End of the Innocence

Chapter 41

Apparently, when you reach a certain level of god-awful money, it comes complete with a driver. A helpful accompaniment in our case, since neither of us was in a condition to drive. The man pulled up in a gray Maybach, and we bundled into the backseat, nervous anticipation causing a shot of adrenaline to shoot through my body.

“Do I need cash?” I whispered to Beverly.

“No, they won’t take any money tonight. Riley will handle payment with Brad after the fact. They know we are good for it, otherwise we wouldn’t be considered as clients.”

“And how much is this all going to cost?”

She shrugged, folding down a mirror and checking her makeup. “If you don’t want the girl to stay the night, if she is just there for a few hours ... it’ll depend a little on the girl, but probably ten, fifteen grand.”

Holy fuck. This gift just went way out of my price range. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but a five-figure sum wasn’t it. I swallowed. Beverly flipped up the mirror and glanced at me. “What’s wrong? Is it the money?”

Yes. “Not exactly ... I just wasn’t expecting ...”

She interrupted me with a wave of her hand. “Brad will pay for the girl. That will all be handled by him, and trust me, he won’t mind in the slightest. You are giving him permission, which is your present. The cost is a normal expense in his sex life. It won’t give him a second’s pause.” She patted my leg reassuringly. “Breathe, Julia. Get some life back in those beautiful cheeks. We’re almost there.”

And two minutes later, my face still pasty white, the Maybach slowed, iron gates opened, and we pulled into a cobblestone drive, the gates closing securely behind us.

The doors to the car were opened as soon as it came to a stop, white-gloved men in tuxedos opening the doors with a polite smile. They escorted us to the entrance of a three story Gothic mansion, the brick covered in ivy, oil lanterns flickering light over the brick, twin sentries of illuminations flanking the front door. The white gloves moved past, opening the doors, and we were suddenly in the foyer and asked to take a seat. They gave half-bows, heads moving All-American good looks in unison, then returned to the front, leaving us alone in the grand room.

The three-story foyer stretched before us, the arched windows along the back glowing with views of a blue pool and up-lit palms. I flexed my hands, aware of the dampness of my palms. I could see where the exorbitant fees went. The room’s dark floors, large stone columns, and fresh flower arrangements screamed high class, no condom dispensers or neon lights here. The window dressings alone had to have set someone back six figures. From somewhere, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingered. Faintly, I heard the click of heels, moving with brisk efficiency toward us. The staccato was a countdown, and I tensed in anticipation, my nerves high, second-guessing what the hell I was doing here, what I was thinking, what ...

The clicks rounded the corner, and then she stood before us.

She was gorgeous; my first introduction to The Montley House, and I was already blown away, slightly insecure at the idea that other women in this house could compare to this statuesque woman. In her late thirties, if I had to guess, the age barely settled on her, her face clear and unlined, large blue eyes intelligently assessing me through thick lashes. Her hair, blue-black tresses, was pulled back and away from her face in a casual bun that somehow seemed perfectly pulled together. A dark purple dress with velvet accents hugged her curves, and she gave Beverly a warm hug and then extended a graceful hand toward me. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Riley.”

I stood, shaking her hand, impressed by the firm grip and her gracious smile. “I’m Julia. Beverly has spoken very highly of you.”

She smiled. “Let’s move into the sitting room.” She held out a directional hand, and we moved into a round room containing a small seating cluster of two leather chairs and a loveseat, a large fireplace dominating the room. She gestured to the chairs, and I sat, Beverly leaning forward and gently touching my arm.

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“Julia, why don’t I wait for you in the car? Then you can have privacy with Riley.”

I hesitated and nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”

She gave me a warm smile and squeezed my arm. “Take your time, I’ll catch up on my phone calls.” Then she left, and I was alone with Riley. There was a brief moment of silence, a moment where I really wanted to stand up and chase Beverly down, waving my arms dramatically and escape back to the comfort of her car.

“May I offer you anything to drink?”

“No, I am fine. Thank you.”

She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and looked into my eyes. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about our house and how it works. We have six girls who can be reserved as singles, doubles, or triples. Our home has several rooms that you can use, or we can send the girls to a location of your choosing. If the girls leave this house, there are several security measures that come into play, so that will be something for you to consider. What kind of experience are you looking for?”

