The first time I saw Milan Barcelo, I knew I had to have a piece of that fine Argentine race-car-driver ass. Not much makes me happier than bringing a cocky playboy like him to his knees. But to be honest, I’m used to exerting the power of my pussy over high school and college-aged boys. And if I learned nothing else in the fifteen minutes I spent pinned against a wall in a storage room closet during a fancy gala, with my cocktail dress shoved up to my waist and his huge cock driving in and out of me, it’s that he’s all man—one that doesn’t beg for anything and takes whatever he wants.
I haven’t stopped thinking about him since. Three hundred and fifty-eight long-ass days and longer, unsatisfying nights. Not that I’m counting or anything.
No one has come close to making me feel the way he did—and some have had multiple hours to work with. But it always boils down to me screwing my eyes shut and imagining Milan’s rough fingers digging into my hipbones as he whispers the nastiest things in my ear in order to make me come.
“Fuck yes, mi cariño. Squeeze your tight little rich girl cunt around me. I want to feel you dripping down my cock.”
A wanton shiver snakes down my spine as heat blooms between my legs at the memory of his dirty mouth coaxing me to climax. Though it doesn’t hurt that my gaze just landed on that very man in the flesh, his slim but muscular body leaning on the bar top in the far, shadowed corner of the hotel suite, away from the crowd of the afterparty, as he flirts with the busty blonde bartender. With his inky black hair and matching dark eyes, wearing a casual, light blue button-down and a five o’clock shadow that’s begging to scrape against my inner thighs.
He looks even better than I remember.
I wasn’t expecting him to be here, and now I wish I would’ve bothered to fix my hair instead of piling it up on top of my head in a messy bun. I mean, of course he’s been the only thing I’ve thought about as this tour stop in Buenos Aires, his hometown, has drawn near. But neither my brother nor my dad made a big deal about him coming to the concert or the afterparty, and considering they’re both huge fans of his, and of Formula 1 in general, it seems odd that one of them didn’t at least mention it.
I’m almost positive Everett—my twin and the other half of the band I’m in, Singed Wings—knows something happened between me and Milan when we were here last March to perform before the Argentine Grand Prix. But my dad… he’s been too wrapped up in his own band’s—Jobu’s Rum—reunion tour the past nine months to pay much attention to who or what I’m doing. As long as I’m not getting arrested or having inappropriate photos splattered all over the tabloid websites, he doesn’t give me much shit. Plus, I’m sure he would rather just pretend his freshly-turned-nineteen-year-old daughter is sweet, pure, and innocent. Ignorance is bliss, right?
Milan still hasn’t looked my way since I came in, and I begin to make my way toward him through the throng of people as a blended buzz of English and Spanish fills the warm, smoky air. My intentions are fully set on seducing him away from here for a much-longer-than-last-time round two, but before I make it a quarter of the way there, someone grabs my elbow and tugs me off my path, completely disrupting my mission.
“Ashlynn, sweetheart, come here. Uncle Cruz needs some love from the girl who stole the entire show.” Cruz, the guitarist in my dad’s band, pulls me to his side and loops his arm around my neck, kissing me on the temple with his sticky beer lips. He’s got a few groupies hanging around him, none of whom look too thrilled that I’ve taken his attention away from them, and I can’t help myself but to linger simply to piss them off even more.
Normally, I would say thank you and give him—who I truly see as an uncle since I spent the first five years of my life on tour with Jobu’s Rum—a quick hug then be on my way. But since they want to be catty bitches, and I’m still buzzing off the adrenaline from playing in front of sixty-two thousand screaming fans, I decide to toy with them a little bit.
Sure, Singed Wings is only the opening act during this reunion tour, but that doesn’t make performing live in front of that many people any less amazing. When I step on that stage with drumsticks in my hand and a microphone at my mouth, I’m in my wheelhouse, not giving a shit about anything but the music. Then, for hours after playing a show, I feel invincible, on top of the world.
And that’s normally when I find the most trouble.
“You better not let my daddy hear you say that,” I giggle as I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him.
“You better not let your daddy see you dressed like that either.” He laughs and takes a swig from the Corona in his hand while playfully eyeing me up and down, and then adding a wink so I know he’s teasing. “You don’t tell him and I won’t either.”
