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  Paige ground herself over the woman’s leg and worked her tongue inside her mouth. Heat exploded and bounced along her senses. With every lick of the woman’s tongue against Paige’s, she thrust her fingers faster inside wet walls. With every grip of her masked stranger’s insides, Paige drove herself harder over her leg.

  The woman read her need and lifted her leg higher, circling between Paige’s thighs.

  Paige’s orgasm rode higher. She drove her pussy over that muscled thigh and pushed her fingers inside the woman, fucking her, driving their release closer to the edge.

  The woman pulled out of the kiss, jerked her hips forward, and dug her head into the pillow. “Shit!”

  Paige fucked her harder, sliding easily into her slick heat, devouring the sounds of her.

  The woman clutched at her as Paige ground herself over the woman’s leg, circling, thrusting, her orgasms scrambling to the surface. She didn’t care that she was leaving a soaked trail along this woman’s flesh. The woman seemed not to care either. She pushed her leg higher and grabbed Paige’s ass to drive faster, reading Paige’s desperation.

  For the first time in many years, Paige wasn’t thinking about toys. For once, she didn’t need a vibrator. For once, she didn’t want butt plugs or dildos. She didn’t need a damn thing but the woman riding her fingers, who seemed to know exactly what Paige wanted. Exactly what she needed.

  The woman’s breath hitched in her throat and then her insides clamped down hard around Paige’s fingers. “Shit! Shit!”

  Paige rode and fucked her, loving the feel of the woman clutching at her, pulling her closer, and the harsh breaths puffing into her hair. It was so erotic her insides clenched, tightened, and then her orgasm washed over her in reckless currents.

  She screamed and threw her body back, still fucking the woman and grinding herself over the woman’s legs.

  Then, as smooth as the ripple on a calm lake, Paige was laid on her back. The woman shoved her legs apart and drove her mouth against her clit, sucking and nursing her orgasm back to the edge.

  She pushed two fingers inside her and Paige jerked her hips off the bed, thrusting herself over the length. “Holy…fuck.”

  The woman hummed against her clit, sucking, driving those fingers to Paige’s core, until Paige sagged, gasping for breath.

  A finger pressed against her asshole, and she froze, desperate for the penetration.

  The woman kissed her inner thigh. “May I?”

  Paige had never been asked permission before. She’d always been the one guiding the way. Permission was granted with every step, through every word, with every lesson.

  There was no lesson to teach here. There was no road to pave.

  The woman knew just what she wanted. How the hell was she doing that? How the hell did she know?

  Paige circled her hips, searching for her mouth, granting all the permission the woman needed. “Please.”

  The woman lowered her mouth once again, clamped down around Paige’s clit, and her tongue lightly flicked. Paige dropped back to the mattress and the woman immediately shoved one of her legs to the side and pushed the finger inside.

  Paige hissed and clutched at the sheets, her hips surging forward.

  The woman filled her so completely, humming against her pussy like a hungry animal.

  Her orgasm crawled forward, teetered on the edge, and then splintered. Paige thrust and shook, pumped her hips and jerked into spasms.

  Just when she thought she could take no more, the woman withdrew from her. She climbed up Paige’s body, teased her opening, and then entered her again in one smooth motion.

  Paige whimpered and the woman captured her lips to swallow her final cries of release.

  Chapter One

  Sultry music filled the empty nightclub while Paige and her two co-dancers gracefully slipped to the floor. Paige prowled straight forward, her head low, her ass high, while the other women rolled away from her to the opposite ends of the stage. This was where she felt alive and free. On a dance floor, music pouring through her soul.

  Not in the club where she’d danced for the green rain simply to survive. But here, in her own nightclub, where she now danced for pure pleasure, where nothing but her sweat hit the floor.

  Six years had passed since she graduated from college. Four years had passed since she found the abandoned warehouse and then paid pennies on the dollar to purchase it. And two years had passed since she’d spent her entire savings to refurbish the place. She’d worked her fingers to the bone, depleted her savings account, and was now the owner of a classy nightclub where every chair in the house was filled nightly.