I wet my lips, considering the question. “I was hoping for a threesome scenario, a girl to join me and my fiancé. It would involve sex on her part, she and I pleasing him together, that kind of thing. Nothing involving BDSM, or anything like that.” I squeezed my hands nervously and met her eyes.

She smiled. “That is a very common request, and one that any of our girls could satisfy. What kind of man is your fiancé? Sexually, what is his style?”

I blushed, trying to find the correct words to communicate the enigma that is Brad. “Brad is ... Brad is a very dominant individual; he likes control. But in the bedroom he is very much a pleaser. He gets off on pleasing a woman, and I think he pulls a lot of his confidence from his sexual abilities.” I paused. “Does that make sense?”

“I understand what you are saying perfectly. Let me show you our book of girls.” She stood, walking to a low chest, and opening it, pulled out an embossed book. She sat down on the leather loveseat and patted the seat next to her. I moved, settling in next to her, and studied the book, curious about the girls inside.

She skipped the first girl, skimming past a few pages of photos and then stopped, a buxom blonde staring out at me with a playful, open smile. “This is June. I wanted to start with her for a few reasons. One thing for you to consider is her body type. Do you prefer a girl with your body type, or someone different? Many men only go for one type.”

With Brad being the town’s biggest slut, I didn’t have to wonder about his tastes. Hell, he’d been with Beverly, her red hair setting off the generous curves perfectly placed on her forty-year old frame. Alexis, the platinum blonde stripper, with firm muscles and large implants. Stephanie, the brunette bombshell whose framed nude photo had pouted from above Brad’s bed, a Marilyn Monroe body complete with a wave of sexuality. Then there was me, different than all of them. The man had one type: female. Nothing else seemed to matter. A terrifying realization—my competition stretching in every direction. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s open to different types.”

“Well then, what are you attracted to?” Her voice was so calm; I didn’t understand the question at first.

“Me?”

“Yes. This is as much a sexual experience for you as it is for him. Whether or not you plan to play with the girl, I don’t want you turned off by the looks of her. Is there a body type you’d prefer?”

I bit my bottom lip, reaching out and turning the pages, glancing at the girls who adorned each page. I had been expecting, coming to this house of sex, to encounter botoxed foreheads, silicone lips, and breasts swelled to unnatural proportions, tattoos and piercings decorating hardened bodies. These girls were nothing like that. They were the fresh-faced natural beauties that adorned Victoria’s Secret catalogs, impossible specimens, smooth skin over perfect bone structure, thick hair, soft curves that were either natural, or perfectly enhanced.

Only six girls were in the book, but they managed to cover every spectrum between them. November was exotic, dark hair, green eyes, a mixture of cultures blending perfectly across her skin. January was blonde with light blue eyes, Nordic features, and full, natural breasts. She glowed in her photos, her skin looking velvet soft, light pink nipples that matched soft lips and pink cheeks. June, the first girl Riley had stopped at, was the typical American beauty—tan skin, long legs, blonde hair, and large breasts too perky and perfect to be natural. Her white teeth and sunny smile stretched across three pages, and from some of her poses, she seemed to be double-jointed in multiple ways. August was pure fire, red hair with sexual energy that jumped off the page, pure sass evident in every pose, grin, and wink. April and May were twins, both brunettes, with flawless natural bodies, enough muscle tone to indicate fitness, enough curves to make them every man’s wet dream.

I flipped back and forth through the books, getting frustrated with myself, with my lack of decision-making ability. I was stopped by Riley’s firm hand placed over mine. “Is it that you like more than one? Or you don’t care for any of them?”

I shook my head. “They’re all beautiful; they’re just all so different. It’s hard for me to choose.”

“Let me tell you my thoughts. I would suggest either January or May. They are our girls who have spunk, but need leading. If Brad is an alpha male, he will want to direct the situation. You need a girl who will wait for orders, not try and set the pace. I don’t want to put you with a submissive, or else there will be no challenge. These girls are a good blend of the qualities I think you need.” She studied me, her intelligent eyes watching as I processed her words. I nodded quietly, flipping the pages back and forth between the two girls.

