FIVE
Peyton
There weren't a lot of places to go drinking in Navesink Bank. When I'd asked Charlie why - since he was the only person I knew who owned a bar - he'd told me that the town had a set number of liquor licenses, and that all of them were used. Apparently, the ones like Charlie, the Grassis, and the guy who owned that dive bar over on the other side of town had would make millions off of selling theirs. But no one wanted to.
So it left us with those three options.
We could hit up Famiglia for some upscale drinking, but we had to toe the line there, keep it classy. We weren't always in the mood for that. Okay, full disclosure, I was very rarely in the mood for that.
The dive bar was simply somewhere I hadn't been a fan of because there was little appeal to cheap drinks, no mixers, and gross old men who would grab my ass.
So we usually ended up at Chaz's if we were staying in town.
On a Saturday night, the place was always hopping - a mix of the just turned twenty-one-year-olds, chicks out for a girls night, married guys avoiding going home, and the occasional groups of guys who pretended to be watching whatever sports game was on the TV when all they were really doing is looking for a halfway fuckable girl to take home.
"Uh-oh, here comes trouble," Brodie, the bartender, called as we walked up to the long dark wood bar that I knew, because I was in the know about such things, that Hunter had built for the place. Along with the tables and chairs that ran along the walls, leaving a wide space for people to mill around or dance if they wished.
Brodie was hot.
Six-three, dark-haired, tattooed, deep blue eyed, strong but not bulky, with a piercing through his tongue that I had had naughty thoughts about more than once. He also had a faint, just-barely-there Boston accent that made panties melt anywhere in earshot.
But Brodie was also off limits.
I had been lectured by Charlie himself when he was hired.
He is the first bartender since Old Ed died that knows what he's doing. If you two get involved, and he hurts you, I'd have to fire him.
I didn't bother to tell him that there was no way Brodie would hurt me, but because I really liked Charlie, and he asked almost nothing of me, I had agreed to keep my distance.
"Your ass is not getting tequila again," he informed me, lips tipped up at one side, arms spreading wide on the bar.
"What? I livened the place up!" I insisted with a smile, finally feeling my sour mood starting to lift.
"You danced on the bar."
"To Something In Your Mouth," I agreed. "Which everyone knows is a fantastic dancing on the bar song."
"Fuckin' torturing me down here. I could see right up your skirt."
"Luckily I wore panties that night." I wore underwear every night, but what fun was it to admit that when I could make his eyes go all hooded at the idea of me not wearing anything under my skirt.
"Red lace. I fuckin' remember," he agreed, exhaling out a breath. "And my heart can't take it again, angel. So no tequila tonight."
"Fine. Then we're going for gin."
"Which means she is going to get flirty instead of dancy," Jamie informed him as he handed her the beer she didn't need to order since her preferences never changed. Pops handed me my first beer at fifteen after helping him work on his Mustang. I've never looked back.
"Flirty might kill me too," Brodie agreed, reaching for the Bombay since he knew Charlie wouldn't like it if he served me well drinks. "What are you having with it? Ginger ale or vermouth?"
"Let's make it a vermouth kinda night. But dirty. With two olives," I told him, watching a bit hungrily as his muscles moved as he worked, wondering how mad Charlie would be if we just had a one-night thing where no one got hurt.
"And for you, gorgeous?" he asked Savvy whose cheeks - on cue - went the slightest bit pink.
"Can she have tequila?" I asked, knowing it broke her out of her shell a bit.
"Can't figure she'll be on the bar, so I can whip her up a margarita or two."
"Perfect," I agreed, reaching for the toothpick in my martini glass, carefully lifting it, and maybe making a bit of a sexual show of sucking each olive into my mouth. What can I say, my mood was lifting, and I was ready to get my flirt on.
Now I just needed someone to do said flirting with who was an option for me. Unlike Brodie. As much as my heart - and my lady bits - hurt a bit knowing that.
"Alright, so who can Savvy fuck?" I asked, leaning back against the bar, smiling at Jamie when Savvs choked a bit on her drink.
"That was not part of the deal," she insisted. "We are just supposed to be coming out and having fun."
"Right. And what is more fun than fucking? And, more importantly, coming?"
"I know you are, Peyt, but I am not comfortable with casual sex," she said, looking around at the bar. "It just..."
"It just what?" I asked, brows furrowing at the way she was refusing to look at me.
"I can't have an orgasm if there isn't a connection," she admitted in a small whisper. "I know that is backward of me, but-"
"I'm not judging you," I cut her off, suddenly upset that she would think I would. I figured she knew I was only ever teasing her. But Savvs was sometimes more sensitive... in silence. She didn't always let you know when you got to her in some small - or even big - way, just held it to her chest, cradled it like a baby, before one day she couldn't stifle the crying anymore, and she finally broke and told you. Too late for you to really make amends for it anyway.
"I know..."
