Page 13 of A Merry Invitation
Slay didn’t miss a beat, his fist slamming into Titus’s jaw with enough force and shock to knock the man out of the chair. When he was on the floor, Slay grabbed the back of his neck and simultaneously twisted one arm behind his back before dragging him up and slamming him face-first into the wall to their right. The muted color abstract painting that had been hanging on that wall shifted as Titus cursed.
“Muthafucka, I will kill you!”
“Nah,” Slay said slamming Titus’s head into the wall again. “You ain’t gonna do shit to me, but you are gonna stay the hell away from Willow.”
“You’re messin’ with the wrong one, youngin’,” Titus shouted.
“Wrong again,” Slay told him and this time pulled up on the arm he’d had twisted behind Titus’s back until the man yelped like the bitch he’d called Willow. “You are going to stay away from Willow. You’re gonna get your clothes on, get into your car and take your sorry ass back to wherever you came from or the possibility of me lodging a formal complaint to have your membership permanently revoked will be the least of your worries.”
“What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout? Revoked? I didn’t do anything to have my membership revoked.”
“Yeah, you did,” Slay said and pulled on that arm until Titus’s next scream was even louder.
Jus hadn’t moved from his spot near the door and Slay knew he wouldn’t, not until Slay told him to or Titus passed out from the pain. Neither was happening in the near future, so Slay remained focused on the matter at hand. “You brought a non-member into this club without her permission or knowledge of what was going to happen here.”
Willow hadn’t told him that but Slay knew. He knew that she wouldn’t have agreed to come here and participate in group sex or whatever menage scenario Titus had set up for her. Not only because she’d still been fully dressed with a look of total shock on her face when Titus showed up in his underwear, but because she couldn’t be interested in the things that went on here. He didn’t know how he would react if she was, or why the hell he even cared. All he knew for certain was that the moment he’d seen her walking through the doorway of this room rage and possessiveness unlike anything he’d ever felt before stirred in him like a brewing storm. And with each ignorant word that came out of Titus’s mouth, that storm threatened to make landfall and fuck this man all the way up.
“She works for me,” Titus spat. “She’s signed to my label so she knows what’s up.”
Slay shook his head, not sure about whether Willow had actually signed a contract with this piece of shit, but not giving a damn either. “Not anymore,” he said. “And I know she had no clue what you planned for her tonight because she told me.” Again, that wasn’t exactly true but there was no way Willow would be fucking anybody else, but him, in this club tonight. “Now, like I said, you’re gonna get dressed and get the fuck out of here before I break your arm and make sure you not only can’t come back to another Corporation facility, but you won’t be able to even jerk off again.”
Slay slammed Titus’s head into the wall one last time to bring his message home, then he released the fool and walked toward the door straightening his tie. “Make sure he’s off the premises in the next fifteen minutes. Then I want his file in my inbox and Karson Brooks on the phone.”
Jus gave a curt nod as he opened the door for Slay to leave.
CHAPTER8
What the hell was going on?
Willow felt like she’d been asking that question over and over again, but the universe was doing a hell of a job ignoring her. The universe being that fine ass Slay Turner and whoever she became when she was around him.
Hadn’t she been trying to figure that out since Christmas night? The best Christmas night she’d ever had in her entire thirty-two years. She hadn’t known him then, nor did she fool herself into believing she knew who Slay Turner was now. Except that there was a part deep inside of her that had connected to him each night she’d stared out into the audience and seen him sitting there. It had been like they were long lost lovers, finding each other again through their locked gazes and the sultry lyrics of her songs. She’d begun to look forward to making her way out onto that stage, watching him as he looked like every note she sang was meant for his ears only.
And it kind of was. Or at least she’d begun to plan her wardrobe, hair, make-up and even the songs she decided to sing each night, around the man who would be in the audience waiting for her. Her music represented sex, passion, and love so everything she did, short of actually having sex on stage, reflected that. Skin-tight dresses with strategic cut-outs, come-fuck-me-heels, perfectly beat face and her signature braids that skirted her mid-back were all a part of the image she’d worked years to perfect. And Slay had seemed to love every bit of it. He’d watched her like he knew every inch of her body and every secret spot that would make her weak. On Christmas he’d shown her that was definitely true.