It was hard for me to imagine May without her twin; the two girls fit so well together, their bodies aligned in almost every pose. She was similar to me, her breasts fuller, but our coloring was the same, our faces both holding a trace of Italian heritage. January was different, and I felt pulled more to her, my eyes tracing over the lines of her body, and I had a sudden, perverse question of how her breasts would feel in my hands, the weight of them, so much larger than my own. I blushed and shut the book. “January. Let’s go with her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Is she available this Friday?”

“It will depend on the time. Let me check.” She stood, moving out of the room, and returned with a small leather book, settling into one of the chairs and opening it up.

“How would ten in the evening work for you? I can put her down for four hours.”

How much does four hours cost? “That would be wonderful, though I don’t imagine us needing that long.”

“And will you come to the house or will you use another location?”

I hesitated. “You had mentioned rules and arrangements if we use somewhere other than this house. Can you go over those?”

“Certainly. Any meetings outside the house require our security to attend. Two men will accompany the girl and wait outside the room. They will need to be in earshot the entire time. That rule is for the girl’s safety and is non-negotiable. If, at any point during the evening, the girl feels uncomfortable, or is asked to do something that wasn’t discussed in this meeting, she may call for the security detail and leave, and full payment will still be required.”

I nodded and ran through the possible locations in my mind. I couldn’t see bringing Brad to this house. He would want to be in a situation he had control over. “I’d like to do it at his house.” I gave her the address, watching her write it down with perfect penmanship.

“Wonderful. Is that where I should send the bill? It will be couriered.”

The bill. My cheapskate innards clenched at the exorbitant possibilities. “Yes, that would be fine.”

She closed the book and smiled. “Do you have any questions? I have everything I need.”

I shook my head, my breath starting to flow more naturally at the realization that we were done. Done. And I had survived. “No.” I braved a return smile. “Thank you.”

She stood, pulling a business card out of the black notebook and passing it to me. I accepted it, rising to my feet, and we moved through the quiet house until we were back in the three-story foyer. A black tuxedo materialized out of the shadows, and a man’s hand opened the front door.

Riley nodded to him and extended a hand toward me. “It has been a pleasure. I hope to see you again.” I shook her hand, feeling enormously satisfied with myself, for my ability to overcome this daunting obstacle. I have officially set up a threesome. It was an unexpected entry to my bucket list. Then I moved through the doorway, stepping into the night and toward the purring Maybach.

♥♥♥

Beverly’s driver returned me to valet at Olives, and, five bucks later, I was behind the wheel of my SUV and heading to Brad’s. Getting the girl was only one part of the equation; I’d still have to figure out a way to get her into the upstairs guest room without Brad finding out. Ideally, I wanted to come home from dinner and have her waiting and ready in the guest room.

I didn’t want her to be in our bedroom. In case the night went awry, in case I couldn’t handle the image of him buried deep inside of her, in case this whole thing was a big mistake that I would spend the next ten years trying to forget ... I didn’t want our bedroom tainted, didn’t want to fall asleep on a bed that she had poisoned. Hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue, hopefully it would be sinfully hot, a moment I would replay countless times. But in case, just in case, I was going to have it held in the guest room. I had no issue with tainting that space.

The downstairs was dim and empty, one small light in the kitchen giving off enough juice for me to navigate through to the stairs. I kicked off my heels and jogged up the steps, the sound of running water hitting my ears. I entered the bedroom, dropping my purse and shoes on a chair, and stripping as I walked, leaving my clothes as they fell, a trail of dress, bra, and panties, I was naked as I pulled on the handle, hot steam contrasting with the cool feel of tile beneath my feet. Brad was in the shower, his gorgeous profile gently muted by fogged glass, his head tilted back under the spray.

I pulled the door wider, steam billowing out, the jets in full motion, and he turned at my approach, his mouth stretching into a full grin, his hand reaching out and capturing me, tugging me inside and against him in one smooth motion. “My baby,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around my waist, his mouth lowering to mine, a breathless, heady kiss that captured my mouth, his tongue teasing and claiming my own. The door swung shut and instantly fogged back up as his hands and mouth reminded me of where I belonged.