by Eden Summers
“Get us a round of your cheapest beer,” Mason answered.
Mitch spared the waitress a glance, noticing how her gaze lingered on the famous front-man’s face for longer than necessary.
“Not a problem.” She nodded, focusing on each of them one by one, before turning and heading to the kitchen.
“Probably shoulda ordered soda, it’d be cheaper, and the beer will taste like piss,” Mason ended on a mutter.
“Finally found a conscience?” Sean taunted. “I didn’t think you’d care about ripping people off.”
Mason leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head, and perused the room. “I did it for your benefit, not mine. I don’t give a shit.”
“Yeah, right.” Blake chuckled. “I think pretty boy has grown a heart.”
Mason snorted. “Not likely.”
The beer arrived minutes later, and as Mason anticipated, it tasted like cold piss on the back of Mitch’s throat. It wasn’t until the food turned up shortly after, that he could chug a few gulps and back it up with a bite of burger.
They ate in silence. Blake continued to smirk, and the bodyguards joined in. At least someone thought the whole set-up was hilarious. Ryan remained quiet, on the border of sulking. Nobody had the balls to ask if his downer stemmed from his problematic marriage. Then there was Sean, who was enjoying every second of Mason’s brooding.
Once the food was gone, Mitch took a photo of the empty plates with his phone and sent it to Alana. Dine and ditch challenge almost complete. The women would have to take the still image as proof.
As Mitch shoved his cell back into his jacket pocket, Blake nudged his shoulder. “I dare you to down the remaining beer.”
Mitch glanced at his glass and the three or so mouthfuls that remained. “No problem.”
“No.” Blake shook his head and pointed around the table. “I mean the remainder of all the beer.”
Mitch followed the path of Blake’s finger, noting six additional half-full glasses. His head was already at the mellow stage from the scotch he consumed in the hotel suite. Drinking everything on the table would leave him legless.
“No, thanks.”
“Come on, you weak prick,” Mason taunted. “This is meant to be your bachelor party. Stop being such a pussy.”
“Do it. Do it. Do it,” Sean started to chant.
“Fine,” Mitch snarled, raising his beer to eye the amber liquid with a wince. “Line them up,” he ordered, then pressed the glass to his lips. With a deep breath, he tipped the contents into his mouth and chugged before his body could convince him not to.
Gulp after gulp made his stomach revolt, but he continued, determined not to back down. At the very least, Mason should shut the fuck up for five minutes. When he was finished, he handed the empty glass to Sean on his right, while Blake passed him another from his left. They continued the production line for three more drinks until Mitch had to stop and clench his gut.
“Come on, you can do it,” Ryan cheered.
Mitch ignored the stares of nearby patrons and eyed the remaining glasses. Then he turned in search of the bathrooms, finding the male door a few yards away. Thankfully, it was within running distance if he needed to puke. With a deep swallow to clear the ass taste from his mouth, he reached out a hand and waited for Blake to place another glass into his palm. And one after the other, he continued to reluctantly drink.
When the final glass was empty, he slammed it down on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Christ, that shit is horrible.” He held in a burp, and his stomach roiled with the aftertaste.
“Yup.” Sean nodded. “And I can’t wait for it to kick in.”
Mitch covered his lips with a fist, holding in another burst of air that shot up his throat.
“Well, I’m going to take a leak. I’ll catch you guys outside,” Blake said, pushing from the table. “I’m not gonna be the last one standing in this challenge.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?” One of the bodyguards asked as Blake strode toward the bathrooms.
“Go.” He jerked his head in the direction of the doors and frowned when it took a while for his sight to catch up. “We’ll meet you at the end of the block.” He didn’t want them to risk their security licenses if they were caught, and so far nobody had recognized the band, so the threat of a fan stampede was low.
“We’ll be fine,” Mason reiterated.
The guards nodded and waited for Blake to return from the bathrooms before giving the room a final visual sweep and leaving.