I glance down at my clothes and grin a knowing grin. He’s damn right my dad won’t like this outfit. Though the neckline of the snug pastel pink sweater I’m wearing isn’t low by any means, my black bra is clearly visible through the sheer material, and the pleated black skirt… well, it covers my ass at least. My parents often make comments about my fashion decisions, but like I tell them, if I was away at college, they’d have no idea what I was wearing every day, or what I was doing. While we’re on tour, they know where I am and what I’m up to—at least most of the time.
“Deal.” I lift up on my tiptoes and press my glossy lips to his cheek. “See you around, Uncle Cruz.”
I spin away from him and the gold-digging whores frothing at the mouth, and fix my stare back on the spot where the man who I hope to disappear with tonight was just standing… only now he’s gone. My heart skids to a stop as my neck swivels around almost a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, my eyes searching for his unmistakably gorgeous face. Please tell me he wasn’t a figment of my imagination, that I don’t want him to be here so badly that I hallucinated his presence. If so, I seriously need to see a shrink when we get back home. Or find a guy who can get me off.
“He went outside, probably to smoke, or maybe to escape the crazy-booby bartender chick,” a familiar female voice announces as she sidles up next to me and pushes a glass of champagne in my hand. “Here, have this. It’s excellent. Plus, we’re supposed to be celebrating.”
I jerk my chin down and to the right until my gaze lands on Belle, my five-foot-nothing soon-to-be sister-in-law—who, based on her glassy eyes and goofy grin, has already had several glasses of bubbly tonight.
“Who went outside what are you talking about I don’t know any crazy-booby bartender chick.” The words tumble out in a rush, sounding like a single run-on sentence. Then I pull a long drink from the crystal flute, hoping the alcohol will chill me the fuck out.
“That guy that was over there,” she slurs, pointing toward where Milan was just standing. “The one you hooked up with when we were here last year. The one who made you a bitch.”
Shocked, my jaw falls open and my eyes grow wide as I gape at her. “The one who made me a bitch?” I squawk loud enough for the group of people next to us—which includes my mom and brother—to turn and stare. I flash them my best sweet-and-innocent smile and wave like all is good and nothing important is going on, and then grab Belle’s forearm with my free hand and drag her away from the crowd, near the far wall.
“What… or better yet, who in the hell are you talking about?” I hiss under my breath.
She rolls her eyes and throws her head back overdramatically with a laugh, spilling most of her champagne in the process. Not that she needs more anyway. “Don’t play stupid, Ashlynn. Remember, I was there the first time you hooked up with your little race-car-driver hottie, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed that you’ve been a moody bitch ever since.”
The fact she calls me a bitch again doesn’t even register—probably because she’s not far off the mark, I’ve been pretty irritable lately—and all I can concentrate on is that she called him a “race-car-driver hottie.” Which means I’m not delirious and I didn’t imagine him… and he’s really here!
“Milan? You saw him? Here at the party?” I ask, bouncing excitedly on my balls of my feet.
“Yes! Milan!” She nods and starts bouncing with me, her smile stretching from ear to ear like she’s as excited about this news as I am. “That’s his name. I kept calling him Milo in my head, but I knew that wasn’t right. Anyway, yeah, he’s here. He was at the show tonight too. Your dad invited him, I think. I’m not sure though, but I definitely heard Everett say he was coming. And he was definitely backstage.”
I stop moving and cock my head to the side. “Seriously? Why didn’t anyone tell me? And why didn’t I see him at the venue earlier?”
Belle shrugs and takes a drink from her near-empty glass. “Like I said, you’ve been a total bitch this entire tour. Moody and broody, sulking, slamming doors and shit. We all just try to stay away from you. Your music is better when you’re like this though, so Everett says to leave you alone. He even yelled at your mom one day ‘cause she was going to talk to you about your shitty attitude.”
