Bedded by Strangers: Fantasies Unleashed 2 Read online

  BEDDED BY STRANGERS

  Fantasies Unleashed 2

  by Mara Leigh

  When Jamie confessed to her husband that she fantasized about having sex with strangers, she never imagined he’d help make her fantasy come true. While in Las Vegas, Jamie has a sexual encounter with six hot men who fulfill her wildest dreams and leave her even more deeply in love with her husband.

  Copyright

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Mara Leigh

  Cover design © Mara Leigh

  Cover photo DollarPhotoClub.com

  Digital edition 1.0

  ISBN: 978-0-9938559-5-5

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Welcome

  * * *

  Thank you so much for reading my story. I can’t tell you how honored I am when a reader chooses one of my books. If you’d like to stay abreast of my new releases, promotions, or freebie giveaways, sign up for my New Releases and Sales E-mail List.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Welcome

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Note to Readers

  Sneak Peek of Surrender

  Titles by Mara Leigh

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  “Has Vegas been everything you hoped?” I asked my husband, Thom, as we sat at the fanciest bar in our sprawling hotel. Behind us, tiny lamps cast low light on the chrome tables, and crystal chandeliers with crimson and orange bulbs spread starlike sparkles over the dark walls and the designer-clothed patrons.

  “So far it’s been great.” He set down his beer. “But right now, my love, I’m more interested in you than in Vegas.” With a mischievous look in his eye, he raised his tapered glass to clink against my martini.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Something’s amusing you.” I glanced toward the mirror that lined the wall behind the bar. “Do I have spinach between my teeth?”

  “You’ve never looked more spectacular.” He put his hand on my thigh and stroked, teasing his fingers under the hem of my deep red satin dress.

  As I brushed my thumb over the tiny creases at the base of his index finger, my body heated from the inside out, making me glad for the dim lighting and the overhang of the bar, which joined to hide our indiscretion. We’d been married ten years, dating for five and a half before that, and still my husband could make me wet with a touch, a look, sometimes a glance.

  “Maybe we should finish our drinks upstairs,” I whispered, then traced my tongue through the tight groove at the edge of his ear.

  Thom squeezed my thigh, shifting on his stool to disguise the rising pole tenting his pants. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Is your surprise by any chance under your belt?”

  He laughed deep in his chest, a sound I loved more than just about anything in the world, and it was all I could do to keep from straddling him right there on the barstool. I couldn’t wait to get up to our room. Desire traced through me at the thought of elevator sex. When in Vegas, right? Did we dare?

  “The surprise isn’t under my belt,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Too bad.” I shifted, and his fingers slid higher on my thigh. “That looks like a very satisfying surprise.” I brushed my fingers over his erection, unable to imagine wanting him more. He stared into my eyes with a mixture of passion and unmistakable mischief. What was he up to?

  “Remember that night when you told me your fantasy?” he asked.

  “Yes . . .” I felt the flush on my cheeks deepen.

  “I want to make your fantasy come true. Tonight.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I am.” Heat nearly consumed his eyes, burning me, too.

  Clearly he relished the idea of playing the part of “stranger” in my sex-with-a-stranger fantasy. Of course, in the scenario I’d described there’d been multiple men, multiple strangers all taking me in turn, a group of men with no focus other than giving me pleasure.

  What I’d imagined was purely fantasy. Thom was the only lover I’d ever had and, other than in dreams, I’d never been tempted by another man. Not really. Still, I loved that my husband was willing to role-play this fantasy for me.

  “Do you come here often?” I asked, raising my martini glass and winking.

  “Oh, I’m not playing a stranger,” he said. “That wouldn’t work.”

  “What?” I leaned back. “You want me to approach someone in the bar? Pick someone up?”

  “I hired someone.”

  “A gigolo?” I blurted.

  Grinning, he put his finger to my lips and we both glanced around the bar to see whether anyone had heard my outburst. The bartender quickly turned her head in the other direction.

  I started to giggle.

  Grinning, Thom leaned in close so he wouldn’t be overheard. “I hired a company called Fantasies Unleashed. They specialize in making fantasies come true.”

  “Sexual fantasies?”

  He nodded and the heat returned to his gaze. The look in his eyes was positively predatory.

  “How would that even work? I mean...”

  He cupped my face in his hand, stroking the tiny sensitive space where my cheek meets my ear. “They’re very professional. Trust me. Tonight, if you want to go along with this, their fantasy facilitators will make your wildest dreams come true.”

  “Fantasy facilitators?” I gulped down more martini and it burned all the way down to my belly.

  “That’s what they call their staff.”

