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"Just Kitten?" Oliver asked, curiosity mixed with something darker in his gray eyes.
"Yes, my little exhibitionist has a shy side." Taz shrugged his broad shoulders. "I find the contradiction...arousing."
"I can't blame you," Amelia said, practically purring. "Why don't we go have a drink in the salon. Maybe we can make your kitten feel more at home?"
"How can we say no to that?" Taz slid his palm down her spine, letting it rest at the small of her back right above her ass.
His touch burned through the silk as he led her with the lightest of pressure through the large foyer packed with people in formal wear holding champagne flutes and mouthing the same small-talk platitudes she'd heard a million times at the charity fundraisers her parents had thrown.
That impression changed dramatically the moment they crossed through the threshold leading to the salon.
Soft lighting, smooth jazz, and the musky scent of sex with a hint of roses that was sickly sweet enough to register surrounded her the moment she crossed into the room. A bar took up one end of the wood-paneled room and a fireplace big enough to roast a buffalo in was at the other. Couches in intimate groupings dotted the large open space in the middle along with a few tables and pillows scattered across ornate rugs. And at nearly every available spot people were in various states of undress, either fucking, sucking, touching, or watching.
She stumbled, but Taz's strong grip on her elbow saved her from falling.
"Watch your step, Kitten," he said, obviously amused by her shock.
High-handed asshole. So she'd been caught off guard. She'd had a couple of threesomes in college and had a healthy porn search history, but nothing quite prepared her for walking into an orgy in progress. Of course, Taz, Oliver, and Amelia continued forward as if people weren't boning all around them. Talk about jaded.
They headed to a rounded banquette in the back that gave them the perfect view of each other and the rest of the room. She went to sit down beside Taz, but he snagged her waist and pulled her onto his lap. The move made her skirt shift so that the material barely came down below the satin strip of her thong, thanks to the mile-long slit in her skirt. She reached for it, but Taz circled her wrist and pulled her hand away.
"Leave it, Kitten. In fact..." He spread his legs, which forced hers to part. "Let's give our hosts a better view."
Desire flooded through her, making her folds slick and swollen. Then he laid his hand on her bare leg, letting his fingers linger high up near the juncture of her thighs like he had every right to make her so hot she couldn't breathe without extreme concentration.
"I'm so glad you came down tonight," Taz said, his gaze locked on their hosts. "I've been meaning to ask for your help."
"Oh really?" Oliver asked as he sipped a martini that the waiter had brought immediately without ever being asked. "With what?"
"My accountant has recommended I invest some of my money into art and I haven't a clue where to start. I'm a former boxer, not an art history major. I know you two have quite the collection. Would you be willing to give a newbie collector a free education?"
Amelia leaned forward, the move giving them a full look at her tanned bare breasts underneath her low-cut dress, then she reached out and put her hand on Taz's knee. "If that means we'd get to spend more time with you and your delightful kitten, then we'd be more than happy to share anything at all with you."
Oh, Bianca just bet she would. Jealousy warred with her need to find out what the Davies-Smythes knew, but the need to help Gidget won out. The girls at St. B's had survived without having their spirits broken at that shithole school because they'd stuck together. She wasn't about to let her insane attraction for Mr. Bossy Sex God get in the way of that.
CHAPTER TWO
Taz had a battering ram of a hard-on nestled against the ass of a woman he most definitely wouldn't be fucking later. Why? So he could help her find out about the Davies-Smythes' art collection. His old trainer and mentor Freddie Atlas was having a good laugh in heaven right about now.
"You always want what you can't have," the crusty trainer would say. "That's what keeps you hungry. That's what will get you the belt."
It hadn't and he had nothing to blame for his current state of distraction but the eight inches begging to be let loose from his tuxedo pants.
"Do you have an extensive art collection?" Bianca asked.
Taz stiffened. Secretive didn't begin to describe the other couple. In the year they'd been in Ft. Worth they'd maintained an air of mystery, which is exactly why he didn't want Bianca and her blunt questions to push them away. Of course, all of this subterfuge would be a lot easier if he knew what in the hell she wanted to know.
"Extensive enough," Oliver responded, his gaze never rising from the damp material covering Bianca's pussy.
He relaxed a degree. The teasing show was working. Both Oliver and Amelia seemed entranced by the exposed juncture of his Kitten's thighs. Of course, it wasn't just working on them. The heady scent of her arousal teased him, made forming a coherent thought difficult, which is why the reappearance of the waiter with a round of drinks was a Godsend. He needed a distraction to snap him out of this. Shit. It wasn't like Bianca was the first woman he'd had in such a position.
The waiter leaned down and whispered something in Amelia's ear. Her eyes narrowed and her blood red lips flattened for an instant before the annoyance fled from her face. She and Oliver shared some sort of silent communication that couples who've been together a long time seemed to have, and they both stood.
"I'm so sorry, but Oliver and I must take care of something." She tucked that errant hair that had slipped from Bianca's topknot again behind her ear. "Don't run away with your Kitten just yet."
Without waiting for a response, she slipped her arm through the crook of Oliver's elbow and they strode off toward the foyer. The overhead fans turned on around the salon, obviously on a timer, and the scent of roses grew heavy. Something to distract from the smell of sex blanketing the room just as the piped-in jazz mingled with the sounds of heated moans? He didn't remember that from other trips he'd made to the manor, but obviously the Davies-Smythes were open to innovation as well as orgies.
Bianca tensed on his lap, telegraphing her next move as surely as if she'd written it in neon.