"Listen to me, missy," I said, using my dad's condescending tone, making her give me a wobbly smile. "You do what your lady bits tell you to do. Your vagina is a vagenous. Only it can decide what is right and what isn't. Not me. Or Jamie. Or Hottie Mc Prison Tattoos over there," I said, nodding my chin at a guy leaning up against the wall giving her a once-over. "So we can focus less on getting you laid, and focus more on getting me laid."
Two hours and three martinis later, I was feeling fuzzy and light, finally out of my funky mood. Jamie was still nursing her first beer even though we had taken an Uber so we could all get our drink on. She took her taking care of her girls role seriously. Maybe especially so when Savvs was around. She knew I could handle myself. Savvy was a little softer, sweeter, too kind to stand up for herself at times.
And speaking of Savea, she was on her third margarita. Three margaritas with Brodie's heavy hand and Savv's low tolerance meant she was currently half-leaning into Jamie and gushing about how she trained a Green Cheek Conure how to roll over on command.
It was right about then that it happened.
A duo of middle-aged men walked past. You knew the type when you passed them by with their out of fashion mustaches, beer bellies, and fragile egos attached to loose lips. They were always good for a little backwardness.
These ones did not disappoint.
"Fucking dykes taking all the hot young things."
I never turned on a heel so fast in my life.
"Peyton, don't," Jamie scolded, shaking her head at me. Maybe because Jamie came out when she was hardly even in middle school, had dealt with comments about being a tomboy as a little girl, then a butch lesbian as an adult, she took it all with a laid-back nonchalance.
I guess if you chose to actually fight those battles, you would be at war your whole life.
I got that.
I really did.
But that didn't mean I agreed with it.
It didn't mean I would stand by and let it happen.
No one would ever accuse me of being the 'turn the other cheek' sort.
I was more of an eye-for-an-eye kinda girl.
"What the fuck did you just say?" I asked, moving into the fuck's space, glad for the fact that I wore skyscrapers on my feet because it put me at his height.
"Wasn't talking to you, sweetheart," he said, eyes doing an up and down that made my skin feel slimy in the aftermath.
"No, you were talking about my best friend actually. What's the matter? Jealous that she knows how to eat a pussy, and you never learned?"
"That's no language for a lady to use," he chided in a way my father would have. The way he still would if I called.
"Well, I don't see any ladies present," I said, looking around. "But since we're on the topic of inappropriate language, it seems you have missed a software update. We don't use the 'd' word anymore. Or, in case this wasn't obvious, the 'f' one either."
"Look, girlie, fuck off. It's a free country," he said, taking a step closer, his voice going up a decibel. I could, at the very corner of my vision, see Jamie gently pushing Savvs away and moving to stand up straight, ready to step in. Though I couldn't see him, I knew Brodie was within arm's reach of the bat that Charlie had kept under the bar since he opened the joint.
But it wasn't Jamie or Brodie who spoke next.
No.
That was someone else.
Someone I had literally just managed to forget about. You know, after three stiff drinks to help with the memory loss.
"Got a problem?" Sugar's voice asked, calm, but there was an edge to it.
The man's head went over to him, eyes going down to his chest, gaze resting on the one-percent badge sitting there, letting him know exactly who he was looking at.
"With you? No, man. This bitch here-"
"This bitch?" Sugar asked, arm raising, then dropping down heavy across my shoulders. I actually went down an inch or two under the weight. "My bitch?" he asked, making the man literally shock backward, eyes going huge, lips opening and closing like a fish for a second, likely wondering if he was going to make it home to his incredibly unsatisfied wife and embarrassed-by-him kids.
"Look, man," he said, holding up his hands defensively. "I didn't know. I didn't mean no disrespect."
"Disrespect?" Sugar asked, that edge a little stronger in his voice as his head shifted, those brilliant gray eyes pinning me. "He disrespected you?" he asked pointedly.
"Actually," I said, dragging out the silence for a second, enjoying the hell out of the way the guy was going red, his upper lip sweating. Maybe that made me a terrible person, to enjoy his fear like I was, but I never claimed to be good. Or even decent. "He disrespected my friend," I said, jerking my chin to Jamie who was watching the interaction with a look that said she was going to have something to say to me later. "He called her a word that decent people would never think to use."
"Did he now?" he asked, glancing at Jamie, likely picking up on exactly what that word was before looking back at the man who looked like he needed a new pair of underwear. "Well, it sounds like you owe her an apology then, doesn't it?" he asked in a way that was no question at all. It was a demand actually.
And, ah, yeah, it was sexy as fuck, I won't lie.
Almost as sexy as the way his arm had tightened and curled me closer to his body until I had little choice put to press my cheek against his shoulder, my hand raising to rest on his stomach that absolutely did have incredible indentations between his muscles. Of course. Because he was a freaking monument to bad boy perfection.
