Here come the bridesmaids...in a tantalizing trio of
never-before- published erotic novellas. In
these steamy stories set in New Orleans, three
nice-turned-naughty bridesmaids each make a wish by tossing
a coin into an infamous fountain. Before the night is
through, the wishes come true, the gowns come off, and the
games begin... Nikita Black goes behind the
closed doors of a bordello and a masked bachelorette party
where anything can-and does-happen. Allyson
James explores a ménage a trois as a bridesmaid is
locked in a house with two men who introduce her to
sensations that are out of this world. Sheri
Whitefeather reveals a secret room under a French
Quarter B&B where a bridesmaid's forbidden erotic dreams
become a reality.
Excerpt French
Quarter, New Orleans
Present
day
“This
is a brothel?”
Tessa
Kittredge could not believe she'd let her friend
Laura talk her
into this . . . this . . . insane idea.
A
bachelorette party at a brothel.
“Not
brothel,” Laura--the bride--corrected her choice of
nomenclature with
a mischievous wink. “Maison.”
Oh,
excuse me. Maison. Like there was a difference?
Seriously.
Not only was the party to be held at an actual house of ill
repute--however
upscale--but the bride had actually arranged for her
bridesmaids to
become part of the evening's merchandise.
Oh.
My. God.
If
Tessa weren't so appalled, she'd have to admit
there was a certain cosmic
humor to the situation. After all, what was marriage but an
elaborate,
lifelong contract for sex? Well. At least until one of the
partners
got tired of the other.
Not
that she was cynical or anything.
Still.
Tessa
tugged at the short skirt of the slinky blue, strapless
dress Laura
had provided for her to wear, and glanced nervously around
the main
floor of the maison Chez
Duchesne. Once you got through the strict security check
and waiver
signing at the front door, the bar and reception area
appeared completely
normal, like those of any other luxurious boutique hotel.
Except for
the part where some of the guests were walking around
wearing nothing
but sexy underwear--and some not even that much.
Along with the
golden masks most of the women and some of the men wore to
hide their
identities.
Which
meant they were available. Available.
For
purchase.
Oh.
My. God.
Tessa
had been stunned when the other two bridesmaids donned
their masks with
alacrity and disappeared within seconds of the guard
letting them inside.
“This
is crazy. Even for you,” Tessa murmured to Laura.
Her
friend looped arms with her and urged her further into the
sumptuously
appointed room. Music pulsed in the background, punctuated
by bursts
of coy laughter and the tinkle of crystal glasses. The
exotic scent
of jasmine filled the air. “Darling, every woman
fantasizes
about being a whore at one time or another in her life,”
Laura said.
“Don't tell me you never have.”
“Fantasies
are one thing,” Tessa pointed out, her cheeks warming at
the candid
insight. “That doesn't mean I'd actually do it in
real life.”
Laura
smiled knowingly. “Tell me, how many one-night stands have
you had
in the past ten years?”
There
was no use lying. They'd been college roommates. “One
or two,” Tessa
grudgingly admitted. “But that was different.”
“True.
Tonight you'll walk away with a nice, fat paycheck.”
A
thousand dollars for an hour, five grand for the night.
Outrageous what
men were willing to pay for no strings. Not that she was
terribly surprised.
Bitter? Hell, not her. It was actually better this way.
More honest.
“I
don't need the money,” she said firmly. She had a great
job as a graphic
designer. Admittedly, not for a thousand dollars an hour.
“After
that last nasty breakup, you could use a little fun,” Laura
pointed
out, steering her toward the bar. “A night of unreserved
sexual fantasy.
Trust me, it'll be amazing.”
Easy
for her to say. Laura had always been the impetuous,
spontaneous,
wild-child friend. The one that careful, orderly, good-girl
Tessa had
always envied just a little. Okay, a lot. But she had
already spotted
the groom among the guests, so she knew very well what
fantasy they
were playing at tonight. She, however, had no one waiting
in the wings.
Not here. Not back home. Not ever again, if she had
anything to say
about it.
“You
know I'm not into sex with strangers,” she said over
the pulsing throb
of the music. “I'm not eighteen any more.”
Men
were turning to stare at them, openly interested. The heat
in her cheeks
intensified. It made her feel . . . exposed. On display.
And surprisingly,
a little excited. She couldn't deny the fantasy was a
powerful one.
“You
don't have to go with a man,” Laura assured her, her
eyes flirting
coyly with one of the lookers. “Not unless you want to. No
rules,
no requirements, other than to have a good time.”
They'd
already been through all of this. Outside, in that eerie,
overgrown
courtyard next door, where Tessa, Laura, and the other two
bridesmaids
had stopped to make a wish at an unnervingly evocative
voodoo fountain.
The fountain, called the Jaillissement de Plaisir--a
more than
suggestive name, if her high school French served her-- was
supposed
to bring immense sexual pleasure and everlasting love to
all who made
an offering to it. After giggling through their wishes and
tossing their
coins--which Tessa had palmed rather than let it fly into
the water--they'd
sat down on the ancient, crumbling fountain wall where
Laura had revealed
the shocking details of the bachelorette party.
But
to be honest, Tessa hadn't been able to concentrate on
the explanation.
Chills had kept running up and down her spine. That
deserted courtyard
had seemed so strangely, spookily, familiar. Like she'd
been there before.
And the three half-nude muses holding up the fountain all
seemed to
be dancing just for her, gazing at her with alluring eyes,
beckoning
her to join them in their wantonry. Not to mention the
unnerving feeling
that someone else had been watching her the whole time.
Someone hidden
from view.
All
day she'd been feeling restless, like she was waiting
for something
to happen. Something that would change her life forever.
Could
this be it?
“Come
on,” Laura said, leading her deeper into the
decadence. “Let yourself
go. If you don't want to have sex with anyone,
don't. Just indulge yourself
and enjoy the possibilities. You decide how far
things go.”
“I
don't know if I can do this,” she murmured. Torn
between the temptation
of the fantasy and the terror of the reality.
Laura
handed her a golden mask. “Of course you can. Darling, for
one night,
give yourself permission to become whoever you want, to do
whatever
you wish.” She smiled mysteriously. “Who knows what erotic,
sensual
spell the Jaillissement de Plaisir has already cast
upon you?
You might just find you like it.”
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