  No more squandering dollars to pay for tuition and class materials. No more ripping off her clothes for a fucking dollar bill. Now she was the one catering the rich events instead of being the main attraction. Now she was the one taking their money to pay her employees instead of using their money to buy textbooks.

  The music came to a stop, and Paige grabbed the towel close by to wipe the sweat from her face and neck. She turned her back to the empty tables and chairs to face her dancers, trying to catch her breath. “Good job, ladies.”

  Cynthia took a drink from her water bottle. Her burgundy hair glowed pink under the stage lights. “Your rehearsals kick ass.”

  Marsha fell back in a dramatic pose and laid her towel over her face. “You’re killing me, Paige.”

  Paige smiled. She cherished these women. They were more like family now than employees. It had taken her several months of auditions before opening the club to find two girls to fit her criteria, to complete her stage act, Triple X. She’d been looking for energetic, not necessarily young. They had to be stable and punctual. But first, they had to get along with Paige. She wasn’t hard to please, but being a trio took perfection, grueling rehearsals, and the trust of each other. She’d finally found that in these two ladies, and they’d been loyal ever since.

  She only had two rules. Be on time. Always. And don’t bring your drama to my club. Ever. Or else.

  She’d worked too hard and too long to let drama-chasing women with little respect for her time or business screw it up. She wasn’t hard to please but demanded her rules be adhered to. That wasn’t asking much. So far, they’d never let her down, and the three of them worked in perfect unison when on the stage.

  “You two are working the private party tonight, right?” Paige checked the time on the wall, wishing the workout had slimmed her need for sex. She couldn’t wait to get home, watch some girl-on-girl action on the tube, masturbate with her new sex toy, and then blog about the results. Lord knew she’d given up hope that she’d find decent sex with a real live person.

  No one could satisfy her. It was that simple. And that wasn’t an understatement. Lovers weren’t the same. Touches weren’t the same. Seemed nothing and nobody could take her to the heights her masked stranger had taken her to in New Orleans.

  At the hands of her mystery woman, she’d been driven to dimensions only read about in erotic novels. She’d been shoved over the edge, yanked back, and tossed into the abyss again. And again. And sweet heavens, again.

  It had been the most glorious and mind-altering night of her life.

  The only problem was that since that night, no one else had lived up to the stranger. Paige had wept from the sheer intensity. She’d cried out every time the woman pushed inside her. Why the fuck couldn’t she find that again? Surely there was more than just one person out there able to perform magic.

  Her insides clenched with the mere memory of her, of her touches, the way she’d taken control, the way she’d made Paige feel. She’d never experienced anything like it until then. She hadn’t experienced anything like it since. God knew she’d tried.

  So instead of curling up inside her own sexual self-pity, she’d blogged out her frustrations. What started out as the ramblings of a sexually deprived woman turned viral, linking Paige to a world of other women who shared in her agony, who enjoyed her reviews of the newest
sex toys on the market. Paige was elated to know she wasn’t alone in her search for orgasms so powerful they reduced her to tears.

  Though she had shared much with her followers, like how to masturbate, where to purchase the coolest sex toys, which were duds, and which were satisfactory, there were passionate secrets she couldn’t share with them. She hadn’t told them that she’d once gone to a masked sex party, that she’d met a woman who had breached every nerve in her body. She couldn’t share that she’d given herself entirely to this stranger, or that when she walked away from that hotel she’d left behind any possibility of ever finding that kind of connection again.

  She cherished that night, held those moments dear to her heart. She couldn’t possibly share them with strangers. Nor her employees, not even her only true friend, Samantha, who managed Paige’s club. No one. That night was simply too erotic to let leave her lips.

  Blogging soon became her outlet, a place to spill her failures, and occasionally, her fantasies. Sure, she had friends through that computer screen, people who shared her frustrations, people who craved the same as her. To find sex that jerked her nerves to life and made her cry from the intensity.

  Marsha sat up and wrapped the towel around her neck. “Another bachelor party. Yippee.” She playfully rolled her pale gray eyes.

