The Playboy's Ménage (The Billionaire Bachelors Series) (10 page)

She adjusted herself, her legs now spread wide by the straps, her skin flushing with arousal as the vibrator buzzed inside her. “I had special request from the audience, so I will finish my performance with an original limerick.
Oh God.
” Her voice was shaking.

Peter stood up to take off his pants while she recited her rhyme. “There once was a man I call Dick, who thought his maneuvers so slick. He promised sweet Holly, he’d lick of her lolly, but never quite did dip his wick.”

Henry’s laugh was a wicked sound and Peter heard more than saw him stand and start taking off his clothes beside him. “Damn, that’s hot. We should set that to music, Betty.”

Peter was holding on by a slender, fraying thread. “Was that the finale, Holly?”

She licked her lips. “It was. Did you like it?”

“Henry?” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Do you have the condoms?”

“Behind the boom box.”

Peter strode naked to the stage, to her, and shut off the music before reaching for the box and tearing open one foil package. His jaw flexed as he rolled it down his cock and stepped closer to the swing.

Holly was staring at his erection. “Are you finally going to—”

“Dip my wick?” he snarled. “Bury my cock inside you the way I’ve been dying to for weeks? Fuck your wet pussy while Henry takes out that pretty plug and fills your ass?”

She whimpered.

“Yes, Holly. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Exactly what you asked for.” He stepped between her spread legs and bent his head to kiss her while he unhooked the straps at her waist and pulled out the still-vibrating toy. He tossed it over his shoulder toward the mattress and reached down with both hands to pull her closer by her red tassels.

Peter lifted his mouth. “That was a mind-blowing performance, Boom-Boom. Let’s see what we can do for the encore.”

He dropped one hand to her ass and pulled her slowly toward him, a guttural groan escaping from deep in his chest as he guided her onto his erection. “
Fuck.
Fuck, Holly. Oh God, that’s…”

“Peter,” she cried, her voice cracking. “
Yes.
So good. You feel
so good
.”

He looked into her wide eyes and lost himself. She was beautiful. Fearless. His. He shuddered when the base of his shaft met her slick sex, holding himself still to savor the sensation. He was where he belonged, and it was better than he remembered.

It had been too long. Too many days and nights of denying himself, knowing this was what was waiting for him. He had to… “Henry,” he bit out. “If you’re joining this encore, now is the time.”

He saw him over Holly’s shoulder, his gaze focused on her ass. Holly gasped when he removed the plug and Peter kissed her again, unable to help himself.

The moment Henry started to fill her ass Peter could feel it. Feel Holly tightening around him, her body trembling. He lifted his mouth and pressed his lips against her cheek. “Is this the kind of research you were looking for, baby?” he whispered. “Thorough enough?”

She moaned into his ear. “So deep. You’re both in me so deep. Please.”

“Anything for research,” he growled, pulling his hips back before thrusting inside her again. “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight.”

Henry lowered his mouth to Holly’s shoulder, biting and kissing her skin as he followed the rhythm Peter set, both of them too aroused to be gentle. To go slow.

Peter watched the wonder and pleasure wash over her expression, her moans growing louder and longer with each minute that passed. She let go of the swing with one hand and reached for Peter, pulling him down for another carnal kiss as they pumped inside her.

She pulled back enough to speak against his lips. “I missed you so much. This. I need it. Need to know it’s real.”

“What do you want, baby?” Anything. He’d give her anything.

“Harder,” she whispered breathlessly. “Don’t stop. Fuck me so hard I scream.”

Henry groaned behind her and Peter knew he heard. He had to hold back, hold on long enough to give her what she needed. “Hang on to me.”

Peter gripped her waist and Henry placed his hands low on her hips, both holding her steady in the swing before sharing a speaking look. Then they gave her what they all wanted. Hard and fast. Deep and tight and wet and fucking unbelievable.

“Holly, Jesus, is this what you want, baby? Tell me.”

“Yes!” she screamed. “
Fuck, yes
. Yes!
Oh God
, Peter, don’t stop. I’m close. I’m close. God, I’m clo—
Oh my God
!”

Her shouts of release made Peter shudder as filled her tightening sex. His body was on fire, lightning striking up his spine as his heart tried to claw its way out of his chest.