Again, my chin drops to my chest and I stare at her incredulously, no longer sure who the person standing in front of me is. We’ve basically lived together—in different hotel rooms, of course, but have been together almost every day for the last year on this tour—and I’ve never seen her drunk. Or at least not like this. If I wasn’t so eager to hunt Milan down and jump his bones, then I’d probably spend the rest of the night by her side, waiting to see what else she’s going to admit to. Everett refuses to confess, but I still think the two of them hooked up in her classroom when she was his art history teacher our senior year. Not that I care much about my brother’s sex life, but I like knowing he does bad things, just like I do, and isn’t the perfect kid he has mom and dad tricked into believing he is.
I file away all the information she’s shared with me, planning to confront my dear brother and address this whole “bitch” thing with the entire family at a later date, but for now, I need to focus on the task at hand. Milan. Me. Naked. Multiple orgasms. Tonight.
“You said he went outside? You saw him?” I ask, my eyes seeking out a possible exit.
“Yeppers,” she hiccups and giggles at the same time, then points to a glass door I mistook as part of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Over there. A few minutes ago, when you were with Cruz.”
Grabbing her shoulders, I haul her tiny frame into a tight hug and smack a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, sis. I owe you one.” I make sure she’s steady on her feet before I release her, then add, “And do yourself a favor and switch to water, yeah? You wanna be awake to celebrate the big proposal later.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh, we celebrated that this afternoon. Tonight, I promised him he could put it in my ass, so I’m hoping to be passed out honestly.”
I blink and swallow hard. Yeah, there are definitely some things a sister just doesn’t need to know. Details about backdoor play is one of them. But I can’t worry myself with this now. There’s a race-car-driver hottie who I want to shift gears with.
I push open the heavy glass door and step out onto the hotel suite balcony, twenty-two stories up in the cool air of the cloudless March night. The breeze swirls around my legs and teases the hem of my skirt, but it’s not until my gaze lands on the back of the only other person out here that goose bumps blanket my exposed skin and a fire blazes to life in my core.
He doesn’t turn to see who has just joined him on the spacious square verandah. Instead, he stays near the edge, peering out over the twinkling lights of the city that goes on as far as the eye can see, puffing on a cigarette just as Belle had assumed. His shirt clings to his frame, showcasing how his broad shoulders taper down to a trim waist, and the dark-washed jeans he’s wearing hugs his firm ass perfectly.
My panties are wet and he hasn’t even looked at me yet.
Inhaling a deep breath of courage, I stride on trembling legs to the railing about five or six feet to his left and mirror his stance, minus the cigarette. He makes no effort to acknowledge my presence, but I know he’s well aware I’m here. The electricity crackles like a livewire between us.
“You know that thing will kill you, right?” I say just loud enough for him to hear me, while keeping my eyes aimed straight ahead at the skyline.
Milan lets out a gruff chuckle and I see him shake his head from my peripheral vision. He then lifts the smoke to his mouth and takes a long drag before flicking the butt over the edge of the balcony.
“You know that’s only the third most dangerous thing I’ll do today, right?” he retorts, his tone cocky and accent thick, as he twists slightly to take me in. His heated stare sweeps from my head to my feet and back up again, leaving behind a wake of sexually-charged tingles.
“Third, huh?” I turn only my head to lock eyes with him, hoping I sound a lot more confident than I feel under his scrutinizing gaze. What is it about this guy that gets me so flustered and wound up? I’m usually Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected, but he makes me feel like a nervous virgin. “You must live a pretty dangerous life then.”
A wicked smirk curls up the corners of his full lips and he takes a step toward me. “You have no idea. Would you like to hear about the other two?”
My pulse spikes exponentially the closer he gets to me, but I shrug in an effort to seem unaffected. “Sure, why not? This should be good.”
“Oh, it should be.”
His smirk morphs into a straight-up evil grin as he eliminates the space between us in two long strides and moves to stand directly behind me. His hands shoot out on both sides of my arms and he grabs hold of the rail, caging me in as his chest presses against my back.
My breath hitches when our bodies connect, and my eyelids flutter shut as I instinctively lean into his touch. The magnetic pull his body has on mine is stronger than my pride.
“The second most dangerous thing I’ve done today was driving the time trials this morning for next week’s race,” Milan whispers huskily, his warm breath tickling my ear. “But not even flying around the hairpin curves of the track at over three hundred kilometers per hour compares to the most dangerous thing I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to do, huh? The day’s almost over, Speed Racer. Not much time to outdo that,” I muse, keeping my eyes closed. I’m afraid if I open them, I’m going to wake up only to discover this is all a dream.