This close, I could tell other things too. Like he had a nasty scar on his neck. And he smelled like leather and open air and sweat, and it was possibly the most erotic fragrance known to womankind.
The man turned, stammering, barely able to get his quivering lips to give Jamie an apology she didn't bother to accept seeing as it was only given during duress.
"Now I think it is time for you to go home and give your disappointing three inches to your poor wife," Sugar said, making me snort a laugh into his shoulder, not able to help myself. "You see these women again," he added as the man nodded at him, "you show them some motherfucking respect, got it?"
"Got it. Got it. Sorry," he mumbled, turning, and rushing out of the crowded bar.
"That's a nifty trick," I said, tipping my head to look up at him, finding him already looking down at me.
"It's amazing what having access to endless amounts of firearms will do for the fear you can put into another person."
"I could have handled him myself, you know," I told him, not moving out from under his arm even though I knew I should. Being so close to him was doing things to me. Getting my head fuzzy in a non-alcohol-induced way. Getting my lady bits all awake and shit. Damnit.
"Sure you could have. But then I couldn't swoop in all knight-in-shining-armor and impress you with making a grown man piss himself."
"Trying to impress me, huh?"
"It's the least I can do for my number one stalker."
"I am not stalking you. I think a case could be made for you stalking me at this point."
"Baby, Virgin and I saw your pretty ass come in here, slobbering all over the bartender."
"Slobbering?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "I was saying hello to an old friend."
"I wish all my old female friends said hello to me with fuck-me eyes."
"Somehow, I imagine they all do."
"Are you flirtin' with me, baby?" he asked, arm sliding down to just under my shoulders, curling me tighter to him.
Craaaaap.
I needed to get a hold of this.
I was half-ready to fuck him right here in the middle of the bar.
"If I was flirting with you, baby," I said, slowly sliding out from under his arm, "you wouldn't have to ask if I was."
"Friend of yours, Peyton?" Brodie's voice piped back in, his accent picking up on the 'yours' the o-sound suddenly becoming a thick aw-sound instead.
Between the two of these guys with their dialects, I didn't know who I wanted to talk dirty to me more.
"Just a Good Samaritan, Brodie," I said, moving to lean on the bar. "I need another," I told him, suddenly feeling sober as a judge.
"Henchmen being a Good Samaritan?" he asked, voice low so just the two of us could hear as he put a fresh martini glass on the bar in front of me. "Finding that hard to believe, angel. It's not my place, but I feel like I need to tell you that is not a smart move. I've seen him and his buddies in here a lot. Always going home with someone. Never the same woman twice."
"You're right," I agreed as he carefully mixed my martini. I had once asked why he didn't James Bond it, to which he informed me that it 'bruised the juniper berry' and no real bartender ever shook a gin martini. "It isn't your place," I chided softly. "Though I can appreciate you looking out for me. How many times have you seen me in here over the years?"
"I dunno," he admitted, shrugging.
"How many times have you seen me leave with a man?"
To that, the seen-it-all barkeep actually looked a little uncomfortable. "A few."
"And how many of those men were repeats?"
"Got your point," he agreed, stabbing two olives onto a toothpick and dropping them into my drink. "Just saying."
"What are you just saying?"
"That you deserve better than a gun-slinging playboy, Peyt. That's all."
"Are you gonna tattle on me?"
"Aw, angel face, think so lowly of me? Your secrets are safe with me. Though Ryan does keep an eye on the cameras on busy nights. Just so you know."
"Got it," I agreed, knowing Ryan was the least likely to be on my case about a two-minute interaction in the bar. If he watched on busy nights, then he knew I got crazy. He had likely even seen the bar-dancing scene. But Ryan was just chill like that. If you saw him, you might think uptight. That was what I thought at first too. But it wasn't accurate. He was simply reserved, had seen it all, and was, therefore, a bit jaded about it too. He wouldn't begrudge me a good time unless I got so sloppy that it was looking like I wasn't being safe. Even then, he would keep it between the two of us.
"Go have fun with your girls," he suggested, giving me a wink that shouldn't have been, but because he was hot, was completely sexy.
Taking his advice, I turned back around, finding Jamie with her arm around a Savvy who was looking like she was getting to the point where the tequila was making her knees stop working.
"It snuck up on her, huh?" I asked, smiling at the way Savvs gave me a glass-eyed grin.
"I miss Hannibal," she informed me. "He's home all alone."
"You gave him a pile of bones to hold him over until we get back," I reminded her, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.
"Where's your hot biker man?" she went on, words getting slow and sleepy.
If you were looking for an all-night drinking partner, Savea was not your girl.
"I'll take her home," Jamie offered, meaning Savea's home. Where she would crash. Because Jamie possibly knew me better than anyone else. And because she knew me, she knew that I wasn't going home alone tonight.
"Good idea. She's gonna want her own bed for the hangover she's gonna have tomorrow."
"You good here?" she asked, taking a look around the bar.
