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Authors: Calista Fox

StrokeMe

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Stroke Me

Calista Fox

 

Book 1 in the Body Scenes series.

 

Newly divorced Annabelle leaves her proper life behind for
the bright lights, big city experience in Manhattan. Her first night in town,
her best friend takes her to Body Scenes, a hedonistic hotspot where artists
create themed masterpieces for exclusive display—using naked bodies as their
blank canvases.

When a renowned artist asks to paint Annabelle in a sexy
scene with three very hot men, the request is too tempting to pass up. With
each stroke of the brush on her sensitive skin, she’s more than ready to be the
star of the mural—and the erotic foursome.

 

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

 

 

 

Stroke Me

 

ISBN 9781419932694

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Stroke Me Copyright © 2011 Calista Fox

 

Edited by Briana St. James

Cover art by Syneca

 

Electronic book publication February 2011

 

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of
Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

 

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue,
Akron OH 44310-3502.

 

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or
distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without
the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
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(http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print
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copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

 

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Stroke Me

Calista Fox

Acknowledgements

 

Manhattan is one of the most fascinating places in the
world, I think. It’s trendy, ever-changing, vibrant and daring. Seems like just
about anything goes in New York City, so it makes the perfect backdrop when
creating a nightclub that’s a little on the outrageous side!

Stroke Me
is the first story in the Body Scenes
series, set in Manhattan and featuring characters from the upscale
nightclub/naughty art gallery combo. I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

 

Trademarks Acknowledgement

 

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark
owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

iPod: Apple Inc.

Plaza Hotel: Plaza IP Holdings, LLC

Prada: Prada S.A. Corporation

Studio 54: MGM Grand Hotel, Inc.

 

Chapter One

 

“What the hell kind of nightclub is this?” Annabelle Hardin
whispered in her best friend’s ear as they each handed over their fifty-dollar
cover charge and the special invitation Yvette had in her possession.

“It’s not
just
a nightclub,” Yvette Samson said as
she plumped the fat, platinum-blonde curls that sat on her bare shoulder. She
wore a stunning black strapless evening gown with a slit all the way up her
left thigh. Matching full-length gloves and sparkling diamonds on her wrist and
fingers completed the over-the-top ensemble. “It’s also an exclusive art
gallery. One of the hottest ‘underground’ spots in Manhattan. You have to know
people in order to get in here.”

Annabelle stepped farther into the glamorous ballroom of
Body Scenes. An enticing name for what was supposed to be a unique mash-up of
dance club and art showroom. Thus far, however, she’d discovered the place was
more Plaza Hotel than a replica of a trendy Studio 54-type party spot. And she
hadn’t seen anything yet to warrant the art gallery descriptor. There were no
paintings on the walls or sculptures strategically placed about the cavernous
room. Just excess personified by the elegant décor.

Enormous chandeliers overhead emitted a soft golden glow and
a dazzling spectrum of colors as the light bounced off the cut-glass teardrops.
Round mahogany tables accompanied by stately wing-backed chairs in rich burgundy
leather filled the center of the room where cocktails were being served. Along
the perimeter, the wainscoted walls had mini stages cut into them, the openings
covered by crimson-colored velvet drapes with matching valances trimmed in gold
embroidery.

All very sophisticated and hoity-toity, giving Annabelle
pause. Yvette didn’t do hoity-toity. She was avant-garde and cutting-edge all
the way.

“To get into a place like this, I’m guessing you have to
know Donald Trump,” Annabelle said.

“More like Hugh Hefner.”

That puts a different spin on things
.

Yvette flashed a mischievous grin and added, “Try not to
sphincter up on me, sweetie.”

“Retract the claws, will you? I’m no prude.”

Yvette laughed. “Please. You can take the girl out of the
country club, but can you take the country club out of the girl?”

Good question
.

As she followed Yvette toward the crowded dance floor,
Annabelle asked, “What, exactly, did we just pay the world’s loftiest cover
charge for?”

“Keep your eyes open,” Yvette said over her shoulder with a
wink. “Something wicked could happen at any moment.”

Annabelle knew her friend didn’t make idle promises and the
thought of something exciting happening tonight enticed her. It’d been a long,
long time since Annabelle had experienced anything that even bordered on
wicked.

Marital bliss had been an urban legend in her household.
Sexual bliss had been even more elusive. Now newly divorced, Annabelle was most
definitely ready for “something wicked to happen at any moment”, and hanging
out with Yvette was almost a guarantee she’d get her wish—and her money’s
worth. Even if it was at a Manhattan hotspot that charged her fifty bucks just
to get through the door.