He came calling out her name, hearing Henry’s release on the edge of his awareness as he buried his face in her neck and shook against her.

Holly. His Holly. Theirs.

I missed you so much.

“I told you I was fine, Chaz. You know how distracted I get when I’m in research mode, but you don’t sound good at all. Tell me everything.”

Holly wandered through the large house with her phone pressed against her ear, dressed in nothing but one of Peter’s shirts while she waited for them to come down. She’d only been up for an hour herself but she had to admit, if Chaz hadn’t left her a message she would have stayed in bed and found a creative way to wake them up.

One month and two weeks of wild passion and dirty threesomes. Of more sex than she’d had in years, whispered conversations in bed and playing like carefree teenagers in the pool. Week after week of two charming, insatiable men spoiling her with attention and affection.

She grinned. You’d think she’d be sick of it by now.

“I’m horrible,” Chaz groaned. “Bill and I have been fighting for two weeks. It’s never been this bad.”

Holly frowned as she walked down the hallway that led to Peter’s office. “What? You two are the happiest couple I know. You never fight. What happened?”

Her friend sighed into the phone. “I found out he’s one of
her
informants.”

“Her who?” But Holly had a sinking feeling she knew.

“Ms. Anonymous,” Chaz confirmed, his anxiety making him talk faster. “He’d only tell me she was one of his regular clients, and that he shared information about the Billionaire Bachelors whenever he had any. Friendly gossip is one thing, you and I do it all the time, but this feels cheap, doesn’t it? He’s strutting around like a cocky rooster, like he’s famous for talking trash. You know my sister works at Warren Industries. The last column she wrote basically accused him of throwing the company away to have sex with some floozy in public and said the board of directors was going to vote him out. That kind of talk could have put
Mindy
out of a job. Thank goodness it fell through, but what if it hadn’t? How could I face her knowing Bill had something to do with that?”

Peter had told her about it after the fact—how he, Henry and Tracy had helped their friend Dean save his company from being dismantled by his greedy uncle by tricking him into selling off his shares. Holly had been so impressed she’d given them another show, but seeing how she’d only been wearing her bikini at the time, it hadn’t take that long to reach the orgasmic finale. For any of them.

Holly felt sick.
Bill
was a source for Ms. Anonymous? Her neighbor? The man she’d spent evenings drinking frozen daiquiris with on her porch, listening to his wild tales about the sordid things he’d heard at the salon and sharing stories Henry had told her just so she could shock and delight him and Chaz?

Thank God she’d never mentioned where she heard those rumors. Thank God Bill never found out she’d gone to school with them. But sweet Jesus, he’d probably told that tabloid tart everything he knew. Every word she’d said. Which meant she was guilty by association.

She knew Peter wasn’t a fan of Ms. Anonymous after her last column. Neither was Henry. Damn it, what was Bill thinking?

“Son of a bitch, Chaz.”

“I know!” he cried. “I tried to make him see reason. We’ve done a thousand things over the years we might laugh about with friends but wouldn’t want showing up in the papers. Remember those pictures? Good lord, his mother’s head would explode if they’d ever gotten in the paper. The Bachelors provide a lot of material, sure, but they’re just men like us. They have families and people who look up to them. I never thought Bill could be spiteful.”

“He got carried away,” Holly defended instinctively, even though she wanted to punch Bill in his attractive nose. “I’m sure he thought it was good for business, having Ms. Anonymous coming to him for information. She might be a great tipper.”

“Well, I’m going to show up at her next appointment and pull out her gray roots one at a time for turning my loving husband into a rat.”

“Chaz,” she soothed, moving around Peter’s office and running her fingers along his bookshelves. “Take a breath, honey, and listen to me. You’re right. Harmless gossip about European orgies is one thing, but we both know people employed by Warren Industries. And I have it on good authority that those men aren’t being portrayed in the best light. You know some of the people I’ve written for. They talk.”

“What am I going to do, Holly? I love him, but I’m so disappointed. Is this what the future will be for us? Him scrounging in the mud to feed her vulgar rumors and not caring what I think about it?”

