Page 2 of A Merry Invitation
“You live in the Maldives now, am I correct? With your…uh…friend?” Jack asked, his eyebrows raised.
Slay stifled a laugh because Jack knew full well Elora loved to call her subs, her “boys”.
Elora frowned. “Don’t be crass, Jackson. It doesn’t suit you,” she quipped. “Now, where is your lovely wife? I know she didn’t just allow you to come to this haven of promiscuity on Christmas night alone. I’m frankly surprised she allowed you to come back here to consort with our kind at all. I mean, especially after she demanded you leave.”
Jack grinned. “Come on now, Elora. You of all people know there are very few people on this earth who can demand I do anything. The decision to leave and focus on my wife and my family business was my own. On the other hand, you’re partially correct. Tara is here. She actually designed the invitations for the event and wanted to meet Slay in person to thank him for such an illustrious opportunity.”
“Then, by all means, we should definitely go and meet her,” Slay said, taking that opportunity to get the hell away from Elora.
An hour and a half later, after smiling, shaking hands, hugging and giving hand and cheek kisses to the women members and some of the guests, Slay finally sat alone at a table close to the stage at the back of the room. His legs were partially spread, one hand on his thigh, the other lifting a glass of Clase Azul tequila to his lips for a slow gulp. As the stunningly smooth liquid slid easily down his throat, his gaze went to the stage in the now-dimly-lit room just as the first notes of music began to play.
Then he heard it, the voice that had taunted and soothed, lulled him to sleep, coaxed him to climax and basically wreaked havoc on his concentration for the last two months. Willow James with her beautifully flawless face, plump ass, wide hips, and stunning talent, sang the first lyrics toHave Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.
CHAPTER2
Singing the song she’d written in her lowest pitch last, had been a great idea and as soon as she returned to the dressing room areas, she’d thank her band leader, Torio, for suggesting that among other changes to the set she’d performed tonight. The set that Willow prayed so hard would take her fledgling career to the next level.
Honestly, she was grateful for the name she’d built for herself in the past eight years since she’d decided to take her singing career seriously. Releasing singles on streaming platforms, uploading some in-studio and personal sessions on her YouTube channel and performing at small clubs had given her a base, a discography that producers and other music industry execs could reference for her full range of talent. Yeah, it had taken eight years to get a steady flow of streams, secure an agent and make enough money to obtain the wardrobe, make-up and hair styling she also required to build her image, but she was finally here. Had finally performed in front of an A&R exec from a huge record label.
Lifting the hem of the mermaid train to the deep red gown she wore; her feet did a little two-step as she let loose a giddy chuckle. The very tall, very mouthwateringly fine man who’d come to her the moment she’d walked off stage, turned to give her a grim look over his shoulder.
Even frowning this dude was too damn sexy. Rich umber skin, enigmatic golden-brown eyes that almost seemed translucent and precisely cut goatee had immediately caught her attention. And his body…damn! He had to work out at least three or four times a day to keep those arms and chest looking so freakin’ good.
“Sorry,” she whispered up at him when she figured her happiness had been a little too loudly displayed.
Still, she followed the big brooding guy down these dimly lit hallways after he’d told her, “Your presence has been requested in VIP.”, because there was only one reason her presence would’ve been requested anywhere tonight. Titus Tremaine, the top A&R exec at Omega Records wanted to meet her! And that could only mean he was interested in signing her to the label…and that undoubtedly meant that she’d made it!
Another huge grin covered her face, as she shook her head in awe at this turn of events, but also remembered to keep her celebration quiet lest she irritate Big Sexy walking in front of her again.
When they boarded an elevator at the end of the hallway, she went to the back of the car and placed her hands over her midsection as if that were going to calm the legion of butterflies doing a line dance in the pit of her stomach. Big Sexy stood in front of her again, his hands clasped in front of him, legs slightly spread as the doors closed. She barely felt movement which was great because she really didn’t like being in elevators. Moments later the doors were sliding open once more and Big Sexy was on the move.
Taking another steadying breath, she hurried to follow him before the doors closed her in. He walked a little faster this time and she had to do another two-step to catch up with him. But when he stopped in front of a door painted a darker gray than the shade on the walls, a wave of anxiety replaced the giddiness she’d had upstairs. Sure, she was still confident in her talent and excited as hell that the movement she’d been working so hard toward and prayed so long for, was finally here. But that didn’t mean meeting this guy and accepting—because she was definitely going to accept—his offer for her to sing on the Omega label didn’t have her a little lightheaded.
But when Big Sexy did a quick knock on that door before opening it and stepping aside to motion for her to go in first, lightheadedness flew right out the window and was replaced by a gut-punch of lust that left her breathless.
It washim.
She stepped deeper inside the room because leaving wasn’t an option. Not one she wanted to consider anyway. It was reallyhim.
Behind her she thought she could hear the faint click of the door closing but she didn’t turn around to look. She couldn’t. Her gaze remained fixed on him. The man she looked forward to seeing every Wednesday and Saturday nights when she stepped onto the stage at Encore. He sat at the table for two on the left of the stage. A glass was always on his table, as well as an oddly shaped bottle of whatever it was he drank, one of his hands was always in his lap, the other using a finger to run over his bearded chin as he licked his lips, the way he was doing now.
The way that always made her pussy pulsate as she imagined him licking her this way.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said, his voice deep and a touch raspy. But not so much that it didn’t run smoothly over every nerve of her body, until she felt exposed and vulnerable even though she was fully dressed and standing almost six feet away from him.
“How do you know if you were in here?” she asked. “Were you waiting for me?”
They were in a bigger version of the dressing room she’d been using upstairs. He was sitting on the edge of a dressing table, one foot up on the chair in front of it. That position sent her gaze directly to his groin and the undeniable bulge of his length resting against his thigh. She’d seen that bulge before, or at least she’d imagined it by the way he’d watched her with lust-filled interest each night she was on the stage. Originally, she’d thought she was imaging that lust, but no, one night—about a month ago—when he’d grabbed his dick as she sang her rendition of Janet Jackson’sAny Time, Any Place, had proven she was right. He’d been lusting after her and hell, she’d been lusting right after him too.
“I stayed until you began your last song,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “Then I came here to wait for you.”
“So, you missed the song I’ve spent the last three weeks writing and re-writing to do what? Come down here and wait for me?”
That was a ridiculous question for two reasons. One, this man—whose name she didn’t know—had no reason to know she was going to be here tonight, let alone debuting a new song. And two, this man—whom she only knew from sitting in the club two times a week looking like he was ten seconds away from jerking off each time she was on stage—shouldn’t be in this room waiting for her.
He had a hand in one of the front pockets of black tuxedo pants. The other resting…that’s right, on his thigh—thethickthigh—right next to that bulge—thelongand alsothickbulge. He looked amazing in a tux, almost as amazing as he’d looked every other time she’d seen him either in suit pants, jacket and shirt sans tie, or jeans and button-up shirt. And he was definitely tall, she didn’t know the exact stats, but he had long legs that never wanted to be restrained beneath the table at Encore and long, muscular arms that always made themselves known by pressing alluringly against the suit jacket or the shirts he wore. None of that even compared to his face, an almost pretty, but definitely fine caramel-hued face, almond-colored eyes, strong jaw covered by a full neat beard and wavy black hair on top of his head.
“Yes,” he replied. “And no. Well, not on purpose. I wouldn’t have missed any of your songs, new or old, but I did want this moment with you. Alone.”