“How are we doing this?” Sean asked, his focus on Mitch. “As soon as you stand up, you’re going to hit the floor, so you can’t go last.”
Mitch shook his head, about to say he’d be fine, then his brain started to swish. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, seven half-full glasses of beer mixed with scotch will do that to ya.”
“I’ll ask for the check,” Ryan said with a snigger. “While I’m waiting, you guys can take off and I’ll pretend to slip money into the folder before high-tailing it. The waitress is run off her feet at the moment. She’s not going to notice us doing a runner.”
The four of them eyed each other. Mitch could see the apprehension and guilt on his friends’ faces—even Mason—but Mitch’s sudden descent into drunkenness made it hard for him to care. “Yeah, sounds good.” Anything that involved fresh air and movement to flush the urine-flavored beer from his system would be a healthy choice.
He pushed from his seat, fumbled backward a step, and then righted himself. Holy shit. He’d never been a lightweight before. After Alana came into his life, he no longer had to numb his loneliness with alcohol. In fact, he hadn’t had more than a few drinks since Christmas—over two months ago.
“Whoa there, tiger.” Sean grabbed his shoulder, laughing under his breath. “I think this party might finally be getting started. I say we ditch the challenges and hit the strip clubs.”
Mitch shook his head, letting Sean lead him from the restaurant. “No titties until we finish the list.” Christ. He had no intention of staring at another woman tonight. Or any other night, for that matter. He just hoped he had the stomach to make it through the tasks before he passed out.
Mason came up beside him, walking close to his side. “You’re so whipped it makes me sick.”
Mitch halted. Now wasn’t the time to visualize someone blowing chunks.
“Come on,” Sean tugged at his arm. “Let’s get you outside.”
Mason moved in front of them, opening the door, and let Mitch shuffle into the cold night air.
“Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all.” Mason sniggered and nudged Mitch’s shoulder, causing him to stumble.
It took two steps for him to gain his footing, and then he was running straight ahead, barreling into Mason’s stomach to wipe the annoying smirk from his face. “You’re such a whiny little bitch lately. What’s up with you?”
“He lost his muse,” Sean said from behind them. “Poor baby is getting whipped by Leah and the label.”
Mason pushed Mitch’s chest, sending him hurtling into Sean.
“I don’t see you helping out with lyrics,” Mason snipped. “You nag and complain that you never get any attention, and it’s all because you’re good for nothing. You literally sit on your ass and hit shit all day.”
Sean helped Mitch to his feet and smiled with menace. “I’ll be hitting you pretty damn soon if you don’t quit the attitude.”
“Bring it.” Mason held up his hands, beckoning him forward.
“Ladies, ladies.” Ryan walked up beside them. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and already you’re fighting over me.” He closed the wallet in his palm and shoved it into his jacket pocket.
“What’s with the wallet?” Mitch slurred. “Did you do a runner or not?”
“I had to make it look legit. I played around with my bills for a while, smiled at the waitress, and left. No problems.”
“You’re looking smug f
or someone who broke the law,” Mason muttered.
Ryan raised his chin and gave a confident nod. “I completed my part for the challenge list. It’s up to you guys to do the rest. So yeah, I do feel pretty damn smug.”
Leah sat down on the reclined chair in the middle of the sterile back room of the tattoo and piercing studio, cool, calm, and totally collected. It was only fitting that she put her hand up for the hardest challenge on their list of tasks. The competition was her idea after all. And so far, the night had been a blast. All she had to do was pierce a part of her body. Easy.
The bottle of champagne she’d consumed back at the hotel had given her the tingling buzz of intoxication. It left her weightless, fancy free, and entirely open to try anything when the gorgeously tanned, muscled and orgasmicly tattooed body artist asked her what she wanted done.
“My pussy,” had been the first thing to come to mind when his penetrating green eyes met hers. She kept that to herself, though, pressing her lips together so she didn’t break into a fit of giggles.
