Read Online Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore by Kaitlin Maitland - Free Book Online
Authors: Kaitlin Maitland
Tags: Contemporary Menage
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about how good it felt to drift off to sleep ensconced in a cocoon of warm male acceptance. She’d never felt more safe and secure in her life. As if nothing could touch her while they watched over her.
Ridiculous and fanciful? Most definitely.
A giggle drew Suri’s attention from her internal musings and back to the party. The man bankrolling this soiree was in the middle of running for a senate seat. She’d gleaned that much, which was probably the reason she felt so decidedly uncomfortable. The sexual habits of politicians had never done her any favors. Watching him pant and slaver over his mistress for the last half hour had decided Suri against voting for the guy.
He was handsome enough, with dark hair and eyes and a big, bright smile. But she would’ve been hard-pressed to like a guy who was obviously married and even more obviously cheating. She wasn’t stupid. She knew men habitually cheated, especially when they were married to wives who’d been handpicked for their pedigrees, not their personalities. In fact, Suri knew more about politicians and their love lives than she’d ever care to ruminate on. But there was something about Congressman Flaherty that disgusted her in ways she couldn’t put a finger on.
The political hopeful was wearing a blue-and-gold smoking jacket that looked as if it had come straight from Hugh Hefner’s closet. His hairy white legs stuck out beneath the hem. He’d taken a short break from stuffing money into Suri’s top and had returned to fucking his date. He was knee-down on the thick rug, pumping in and out of the barely legal girl with platinum hair, while Suri and her coworkers took turns grinding against each other for his viewing pleasure. Fortunately, her turn to rub her body all over Candy’s was over for the moment.
There were three security guards in the room. Suri wondered if they were Secret Service or private contractors, and if they were as sick and tired of watching the congressman fuck his mistress as she was. The guy had gone through this routine three times already. Screw until he was spent, let the dancers get him revved up and ready to go, and then fuck again. Suri had one word to explain this kind of behavior—Viagra.
Jericho was tucked into an alcove in the far corner of the room. His silent presence watched over her as he’d promised he would. She was utterly aware of his gaze on her at all times. Moving slowly, she edged away from the congressman’s private orgy toward the fountain. She ruffled the layers of sheer material covering her lower half, baring an enticing portion of her leg.
It was difficult to hear beneath the congressman’s grunts and moans, but there was music in the room. Suri closed her eyes and focused. Down on Level One, they danced to hard rock. This was different. It matched the setting—sitar and reed pipes, something that sounded Middle Eastern and beautiful in its own way.
The reality of the party slid into the background. The only thing that remained was the sensation of Jericho’s gaze stroking every inch of her body. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was watching. Reaching into the fountain, she cupped water in her palms and lifted her hands, letting the liquid stream down her arms and her chest. With her breasts barely covered by her low-cut choli , the cool water made her nipples bead into hard little points. Suri kept her hands aloft and let the music carry her away from the party.
She thought of Jericho watching, of Dante somewhere inside the club, and the beautiful music they’d all made together. Her hips swung gently, gyrating as she flexed her tummy and rolled it the way she’d been taught so long ago by one of her mother’s dancer friends. It was easier than she’d thought, recalling the rhythm. The sensual movements came more and more naturally as she felt the power of Jericho’s approval wash her in warm acceptance.
JERICHO COULDN’T HAVE moved had he wanted to. He was transfixed by
Ridiculous and fanciful? Most definitely.
A giggle drew Suri’s attention from her internal musings and back to the party. The man bankrolling this soiree was in the middle of running for a senate seat. She’d gleaned that much, which was probably the reason she felt so decidedly uncomfortable. The sexual habits of politicians had never done her any favors. Watching him pant and slaver over his mistress for the last half hour had decided Suri against voting for the guy.
He was handsome enough, with dark hair and eyes and a big, bright smile. But she would’ve been hard-pressed to like a guy who was obviously married and even more obviously cheating. She wasn’t stupid. She knew men habitually cheated, especially when they were married to wives who’d been handpicked for their pedigrees, not their personalities. In fact, Suri knew more about politicians and their love lives than she’d ever care to ruminate on. But there was something about Congressman Flaherty that disgusted her in ways she couldn’t put a finger on.
The political hopeful was wearing a blue-and-gold smoking jacket that looked as if it had come straight from Hugh Hefner’s closet. His hairy white legs stuck out beneath the hem. He’d taken a short break from stuffing money into Suri’s top and had returned to fucking his date. He was knee-down on the thick rug, pumping in and out of the barely legal girl with platinum hair, while Suri and her coworkers took turns grinding against each other for his viewing pleasure. Fortunately, her turn to rub her body all over Candy’s was over for the moment.
There were three security guards in the room. Suri wondered if they were Secret Service or private contractors, and if they were as sick and tired of watching the congressman fuck his mistress as she was. The guy had gone through this routine three times already. Screw until he was spent, let the dancers get him revved up and ready to go, and then fuck again. Suri had one word to explain this kind of behavior—Viagra.
Jericho was tucked into an alcove in the far corner of the room. His silent presence watched over her as he’d promised he would. She was utterly aware of his gaze on her at all times. Moving slowly, she edged away from the congressman’s private orgy toward the fountain. She ruffled the layers of sheer material covering her lower half, baring an enticing portion of her leg.
It was difficult to hear beneath the congressman’s grunts and moans, but there was music in the room. Suri closed her eyes and focused. Down on Level One, they danced to hard rock. This was different. It matched the setting—sitar and reed pipes, something that sounded Middle Eastern and beautiful in its own way.
The reality of the party slid into the background. The only thing that remained was the sensation of Jericho’s gaze stroking every inch of her body. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was watching. Reaching into the fountain, she cupped water in her palms and lifted her hands, letting the liquid stream down her arms and her chest. With her breasts barely covered by her low-cut choli , the cool water made her nipples bead into hard little points. Suri kept her hands aloft and let the music carry her away from the party.
She thought of Jericho watching, of Dante somewhere inside the club, and the beautiful music they’d all made together. Her hips swung gently, gyrating as she flexed her tummy and rolled it the way she’d been taught so long ago by one of her mother’s dancer friends. It was easier than she’d thought, recalling the rhythm. The sensual movements came more and more naturally as she felt the power of Jericho’s approval wash her in warm acceptance.
JERICHO COULDN’T HAVE moved had he wanted to. He was transfixed by
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