by MV Ellis
“Fuck. What do you want? Did he go out there and immediately tell you every minute detail, then send you back in here for your turn?” What the hell is she talking…no, raving about? “Better still, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was videoing the whole thing and live streamed it to the rest of the party, so that everyone can have a good old belly laugh at my expense. Where are the cameras, huh?” She looks toward the ceiling, eyes darting back and forth with suspicion before fixing back on me.
I raise my hands in a submissive stance and move gingerly toward her, relieved that she didn’t spot the state-of-the-art security system that’s fitted around the entire house. Not that I’m surprised; the equipment probably cost more than the budget deficit of some developing nations, and is clearly designed to be almost invisible— impossible to detect unless someone already knows it’s there, or understands enough about top of the line security systems to see the signs. Clearly Blake doesn’t fit into either of those categories.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
She narrows her eyes, and I can practically see the thoughts whizzing through her mind a million a minute as she stares at me. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to know if I’m okay?” It rarely happens, but I’m not sure I understand her question, so I don’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on Tyce, don’t play dumb, because I know that you and the rest of the guys are a lot of things, but dumb isn’t one of them. Why would you of all people give a fuck if I’m okay or not?” She folds her arms tightly across her chest as though she’s trying to wrap herself in a hug, and it’s only then that I notice that she’s shivering slightly.
I’ve taken off my top and am holding it out for her to take before my brain even registers what my body’s doing.
“Here, take this.” She eyes it suspiciously, but doesn’t unfold her arms. “Jesus Blake, it’s a shirt, not a poison chalice. It’s not going to kill you, but it may just keep your warm for a while and stop your teeth rattling in your head the way they are right now. I won’t even ask you for it back, if it makes you feel any better.
She reaches for it tentatively, still obviously hesitant, but also quite clearly still cold. “Thanks. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
I shrug. “Like I said, there’s no need. Besides I have plenty more where that one came from. I won’t even notice it’s missing.
“Of course.” She rolls her eyes and glares at me while she puts it on. at me as though I just said I have the devil on speed
I watch her intently as she slips into the shirt, and my dick hardens, both at the sight—I love the way she moves her long, toned limbs—and the thought of her wearing my top, infusing it with her deliciously feminine scent, which seems to have lodged in my memory since our encounter in class on her first day.
The only thing better would be seeing her with nothing on beneath it but her smooth, glowing, golden-brown skin. My dick throbs at the thought, pushing painfully against the tight fabric of my jeans. I bring my focus back on the here and now, in the hope of saving it from snapping in half.
“And to answer your question, I give a fuck if you’re okay because I give a fuck about you. Period.”
The brittle sound of her laughter cracks around the marbled space like bitter wind around a deserted cave.
“Jesus, you must all think I fell out of the coconut tree yesterday, banging my head several times on the way down. You don’t give a fuck about me beyond how you can work with Zeph to make my life hell.”
I can see how she would think that, and in some ways she’s right, but in a lot of ways she’s totally off base. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, and would deny it to anyone who asked, my interest in her goes way beyond doing what’s right for Zeph.
“It’s not like that. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.” Is it just me, or are we going around in circles?
She stares at me in silent disbelief for a long moment. “Hurt? You mean like…?” The end of the sentence hangs heavy in the tension-laden air, but neither of us dares finish it. Finally, Blake sighs heavily, breaking the spell, but not reducing the tension between us. “No, he didn’t hurt me. Not in the way you mean, anyway. Nothing that wasn’t consensual. Not physically, at least...”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning none of this is any of your business, and I don’t owe you any kind of explanation. If you want to know anything else, I suggest you ask your best friend for his version of events, because I’m not about to rehash the sordid details, play by play, for you.” I don’t miss the waver of her voice, or the quiver of her top lip as she spits out the last few words.
“Right. Not my business, got it. But let me ask you this; if you’re okay like you say, then why are you on the verge of tears?”
“I’m not.” Even as she utters the words, I watch as her eyes fill. “And I didn’t say I’m okay, I said he didn’t hurt me. There’s a difference.”
“So you’re not okay?”
“I didn’t say that, either.” She looks away, studiously avoiding eye contact, or looking at me at all, in fact.
“Goddamnit, Bambi, this isn’t a fucking game. I’m worried about you.”
Her laughter is shriller, and more cutting this time. “Are you out of your mind, coming in here with ‘this is not a game,’ when that’s exactly what it is to you, and the rest of the guys? Clearly I’m just some kind of plaything for you all. An amusement to pass the time. Is that what you rich guys do, play with people for fun? Especially people like me, who you can probably buy and sell with your allowance? I bet you see me as just some novelty poor person who you can throw on the trash heap when you’re bored of me.”
“What kind of monsters do you think we are?”
“You called it, not me, but from what I’ve seen, I’d say you’re exactly the kind of monster to take delight in ruining someone else’s life, just because you can.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh really, because from my point of view, that’s exactly what it seems like. But okay, I’ll bite, if that’s not what’s happening, why don’t you tell me exactly what is, Mr. Le Claire?” She sneers my name as though it’s a curse word.
