Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2

 
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any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior
written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. The characters,
incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are
not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons,
living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Author Note: this
book contains explicit material

Previously published in 2006 as part of the
Open Invitation
anthology

Summary

Here’s your invitation to The Sex Club, elegant, classy, sexy, every
woman’s fantasy, every man’s desire...

     
Virginia
Hansen believes she’s a three-time loser in marriage, each time confusing the
passion and lust of immediate attraction for lasting love, with disastrous
results. For her fourth trip down the aisle, she demands stability and
companionship, without passion or lust clouding her judgment. But Virginia will
soon discover that trying to harness her deep-seated sexual needs is like
trying to tell a raindrop not to fall. Buried inside, Virginia has overpowering
desires and the need for a man’s seduction to turn her inside out. When she
begins craving seduction from her new husband, her carefully constructed,
stable world might very fall apart.

     
Brett
Branoff has finally found the right woman. Everything in his life is about his
career, even down to his choice of wife, and Virginia has the same needs and
goals as he does. He’s willing to bank his sexual desires and forgo the bedroom
fireworks to accommodate the perfect, self-assured, even-tempered wife. But
when Brett uncovers the hidden wanton beneath Virginia’s elegant business
suits, everything he thought he wanted pales in comparison to his newfound
desires. Brett soon discovers that perfunctory sex once a week isn’t enough to
satisfy him, not when he knows that Virginia is capable of so much more. Now he
plans on sending his wife an invitation to pleasure that she simply can’t
refuse.

Dedication

To
Linda Simi, for always listening, and actually hearing, too.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to
Jenn Cummings, Terri Schaefer, Rose Lerma, Lucienne Diver, and Christine Zika.

     
Yesterday,
she was Virginia Hansen, three-time loser at love. Tomorrow, she’d be Mrs.
Brett Branoff, wife to a handsome, intelligent man. But tonight, at The Sex
Club, she was Regina, a sexy, desirable woman who could have her pick of men.

 
    
She knew she was desired by more than one
man tonight. She could feel it. Beneath her tailored silk suit, her body spoke
to her. One couldn’t wander The Sex Club without feeling the heat, without
succumbing to its allure. The demure lines of her suit only enhanced the
appeal, contrasting with the sexy lace garter and stockings under the sober
facade.

 
    
Many eyes had touched her tonight. Many
more would.
Later.
She’d come to The Sex Club tonight
to shock and titillate herself. And she’d definitely done that so far. For now,
though, Virginia and Stacy were taking a respite in one of the club’s bars.

 
    
Music drifted over them from unobtrusive
speakers. Tables ringed the dance floor, love seats and chairs on the outside
flanking the walls. Stools lined a mahogany bar outfitted with every libation
imaginable. The music wasn’t loud enough to make conversation impossible, and
candles burned on each table, scenting the air with a light cinnamon perfume.

 
    
“It’s not like what I expected,” Virginia
mused. Sure there was rampant sexual activity and the scent of pheromones
heating the air. “It’s sort of tame, in a way. I mean, the champagne, the mood
lighting, and everyone’s dressed so”—she shrugged, trying to find the right
word—“nicely.” It was inadequate, but she’d seen ball gowns, cocktail dresses,
tuxedos, suits. Even those attired less modestly, women in tight skirts or
low-necked outfits, were nonetheless...neat. She leaned forward. “I mean, where
are the nipple rings and black lipstick and spiked hair?”

 
    
Stacy rolled her eyes. “That is
so
stereotypical.”

 
    
“Maybe.
But I
really thought it would be more kinky, more crass and crude, you know, whips
and chains, lots of leather, mesh, studs, risqué outfits, but this is classy.”

 
    
“That’s because of Jud McCord. He caters to
more refined tastes, to an affluent community. It’s the contrast that turns on
his clientele, the cocktail party surroundings, with the kink layered beneath.”
Stacy smiled. “And believe me, there’s a lot of kink going on.”

 
    
Virginia had seen plenty of that, too. She
and Stacy had observed in several rooms, including Orgy Galore and The Massage
Parlor. The name of the game there was to find a unique way to employ a
vibrator, by
yourself
or with a partner. There’d
definitely been unique uses. Virginia wasn’t sure she was dexterous enough to
try them all.