  Paige smiled at her sarcasm. “Don’t complain, Miss Priss. They’re the biggest tippers.”

  Cynthia tied her hair on top of her head. “And the biggest ass grabbers.”

  “Give Rodney the sign if you’re uncomfortable. He’ll make sure they stay in line.”

  Rodney was her only bouncer. He was all she needed. One look at his massive bulk, bald head, broad chest, thick tattoos, and enormous biceps, and the unruly elements seemed to get their priorities back in order. She’d only seen him toss out one customer. She’d never forget it. The calm rage on his face or the pure terror on the customer’s face. The man had never entered her club again, nor did she want him to. Neither his money, nor his kind, was welcome. The protection of her employees, of her girls especially, was the most important thing to her. It was also the most important thing to Rodney, and he didn’t take his job lightly. He was like a highly trained guard dog, his gaze raking the crowd, daring anyone to disobey the house rule.

  No touching the girls. Ever.

  Right now, Paige wanted to be touched. And fucked.

  That porn movie was screaming her name.

  She pushed off the floor. “Okay, ladies. We’re all set for our weekend number. I’m heading out.”

  She bid them both a good night, then headed to Samantha’s office, where she found her intensely staring at the computer screen. Sam was her club manager, and her only true friend. “I’m out of here.”

  Samantha looked over the top of her black-rimmed reading glasses and stared at Paige with her ice-cool blue eyes. “You mean you didn’t dance those girls into a coma? Are you catching a cold?”

  Paige smirked at her. “No, smartass. I didn’t. I need groceries, and they need to get ready for the party tonight.”

  “Which translates to a night of porn for you?”

  Paige winked. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, oh dry-crotched one.”

  She left with a salute and drove to the nearest grocery store. The evil orange cat, or his more suitable name, Damien, was out of food. She should just let him starve for as much trouble as he’d caused her since finding him Dumpster diving in the alley behind the club. He hated her for saving him, she was sure of it. He made it his daily mission to puke, on cue, on her favorite throw rug to prove his point. They shared a love-hate relationship. For some reason, she kept him around despite Samantha’s pleas to have him. He was now a permanent hissing, growling family member that tormented her life.

  She parked and entered the grocery store, heading directly to the animal food, eager to get to her porn movie and her bed, then she stalled at the end of the organic aisle when a woman on the far end caught her attention. Or rather, her posture did. Legs hip-width apart, short, feathered-back hair.

  Paige’s gaydar screamed as she started down the row of food she wouldn’t normally be caught dead eating. She liked her fat, grease, and all the pleasurable taste those non-healthy foods provided. Those pleasures definitely weren’t found in the organic section.

  But the possibility of sex was.

  The woman looked up from the label she was reading and gave a tight nod, a nod that said, Yes, I am.

  Paige stopped beside her and checked out the item she was holding. Pine nuts. “Do people deliberately eat those?”

  The woman snickered. “Yes. I sprinkle them in my salads. They’re very healthy.” Dark green eyes slid down Paige.

  If there had been any guesswork left before that checkout, there was none now.

  Paige spotted a university name tag on her jacket. Amy Harper. Sexologist.

  Her insides clenched as she reread the tag. Sex professor? Like, someone who taught sex for a living? Someone who could read the female anatomy like a map? Who knew where the most pleasurable spots were? Someone who would more than likely bring any female to a screaming orgasm?

  She resisted the urge to drop to her knees, hands folded in prayer, and thank God for pushing her down this aisle, for needing to feed that damn evil specimen of a fur ball.

  Paige gave her best sultry smile, the smile that said no further introductions were necessary. “Is teaching sex as fun as having it?”

  A cute smirk washed over Amy’s lips. She stepped closer and looked down over Paige. “I’m more into hands-on training.”

  Thirty minutes later, Paige landed on her back in the middle of Amy’s bed. Her anticipation was high. Doubly high, in fact. She’d finally found her. The one who was going to show her all she’d been missing in the last six years. An in-living-color sex instructor was at her fingertips. If there was anyone who could take her to the rushed high she craved so much, the altitude she’d only reached once in her life, it was this woman. She’d been waiting for her. Longing for her. Searching for her. And finally, here she was.

