She shook her head. “No,” she panted.
“OK, then.” In one thrust, he sank home, enveloping his shaft in tightness, causing him to stifle a groan of utter satisfaction. Her nails dug into his skin, and she lowered her head to rest against his shoulder.
“Do me hard,” she begged.
He growled, loving her style, enjoying her loss of inhibitions. He plunged into her, the harsh slaps of skin against skin echoing in the room. She was slick, his cock driving in an out of her, smooth as silk.
“What’s your trigger?” he asked, wanting to bring her along with him as he approached the finish line. He’d had enough women to figure out they were all different. Some liked nipple play, others clit stimulation, or anal. He enjoyed everything. Most of all, he appreciated the way they succumbed to pleasure.
She stiffened and pulled back to look him in the eye. “I don’t understand.” Innocence crept into her features, and he didn’t want it there. He wanted her undone, writhing against him, her covered breasts thrusting for friction.
And why the hell hadn’t he taken her top off? Shit, he was a man on a mission tonight. Normally, he was all over those puppies.
“What do you like? How do I make you feel good?”
Her dimples came out again, and she broke eye contact. “Just do me harder.” She leaned back to rest one hand against the massage table behind her, while the other slid down her waist to her clit.
Christ. She may be shy talking about sex, but she didn’t have a problem helping herself reach climax. He watched, fascinated as she worked the tips of her manicured fingertips over her clit. It was so cute. So feminine. Enough to make his balls tighten at the beauty. He gripped her hips, pounding hard enough that his sac slapped against her ass. She sucked in a breath and winced. For a moment, he thought he’d hurt her, but she narrowed her eyes, her greedy stare daring him to continue. Her nails dug into the table, and with the following thrusts the wooden legs moved, jumping against the floor with sharp, squeaking protests.
Maree closed her eyes and began to whimper with each penetration, her hand frantically gliding back and forth over her nub. Her whimpers became faster, louder, and he hoped like fuck she was about to come because he was already there.
He arched his back, slamming home over and over until his orgasm exploded. “Fuck,” he growled through clenched teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, enjoying the pleasured jolts that overtook him. She clung to him, her pussy milking him as it contracted with her own climax.
As the final waves of pleasure left his body, she lowered her legs from his waist. They breathed into one another, no emotion, no cloying commitment, just the awesomeness of gratification tilting their lips.
“That was fucking brilliant,” he panted, cupping the back of her head to leave a slapping kiss on her lips. She whimpered with a nod, boosting his ego with her dazed expression. She was lost, still hovering in the space between climax and reality.
He grinned and stepped back. He disposed of the condom and strode around the table to get his clothes. Another Brazilian job well done. Man, he loved this shit.
“I can’t believe that just happened.” She glanced over her shoulder before pushing from the table and righting her shirt. “I gather it’s not a first for you.”
He pulled on his pants, unable to keep the smirk from his face. “No. Not a first. I like sex after a woman has her hands all over my sac.”
Her lips lifted at one side, and she lowered her head, turning back into the shy woman he’d met when he first barged in. The more he glanced at her, the more the image of her face haunted him. He knew her, or knew of her. He just couldn’t figure it out.
“What school did you go to?” He yanked his shirt over his head and waited for a reply.
“Godwin High,” she murmured.
Jackpot. “That’s where I must’ve seen you before.” But she was younger, three or four years at least.
She nodded and turned back to the counter to wash her hands. “Yeah.”
Cool. Problem solved. He shrugged. “Well, I’ll go get Mason so you can do him too.”
She shot him a petrified look over her shoulder, her eyes wide.
“Shit.” He laughed, long and loud, letting the noise reverberate off the walls. “I didn’t mean do him. I meant the waxing. I’ll send him in so you can start his eyebrows.”
“Oh.” Her posture relaxed and she shook her head. “Glad you clarified. I’m not sure this body could withstand two rock stars in one night.”
Sean let his gaze glide over her curves and back up to those sparkling blue eyes. “Honey, I’m damn sure it could.”
