The Business of Pleasure

Xcite Books Ltd

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 76,500
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An erotic novel by best-selling Black Lace author, Justine Elyot.

If one call could set you on a trail to the heart of your darkest fantasy, would you make it?

Charlotte does, and her bold decision propels her into a world where no desire is too outrageous, decadent or extravagant to be satisfied – for a price. Her own fantasy life merges with reality when she is hired to work for the shadowy organisation she first encountered as a client. She organises an array of wild set pieces involving banquets, film productions, mansions full of pleasure slaves, as well as thoroughly researching those requests that chime with her own kinky tastes. Two men, one woman, and every sexual fantasy imaginable – these are the ingredients that make up the business of pleasure.

The Business of Pleasure
0 Ratings (0.0)

The Business of Pleasure

Xcite Books Ltd

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 76,500
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Professional Reviews

"The Business of Pleasure is a rip-roaring, rollercoaster ride of sexual indulgence; eloquently written, at times shocking, and always entertaining" Miz Love Loves Books Reviews

"Did I mention that every chapter is highly charged with eroticism, BDSM, D/s, and almost every fantasy you can imagine? If you don’t get turned on by at least one of these fantasies, there is no hope for you." Manic Readers

" It's a fruity, frisky fun fest that has something for most tastes, and will get you horny in no time!" Lucy Felthouse

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Excerpt

AT THE FAR END of the hotel lobby was a mirrored wall, and Charlotte watched herself and her two companions as they checked in at Reception, seeing what the staff and guests must be seeing. She tried it through their eyes – two sharp-suited older men and a rumpled girl, flushed and sticky and grimy from the train and cab rides that had brought her here. What conclusions could be drawn?
Surely only the right one. The reflection of the senior man – she still did not know their names, though they knew hers – bent to sign something on the desk. The receptionist beamed brightly and glanced at her, curious. She knew. Charlotte sought some comfort in the junior man’s eyes and found it; there was kindness as well as command and tension in those wells of blue.
‘Enjoy your stay,’ the receptionist said, and to Charlotte the words seemed to drip with arch knowingness. The senior man took the keycard from her.
‘I’m sure we will,’ he said.
In the mirror, Charlotte saw the senior man turn to her and, without any form of by-your-leave, place a hand on her bottom, nudging her forward towards the lifts. At the same time, the other man slung his arm low around her waist, and that was how the trio approached the mirror, their images growing larger and more distinct with every step; the girl with the sheer blouse and rucked skirt flanked by the immaculate men.
She could see the faces of the passers-by, see the questions and assumptions behind the eyebrows and forehead creases.
And so, it seemed, could her companions.
‘They all know what you’re here for,’ said the senior man, once the lift doors had swallowed them, spiriting them away from the safety of the open space. His hand was already under her skirt, taking possession of the knicker-free expanse beneath. ‘Don’t they, Bryant?’
‘Oh yes.’ Bryant – a name! – had his lips against her neck, then the tip of his tongue traced an upwards path to the hollow beneath her ear. ‘Pretty obvious, I’d say. You’re here to get fucked.’
‘And not just by one man, you greedy little slut.’ The senior man’s hand shadowed her clitoris, his palm flat between her thighs. ‘They know you’re opening your legs for both of us, maybe one at a time, maybe both together.’
‘Oh, yes, they know all about you, Charlotte.’ Bryant undid the top button of her blouse and slipped a hand inside.
The lift bell chimed and the doors slid open.
‘Please excuse us,’ murmured the senior man to the startled but interested-looking pair of guests waiting on the landing, then Charlotte was escorted, semi-dressed, with a different man’s hand on each bare bum cheek, up the corridor to the room.
‘She will need cleaning up,’ said the senior man dispassionately, throwing off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. ‘Bryant, why don’t you bathe her? I’ll get things set up in here.’
Bryant took Charlotte’s hand and led her through to the marble ensuite, drawing her into him and kissing her gently but thoroughly once the door was closed and the taps running.
‘I know we said you weren’t to speak unless spoken to,’ he said, deftly unbuttoning the rest of her limp and crumpled silk blouse and letting it float down to the tiles. ‘But when you’re in here with me, the rule is suspended. If there’s anything you’d like to ask, just say the word.’

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