Is this what the future will be?
She knew the danger in that question. Her mother’s stupid relationship stages. Granted, it had taken Chaz and Bill ten years to reach it instead of a few months, but Holly could hear it in his voice.

She couldn’t let that happen. Chaz and Bill were one of her success stories. One of the couples she looked to for hope that maybe, somewhere, people had happy endings.

“This is a fight, Chaz, that’s all,” Holly insisted. “He’s being stubborn. It happens. He’ll see reason and beg your forgiveness soon enough.”

“I don’t think so, Holly.”

“I do. I’ve got a plan, but since I’m a little tied up at the moment I’ll need your help to make it work.”

“A plan?” Chaz sniffed, sounding hopeful. “I like the idea of him begging. What do I have to do?”

Holly looked around and lowered her voice. “You have to play the good, supportive husband and find out who Ms. Anonymous really is. She pays to have her hair done, right? Uses a credit card? As soon as I know how to get ahold of her, we’ll have a nice long chat. We do have a lot in common, you know. We both write anonymously.” And they were both fascinated by Henry and Peter, though the gossip’s way of expressing it made Holly want to whip her with a leaky fountain pen. “When it’s done, I can promise you Bill will
never
do her hair again.”

Chaz chuckled in relief. “I knew you’d make me feel better. Mission accepted. I think I’ll take a batch of my famous walnut chocolate chip cookies to the salon today. My baby has to eat, right?”

“Hello, Nancy Drew. Call me as soon as you know. Love you, Chaz.”

“Love you, Holly.”

She hung up and slipped the phone into the pocket of Peter’s shirt, walking out of his office and staring at the closed door at the end of the hall. She hadn’t been in there yet, and she needed something to distract her. She started toward it, her mind racing.

Damn Bill. Damn Ms. Anonymous. Holly laughed wryly. While she was at it, she could damn herself as well. How was she any better? She got paid to write tell-alls and scandalous autobiographies. Sure, there were one or two important books mixed in with the rest, but in the end the only difference was she got permission to publish other people’s dirty little secrets.

Not exactly the great novelist her professor predicted bragging about.

She opened the door and every disturbing, anxious thought in her head disappeared. This wasn’t another bedroom. It was an artist’s loft. Ribbons of early morning light streamed through a narrow skylight and lit up the paintings and framed sketches on the wall as well as the table of smaller busts and sculptures.

She stepped inside, taking it all in. The closest painting was of a woman’s hand resting on her naked hip. That was all. The detail and soft brushwork were so skilled she could almost see the pores on her skin, the fine hairs on her forearm. It was beautiful.

It was Peter’s. These were his work, there was no doubt in her mind. She looked at everything more carefully. They were all pieces of a woman. Long legs tangled in sheets. The delicate shell of an ear leading to the nape of a neck. One of the paintings had a woman bending over in the shower, her leg on the rim of the tub as she ran a washcloth over her body. Holly could see the dark hair upswept in a messy bun, could see the line of her spine and the shape of her thighs.

Even the tattoo on her ankle was clearly visible. A broken heart.

She lifted her hand to her mouth in shock. He’d painted her. Why? When? Had these all been done in college? They must have, because the flowers tattooed on her shoulder weren’t anywhere to be found.

Her gaze fell on the chair in the corner, open sketchpad beside it. She moved closer and studied the drawing. This was new. She could see the tattoos on the sensual woman clearly as she rode her bearded lover, her legs wrapped around his waist. His sleeved arms supported her, knuckles white as he held himself back, letting her set the rhythm. They were lost in each other, unaware of anything else. Unaware of the artist.

Peter had drawn this? She remembered the moment, and the one that followed it. She’d looked over her shoulder and begged him to join them. He had. They’d come together that night with an intimacy, a tenderness that none of them had expected. All of them wrapped around each other, a part of each other. She’d never felt so connected to anyone. Henry, too, had admitted to her that what they’d shared, the three of them together, was like nothing he’d ever known.

But that wasn’t what Peter had drawn. He’d left himself out of the picture. An observer. Did he still feel that? Was he still holding back?

She reached down to turn the page, to see what else he’d captured with his detailed eye when the sound of the door opening made her whirl around in surprise. “Peter.”