"I'm good anywhere. Don't worry about me. I will text you before I go to sleep."
"I'll wait up," she agreed as she led Savvy away.
And she would.
She wouldn't sleep if I didn't text.
And if it got late enough without word from me, she would drive over to check on me.
Good friends, I had them.
"I owe you a night at your lady-on-lady club," I told her. "I will be a great wing woman, I promise."
"Be safe," she told me, half-carrying a half-asleep Savea out the door.
"Well, now you can't be drinking alone," Sugar's voice said from right behind me, close enough that I could feel his body heat through my thin dress.
"Oh no? Who do you suggest I drink with?" I asked, turning, but not to face him, just so that he wasn't behind me anymore. "How about that one?" I asked, raising my drink to indicate a guy at the end of the bar, head tilted up to watch the TV.
"With a backward baseball cap? What, is he eight? He'll give you a ten-pump disappointment, and claim he rocked your world."
I smiled at that because, well, he was probably right.
"Alright, how about him?" I asked, nodding toward a back corner where a group of mechanics, still in their blues, but with the tops folded down around their waists were having some drinks.
"Colt?" he asked, making my head turn to him.
"Yes, Colton. He fixes my car. He's sexy. And don't try to tell me he won't get the job done. His pores seep sexual satisfaction."
Sugar smirked at that. "Got it on good authority that Colt isn't exactly as free as he has always been in the past."
"Oh, really? All the hot ones are getting locked down. It's hard out here for a lady who wants some satisfying non-commitment." I looked around, finding a tall, strong, dark-skinned man who was wearing a cut like Sugar's. "What about him?"
"Oh him? He can't get it up," he said, not even able to keep a straight face through the obvious lie.
"Well, that is a damn shame," I agreed, shooting Sugar a smirk. "So, you're saying you are my only option?"
"The only one who'd surpass your expectations," he said, moving in a step closer, his breath warm on my neck.
There was no denying the tightening between my legs at that. And it was right then that I knew he wasn't blowing smoke.
Some hot guys could talk a good talk, but you'd get them in bed, and they sucked. They weren't good at sex because they never had to be. They were good-looking enough for girls to ooh and ahh just so they could have them on their arms in public.
Sugar, it was clear, was not one of those guys.
"You seem so sure of yourself."
"Take me for a ride, baby," he suggested, lips nearly touching my earlobe in a way that made my belly swirl. "See for yourself."
"Tempting," I said, bringing my drink up to take a long sip. It was very, very tempting.
"But not tempting enough," he mused, head dipping down, pressing his lips into my neck in a way that made my stomach drop, something I hadn't felt in longer than I could even remember.
"Not yet." It was a lie, plain and simple.
"Alright," he agreed, hand pressing into my lower back, then sliding lower, just barely grazing over my ass before it was gone completely. By the time I could even turn my head to look at him, he was gone.
I didn't see him again.
Not after another two drinks that finally got me floating again.
Not as I tried to pay my tab, getting turned down as I always did, so throwing a good fifty-buck tip at Brodie who informed me that there was already a cab waiting for me.
"Want an escort out?"
"I think I will make it the five feet from the door to the cab, you sexy beast you."
"Killing me, angel. Killing me."
"Oh, you'll survive," I told him waving over my shoulder as I made my way to the door, only mildly disappointed at not finding someone suitable to take home.
"Giving up before closing?" a voice called as I stepped outside. "Rookie."
I turned, finding Sugar leaning against the wall to the building, his leg cocked, his foot back on it, his gaze on me.
"Have you been waiting for me all night?"
His lips quirked up ever so slightly to one side. "Maybe."
No shame or embarrassment at doing so.
Just his normal cocky-confident self.
And, well, a woman could only have so much self-control.
"Let's go," I demanded, waving a hand at the cab.
"Nuh-uh, baby," he said, snagging my wrist as I went to reach for the door handle. "We'll take my bike."
"You've been drinking."
"I had two drinks. Hours ago. Come on. You know you'd rather take a ride on my bike than sit in that nasty ass cab."
Well, he wasn't wrong there.
"Alright," I agreed, giving the driver a smile as Sugar tugged me slightly until I fell into step beside him.
"Ever been on a bike?"
"Actually, no," I admitted, a bit surprised by that fact myself. I had tried to talk Shane into letting me on his, but he had kept telling me some other time. Which meant never.
"Alright. Well," he said, letting go of my wrist to snag the helmet that was sitting on the seat, and reaching up to drop it down on my head.
"Oh, I bet this is a sexy look," I rolled my eyes as he clipped the buckle closed and tightened the strap.
"Burlap sack would look sexy on you." He dished that out casually, matter-of-factly, as he threw a leg over the bike and lowered the ass I was very keen to get my hands on onto the seat. "Climb on," he demanded, glancing back at me. I waited until his gaze moved forward again, then slid my leg over the seat and slipped on behind him. "Closer," he demanded, reaching backward to snag my knees, and dragging me forward until the swatch of fabric covering my pussy was pressed right against his back.