She could still remember how he felt buried deep inside her, could taste herself on his tongue after he’d licked and sucked her into orgasmic bliss, could feel his hands moving over her, pressing into her, and could hear his voice whispering all that sexy shit while he pounded into her. Those thoughts hadn’t ceased haunting her since the morning after when she’d climbed into another SUV and was chauffeured back to her flat on the other side of town.
For three days she’d reminded herself that it was just one night, that the man and his gorgeous long thick honey bronzed dick would remain just a memory. And she was okay with that, just as she’d concluded on that night when she’d agreed to his terms. She didn’t have time for men or all the bullshit that normally came with them. She had goals she was trying to reach and she was too close to them for some sharply dressed, fine ass mystery man to distract her.
Yet, he’d done just that.
Even earlier today she’d been lying on her sofa, Christmas music playing loudly as she contemplated when she would take down and pack up her decorations, he’d crept back into her thoughts. Until her hand had snaked between her legs and she’d stroked herself to his memory.
When she’d closed her eyes she saw his face, the caramel skin, that dark beard that felt like heaven against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, those piercing dark eyes that seemed to see right through her into the woman she pretended to be on stage and the passion that woman held close when she wasn’t singing. Her fingers eased through her slit as she recalled how his had deftly pushed her panties to the side and touched her folds. He’d spread her open like she was a delicate flower and licked her like he’d never tasted anything better. Her hips rocked into her fingers as she circled her clit and a soft moan escaped her lips.
He'd taken his time tasting her, savoring her, dragging his tongue over every inch of her vagina, thrusting it teasingly into her opening. She pressed two fingers inside herself then and gasped. It wasn’t the same and yet, it was still good. So good she’d begun to pump into her hand, fucking herself in the way he’d done when he’d finally pushed his thickness into her. Biting her bottom lip, she recalled how he’d filled her so completely sending spikes of pleasure soaring toward every hidden erogenous zone in her body. She pumped her fingers into herself and lifted her hips from the sofa to meet her own thrusts. Her back was arched by then, mouth opened wide as his name slipped from her lips. “Slaaaaayyyy,” she moaned and groaned until release had taken her breath away.
With a tremor she’d blinked the memory away and paced his office once more.
Why was she staying in here again? Listening to a guy whose only claim to fame in her book had been giving her multiple mind-blowing orgasms. Not that it was a small thing, but on her list of priorities, orgasms that caused temporary paralysis were in the lower half of her top five. Signing a big contract with Omega Records was number one with five gold stars beside it.
But now, even that thought was tainted by the sight of the Titus Tremaine wearing red boxers with Santa, all eight reindeer and Rudolph galloping across the front. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes in the hope of erasing that particularly nauseating memory. Along with the one where Slay had mentioned a menage. With Titus? And who else? Him?
Surely, that wasn’t what this was all about. It couldn’t be. Slay had already had her and he’d insisted on one time only. Why would he have Titus bring her here for some sort of group sex? And what gave him the impression that she’d be down for some shit like that anyway?
Now, if the question was, would she be interested in another night with Slay, she wouldn’t be able to deny that as easily as she would like to. Titus on the other hand, wasn’t her cup of tea as far as attraction. The pretty boy face, bald head, slick smile and clothes that fit him way too tightly weren’t an instant allure for her. Neither was the way he tended to talk to her breasts instead of looking her in the eye when they discussed her career, but she’d chalked that up to the image she’d worked so hard to perfect, actually succeeding.
The door opened and Slay walked in, effectively halting all her previous thoughts. His presence tended to do that, to make everything else go away so that only the two of them existed. She’d thought it was the oddest thing the first night she’d stepped on stage and noticed him sitting at the corner table. The connection had been undeniable the second their gazes locked and each night she’d seen him, that connection had grown. Like they’d started this weird visual dating game, seeing each other two nights a week learning more and more about each other on those occasions. No, she hadn’t known his name, but she had known the more important things, like how his brow would be furrowed on days she suspected were stressful for him in whatever occupation he held. And how he always drummed his fingers on the table while he waited for his bottle of preferred liquor to be brought to his table and poured into his glass. How, he dragged his tongue seductively over his bottom lip whenever she held a long, high pitch note and kept his legs spread wide, she suspected to make room for the erection he undoubtedly got each time they saw each other. That last part was a guess, except for the night she’d actually watched him gripping said erection. But, because the way he watched her on that stage had made her wet since day one, she’d surmised he was having the same visceral reaction.