Chapter Seven
Mitch sat in the reception area, flicking through a nameless magazine. This shit just got worse. Now he had to go through the rest of the night with a face full of bridal make-up. He’d been smothered in lipstick, eye shadow, blush, along with powder and cream crap they smeared over his face, and fucking fake eyelashes. He resembled a fifty cent hooker who hadn’t scored a job in years.
And the solitary reason he’d sat through the treatment was because he was too drunk to get up. The twenty-minute reprieve from reality had brought him time to drink a few glasses of water—as long as he didn’t smear his lipstick—and stop the room from spinning.
Now it merely tilted.
Blake already had his nails painted black. Ryan put his hand up for a fake tan, Sean was getting unthinkable shit done to his balls, and Mason was up next. Mitch looked forward to seeing how the arrogant little cocksucker withstood the sting of wax, and the sooner the better. He couldn’t sit through another five minutes of the singers sniggering from the other side of the room.
“You’re next, pretty boy,” Blake said from beside Mitch, jutting his chin in Mason’s direction.
The three of them turned to focus on Sean striding back into the room.
“Did it go as planned?” Blake asked.
Sean shrugged, a smirk spreading across his lips.
“Bullshit,” Mason spat. “I don’t believe you.”
Sean chuckled. “I was happy with the service. As always.” His focus passed Mitch before doing a double take. “What the fuck is up with your face?”
Mitch groaned. Please, please, please, let me get through the night without photographic evidence.
“He got shafted with the bridal make-up experience,” Mason taunted. “Ain’t he pretty?”
Mitch glared, wishing for death ray vision to turn the fucker to ash. “Yeah, she asked me who I wanted to look like, and I told her yo’ momma.”
“Well, they didn’t do a very good job,” Blake added. “His mom has more facial hair.”
“Don’t start this shit now,” Sean laughed. “I wanna get outta here. Mace, hurry up.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hall. “I’ll come with you for moral support.”
“Me too.” Mitch pushed from his chair. “I’ve gotta see this.” He followed down the hall, Blake at his back. Mason strode ahead, entering the room, but Sean blocked the entry before the rest of them could follow.
“Can I see the challenge list again?” Sean asked, holding out his hand for Mitch’s phone.
“Sure.” Mitch pulled the cell from his jacket pocket and scrolled to the email from Alana. “What do you want it for?”
Sean’s lips tilted in a smirk. “Clarification.” He grabbed the phone and focused on the screen for a few silent seconds. His lips widened, and he leaned in close. “You know the list states ‘get an eyebrow wax’, not ‘eyebrows’,” he whispered. “What if the girls meant one eyebrow completely waxed off?”
Mitch snorted, picturing Mr. Pretty Boy sulking around Sin City with a lopsided face.
“What are you assholes laughing about?” Mason called from inside the room.
“Nothin’. You just lie down and let the lady do her job,” Sean answered, then leaned into Mitch. “You don’t want to lose the challenge on a technicality, do you?”
“You’re serious?”
“Deadly. He’s been a dickhead all night. Why not give him a proper excuse to be a bitch?”
Mitch’s drunken side loved the idea. There was no way the beautician would agree, though. She may be young. It didn’t mean she was stupid…then again, if she slept with Sean…
“Maree, can I speak to you for a second?” Sean called over his shoulder.
“Oh, shit,” Blake muttered. “I’m going inside. I haven’t had enough alcohol to be a party to this.”
Blake disappeared into the darkened room, and Mitch knew he should follow—for self-preservation’s sake, at the very least. But Sean was right, Mason deserved it. The alcohol flooding Mitch’s system chanted that the pretty boy needed a full dose of his own medicine. Didn’t mean he wanted to be one of the instigators, though.
“I’ll meet you inside,” Mitch said, smiling at the young strawberry-blonde who shuffled into the hall.
Sean sniggered. “Chicken.”
“Yep.”
Mason lay on the massage table in the center of the room, his gaze following Mitch as he wandered in to lean against the wall next to Blake.
“What are you guys planning?”