  A thrill raced through me. “That is such a sweet idea, Thom, really—and hot—but I don’t want anyone but you. When I told you about that fantasy, I never meant, I never imagined...” My breaths came faster and my mouth turned dry. I took another sip of martini.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s my gift to you. You’re allowed to want this. You can do this. What happens tonight won’t threaten what we have.”

  I could never hide things from Thom. Even as I denied wanting the fantasy with words, my body and face revealed the truth. Never mind my insides, which continued to heat as I remembered how I’d described my fantasy to him, how I’d imagined being surrounded by handsome men all focused on me, all wanting me, needing me, fucking me in turns until I couldn’t take any more.

  “But you—” I touched his hand. “Honey, even if that were possible, this is your anniversary, too, ours, and I—”

  “Your gift to me was the trip to Vegas.”

  “That hardly compares.” I kissed the soft place at the base of his thumb. “Plus, since I’m here, I’m benefiting from my gift to you. The only thing you’ll get from your gift to me is feeling alone,
and maybe a little jealous?”

  “I won’t be jealous.”

  “Come on.”

  “It’s not like you’ll be falling in love, and it won’t be a betrayal since I was the one who set it up. You won’t be doing anything behind my back.” His fingers stroked my inner thigh.

  “Are you sure about this?” I looked into his eyes. “Are you even serious?”

  “Very serious.” He shifted closer and his hand pushed up higher on my thigh. “Knowing that your fantasy is being fulfilled will satisfy me in more ways than you can imagine.”

  Moving higher, his fingers brushed over my panties and I squirmed, both from the sensations and from my conflicting emotions. “How am I supposed to feel if my husband’s okay with my having sex with other men?”

  “Grateful?” Grinning, he scratched his finger over the satin of my panties, dragging over my clit, and every blood cell in my body migrated between my legs.

  “I want this for you,” he whispered, his voice low and deep. “Believe me, I’ve thought it through. I’ve thought about this—a lot.”

  “Do you want to have sex with other women?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t fantasize about other women.”

  “Then what is your fantasy?” I asked. “You never told me.”

  “If I recall,” he said, “we got kind of distracted that night.” He kissed me, bringing back memories of that Tuesday night in June—one of our most spectacular, sexually speaking.

  Thom had walked in on me while I was touching myself, almost ready to come, and asked what was on my mind. Before I’d even finished confessing the details, he was ripping his clothes off and we fucked for hours, not stopping until we had to get ready for work the next day.

  “Just know,” he said, “I want this for you. More than anything. I treasure our sex life. I treasure you, and the thought of your being turned on, pleasured, surprised...” He shook his head while sucking in an audible breath. “The thought of you being ravaged, worshiped by other men—That’s my fantasy.”

  “But this seems so one sided.” I squirmed on the stool.

  “It’s what I want.” He looked into my eyes and stroked my panties. “Assuming it’s still what you want? Do you want this to happen, for real?”

  Turning to look at our reflections in the mirror behind the bar, I studied his expression. His gaze was directed toward my chest in that non-subtle way he had of ogling my boobs, and his fingers were still stroking between my legs. Was his suggestion some kind of test? Did he want me to retract my fantasy? Was this all talk meant to turn me on?

  No. We didn’t play games with each other. Not mind games like that. Ever. I had to take him at his word.

  But did I want my fantasy to happen? For real? Fantasies are one thing when they’re confined to our minds, when they’re used to turn us on when our lovers are away, or when we want to drift to somewhere different and exciting. My mind had played out variations on the same fantasy since I was a teen, but did I actually want the real thing?

  My breaths came even faster; my entire body tingled with excitement. I downed the rest of the martini, letting it burn through me, enjoying the sensation as the alcohol loosened my tension and inhibitions.

  Closing my eyes, I luxuriated under the teasing touch of Thom’s fingers, stroking me through the soft satin. Although I knew it was my husband’s hand, I tried to imaging that it was a stranger’s, and I imagined yet another man cupping my breasts while another captured my lips. The thoughts lit new fires; I felt sure my panties were soaked.

  I did want this—a lot—and that my husband was willing to make it happen— “Yes,” I said on a hard exhale as I opened my eyes.

  He drew a breath so deep his shoulders rose. “Good.” He slipped off his stool.

  “How will—”

  “Stay here. I’m moving to a table. Back there.” He gestured into the sparkled darkness of the room. “A man will approach you. He’ll buy you another drink and suggest you join him upstairs.”

  “How will I know it’s the right man?” I asked, instantly embarrassed for suggesting that, left alone for a moment, I’d be hit on by random men.

  “I’ll be watching.” He traced his hand down my back to rest on my ass and bent to kiss my neck. “I won’t let you leave the bar with the wrong guy. Oh—and if you want the fantasy to end, or if anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, you need to say ‘Red light’.”

  “Red light?”

  “That’s your safe word.”

  I had a safe word?

