Camilla suppressed a smile. “When you told me to delegate, I’m afraid I allowed my husband to take it a little too far.” She shrugged. “I was left with nothing much more to do other than supervise the menu.”
Willow giggled. “That’s fantastic.” She swung a hand in the direction of the champagne bottles chilling on ice. “Now all we have to do is pop the champers.”
Camilla’s mouth dropped open when she noticed the flash of a large ring. “Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?”
“A ring?” Willow said wryly, holding her hand up so that Camilla could more closely admire the glittering chunk of diamond on its gold band. “Well, it’s not just any ring,” she conceded, her face a little flushed.
Camilla clapped her hands. “That’s so wonderful. Congratulations.”
The way things were going, all the women of the Diamond Dinners Club would soon be happily married.
“Thanks. I flew to New York to be with Seb at his book signing. We chose the ring in Manhattan while we were there.”
A waiter popped a bottle of Dom Perignon and Camilla clacked her flute against Willow’s in celebration. It was wonderful to sit down and chat with one of the few women from the exclusive Diamond Dinners Club who Camilla actually felt halfway comfortable with. At least Willow wasn’t superficial and two-faced.
Shame the same thing couldn’t be said of most of the other women who began to arrive, half an hour later.
Camilla opened the door to Nella and her stepdaughter Sienna. Great. The blonde A-team, dressed to the nines and ready for battle, though Nella looked so much harder in her maturing years against her exquisitely dressed stepdaughter.
“How charming,” Nella tittered, though no joy shone from her sharp blue eyes, “your very first Diamond Dinner.” She peered over Camilla’s shoulder. “Looks like you’ve been busy spending Drake’s money. The penthouse looks fabulous,” she added grudgingly. “I must get the name of your designer.”
“Actually, I designed it myself.” Nella had just complimented her, however backhanded. And Camilla had to admit her flair for style, along with what she’d learned at university, had given the apartment an edge. From the warm feature wall in the lounge room done in aged wood panels, to the one-of-a-kind lamps and multicoloured throws. Minimalistic, tasteful and inviting.
Nella touched a gold cross at her crinkled neck, bringing attention to her overly large breasts that appeared ready to pop out of her bodice. “I guess if you can design that well, the Double D Dinner won’t leave you feeling too overwhelmed.”
Camilla smiled. “I didn’t get a chance to find out. Drake made sure I barely had to lift a finger. He wanted me to enjoy tonight.”
Sienna glanced at Camilla’s hairstyle before flicked her own long hair back behind a shoulder. It would take some serious grooming to keep such long locks shiny and super straight. “You should really be proud of yourself.”
A compliment? Camilla braced herself. It was pretty unlikely with these women. Everything was either a barbed double meaning or straight out insult. “Oh?”
“Yes. You’ve come a long way from waitressing.”
Nella’s sigh was theatrically dramatic, though this once her eyes were alight with amusement. “Don’t be so crass, Sienna.”
Camilla pasted on a smile that felt nothing short of brittle, but as she led them to the balcony, where Willow was enjoying another drink, somehow being commando, her still-damp thighs rubbing against one another, soothed her.
Nella rubbed her arms as though she was ice-cold. Raising an eyebrow, Camilla instructed one of the hired help to light
the outdoor fire pit. The flames behind the dome would chase away any supposed chill in the air.
Twenty minutes later, she was satisfied everyone was having a good time. Even Jorja, with her flashing ice-blue eyes and long black hair, seemed to be at her reserved best. God only knew she had a knack of cutting people with her tongue. Perhaps her rugby player boyfriend had tackled her onto the bed and fucked her into submission for a few hours?
Her cheeks burned. Lord help her, the cattiness of the women in the room must be catching.
She approached the woman in question, who was chatting to Camilla’s former employer, Meagan.
“Hi ladies, just letting you know dinner will be served in ten minutes.”
Meagan smiled politely. “Thank you, Camilla. And I must say that married life suits you. You’re looking well.”
Jorja’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you’re a real Cinderella story. I guess living it up has put a glow in your cheeks.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders, encased in beaded, sheer black fabric. “I bet it beats having to scrub pots and pans.”
Camilla held her stare, refusing to back down. How dare the bitch run her down in her own home. “Not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth,” she said with quiet dignity.
She didn’t hang around to hear the backlash. Her head held high, she continued with her rounds, ensuring all her guests were comfortable and aware that dinner would soon be served.
Darla, exquisite in a flowing chiffon dress and heels that put another three inches to her petite 5’0” was regaling Emma about her latest failed date. Camilla couldn’t help but overhear some of the conversation.
“And as if laughing at his own bad jokes wasn’t enough, he snorted his red wine all over my cream dress. I was mortified!”
Emma pressed a hand to her mouth, her pale eyebrows arcing above wide hazel eyes. “Oh my God, what a disaster. Again. You really are a magnet for the wrong men.”
Darla nodded and sighed, tendrils of short auburn hair caressing her slender nape. “I’ve resigned myself to life without a man in it.”
Camilla tuned out the conversation when the doorbell pealed, alerting her to more guests. Odd, everyone was here and accounted for. The event organiser answered the door, then led a delivery man toward her. Camilla clapped a hand to her mouth at the dozen red long-stemmed roses. The woman all ceased their chatter, every eye on her.