Blake put his palms up in surrender. “I’m not planning shit, bro.”
Mason’s gaze narrowed, yet he remained quiet, placing his hands behind his head and focusing on the roof. Time passed with the soft murmuring of voices in the hall. Then Mason turned his head, piercing Mitch with a frown. “Come on, man. Let’s forget the challenge list and go to a tittie bar.”
Mitch shook his head. “Nope.” He wouldn’t back out now. They were running out of time, though. The ten o’clock deadline wasn’t far away, and they still had three more challenges to complete. “Hurry up, Sean,” Mitch raised his voice. “We don’t have time for this.”
“What’s he doing?” Mason asked.
Blake shrugged. “Probably making plans for another round of masochism later.”
Maree walked into the room, sparing them a shy smile before approaching the counter at the back of the room. Sean came in behind her, smirking, his face alight with mischief as he stopped beside Blake.
“Please tell me she didn’t say yes,” Mitch muttered. Mason would kill them if his perfect face turned up on magazines in a not-so-perfect fashion.
“Why’s that?” Sean jerked his head in Mason’s direction, his smile never faltering. “Look at the cocky bastard. He deserves a good dose of reality. And if she does do it, this will be the best night of my life.”
Maree murmured questions to Mason, giving Mitch the opportunity to turn closer into Sean’s body, so they wouldn’t be overheard. “So she said yes?”
Sean continued to stare down at Mason who had his attention focused on the beautician. “Not entirely sure. She’s worried about being fired, or sued, or publicly humiliated for defacing the flawless face of our fearless leader. But I’m kinda convincing when I wanna be.”
“I bet you are,” Blake muttered.
Mitch’s chest started to pound as the woman shuffled back to the counter and ran a waxing stick around in the large warming tub. This wasn’t right. Somewhere deep inside, under many layers of alcohol, Mitch’s conscience was begging to be heard. Only the numerous glasses of beer and scotch seemed to be blocking the full force of the warning. He knew Mason deserved it. He couldn’t wait to see the arrogant fucker’s face when he looked in a mirror, but something else was nagging at him. Something that his drunken haze wouldn’t let him figure out.
Oh, shit. Mitch bumped Sean’s shoulder. “What about Saturday? Alana will kill me if Mason has one eyebrow in the wedding photos.”
“Fuck,” Blake breathed.
Sean’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that.”
Mitch turned to the woman, poised to call her back into the hall. Too late. His heart sank to the soles of his feet. She’d already spread the pink gunk over Mason’s left eyebrow—his entire eyebrow.
Holy mother of drunken misfortune, Alana was going to kill him. Then she would slaughter Mason for looking like an ass, Sean for instigating, Blake for letting it happen, and as usual, Ryan would be the golden child, let off scot free.
“What’s with the frown?” Mason asked, snapping Mitch out of the bloodbath vision in his mind. Mason glanced from Maree, to Sean, then Mitch, and Blake, narrowing his eyes with each person, until he settled his gaze on Sean. “What the fuck have you guys done?”
“Nothin’.” Sean shrugged. “Lay back and relax. Let the lovely lady do her job.”
Mason glared. “If you’ve planned something, I’ll fuck your shit up, Sean. You know I will.” His mouth was set in a grim line as he closed his eyes again and rested his head back into the massage table.
Maree settled a shaky hand at one end of the dry wax, and tightened Mason’s skin with the other. Her face was pale as she peered up at Sean for confirmation, then with one swift pull, the wax was gone.
“Motherfucker.”
Chapter Eight
Blake pressed his lips together, tensing his stomach muscles so he didn’t break the deadly silence with a burst of laughter.
Mason lay still, his mouth agape, his eyes slowly blinking, while Mitch, Sean, Maree, and Blake stared at him, half in shock, half in contained hysterics. Well, there was no humor in the beautician’s expression. The woman was pale, and he’d guess she was on the verge of losing her dinner.
Mason raised a hand and ran his fingers over the area where his left eyebrow used to be. “Call me paranoid, but why can I no longer feel my eyebrow?”