"And this is the part where I'm supposed to wrap my arms around you too, right?" I asked, silently wondering why my voice was airy. I was pretty sure it had never sounded airy before.
"Unless you'd like to fall off and experience road burn down your arms and legs."
Taking a deep breath, my arms slid around his sides, then folded across his stomach, trying not to focus so much on how my bare things were rubbing against the material of his jeans made soft from use.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Where am I heading?"
I barely finished speaking before the bike was roaring to life, and we were taking off.
My stomach pitched as my heart flew upward, a sensation I remembered from rollercoasters and bungee jumping, but this was somehow even better with a warm body pressed against mine as the wind whipped against us and the sights I had known for so many years blurred by my sides.
"What do you think?" he asked, having a surprising amount of manners, letting me climb off first without looking, likely knowing there was no way in my short dress that I wouldn't flash him.
"I want a bike," I declared, reaching up to pull off the helmet, then stabbing it back down on the seat as he moved to stand, his body stretching lazily to full height, eyes on me, predatory, promising.
"I could see that," he agreed, advancing on me, making me do something completely uncharacteristic of me - retreat. Until the wall of the building stopped me, hard and unyielding at my back.
Sugar kept moving forward, his hands planting on either side of my head on the wall, caging me in, eyes on mine.
"This is a little dramatic for a second kiss, don't you think?" I asked, actually having to work to sound as confident and unaffected as I usually just was naturally.
"Baby, that brush of lips you laid on me couldn't be considered a kiss at all."
"Hey, I..."
I lost my objection as his head dipped down, and his lips sealed over mine, hard, hot, demanding. There was nothing tentative about this man, about the way he claimed me, took what was so clearly being offered to him.
My head tilted as his lips pressed harder, dragging a low moan out of me. His tongue took advantage of my parted lips, sneaking inside to lay claim to my tongue until my arms were moving from where they were hanging at my sides, going up over his chest to grab the sides of his neck, holding on tight as my body melded into his.
At the contact, his hands left the wall, sliding down my back instead to sink into my ass, grabbing hard, yanking until I was up off my feet with no choice but to dangle or wrap my legs around his waist.
His lips ripped from mine a second later, leaving them feeling swollen and sensitive. "Point me to an apartment," he demanded as my head shifted, lips teasing over the side of his neck, making a growling noise move through him. "I'm not above fucking you right here, Peyton," he told me, making a thrill move through me.
And I was tempted.
Way too tempted.
But I had some nosey neighbors.
And I didn't want this getting back to my family either.
"Inside and to the right," I told him, tightening my hold as he started walking, taking to torturing the edge of his ear as he did so, until he seemed like he couldn't take it anymore, slamming me back against my door, grabbing my face between his hands, and branding his lips into mine. Hard, almost painful, but in the best possible way as I tried to focus enough to wrangle my key out of my wallet.
As soon as I did, his hand was reaching for it, stabbing it into the keyhole, and shoving the door open.
Once inside, he slammed me back against the door, but this time yanked backward, dislodging my legs from his waist, making them fall numbly to the floor, the click of my heels slamming down echoing across my quiet apartment.
I barely had a second to get my bearings before he was down on his knees in front of me, yanking up my skirt with one hand, reaching under with the other to snag the tiny swatch of fabric covering my sex. His eyes shifted up to watch my face as his hand tightened and pulled. The ripping of my panties unleashed this buried, primal, animalistic urge inside me, making my already needy pussy clench hard in desperation.
"Fuck," I hissed when just a second later, his head ducked, and his tongue slipped between my lips, finding my clit, then sucking it into his mouth, making whatever strength I had in my legs become questionable as I had to half-fold forward, pressing my palms into his shoulders as he devoured me. There was no other way to put it. His tongue swirled, flicked. His lips sucked. It was clear that this wasn't a tease, wasn't the fastest way to get me begging for his cock.
Oh, no.
Sugar was out to prove what he had said in the bar earlier.
And as I felt my walls tighten almost painfully, promising an orgasm that was going to shatter me, I had the oddest thought running through my head.
He was going to ruin me.
I didn't have time to analyze it though as his lips sucked and his tongue pressed somehow at the same time, pushing me over the edge, sending me spiraling down into the orgasm as my cries echoed off the walls in my apartment, loud even to my own ears, as the waves moved through me, as Sugar kept working me, kept dragging it out, milking it for all it was worth.
"God," I sighed as the waves finally ebbed, as I could finally pull a shuddering breath into my burning lungs. "Ah, no," I shrieked as his gaze went up to mine and his tongue flicked over my too-sensitive clit again. And judging by the wicked look to his eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing.
He slowly moved to his feet when I straightened and leaned back against the door, trying to even out my heartbeat.