Instead, she’d crossed her legs, clenched her thighs, and listened as he listed the many places able to be pierced. Problem was, she wouldn’t mind having his rough hands on every part of her neglected body. Her imagination already anticipated this guy’s hot breath grazing her neck, if he focused on her ears. Or the way her skin would shiver if he touched the area around her belly button.
Then his voice grew seductive as he discussed more intimate places. “How about your nipple? Or the hood of your clit? Or your labia.” His bad boy grin widened with every word.
How bout I strip and you can choose the place you like best?
“Excuse me?” he asked, raising a cocky brow.
Holy shit, had she said that out loud? “Umm, what place do you think would be best?”
His eyes glittered, and then his gaze raked her body, down the curve of her breasts, along her waist, to the apex of her thighs. “I always get a buzz from piercing a woman’s clit.”
Oh, Christ. Her insides melted into a gooey puddle between her legs. It wasn’t like her to get swoony over a bad boy. Typically, her lady bits went wild for the sweet guys, the ones who knew how to treat a woman with respect and admiration. The white picket fence and two point five kids stereotype.
She blinked back at him, her drunken side daring her to let him have her clit, while her professional, always in control frame of mind told her to wake the hell up. “Does it hurt?” she asked, biting the inside of her cheek.
He licked his lips, the action causing her to stare at his mouth and the wicked grin that continued to drive her crazy. “It shouldn’t, if done properly. There’ll be a pinch of pain, and some stinging or warmth until I get the jewelry in. Then things will settle down.”
Leah shuffled in the seat, unable to rationalize her thought processes. She wasn’t the clit-piercing kind of girl. Not anymore, anyway. Before Reckless and her career choice of Band Manager, she’d been a rock star groupie through and through. Backstage passes, following her favorite musicians on tour, getting in their pants whenever she could. It was a constant adrenaline rush.
Now, she was the level-headed business woman who kept a group of insane rock stars in check. Yet she couldn’t ignore the way her core clenched in excitement, or the hardness of her nipples beading against the thin lace of her bra.
“It isn’t suitable for everyone, though,” he added. “I’d need to check to see if you have enough tissue.”
Leah raised a brow. His statement felt like a taunt. Why the hell wouldn’t her clit be suitable? She had a pretty kitty, god damn it. “I’m sure mine is fine.”
“Oh, I bet it is, sweetheart,” he said with a chuckle, and swiveled on his stool to grab a set of disposable gloves from the counter. “If you pull up your dress, and lower your panties, I’ll take a look.”
She did as instructed, hitching the thigh-high hem over her hips. Lowering her underwear wasn’t as easy. She paused, her hands clutching the waistband of her black silk G-string while she closed her eyes.
This wasn’t her. Her wild-child days had passed long ago. In fact, the main focus of her life was to navigate the Reckless guys away from doing crazy, drunken crap like this.
Except Ryan.
She’d never had to growl at him. He was her support, the one she depended on to stay level-headed and mature, no matter what situation. Well, he used to be. Now, he didn’t speak to her at all.
She opened her eyes, and for a second she didn’t see the body artist staring back at her. Instead, she saw the innocent face of Reckless Beat’s rhythm guitarist, his light-green irises smiling back at her in friendship—a sight she hadn’t seen since their falling out in Australia.
At the time, she’d thought keeping the unfounded gossip about Ryan’s wife a secret was the best thing to do. She spent days thinking it over, trying to imagine the situation from their perspective, bringing herself to the point of nausea over the decision she had to make. All that concern and stress for Ryan to then turn around and hate her for the choice she made. He no longer looked at her the same way. He didn’t smile, didn’t try to make her happy when she had a rough day. The strong relationship she’d had with him had crumpled, and so had her heart.
All because she’d tried to do the right thing. Well, not anymore. To hell with ungrateful musicians and their over exacerbated superiority complexes. She was going to be the reckless one for once. She was going to do something wild and fun, and not stress about making suitable decisions.