Maree cleared her throat and took a cautious step back.
“You can go now, sweetheart,” Sean said, grinning.
“Wait. What?” Mason sat up. “What the fuck is going on?” His fingertips continued to rub the patch of red skin marking the line where the wax had been. “Give me a mirror.”
Maree’s bottom lip quavered. It was her own fault for being seduced by whatever lines Sean had given her, still, he felt sorry for the woman.
“Go.” Blake jerked his head in the direction of the door. Truth was, he was kind of scared himself. With one eyebrow, Mason looked fucking ridiculous, which meant the guy would flip his lid in a big way.
“We’ll take it from here,” Blake added, sliding the door closed behind her as she scampered from the room.
“Give me a god damn mirror,” Mason demanded. “If you’ve done what I think you’ve done, I’m going to break your face.” He pushed from the table and grabbed the round mirror standing on the counter.
Mitch edged closer to the door, one eye trained on Mason who stared at his reflection. There was silence. Long, unending, silence that gave Blake goose bumps and made his heart pound harder. Any minute now Mason would crack. Any second, and he’d fly off the handle and—
“You fuckin’ asshole.” Mason slammed the mirror down on the counter, turned and launched himself over the massage table, grabbing a laughing Sean around the neck. “You’re dead.”
Sean’s laughter died on a grunt when Mason caught him in a head lock, bent him over, and landed a swift uppercut to the gut.
Ouch. Blake didn’t move. One—he didn’t want to attract attention, and two—Mason deserved a few seconds to alleviate his anger. This scene had played out before. The two of them would wrestle, throw a few soft blows in the stomach region, let out their aggression, and call it quits.
Mason raised his arm, cocked his fist and swung. High. Oh, fuck. That blow wasn’t soft, and it definitely wasn’t near the stomach. Sean’s head snapped back, and they both fell to the floor in a mass of swinging arms and heaving chests.
“Grab him,” Blake called to Mitch.
They approached, trying not to trip over the couple rolling along the linoleum, slamming equipment, and banging into walls.
“Thatshh enough,” Mitch slurred with menace, appearing like a transvestite Dom with all his feminine make-up.
Mason and Sean continued to fight, their blows smacking harder, their grunts becoming louder.
“Christ.” Blake shook his head at the school-yard scene. Mitch yanked at Mason’s shoulders, giving Sean the distraction he needed to launch his fist at the singer’s jaw. The crack echoed through the room, followed by a loud curse.
“Enough,” Blake yelled.
They ignored him. Mason and Sean exchanged stomach and rib jabs while drunken Mitch rode Mason’s back like a rodeo champion. The sliding door opened with a thwack, the brightness of the hall bathing them in light as the salon owner stormed into the doorway, Ryan positioned behind her.
“What are you doing?” she screeched.
The three “children” on the floor paused.
“Get out.”
Blake shook his head in disgust, and maybe a little humor, as Mitch raised his fake lashes and glanced sheepishly at the woman. Mason remained poised over Sean, one hand at his throat while the other was cocked, ready to strike.
“Come on, guys,” Blake pleaded. “Let’s move.”
Mason glared at Sean, landing a final blow to the drummer’s stomach before pushing to his feet and maneuvering around the lady as he strode from the room.
“Sorry, ma’am. It was my fault,” Sean murmured, taking Mitch’s offered hand and hauling himself up. “I’ll give you my contact details, and you can bill me for any damages.”
“Oh, I will,” she growled, stepping back to let them into the hall.
Ryan trudged after Mason, then Sean and Mitch followed, leaving Blake with the fuming woman.
“I’m sorry—”
She cut him off with a firm shake of her head. “Leave.”
He nodded and did as instructed, passing Sean at the front counter, before heading outside. The rest of the guys stood in a group out of the path of pedestrians, the bodyguards poised a few feet away, scanning the people who passed.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Ryan offered, throwing Blake his baseball cap and handing Mitch and Mason theirs.
Reckless Weekend Page 6