"Surpass those expectations yet?" he asked, his voice nothing but gravel and glass, rough and deep with his own need for release.
Surpass them?
More like shattered them.
Oral was a crapshoot for me. I always had to be in the right mindset, and even then, the majority of the time, I wanted fingers involved or a cock inside me to get me there. It was rare that a tongue and lips were enough, let alone something that could make my brain slow and my body tingly.
"Getting there," I lied, not ready to be vulnerable to a man yet. Or ever.
"Getting there, huh?" he asked, teeth nipping hard into my earlobe. "Guess I gotta try again then." A second later, I could feel his hand press against my thigh just a breath before I felt two fingers glide inside me, making a choked moan escape me, needing that friction somehow even after an already lights-out orgasm. His fingers curled and tapped, pressing into my top wall, making my legs buckle almost instantly. I had to reach out and grab his upper arms to stay standing, something that made a low, rumbling sound move through him. It was something that sounded a lot like approval.
"Fucking pussy is dripping still," he told me as though I couldn't feel it myself, knowing as he started thrusting that soon my slickness would be slipping down his fingers, coating his palm. "What do you think, baby?" he asked, fingers curling again to rub against my G-spot. "Should I let you come again?" he asked as his scruff rubbed across my neck. "Or get you almost there over and over until you're begging for my cock?"
"I want..." I started, then broke off on a choke-moan hybrid that I was sure I had never made before as his fingers started raking relentlessly across the top wall, getting me closer and closer, impossibly fast, too fast really. My heart had barely gotten back to a normal beat before he had it slamming too hard again.
My hips shifted and dropped slightly, making the palm of his hand cup me, press into my clit as he kept working my G-spot.
I could feel myself tightening as his gaze lifted to look down at me as my hips were grinding against his hand.
"Oh, fuck it," he said, fingers pressing in harder, making the orgasm explode through my system unexpectedly, too hard and fast for me even to catch a breath to cry out, leaving my mouth opening on a silent moan as my pussy pulsated hard around his fingers.
I hadn't even fully stopped coming before my hands were going down, grabbing the hem of his tee, dragging it up, desperate for more of him, for all of him, for everything I could get.
His fingers pulled out of me, allowed me to drag the shirt up fully, dragging his cut up with it, then discarding both to the floor, my eyes hungrily raking over the deep etches of his abdominal muscles.
My hand shifted downward, forefingers stroking into the deep V of his Adonis belt before grabbing for the button to his jeans, pushing it through, and working the zip down with nearly frantic hands, every inch of me buzzing with the need to feel him inside me. Snagging both his jeans and the tight black material of his boxer briefs, I dragged them both down until they started to fall on their own.
Sugar was stepping out of them even as my hand was seeking his hard, straining cock, promising perfect fulfillment, making my walls tense in anticipation.
Operating on need and desire alone, I slowly lowered myself down as my hand stroked him to the base. Angling my head up to keep my eyes on him, I slowly opened my mouth, but didn't shift forward, didn't take him in.
On a growl, his hand grabbed the back of my neck, holding me in place as his hips shifted forward, shoving his cock into my waiting mouth. It wasn't slow or tentative either. He made me take him to the hilt, each thick inch of him, until I felt the head stab against the back of my throat, having to swallow hard to suppress my gag reflex.
"Didn't tease you," he ground out when I didn't immediately start sucking him. It was a comment really, but also a demand.
I didn't tease you, so don't tease me.
I never had any plans to tease him, though.
Me, I was always a give-as-good-as-I-get kinda girl.
So my hand moved forward, cupping his balls as I pulled my mouth back slightly to cup him with my hand again.
And then I showed him that no one would ever accuse me of being a tease.
I sucked, licked, stroked until his body was tense, until a muscle in his jaw was ticking as he watched me, until his hand was brushing into the back of my neck.
"Enough," he growled, hand shifting to sink into my hair, grabbing, and pulling me onto my feet by it, something that sent a thrill through me.
I was no delicate flower.
I appreciated when a man didn't treat me like one.
As soon as I was on my feet, his hands were going down, snagging my dress, and yanking it upward, fingers raking over my skin in the process, promising marks on my somewhat sensitive skin that I could look over in the morning and remember.
It went up over my head, then dropped silently to the floor, leaving me completely naked in front of him, my nipples tweaking harder at the sudden chill.
"Bed," he growled, hands going behind me to grab my ass again, lifting me. This time when my legs folded across his lower back, his straining cock pressed against my slick pussy, the head rubbing over my clit too perfectly, making me whimper as my head slammed down on his shoulder. "Where's the fucking bedroom, baby?" he asked, sounding as far gone as I felt.
"First door on the right," I told him, thighs tightening on his hips so I could lift up and slide against his cock, getting a small bit of relief from the clawing need inside me.
I swear he made it clear across my apartment in just a few strides.