“It’s complicated.”
“No it isn’t. It’s actually really fucking simple. Just stay away from me and leave me alone. I’ll do the same to you, and we should be fine.”
“See, that’s what’s complicated.”
I have her attention now, her bright gray eyes clouding over with interest as a frown forms at her brow. “How so?”
“Well…” I stalk closer to her, noting that she takes a small step back. “It would be much easier…” I take a couple of slow steps in her direction this time. “To stay away, if I didn’t really, want to get up in your grill, all the fucking time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know.”
“Actually I don’t, why don’t you stop toying with me, and just tell me.” Toying? I’m beginning to think she’s the one playing with me, because by now I’m standing flush against her, and I’d say it’s pretty damned obvious what I mean.
“Don’t play games with me, Blake. I like you, and you know it.”
“I don’t know shit, except for the fact that you can’t like me, because you really don’t know me, so I’m probably being Punk’d right now, and all the other guys are likely behind the scenes cracking up at my expense.”
“That’s not what’s going on. Not even close. In fact, none of the guys know I’m here, not even Zeph.”
She raises an eyebrow and gives me a look that suggests she thinks I’m full of shit. “Okay, so what is going on?”
“Jesus!” The boom of my fist as it slams down on the marble bench top, and the deep roar of my voice has her jumping a foot in the air in shock, though I’m not surprised. I kind of shocked myself, as well. �
�I’m trying to tell you I want you.”
“No, you don’t. You want the idea of me. The challenge, the chase, the forbidden. You want—”
I’ll never know what the end of that sentence was supposed to be, but I really don’t care. All I care about is the fact that I can think of a whole bunch of things I’d rather her be doing with her lips than losing her shit at me. The first is shutting the fuck up and kissing me, though I get the distinct impression that it’s going to be easier thought than done.
Not one to give up without a fight, I ram my mouth into hers, stealing a kiss I know isn’t mine to take. I have no idea how she’s going to react, but if I was going to guess, I’d say not well. Rather than wait to find out, I graze my teeth raggedly across her lips, before thrusting my tongue out to claim hers.
She freezes, and I brace myself for the inevitable onslaught—a shove, a slap, a knee to the junk—but nothing comes. Instead, she darts her tongue out to meet mine, invading my mouth the way I ravaged hers. Fuck she tastes so sweet that this alone nearly kills me.
I chase my hands up her back, taking in the feeling of the rough denim of her jeans. I skim them over the smooth satin of her top, trailing them up her and sliding them into her hair to cradle her head, entwining her thick hair in my clasped fingers. The kiss escalates to a primal call and response that electrifies my entire body.
We move urgently, continuing to raid each other’s mouths, and when Blake snakes her hands to my sides, squeezing me tight and pulling my body flush to hers, I groan involuntarily against her mouth as I pulse with arousal. Then when she moves her hands to grip my biceps and digs her nails into my skin, it sends a shock of sparks coursing through me.
I buck against her, scarcely in control of my own faculties, but desperate for relief for my aching dick. I angle my body from the waist down so that my hardon is pressed into her, then begin to rotate my hips slowly as I push against her. It’s precious little relief, but it’s a start.
This time it’s Blake’s turn to moan against my lips, and the sound hits me so hard, it’s all I can do to just about keep my shit together, but I know I won’t stay that way for long. I reach down and grab at the button of her jeans, and once it’s opened, tug down her zipper, not caring if I rip it away from the fabric—I just want it open as soon as humanly possible.
As soon as it’s down far enough for me to reach my hand inside, I do exactly that, searching out her panty-clad pussy like a heat-seeking missile. Heat is the perfect word—even before I curl my finger under the lacy fabric, I can tell she’s ready for what I’m about to give her.
When I slide first one, then a second finger inside her, my hunch is confirmed. She’s so wet that the urge to put my dick where my fingers are completely overwhelms my senses. It’s only as I plunge my fingers deeper, angling my hand so that my palm grazes her clit that a troubling thought occurs to me.
I pull back from her lips slightly, but it almost kills me to break the connection, so I rest my forehead heavily against hers.
“Who’s this for?”
“Hmm…? I don’t kno—”
“This.” I growl the word angrily, then shove my fingers deeper and harder inside her, noting her sharp intake of breath as she braces herself against me. “You’re dripping like a faucet. Who for, me, or Zeph?”
“You.” Relief sweeps through my body on hearing that single, simple word. What’s that about? I file the issue away to deal with when I at least have the option of rational thought. Right now, there’s no chance of that. “Zeph.” Damn. “Both of you.”
“Fuck.” It’s a low regretful hiss, and at the same time I start withdrawing my hand. This shit is fucked up.
“Don’t” She has my wrist in a vise-like grip. “Forget about him. I want this. I want you.” I’m not about to try to convince her otherwise. Instead, I push harder, and deeper, then I curl my fingers to hit her G-spot.
“Oh God.” I’m not sure if the barely audible word from her is praise or a plea, and without waiting to figure it out, I find her lips with mine again, this time wildly devouring her mouth like it’s my last meal.