Yvette was the type of person who always knew what was cool
and trendy. When they were in college together, Yvette had been invited to all
the best parties, by the hippest kids on campus. She’d dragged Annabelle to
most of those parties and it seemed the festivities never truly got under way
until Yvette showed up. Her adventurous spirit and uninhibited nature had led
to some wild times back then and Annabelle was certain nothing about Yvette had
changed.

Annabelle didn’t doubt for a second that there was a good
time to be had here. Though, admittedly, she was still a little confused about
the description of the venue.

“I don’t see any art,” she commented as she was jostled by a
group of people dancing along the edge of the polished parquet dance floor.
Clearly this “nightclub” needed to put some thought into the essence of that
word. Why on earth would they have such toe-tapping swing music from a
sixteen-piece band if they didn’t allot a large enough space for danc—


Oof
!” The strange little squeak rushed out of her
mouth on a hard puff of air as someone slammed into her from behind.

Annabelle’s body pitched forward as she stumbled on her low,
sensible heels. A thick arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and yanked her
back. A very large body nearly curled around her much smaller one as a deep,
intimate voice asked, “Are you okay?”

“Ah, yeah.” She could barely breathe. Not because the arm
was wound so tightly around her, holding her steady, but because that deep,
intimate voice oozed down her spine like hot lava. Making every inch of her
tingle and burn. Making her cunt clench, that poor, long-neglected part of her
body sending out a desperate plea for attention. To be filled and stretched and
stroked. To be—

“I didn’t mean to plow into you like that,” he said, his arm
still holding her captive.

Annabelle’s backside was pressed to his front and she could
easily ascertain he had a hard, hunky body. She imagined the stranger holding
her had a handsome face to go with the hot bod and sexy voice.

He added, “I jumped out of the way to avoid a couple dancing
and ran smack into you.” His warm breath caressed the shell of her ear.
“Sorry.”

“No problem,” she managed to say. Her pulse raced and her
heart thundered. When was the last time a man had held her tight and whispered
in her ear? Clearly it’d been
too
long, because she’d responded
instantly to even the slightest bit of male attention.

Then again, the attention wasn’t quite so slight. The hand
attached to the arm not wrapped around her waist gripped her hip, holding her
in place, keeping their bodies melded together.

“If I let go of you,” he murmured in her ear, his voice
teasing her in a way that made a little prickle of desire tighten her nipples
and a not-so-little spark ignite a fire deep in her pussy. Her clit tingled and
her toes curled in her new Prada shoes. “Will you walk away or will you dance
with me?”

Good Lord, Yvette had been right. Something wicked
could
happen
at any moment!

The old Annabelle would have politely declined the
invitation and went in search of her friend, who’d long since disappeared into
the sea of overly dressed, party-bound people.

The new Annabelle said, “I’ll dance with you.”

He loosened his grip on her, which she found disappointing.
She’d enjoyed the close contact, the intimacy of the moment. But then he turned
her in his arms and she stared up at what was not just a handsome face. It was
a
devastatingly
handsome face. One that stole her breath again and made
that spark deep in her pussy turn into full-blown fireworks.

An indiscreet moan fell from her gaping mouth. Her fifty
bucks was worth this one glorious moment alone. Finally—
finally
!—she
experienced physical and sexual stirrings that proved she wasn’t the frigid
country-club prude Yvette—and, admittedly, Annabelle herself—had thought she’d
become!

“I’m Eric,” said the gorgeous man who still held her in a
loose embrace. A soft lifting of one corner of his mouth created a very sexy
grin that made her already racing pulse soar off the charts.

“Annabelle.” The only word she could manage because she had
to fight back the natural compulsion to drool. She’d never seen anything quite
like Eric. It was a bitch tearing her eyes away from his perfectly sculpted
face, his emerald eyes, his full, extremely kissable lips. He had sandy brown
hair that was short, but strategically mussed. Like some lucky woman’s fingers
had just been tangled in it as he’d kissed her, long and deep.

Eventually, Annabelle dragged her gaze away from his face.
It slipped to his broad shoulders and wide chest. He wore a pewter-colored suit
with a dove-gray shirt and matching silk tie. Recklessly stylish.

He towered over her by a good six inches, even in her high
heels. Annabelle was instantly captivated, instantly turned-on.

“Doesn’t seem to be any more room on the dance floor,” he
said, his eyes alight with invitation. For just a dance, or did he have more to
offer? she wondered.

He added, “Guess we’ll have to make do with this little
space we’ve carved out for ourselves.”

“Guess so.” She groaned inwardly. Christ, could she think of
nothing interesting or provocative to say? Nothing witty or seductive?