She would show the world she could live a little…by getting her clit pierced.
Yeah, it seemed kind of crazy to her, too. Hopefully, in the morning, when the champagne had worn off, it would all make sense.
She raised her chin, grinned at the delicious man before her, and yanked her panties down her thighs. “She’s all yours, handsome.”
The guy smirked, concentrating on the trimmed patch of curls between her thighs. He raised a Q-tip in one hand. “I need to place this under your hood to check the depth.” He did as stated, using one latex covered hand to stretch the skin covering the sensitive bundle of nerves, while his other hand inserted the swab.
She jolted with the touch, breathing heavy and slow to fight her body’s need for more. His face was so close to her pussy, his hands all over her heated flesh, and, oh hell, the scent of her arousal already permeated the air.
“You doin’ OK?” he purred, his focus never leaving her clit.
“Uh…huh.” The words came out in sharp pants.
He chuckled, his warm breath brushing her like a caress. “You’re sensitive.”
“I’d like to think you’d be sensitive, too, if I had my hands all over your shaft.”
“If your hands were on my cock, sweetheart, I’d be a hell of a lot more than sensitive.”
She cleared her throat and swallowed deep, already anticipating the taste of dark seduction on her lips.
He glanced up at her, disappointment heavy in his eyes. “Unfortunately, company policy states I can’t have sex with a client.” He continued to stare, his gaze eating her up in the heated silence. “But, if I happen to make you come while I work my magic, then that’s a bonus, right?”
She grinned and diverted her gaze. He was so confident. Arrogant. Annoyingly so, just like the guys she worked with, yet she couldn’t deny his appeal, or the fact that she hadn’t had an orgasm at the hands of someone else in a very long time. “It would be a very nice bonus.”
He removed the Q-tip from the hood of her clit and blindly threw it toward the bin in the corner, missing his target. Then his thumb was on her tight bundle of nerves, moving back and forth with slow deliberation.
“Where you from?” he whispered, as two fingers slid between her pussy lips, spreading her open.
She shuddered, holding in a needy moan for penetration. “I…” His touch was teasing, light, yet confident and in control. Warmth grew inside her, the low of her abdomen beginning to ache in the nicest possible way. She
wanted him to move faster. Harder. To penetrate her with his skillful touch and make her scream his name…whatever the hell it was. “I…don’t know.”
What was the question?
He chuckled. “Damn, I wish I could fuck you.”
She peered down at him, wishing for the same thing. His gaze was on her slick folds, his teeth biting hard into his lower lip.
She whimpered. Boy, did she want that, too. Her imagination was already in overdrive, picturing what this Adonis had stashed away in his pants. “Are you sure we can’t?” she panted, wiggling her hips in desperate need.
He shook his head. “As much as I’d love to have this,” his fingers slid inside her pussy, stealing a gasp from her lips as her walls constricted around him, “I love my job more. I can’t risk losing it.”
Leah focused on the unfamiliar pleasure overtaking her body, and something inside her fractured. She wanted more. Needed it. She could no longer remain content with her all-work-and-no-play lifestyle. She wanted cock. Christ, her body burned for it.
Instead of pleading, she closed her eyes and fought the need to beg. His touch was enough. It would have to be. And in the coming days…weeks…OK, months, she would relive this moment and wonder why the hell she didn’t do it more often.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t make you come,” the man whispered. “Getting caught with my dick inside you is one thing. But having my fingers here,” he pulsed them in and out, her arousal making the glide of his glove covered digits effortless, “when I need to pierce your pretty little hood, is a lot easier to disguise if someone walks in.”
He stretched her, pushing another finger into her channel while his thumb continued to work her clit. “And besides, if I sunk my cock deep inside you, I’d ruin you for all other men.”
Leah moaned. His tone showed he was joking, but she didn’t doubt him for a minute. This man was made up of wet dreams and involuntary orgasms. He was a heartbreaker, the type to destroy a woman and make her happy about the devastation all at the same time.