"The fuck..." he hissed as his foot seemed to catch something, sending him jolting forward a step before he righted himself - and therefore me - swinging us around so he could look down. "Didn't even fucking wake up," he said, sounding both surprised and confused.
"He will sleep through the end of the world," I told him as I realized what he had tripped over - Hannibal asleep in my bedroom doorway.
"Then he should sleep through you screaming my name in a couple minutes," he said, the words like a promise, making my belly do that twisty thing all over again.
His hands let go of my ass, reaching up to grab my wrists, pulling until I was no longer holding onto him, then grabbing my hips, yanking, and tossing me backward onto my bed.
I had barely been able to bounce and settle before his body was over mine. His head shifted down, lips closing around my nipple and sucking it hard into his mouth as his other hand raised, squeezing my other breast, rolling the peak until my back was arching, until my hands were raking marks down his back as he tortured me.
"Condom," he growled into my ear as his tongue teased the edge.
"In the bowl on the nightstand," I told him, watching as he lifted up slightly, reaching out, brows going furrowed as he saw the bowl, but he said nothing because there was no denying that he was as desperate as I was to have him inside me.
He pressed back onto his ankles, reaching down to rip open the condom, then rolling it onto his thick cock, making my walls tighten hard.
Finished, he didn't move down over me, didn't spread my thighs, and slam inside me like I had expected.
Instead, his eyes raked over me, heavy-lidded and possessive.
His body shifted slowly forward, arms moving out, his hands snagging me at my elbows, sliding upward as he moved downward, pressing until his palms were closed around my wrists, pinning them above my head.
Unable to put my hands around him, my legs shifted up, closing around his hips as his lips crashed down into mine. Harder. Hungrier. More demanding. Wanting, it seemed, for me to feel him there hours later.
"Fuck me," I groaned, grinding my hips up into him.
"Doesn't sound like begging," he growled back, lips suddenly closing around the skin of my neck... and sucking.
Marked.
He wanted me marked.
And, what's more, I wanted to be marked by him.
Still, I wasn't the begging sort.
My hand yanked uselessly against his hold as my legs crossed over his ass, trying to use my heels to drag him closer, hoping that if I shifted ever so perfectly, I could get his cock where I needed it most.
Seeming to sense my plan, his hips ground downward, pinning me. With his cock pressed exactly against my clit.
The next time I tried to shift, it stroked over the swollen bud, making me whimper out his name.
"That's a good sound, baby, but it still isn't begging," he said, pushing up as he rolled his hips in a circle, making my walls tighten so hard that it almost made the orgasm crash through me right then and there.
And right then, I did it.
For the first time in my life, I begged.
Sure, it sounded like I was choking on it, but it came out of me regardless.
"Please fuck me," I gasped.
"'Bout fuckin' time," he growled, shifting back, then slamming forward, his cock claiming every last inch of me, my walls squeezing him tight, afraid to lose him now that I had him. "Fuckin' tight," he growled into my neck, taking a deep breath before pushing up to look down at me, eyes intense. Piercing really. Maybe for the first time, I felt almost open, like he could read me.
That was, well, terrifying.
I yanked hard, catching him off-guard enough to get my wrists free, grabbing him by the back of the neck, dragging his lips down to mine.
Eyes closed, the uncomfortable sensation shifted away.
As his lips crushed harder, his hips shifted backward then pressed all the way back in, not fast, just hard, hard enough that it pinched in a way that was uncomfortable yet hotter than anything I had maybe ever known.
"Harder," I demanded against his lips, wanting, needing more of it. Needing everything he could give me.
Then he gave me harder, each thrust making my bed slam hard against the wall.
My hands stayed on the back of his neck, holding him to me.
But he pulled back suddenly, sitting backward, yanking my legs up straight, putting both up on his shoulder, one hand going between my thighs as he kept fucking me, working my clit. His other hand moved forward, pressing down on my lower stomach, making me feel his cock stronger, more acutely.
"You gonna come for me, baby?" he asked, thrusts suddenly not as hard, but faster, not giving my body a chance to lose the orgasm that was creating a pressure inside that was threatening to make both orgasms before this pale in comparison.
"Yes," I gasped, reaching out toward the hand at my stomach, wrapping my fingers around his wrist as my eyes did something of their own mind; they sought out those eyes that saw right through me.
And the second that connection was made, his cock pressed forward, his thumb stroked, and his hand pressed.
And I freaking... broke apart.
There was no other way to describe the way the orgasm racked through me, starting where our bodies met and ricocheting outward until it felt like it overtook me completely.
"Fuck," Sugar's voice hissed as my pussy spasmed around him, as the vise grip on my lungs let up, and I could suck in air to cry out, back arching, muscles tightening, body shaking.
It seemed to last forever, my muscles aching, my skin glistening slightly when I finally came back down, feeling Sugar slam deep, hissing as he came.
He sat there for a moment after, head ducked, eyes closed, seeming - like me - to try to come back down.
