The Mount Series Boxset

by K D Grace

  The Mount Series Boxset

  K D Grace

  The Mount series features the erotic adventures of those involved with The Mount, a mysterious and ancient organisation devoted, amongst other things, to the exploration of sexual pleasures…

  Rita, a journalist, goes through a strange and sexy series of events that lead to an offer: her initiation into The Mount. She agrees, planning an exposé of the club – but the more she discovers, the more she realises her heart isn’t in it.

  The second instalment introduces Nick Crane, for whom a lust-filled night with a beautiful woman leads him down an unexpected path: working for Elsa Crane in the exotic and kinky world of Mount Vegas. Thrilling…but there’s a lot at stake.

  In the final volume we meet Liza and Paulo, who have a steamy encounter on board a flight to Rome. Paulo is an expert perfume maker, and he has an offer for Liza…he wants her to help him create the ultimate scent – one derived from the scent of sex …

  Together for the first time in one volume, here are the sensational stories of The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract and To Rome withLust -- three novels, three wild romps of lust…andlove.

  This book is dedicated to sex and romance and love and all the other good things the world could use more of.

  Chapter One

  He practically fell on top of Rita, his hand grazing her left breast in the complete darkness. She yelped and grabbed him to keep from losing her balance.

  ‘God, I’m sorry!’ He gasped. ‘Bloody nuisance, this, isn’t it?’ His voice was warm, melodious, by far the most pleasant thing that had happened to Rita since she left Paris. ‘Oh dear. You’re trembling. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m claustrophobic.’ Her words were thin and shaky, as though she didn’t fully trust herself to let them out. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t know where we are.’ For an embarrassing moment, she realised she was still clinging to him, but the embarrassment passed, and suddenly she didn’t care. If they were going to die trapped in a train in the Eurostar tunnel, buried beneath a gazillion gallons of water, she’d just as soon not do it alone.

  He either understood, or was too polite to leave her in such distress. He wrapped his arms around her engulfing her in a muscular embrace, the scent of which was maleness barely masked by deodorant and some spicy cologne, both fading at the end of a day much longer than either of them had anticipated. ‘Don’t worry.’ In the darkness, he misjudged the distance between them and his lips brushed her earlobe. ‘It’s just an electrical malfunction. Anyway we’re better off down here than in the snowstorm up above. Sounds like all London is shut down. Who’d have expected snow this late in the spring? Never mind that, where else do you get the chance to cuddle strangers in the dark?’

  He pressed a little closer to her, and she was relieved to find other thoughts, thoughts more welcome than those of their predicament, pushing their way into her head. He felt good, broad-shouldered and tall, easy to lean on.

  ‘Why are you huddled here in the corner rather than hunkered down in your seat?’

  She concentrated on his warm breath pressing against the top of her ear. ‘I was on my way back from the loo when the lights went out and …’

  ‘And this is as far as you got.’

  She nodded against his chest, honing in on the reassuring sound of his heartbeat.

  ‘Shall I help you back to your seat then?’

  The train lurched forward, and she yelped again, tightening her grip around his neck. ‘No, please. It’s better if I just don’t move.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Do you want me to stay with you?’

  She realised the poor man had little choice clenched in her strangle hold, as he was. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ she lied.

  He readjusted his stance and tightened his embrace. ‘No trouble at all. I can’t think of a better way to pass the time than in the arms of a beautiful woman. You are beautiful, aren’t you?’

  In spite of the stress she felt, she forced a laugh. ‘Gorgeous, actually. Too bad you can’t see for yourself.’

  He ran a hand down the contour of her spine to rest low on the small of her back. ‘I don’t have to see you to admire you.’

  The thought that the man was rather cheeky barely crossed her mind before he lifted her fingers to his lips and planted a warm kiss across the back of her knuckles. ‘I’m Edward. I’m from London. Clearly you’re not.’

  ‘Rita,’ she replied. ‘I’m from Seattle, but I live in London now.’