  I taught fifth grade in room 214 at Bentley Primary School. I clipped coupons and watched way too much Food Channel. On what planet did I do things that required safe words? Nerves scrambled inside me, and I was about to call the whole thing off when Thom took my face in his hands and kissed me long and slow and hard, a kiss so passionate I felt like I might melt right into the chair.

  The idea of this fantasy turned him on, too. It was clear. Thom wasn’t just doing this for me.

  When he finally broke away, he pressed a light kiss to my forehead. “See you on the other side.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  I sat at the bar, restless with anticipation and uncertainty, but feeling the comforting presence of Thom’s gaze on my back. I turned and tried to spot him, but he’d receded into the darkness, hidden in some dimly lit corner.

  When I swiveled to once again face the bar, I noticed a man standing a couple of stools away. He was tall, broad shouldered, and wore a stylish gray suit, slightly shiny with narrow lapels and tapered legs. The designer look, combined with his mauve shirt and silver tie, was the kind of thing that might look feminine on some men. Not him. Every inch of him oozed testosterone and power.

  His blond hair brushed his collar without being scruffy, and he had the rugged but fresh look of a man who enjoyed the outdoors. He turned toward me. I quickly looked away, self-conscious that I’d been sizing him up and wondering whether he’d noticed.

  He approached. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  My temperature rising, I turned to face him. He smiled and his eyes flashed like a twelve-year-old boy’s on the first day of summer vacation. But the cut of his jaw, not to mention his body, counteracted any hints of boyishness. This was a man.

  “That would be lovely,” I answered, detecting a slight quiver in my voice. It was possible that this wasn’t the man, but with my husband watching, I decided that the worst that could happen was this guy would be out the price of a martini, a price he looked like he could easily afford.

  “I’m Luke,” he said as he signaled the bartender.

  “Jamie.” For a second I wished I’d used a different name, a more feminine or exotic name. A fantasy name. But it was too late.

  “Very nice to meet you, Jamie. What’s your pleasure?”

  From his lips, the word ‘pleasure’ seemed wrapped in innuendo, but that might have been more my ears’ fault than his lips’.

  “I’ve been drinking martinis,” I said. “Hendricks gin, with three olives.”

  “But that’s not your pleasure?” He slid his hand along the edge of the bar toward me, his fingers thick and long, his nails neatly manicured. A heavy, dark metal ring with a chain-like texture circled his index finger like a manacle, and a tattoo peeked out from under the cuff of his shirt.

  “Maybe not,” I answered, feeling slightly breathless. “Tonight I feel like trying something new, something different.”

  “May I choose?” he asked.

  I nodded. He tapped the bar in a cascade from his pinky to his thumb, and I couldn’t help but imagine his touch on my body. Those long fingers inside me.

  If I’d been warm before, I was now on fire, nearly giddy from the combination of anticipation and danger. Was I really going to have sex with this man? And would there be others? I wish I’d asked Thom more questions when I’d had the chance.

  “I’m thinking you’d enjoy something classic,” he said, “but with a hot twist.”r />
  “I’m up for anything,” I said. “Surprise me.”

  “I’m very excited to hear that.”

  A shiver traced through me as Luke ordered two Diablos.

  “What’s a Diablo?” I asked

  “A specialty here. It’s like a Manhattan”—he leaned closer, his breath warming the side of my face—“but really, really hot.”

  “Hot. That sounds promising.”

  He grinned. “Do you come to Vegas often?”

  “Nope. I’m a Vegas virgin.” I felt my cheeks heat, and I swear his pupils dilated. His bright blue eyes were piercing, and his gaze so intense I felt self-conscious, yet unable to look away.

  “So far, is Las Vegas living up to your fantasies?”

  I stopped breathing for a second, but our drinks arrived, saving my need to respond. When we reached for our glasses our hands brushed, and the fleeting contact reverberated through me as if every nerve in my body had been simultaneously switched on high.

  We raised our glasses and his expression filled with desire. No one but my husband had ever looked at me in that way—at least not with me looking back. His body was close to my barstool, so close that if I so much as shifted, my hip would brush against his crotch. It was tempting.

  Instead I took a sip of the Diablo, deep amber with three maraschino cherries. It tasted sweet, but with a chili kick that burned as the icy liquid slid down my throat. I rubbed the tip of my finger over my tingling lips.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “How does that rate on the pleasure scale?” His eyes flashed with amusement and I marveled at how his expression embodied both humor and heat. The only other man I knew who could do that was my husband, but while Thom was handsome and manly, Luke also exuded power, strength, like he could crush anyone who crossed him. He reminded me a little of that actor who played a motorcycle gang leader on TV.

  “What brings you to Vegas?” I asked. “Or do you live here?” If he worked for this fantasy company, he was local.