But then his head lifted; his eyes opened, and there it was again.
I felt like he was seeing me.
Seeing too much.
I pulled my legs up, curling to my side, and rolling off the bed. "One sec," I said, not bothering to grab clothes, rushing out of the room, half-hopping over Hannibal on my path to the bathroom, figuring that if he had been around the block as much as I imagined he had been, girls rushing off to pee after sex wasn't exactly unusual.
Besides, there was no way he could suss out the real reason I had needed to run away. Because I was feeling off. Exposed. Vulnerable. In other words, completely not myself.
I closed the door, taking a deep breath, placing my hands on the sides of the sink, looking up at my face.
Post-orgasm content.
That was the look.
I recognized it.
I'd seen it on my face before.
The flushed cheeks, the crazy hair, the tired eyes.
But they weren't just tired. They were freaked. I was a total Bambi - deer in the headlights.
And I needed to get it the fuck together.
What the hell?
Going all gooey over a biker who knew how to use his tongue, and hands, and cock?
Ridiculous.
I took a deep breath, grabbing my robe off the back of the door - a light pink silky number with little brass knuckles and crowns all over it. It had been a gift from Scotti - my, well, sorta but not really sister-in-law - who had come across it on some nobody website.
The sketchy kind you have to open a Paypal account to buy from because you'd never trust them with your credit card information.
I tied the sash loosely, letting it fall open in the front, a deep triangle to my navel. I wanted to cover up, but I didn't want it to look like I was hiding. Just a little shield. Maybe if I could put a small physical one up, I would feel better about the strange fall of my usually strong and impenetrable emotional one.
Walking back into my room, Sugar was on the other side of the bed, condom discarded, but still casually naked. And, well, with a body like that, it was a crime not to be naked as much as possible.
"He finally woke up," he informed me, meaning Hannibal who was situated at the end of my bed being pet on the belly by Sugar's foot. "Along with half of your neighbors, I'd bet," he said, cocky, self-satisfied smile pulling at his lips.
To be fair, he'd earned it.
I wouldn't begrudge him it.
I moved to the other side of my bed, climbing up, reaching into my nightstand for my book.
"Care for a tickle?" Sugar asked, making my gaze immediately shoot over, confused, before I saw what he was holding. My condom bowl. Which I had made at Savvy's last birthday party when she had dragged us to paint pottery. She had the skills for it. Jamie too. Me? Not so much. So mine had a badly drawn pickle with a somewhat squiggly-lined word bubble that said 'Care for a tickle?'
I thought it was hilarious.
Jamie and Savvy had rolled their eyes.
"I have all the art skills of a four-year-old."
"With the humor of a high school boy," he added, putting the bowl back.
"Yep. They do have the best jokes. Alright," I said, finding my bookmark, and flipping the page open. "You can head out."
There were a solid five seconds of silence following that.
"What?" he asked, voice almost a little hushed.
"No need to hang out." At his blank look, I took a breath, squashing down the desire to be nice, to be decent, knowing that being a bitch was the only way to get him out and save my pride. And maybe prevent whatever I was really feeling from being as obvious to him as it felt to me. "Does going over all those potholes on your bike cause brain damage or something? Let me try this again. Me fucked good. Me no want to snuggle. You go now."
To his credit, he didn't look insulted.
Actually, he looked... thoughtful.
His gray eyes were on me, his dark brows drawn together. "You fuckin' serious?" he asked, voice almost... soft? But that couldn't be right. His voice couldn't be soft.
That sound, it was doing something to me.
Something I couldn't let happen.
Because it was something I never let happen.
Ever.
Except with family.
And even then, only rarely.
But I squashed that down.
"Ugh, is this a pride thing? You were great. You rocked my world. I will be wrecked for any future man. Is your ego properly stroked now? I have a woman to watch getting decapitated tonight," I said, holding up my book. "And you sitting here breathing on me is going to ruin it for me."
He watched me with that damn look for what felt like a solid minute.
"Wow," he said, nodding. "Alright."
With that, he climbed out of my bed, reaching out to stroke Hannibal's head before walking out of my room.
Then, after a short pause as he dragged on his clothes, out of my life.
It absolutely should not have, but undeniably did make a pang move through me.
A pang I was choosing to ignore as I put my book away, knowing there was no way I would be able to concentrate on it, let alone enjoy it.
Reaching for my phone, I scrolled for Jamie instead.
"I'm home and safe."
"What's wrong?" she asked with her superhuman ability to pick up on even the most subtle changes in my voice.
"You know how no guy has ever gotten under my skin?"
"Oh, for god's sake," she said, sounding like she was both groaning and laughing at the same time. "Please tell me it was the bartender and not the biker."
"When have I ever been the one to make things easy?"
"So how did you handle it?"
"I handled it," I said, tone definitive.
And so I did.
Or so I thought I did.