  ‘Well Rita, from Seattle, we’ve established that you’re an exotic beauty. Perhaps you’d like to return the favour.’ He lifted her hand to his face and guided it gently over the slight stubble of his cheek. As her hand cupped his well-formed chin, he pulled her middle finger into his mouth and nibbled it, teasing the pad of it with his tongue. Suddenly her struggle to breathe had nothing to do with being claustrophobic.

  ‘Well?’ He asked pulling her hand away to massage her fingers. ‘What do you think? Am I acceptable?’

  If he was cheeky, she was downright brazen. She stopped his words with her mouth, amazed at how easily she had found the mark in total darkness. Perhaps it was the darkness that made her so bold, but, whatever it was, he didn’t disappoint. His mouth was warm, opening eagerly to the probing of her tongue, responding in kind, caressing her hard palate, nipping at the fullness of her lower lip before pulling away just enough to speak.

  ‘There, you see? It’s not so bad being in the dark, is it? The other senses are too often overlooked, which is very sad, since they offer such exquisite delights.’ His hand moved up to cup her cheek, and he raked a thumb across her still parted lips. ‘Taste, for example. Few pleasures exceed that of the tongue.’

  She heard him fumbling in the darkness, then she heard the rattling of foil. ‘Open your mouth,’ he whispered. ‘I have something that’ll make you feel better, guaranteed. Oh don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal.’

  Reluctantly she opened her mouth, which he primed with a wet kiss, then slipped a chocolate truffle between her lips. It was covered liberally in cocoa and warmed exquisitely almost, but not quite, to the steamy melting point of his body temperature, which only enhanced the sharp, edgy flavour that separates expensive chocolate from the cheap stuff.

  She gasped her surprise, then moaned softly at the intensity of the taste.

  ‘Don’t bite.’ He kissed her jaw, then her throat. ‘Savour it; roll it around in your mouth. There are places on the tongue that taste only sweet and places that taste only bitter or salt, or sour. Chocolate can have all those flavours. Caress it in your mouth like you’re making love to it, and you’ll be amazed at what you taste.’

  She cheeked the truffle, slurring her words as she spoke. ‘I thought I was tasting you.’

  He chuckled softly. ‘Everything tastes better with chocolate.’ Without another word, he took her mouth, plunging his tongue deep against the melting truffle, whirling it, lapping at it, sighing with the pleasure of it. The more liquid and heated the truffle became, the more liquid and heated Rita became.

  ‘The taste buds can distinguish wonderfully subtle flavours,’ he said between tongue dances. In the meantime he slipped his hand under her skirt, stopping to caress a suspender. Rita had always hated tights, and sexy or not, she preferred suspenders and stockings, which she found much less confining.

  Still sharing the truffle in her mouth, he shoved aside the crotch of her panties and plunged a finger between her swollen labia, moaning his satisfaction at finding her so slippery and receptive.

  She ground herself against his fingers. Wriggling and squirming until she was practically sitting on his palm, the heel of it rubbing deliciously against her clit, while th
ey savoured the taste of the truffle.

  He smeared chocolate against her lips as he whispered, ‘It’s amazing how closely linked scent and taste are.’ Then he pulled his hand from her panties, and she caught the salty sweet scent of herself just before he plunged a wet finger into her mouth, allowing her to suckle her own juices.

  ‘You see? The taste is completely different when you add your own flavour.’ He pulled his fingers away to taste for himself, and then plunged his tongue back into her mouth.

  ‘What about your flavour,’ she gasped when they came up for air, dribbling chocolate and saliva down their chins.

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Suddenly they were tugging and pulling at his trousers and struggling to get them open enough to extricate his enthusiastic erection. When the warmth of it, the heavy shape of it, pressed against her hand, she dropped into a squat and took it into her mouth, finding him thick and smooth and slightly salty with a warm yeasty scent not unlike new-made bread, like pain au chocolat, she thought.