No, it seemed her mind had shut down, blocking all
intelligent thought. Her libido had clearly taken over, because all Annabelle
could think about was how amazingly sexy Eric was and how incredibly good it
felt to be in his arms. Well, she had more on her mind than that. This was her
inaugural night out as a single woman. She hadn’t come looking for love or even
a good fuck, but was now rethinking her position on that latter notion.

By no means was Annabelle a one-night-stand kind of woman.
But she was suddenly willing to reconsider that conviction as Eric tightened
his arms around her and all but crushed her body to his hard one. Her own arms
circled his neck as she stared up into deep green eyes that sparkled with
mischief. This guy had erotic thoughts on his mind, no doubt about it.
Annabelle’s nipples tightened at the prospect of being the star of some of
those wicked ruminations.

As the music morphed into a slow, sexy tune spotlighting
muted trumpets, her body responded instantly. Her breasts were pressed just below
the hard ledge of Eric’s pectoral muscles. Their lower bodies melded together
and their legs practically entwined as they merely shuffled about the floor.

“You are seriously pretty,” he told her. “I saw you the
moment you walked through the door. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Annabelle’s breath caught. In addition to it being much too
long since she’d gotten laid, it’d been a horrifically long time since a man as
gorgeous as this one had complimented her. And with such sincerity glowing in
his warm eyes.

“Thanks,” she merely mumbled, her stomach flipping, her
pulse racing.

“You’re not with someone, are you?” he asked.

“My friend Yvette. Who has clearly ditched me.”

One dark blond eyebrow lifted. “You’re not…?”

Annabelle laughed. “Gay? No. I’m straight and recently
divorced.” As an afterthought, she asked, “You?”

He grinned down at her. A casual lifting of one corner of
his mouth that was half-assed and sexy as hell. “Not gay. Not married. Not in a
relationship. I work a lot.”

“What do you do?”

He bent his head to hers and said in her ear, “I’ve got a
show in Vegas. Strength acrobatics.”

Annabelle thought that was just about the coolest thing
she’d ever heard, being from the suburbs of Connecticut where nobody did
anything interesting, except occasionally grow a flower hybrid that took first
place at the annual Green Garden Festival.

“That sounds exciting,” she said to Eric.

He gave a noncommittal shrug, then said, “It’s a living.”

Gorgeous and modest. She liked him more and more. And he
certainly had the body for strength acrobatics, whatever the hell that term
actually meant. The word “strength” was what she latched onto. His broad
shoulders and wide chest gave way to a tapered waist and long legs. From head
to toe, he was huge and hotter than hell. Making Annabelle wonder if God had
graced him with more than just thick limbs.

Oh it was pure torture to be sexually deprived! She suddenly
couldn’t stop thinking about how massive his cock might be. How long and thick.
How hard.

Nor could she stop herself from thinking of how erotic it
would be to have him slowly thrust into her pussy, filling and stretching her.
Stroking her. Fucking her in ways her husband, Barry, had never even
considered.

Annabelle let out a long-suffering sigh. She needed a
one-night stand, regardless of her convictions. One night to explore the
fantasies she’d had over the years. The ones that had never been fulfilled.

But how, exactly, did a prudish country club woman initiate
a hot tryst with a sexy Vegas headliner?

Before she could put serious thought into this, she felt a
tap on her shoulder. Hating to tear her gaze from the emerald one that
captivated her, she reluctantly glanced over her shoulder.

“Our table is ready.” Yvette gave her a knowing smile as she
eyed both Annabelle and Eric. “Your friend is welcome to join us. Especially if
he has friends with bodies as gorgeous as his.”

Eric chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I do have friends with
me tonight. Two of them.”

“Oh my,” Yvette said with a sigh. “You sure know how to pick
’em, Annabelle.”

Annabelle resisted the urge to say Eric had picked
her
.
Because if left to her own devices, clearly Annabelle didn’t make the right
choices. Her ex being her most glaring case in point.

“Well,” Eric said as he released her. Leaving Annabelle a
little cold. She’d enjoyed the titillating sensations seeping through her. The
fire Eric sparked. He gave her another sexy grin and said, “Speaking of my
friends, I’d better go find them.”

Annabelle’s heart sank. Here she’d thought she’d been
presented with the perfect opportunity to cut loose and have a wild night for
the first time in nearly ten years.
No such luck
.

“It was nice to meet you,” she said as she held her hand out
to him.

Eric’s gaze slid over her once more, from head to toe and
back up. When his captivating green eyes locked with hers, he said, “I wasn’t
saying goodbye. Just need to wrap up some business with my friends.”

“Oh.” Heat tinged her cheeks.

Yvette felt compelled to say, “The art show is starting.
Feel free to join us.”

She flashed Eric a smile, then took Annabelle by the hand
and led her through the crowd again. They reached their table and Annabelle set
her small clutch on the polished wood as she slid into her armchair.

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