  Paige’s insides tightened when Amy fisted her ankles in a tight grip and shoved her legs apart.

  Here it comes. The screams. The moans. The tear-jerking orgasms. She’d waited so long for this moment. Paige had always believed, if she was patient enough, she’d find it once again.

  “I’m going to do you so hard.” Amy slithered up her body. Literally, like a snake, angling her body to the left, then to the right, pushing her toes against the mattress for leverage, her tongue flicking between her lips. “Oh, baby. So…hard.”

  Do you? Paige stifled a gasp. Had she heard Amy correctly? Had she just used a grade school phrase? Was this woman serious? She assumed that phrase was only used in the movies. It was frightening to know it existed. More frightening that a woman had used it.

  She swallowed. This wasn’t quite the dirty talk she’d expected from a professional. Maybe Amy was nervous?

  Paige wedged her fingers into Amy’s hair, tilted her head back, much like she’d done to her masked stranger in a pink shadowed hotel room, and then pulled her down to her mouth.

  Amy’s tongue stabbed into her mouth so fast that Paige gagged. Physically gagged. She jerked back with a start. What the hell? Paige assumed she’d made her way through the worst of the worst kissers. Oh, how wrong she was.

  When Amy leaned down for an encore, tongue already out and aimed at the target, Paige shoved out from under her. Okay, seriously. Was this some kind of sick joke?

  She glanced around the bedroom, positive she’d find a hidden camera, praying someone dashed out from the closet tucked in the corner of the pale blue bedroom to announce she was on Candid Camera.

  No such luck. No such camera. And no such exclamation of discovery.

  Amy mistook her desperation as curiosity. She wedged in behind Paige and slicked a wet tongue across the nape of her neck. It was the grossest thing anyone had ever done. “My toys are under the bed, doll face. I can t
ell that’s what you’re looking for. Aren’t we a horny little thing?”

  She shoved away, hung over the edge, and dug under the bed.

  Paige tried not to panic. The last thing she wanted was this woman putting items into her that had been God knew where. No way in hell!

  She grabbed Amy’s shirt and pulled her back. “No toys.” She batted her lashes. It was a desperate move, she knew. “Just you.”

  Amy smiled. A wicked smile that wasn’t sexy in the least. It was disturbing. It belonged on the face of Chuckie. “You want me to show you what I can do with my mouth? I’m kind of a pro.”

  Dear God, no, she didn’t want to know. But she was here, dammit, with her hopes beginning to shatter at warp speed. So she couldn’t kiss. But maybe she could work her tongue for other good purposes.

  Please, whoever is up there listening, let her work some magic.

  Amy shoved her backward harder than necessary. If Paige was ever wet, which she was back at the grocery store when she spotted the tag dangling like an enticing drug from Amy’s jacket, she sure as hell wasn’t now. Nowhere even close.

  With none-too-sexy movements, Amy tugged her shorts down her legs, then with that wicked smile that was beginning to scare Paige, a smile that would otherwise look nice on a porn star, she slipped a finger under Paige’s thong and slid it down to her crotch.

  Okay, so far, so good. This could be promising. All she needed was an orgasm, with someone else present in the room. She could pull this off.

  Paige relaxed and spread her legs a little wider.

  “Let me see it. Your pussy. I wanna see it.” Amy licked her lips and Paige arched a brow.

  She had a perfectly good porn movie at home. She could be there, right now, flicking her own clit and playing with her new lipstick vibrator as she watched Stacy and Angelica get each other off with their fluorescent pink dildo and butt beads.

  What the hell had she gotten herself into? Again. Hadn’t she had enough pathetic lovers in the past six years to prove she was never going to find sex that ripped her emotions in half like her masked stranger had? Hadn’t she endured enough lousy lovers to prove that kind of connection didn’t exist out from behind a mask? Possibly outside of New Orleans.