 
    
“People come here looking to let go of
their inhibitions,” Stacy went on. “It’s about sensuality as much as it is
about sex. I don’t want to feel as if I’m coming to some dirty back alley
dungeon and playing with a bunch of creeps.”

 
    
“Well, I’m still not sure I like the idea
of Debbie wandering around by herself.”

 
    
Stacy flapped a hand. “She’s fine. Don’t
worry about her. Jud has rules, and all she has to do is call a passing waiter
and any problems are nipped in the bud. Trust me, she’s a big girl, and she can
handle herself.”

 
    
They were all big girls. Virginia had
turned forty almost six months ago, and Stacy had just hit forty-five. Debbie
was only a year younger than Virginia.

 
    
Debbie. She’d seemed a little downcast at
their last few dinners, and tonight she’d disappeared into the crowd soon after
they’d arrived. Something was up with that woman. “Is she okay? I’ve been
worried about her.”

 
    
Stacy glanced at her champagne glass,
twirled it by the stem. “I’m sure she’ll work out whatever’s bothering her.”
She added nothing else.

 
    
That’s what Virginia liked the most about
Stacy. The three of them, Stacy, Debbie, and Virginia, had known each other for
years, having at one time worked for the same corporation. They kept in touch
even as their lives moved on, and still got together regularly. But Stacy,
privy to all their secrets laid bare over a good manicure, never revealed what
was talked about. Virginia knew Debbie wasn’t happy, but Stacy never breathed a
word of what Debbie was going through. Virginia was glad, since it meant her own
secrets were safe with Stacy. She didn’t care for anyone else, not even Debbie,
to know how debilitating it had been stumbling through divorce court three
times.

 
    
“You can call off the wedding, you know.”

 
    
That’s what she liked the least. Stacy
always knew when Virginia had a bad thought and zeroed right in on the cause.

 
    
“I have no intention of calling it off.”
Brett was perfect for her fourth—and last—trip down the aisle. “He’s
considerate and respectful.” With hair as dark as midnight and a strong, aristocratic
face, Brett was handsome, but more importantly, he exuded the strong qualities
she’d been searching for in a man. “And I like him, believe it or not.”

 
    
“You talk about him like he’s a warm coat
you can take out of the closet when there’s a chill.”

 
    
“What’s wrong with that?”

 
    
“Everything.
Let’s
talk about your criteria for marrying him.”

 
    
“The most important was that I
knew
him before I jumped into the
relationship.” Brett’s company had become a supplier of Virginia’s firm
eighteen months ago. She’d worked with him for a year before they even started
dating. She’d ferreted out the man he was instead of jumping in headfirst with
her eyes closed.
This time she was not letting lust impair
her judgment.
“He is the most ethical businessman I’ve ever
encountered.”

 
    
Stacy snorted. “Observing how he directs
his business affairs has nothing to do with how he’ll act in a marriage.”

 
    
“You’re wrong on that one, Stace. How a man
conducts himself in a stressful business meeting shows exactly what kind of person
he is.” Brett was commanding, his temper never rose, even when one of the VPs
harangued him. He had all the answers, and the ability to bring calm to a
heated exchange. If she were honest, his handling of volatile situations had
actually turned her on.

 
    
“It’s one element, sure. But you approached
the whole relationship like you were conducting a job interview.”

 
    
“You’re exaggerating.”

 
    
“Oh no, I’m not. Look at what you did.”
Stacy raised a hand and started keeping count on her fingers. “Five dates at
fancy restaurants, each discuss your previous marriages on the sixth date, sex
after the seventh date, introduce him to your friends at the three-month mark,
then get engaged. It’s like an old-fashioned arranged marriage except that
you
did the arranging.”

 
    
“I just don’t want any big surprises.”

 
    
“You can’t choose a husband based on a
checklist.” Stacy mimicked writing on the table.
“Must be
stable, check, sensible, check, handsome, check, ambitious, check, civilized,
check, a good companion, check, decent bank balance, check.”

 
    
“I never asked what his bank balance was,
and it’s not his wealth I care about.” She wasn’t simply being materialistic.

 
    
“No, you want security. And I understand
that completely.”

 
    
She wanted a partner, not a man who became a
boy the moment life threw a few curves. In her experience, when the going got
tough, the so-called tough started to whine. She wanted someone to
share
problems with, a helpmate, not a
hanger-on who drained her energy reserves and her savings.