He thrusts his hips slightly forward and slowly rubs his hard shaft up and down the cleft of my ass, inciting a guttural moan to escape from deep in my throat. I reach out and take hold of the metal bar in front of me, my hands just inside his, and arch my back as he dips his face into the bend of my neck.
“The first,” he grunts as his hands find my hips, “is going to be when I hike this little skirt up and bend you over this rail so I can fuck you hard like you want me to, mi cariño. With all those people right inside that door, including your mami and papi. Knowing any of them can walk out here at any time and see what a little rich girl slut you are for my cock.”
His filthy words melt my insides into a pool of desire and desperation. I can’t even pretend he’s wrong. I want everything he just said… and more. So much more.
“Milan, please,” I moan when his fingers clutch the hem of my skirt and shove the black fabric up to my waist, revealing my black lacy thong.
“Please what, Ashlynn?” he rasps, possessively palming my bare ass cheeks while continuing to grind his thick erection against my crack. “Tell me what you want. Did you miss my cock, beautiful?”
If I wasn’t completely lost in the euphoria of having his skin on mine, I’d be surprised he cared enough to remember my name from last time, but I don’t dare stop him from what he’s doing. I’m so turned on right now I’m probably leaving wet spots on the front of his jeans. Not that I give a shit about anything except finding my release with Milan Barcelo’s cock stuffed inside me.
“Tell me,” he demands again, just before he sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh on the side of my neck.
I hiss in a sharp intake of air and squeeze my thighs together as a tidal wave of arousal surges between my legs. The piercing sting of his bite, followed by the softness of his tongue tracing over his teeth marks, is the perfect combination of pleasure and pain, and I want to beg him to repeat the action to every inch of my body.
“Yes… you,” I exhale on a ragged breath. “I want you to fuck me right here. Right now.”
“That’s my pretty little slut,” he growls, low and feral. The throbbing in my core is almost too much to take. “Let’s see how many times I can make you come on my fingers and my cock. I’m hoping for at least two or three. You think you can do that for me?”
My heart pounds uncontrollably in my chest as my vision blurs with a lustful glaze. I nod agreeably while whimpering a “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He sucks on my earlobe, grazing his teeth lightly over the shell.
Sliding one hand across my belly to between my legs, he cups my pussy outside of my drenched panties. “Already dripping for me. You did miss me, didn’t you, mi cariño? Have you been touching yourself thinking of me? Remember how I felt buried inside you?” he asks as he edges my black lace panties to the side, gliding one finger between my slick lips and into my dripping slit.
“You like knowing I’ve jacked off at least a hundred times thinking about how tight this sweet cunt felt sliding up and down my cock?” He adds another finger then slowly begins thrusting in and out while his thumb finds my thrumming clit and presses down firmly in tight figure-eights, almost instantly setting off my orgasm. “That the only reason I came tonight was to see you… to feel you wrapped around me… to remind you I own this little pussy.”
His words render me speechless. No one has ever talked to me like this before, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“There you go. Get nice and juicy for me,” he encourages, as I grind shamelessly against his hand.
Disregarded is the fact we really are only steps away from a party that’s in full swing, where any member of my family, or one of a hundred other random people, could walk outside and catch us. The added layer of danger only amplifies the hotness factor of it all.
The internal pressure builds quickly as his ruthless fingers command my body like a puppeteer. Without warning, my release barrels down on me and I unravel into a dizzying spiral of ecstasy as he nips and licks a random pattern along my neck and throat, talking dirty to me the entire time.
I sag against his body as he moves his hand from between my legs. Holding me up with his other arm looped securely around my waist, he brings his slick fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. And just like that, I’m wet and ready to go again.
A loud ripping sound is followed by a draft of cool air flowing against my swollen, oversensitive lower lips. With a gravelly laugh, Milan wads my torn panties in his fist and lifts them to his nose, inhaling deeply before tossing them over the edge of the balcony.
“Hold on, baby. I’ve waited too long for this to go easy on you,” he warns.
“Don’t,” I moan, tightening my grip on the rail. “Fuck me hard and fast. I want to be sore when I sit down tomorrow.”