  He curled his fingers in the waves of her hair and shifted his hips. She adjusted, nearly gagging in her efforts to take more of him into her mouth and still hang on to the last taste of chocolate as long as possible.

  It was inevitable that her hand, the one not stroking Edward’s distended balls, would find its way between her legs.

  But her fingers weren’t enough. She stood quickly, nearly bumping him in the chin with her head. ‘I want more than a taste,’ she gasped, already shoving her skirt up and turning her bottom to him, guiding his cock toward its goal. The thought crossed her mind that, if the lights came back on, they would very much be caught in the act. But when Edward spread her lips with warm fingers and slipped inside her, she forgot all about the risk and thrust back against him.

  Surely people around them – even in the total darkness – could figure out what was going on. Who knew? Maybe some of them had also slipped hands in trousers or under skirts for some pleasurable relief from the stress of the situation.

  She could tell by Edward’s bruising grip on her hips that he was about to come, and she was riding the edge of her own orgasm, just barely managing to hold back, just a little longer, just a few more seconds.

  It hit with such force that for a moment she thought her worst fears had been realised, and there had been an explosion on the train. But there were no screams, though she was desperately trying to keep from screaming herself. That must surely mean that the explosion was personal.

  In the midst of the intense pleasure hurtling through her, Edward grunted in her ear, ‘You still want to taste me? Let me come in your mouth.’

  As she pulled off him, and they fumbled to switch positions, from somewhere he produced another truffle and shoved it into her mouth, followed in short succession by his engorged cock.

  Quickly she cheeked the chocolate to make room for his penis, which she took as deep into her throat as she could, trying to savour both truffle and thrusting cock without choking on either.

  The curl of his fingers in her hair tightened as he pulled her mouth further on to him with each thrust until, at last, he grunted the first spurt of semen into her mouth, which blended with the chocolate in an earthy richness that made her pussy twitch again. Chocolate and sex, chocolate and come. The taste alone catapulted her to another orgasm.

  As his grip lessened on her hair, she knew exactly what to do next. Holding the last of his come in her cheek next to the truffle, she stood, took his face between her hands, and teased his lips apart, drizzling the blending of maleness and chocolate onto his tongue.

  They were still gobbling hungrily at each other’s mouths when the conductor’s voice came over the intercom. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, a train has just arrived to tow us into Ashford. Upon our arrival, another train will be waiting for those of you who wish to continue on to London St. Pancras. For those of you who would prefer, arrangements have been made to put you up at a hotel in Ashford for the night and get you safely on your way in the morning. Once again, we apologise for the inconvenience.’

  The car erupted in a buzz of conversation as people discussed their options and their relief that at least something was finally happening.

  ‘What will you do?’ He asked. She heard him zip his fly, then she felt him carefully wiping between her pussy lips with what must have been his handkerchief.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said, opening her legs to his ministerings, almost wishing the conductor had kept his mouth shut long enough for round two. ‘With all the snow, I can’t get home even if I do get to London. You?’

  ‘I have to go.’ He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh just above where the stocking was attached to the garter belt. ‘Business. It would have been lovely to continue the fun in a hotel room. But I can’t. Not this time. Come on. Let me help you back to your seat.’

  When they arrived in her car, by the light of his mobile, she found her place much more quickly than she would have liked. ‘Give me your phone,’ he said once she was seated.

  She did as he asked. He keyed in something and handed it back. ‘Now you have my number. Text me.’ Then he gave her a brain searing kiss and left as the train lurched forward and gathered speed. She hadn’t even seen his face.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, just text the man already.’ From where she sprawled on the sofa, Rita’s friend, Kate, stretched to check if the lacquer she had just applied to her toenails was dry. ‘He did ask you to.’

  Rita refilled their wine glasses and flopped back into the recliner. ‘I keep wondering if I imagined the whole incident, with the stress of being trapped in the dark under the channel, you know, the fear of dying without getting laid. I mean it’s been so long.’