Now it’s her turn to grapple with my belt, button and zipper in a lust-fueled frenzy. The anticipation of what’s to come almost ends me, and when her hand dips into my boxer briefs and grabs my dick, gripping it hard, I just about die.
But then she slips her hand down my shaft to include my balls as she squeezes, before sliding it the other way. Using my precum as lube, she maintains her tight grip, pumping back and forth to match the pace at which she’s grinding her pussy into the palm of my hand, and at that point, she owns me.
Chapter 18
Tyce
* * *
“Wait, wait.” I hold up my hand for Zeph to stop. “Let me get this straight. So first Blake walks in on you balls deep in Olivia’s asshole—”
“Hold up. Who the fuck is Olivia?” He looks seriously confused.
“What do you mean ‘who’s Olivia?’ You had your dick in her ass. You should probably remember her.” I’m aware that I sound like his fucking mother, but the truth is, I do often find myself playing the role of nanny, or minder, so it’s no wonder I’m starting to sound that way too.
“First of all, I do remember her. She’s blonde, and hot.” He flashes me his trademark smirk. I deadpan him in return.
“That’s true, but you could also have just described about eighty percent of the girls you’ve ever been with. Ninety, even.”
“Correct. But I’m not talking about them, I’m talking about... uh…?” He looks at me blankly.
“Olivia,” I supply.
“Yeah. Her. I remember her. She fucks like a pro. Also, I didn’t have my dick in her ass. It was my finger.”
“Okay, whatever. Same, same.”
“Nope. I thought I was the one who didn’t pay attention in class. I guess I must have somehow absorbed the finer points of human biology, even without trying.” No shit. If all our grades were awarded based on life experience, he’d be killing the game. Especially human biology.
He flashes me his trademark smirk. “It’s not the same at all, and if you’re gonna accuse me of shit, you’d better get your facts straight. Besides, since when do I need to know someone’s name, or remember them the next day, to have a good fucking time, or a good time fucking, for that matter? We screwed in the bathroom, and I explored her asshole, we didn’t get married. Although, having said all that, ‘Olivia’ was totally pissed when she realized I didn’t know her name.”
“Dude, you’re something else, but none of this is the point. The point is that Blake interrupted that, and you reacted by inviting her to join you. Then minutes later, you’re only just done with coming inside Olivia, and you stalk Blake, and—”
“Wait a fucking minute.” He holds up his hand this time. “Who the hell do you think I am? I didn’t stalk anyone. I was done with the bathroom chick and needed another drink. I walked into the kitchen and saw Bambi in there, heading toward the laundry.” He shoots me a death stare.
“But why would you even go into the kitchen in the first place? All the booze is in the living room.”
“Jesus Christ. What are you now, a detective? I know where the good stuff is stashed. Not that it goddamn matters why I was in the kitchen at my own fucking party. The fact was, I was there, and so was she. End of motherfucking story.”
“Okay. So then with your dick still wet with the other’s girl’s juices, you’re then all up in Blake’s grill?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Yeah, I had just fucked ‘Olivia’, but I still had more life in the old dog, especially after the little taster eye-fucking Blake and I had in the bathroom. I was horny as a mofo, but when I followed her into the laundry, I had no intention of fucking her. I just wanted to scare her.”
“I mean, I guess getting nailed by the legendary Zeph Cross probably does scare the life out of some girls,” Thunder throws into the mix.
Zeph shoots him one of his “fuck o
ff and die” looks, but doesn’t say a word in response.
“Not only that, but, unlike the rest of you assholes, I’m working the goddamned plan. Remember the plan? The one we agreed to on her second day? Well, I’m sticking to it, and it’s going well, not that any of you asswipes even care.” He spits out the words with real venom, and as the reflection of the flames in the firepit dances across his features, I can’t help but notice that it gives him a demonic look, like the devil in his lair, planning world domination. I guess that’s actually not too far from the truth.
“Okay, so you planned on scaring her, and…?” Lennon gestures for Zeph to continue with the story.
“And I did, but it’s not as simple as that with her.”
“Because you like her?” Jagger, who has been draped all over one of the bench seats around the firepit, suddenly sits up straight as he eyes Zeph with interest. They’re not as bad as the Heels Up twins’ quirky twin routine, but he and Lennon do often tend to tag-team each other when they speak. Zeph glares at him, but he brushes it off, unfazed and laughing.
“Not because I like her, you bonehead. In fact, I’d say it’s Little Tycey here who’s nursing a widdle crush and a perma hard-on for her.” He’s lucky he’s my best friend. Anybody else, and I would have decked them. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her, and the faraway look he gets when he talks about her.” Jesus. If he gets fixated on the idea that I’m crushing on her, I’ll never hear the end of it. “I’m beginning to think he really is harboring feelings for her, but trying to keep it on the DL, deflecting his feelings onto me,” Zeph continues, confirming my fears.
“Dude, what exactly did you take tonight, because you have to be tripping. Hard.” I feel a pang of remorse as I recall my words to Blake minutes earlier, and can still smell traces of her sweet, heady scent on my fingers. As good to Zeph as I’ve been over the years, I now feel like the worst best friend in history.