With an animalistic roar, his fingers curl around my hips and bite into my skin, tilting my ass up in the air, primed for his taking. I brace myself with stiff arms and locked elbows, and in the blink of an eye, he frees himself from his jeans and is buried balls-deep inside me, stretching out my walls with a single thrust. Gasping at the sudden fullness, I bow my back even farther as my muscles constrict around his steeled shaft.
Milan pauses for a brief moment, waiting for my body to adjust to his before he starts plunging in and out of me. His strokes are frantic and frenzied, persistent and punishing. The harder he drives, the better it feels, and it takes everything I have not to scream his name as I soar to the peak of my next climax.
“Dios mío,” he rumbles in my ear. “Your pussy feels so fucking good. Even better than I remembered, mi cariño.”
Teeth scrape across my shoulder at the same time fingers pinch and twist my clit, sending my second orgasm surging through me even faster than the first. I squeeze my eyes shut and watch the fireworks show behind my lids as I explode into a million different pieces around his unrelenting cock. I burn from the inside out, my entire body buzzing and quivering.
His intense rhythm kicks up another notch, though I’m not sure how it’s even possible, and I can physically feel the paused moment when he teeters on the edge of self-control. Two thrusts later, he surrenders to the inevitable and his entire body tenses as he empties himself inside me. There’s no doubt I’ll have bruises both on my inner thighs and where his fingers are digging into my hipbones. Hiding his face in my hair—half of which has fallen out of my loose bun—to silence his own sounds, he snakes his arms around my waist and stays buried deep inside me. He holds my body flush against his in a possessive embrace until we both catch our breaths and my legs stop wobbling.
In a rare tender moment, he softly presses his lips to my temple while slowly pulling out and releasing me. I remain frozen as he tugs my skirt down over my hips and zips his jeans, unsure of what to expect from him now that it’s over. Last time, Belle had been assaulted by her ex-boyfriend right after and I had to leave to help her without saying goodbye.
This time, I’m not ready for it to end.
I realize we live two different lives on two different continents, so I’m not expecting more than tonight, but until I have to get on that plane tomorrow to leave for our next tour stop, I want more of what he just gave me. A lot more.
“Go tell your parents whatever you need in order to get out of here. I’m taking you to my place.” Milan grabs ahold of the back of my neck and whirls me around to face him. His mouth claims mine in a hungry kiss, his lips coaxing and his tongue demanding. My heart flutters uncontrollably behind my ribcage, ecstatic he’s not ready for it to end either. He pulls back and locks his dark, wild eyes on mine, then adds, “I don’t want a fucking audience for the other things I plan on doing to you tonight. You’re not only going to be sore tomorrow; you may not be able to sit down at all.”
I clench my thighs together at his filthy promises and nod my head, not worrying about how he may ruin me for every other guy out there after I spend an entire night with him. I’ll deal with that tomorrow.
“Okay,” I say with a lazy nod, still dazed and giddy from my two orgasms. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes.”
He treats me to his signature sexy smirk and kisses me again. “And find out what time you need to be in Rio for your show tomorrow. I’ll be taking you in my jet.”
“How did you know I’m playing in Rio tomorrow?” I ask, not bothering to hide my disbelief. “And your jet? Are you serious?”
Nodding, he leans in and kisses me again. “I wasn’t lying, mi cariño. I thought I was going crazy with how much I thought about you after that night. And I promised myself, when you came this time, if you were even half as amazing as what I remembered, I wasn’t gonna let you disappear for another year again.”
“After what night?”
My dad’s deep, agitated voice booms from near the doorway, and like two kids caught with our hands in the cookie jar, Milan and I guiltily jump away from each other. Thank God we’re both dressed, and let’s just pray its dark enough out here he can’t see my swollen puffy lips or the remnants of Milan’s erection. Striding toward us, my dad’s inquisitive eyes bounce back and forth between me and the man who used to be his favorite Formula 1 driver. Though that may change here pretty quickly.
“What happened what night?” Dad’s jaw presses in a hard line when he stops directly in front of us and he pins Milan with his hard stare. “You may drive faster than me, son, but I can guar-fucking-tee you I hit harder, so choose your words carefully and answer my question.”