  ‘Not so long any more, you lucky cow.’

  ‘And that’s another thing. What if he thinks I’m a slut, I mean I did kiss him first.’

  Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, you Americans are so squeamish about sex. You’re never going to know what he thinks if you don’t text him.’ Kate grabbed Rita’s mobile from where it lay on the coffee table and pulled up the directory. ‘You see? Look. Says right here Edward, the only Edward you know, isn’t it? Edward with no last name.’

  ‘Christ! That’s right. I don’t even know his last name. I don’t even know what he looks like.’ Rita lunged for her phone, but Kate pulled it away with a giggle.

  ‘You definitely know what he feels like, hon, and what he tastes like. I’ll be riding my rabbit to fantasies of jizz and expensive chocolate for months to come, thanks to you.’

  ‘What are you doing? Kate? Kate, give me back my phone.’

  With a wicked laugh, Rita’s friend leapt off the sofa just out of her reach, texting frantically, and as Rita was about to tackle her, she tossed the phone back, barely missing her wine glass.

  Rita fumbled to catch it. ‘What the hell did you do?’ But being familiar with Kate’s naughty little mind, she already knew the answer. On screen the text message read:

  Sun nite was gr8. Would luv 2 do it again. R.

  The message had been sent.

  ‘Kate! Damn it, how could you? Now for sure he’ll think I’m a slut and –’

  Her reprimand was interrupted by the beep of an incoming text. She nearly dropped the phone. Kate was instantly at her side.

  ‘Well? Is it from him? What’d he say?’ She shoved in close and looked over Rita’s shoulder at the text that read:

  Me 2. Drinks and din @ The Mount. 8:30 Sat? E.

  ‘The Mount!’ Kate practically squealed in her ear. ‘Even God can’t get rezzies at The Mount. And even if he could, he couldn’t afford to actually go there. The bloke must be rolling in dosh.’ She danced a little jig in front of the sofa. ‘Find out if he has a friend.’

  Saturday night, Rita arrived by taxi at the reclaimed warehouse along the Thames that was The Mount. But for the Jags and Porsches arriving as fast as the valets could drive them away, no one would have guessed it was a favourite
hangout of people with money.

  Suddenly a sleek white limo pulled up in front of the awning protecting The Mount’s customers from inclement weather. A liveried driver opened the door with military precision. The woman who stepped out had to be the perfect female. Her full, high breasts were well displayed in a simple silver gown. The low back hugged the exquisite narrowing line of her long spine, culminating in an elegantly small waist, which blossomed into the swell of her hips and rounded hillocks of her bottom. Her ripe wheat hair was caught up in a simple chignon exposing the elegant arch of her neck and shoulders.

  The woman lingered to shake hands with a few adoring worshippers, then glided into The Mount as though her feet never touched the ground.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ the taxi driver breathed. ‘That’s Vivienne.’

  ‘I know.’ Rita said. Kate would never believe she’d seen the goddess herself in person.

  ‘In all the times I’ve dropped people here, this is the first time I’ve ever actually seen her,’ the driver said.

  Rita swallowed her nerves and stepped out of the cab. Granted, she wasn’t Vivienne, but, she reassured herself, she knew how to dress to for success. The midnight blue sheath caressed her curves almost like Edward had, and the double spaghetti straps offered her full breasts just enough support to get by with the braless plunge that displayed her abundant cleavage without being too slutty. Twin slits up the sides of her gown gave tantalizing glimpses of her thighs as she walked. The matching stilettos were not quite fuck-me shoes, but they could definitely be classified as make-love-to-me-naughtily shoes.

  Inside she found herself in a lounge panelled in mahogany and filled with richly upholstered chairs and sofas strategically placed to offer an atmosphere of intimacy. The room was decorated in leather, wood and wealth. Several couples and small groups, dressed to kill, talked softly, nursing their drinks in quiet nooks and crannies while waiting for their tables. But Vivienne was not among them.