Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2

by Olivia Thorne

  As Vic and I were walking down the cobblestone street away from the café, he said, “How come you never told me you liked to have sex in public?”

  My heart started to race – with anxiety or excited anticipation, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Because I don’t,” I lied.

  Admitting to something like that and opening yourself up to judgment? Not a situation I felt comfortable with.

  Plus, it had been a long, long time since I’d done it. It was a distant memory – a hot one, yes, but one I rarely thought about… unless I was alone and pleasuring myself.

  “You said you liked it at lunch!”

  “Well, I mean, it was okay… but I haven’t done it in years, so I obviously don’t like it that much.”

  Vic’s voice was jealous – almost accusatory. “You liked doing it with that guy.”

  “He liked it. I didn’t.”

  “You said it was hot.”

  “Well… it was, but it’s not something I… it was his thing, not mine…”

  Vic grabbed me by the arm and stopped me, spun me around towards him.

  “What the hell?!” I exclaimed.

  He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in. “Let’s do it. Right here, right now.”

  I pushed at his chest, tried to get away from him without making a scene. My heart was pounding, and I felt uncomfortably warm. “Are you crazy?!” I whispered, looking around us at the people walking past, paranoid that they all knew how turned-on I was.

  Vic scowled. “I don’t like the idea of some other guy doing stuff with you that I haven’t.”

  “There’s lots of things I’ve done with other guys I haven’t done with you.”

  Shouldn’t have said that.

  His expression got even darker. “Like what?”

  “Like – like see them wear something other than camo pants,” I snapped.

  He smirked. “Cute. But I know you want to.”

  My face flushed hot – as did other parts of my body. “No I don’t.”

  “I think you like the danger. I think you like to lose control.”

  Yes, YES –

  “NO.”

  He tugged at my hand. “Come on.”

  “Vic – ”

  He pulled me abruptly off the main street into a narrow, twisting, dead-end alleyway – something that looked like it was straight out of the 17th century. It was clean and tidy, but with no storefronts – although there were several doors, presumably to the backs of street-level shops. And there were plenty of curtained windows in the three stories of apartments that loomed above us.

  We walked forty feet down the alley until we were enough past a curve in the road that no one could see us – although I could still hear bustle and conversation from the street.

  My heart was racing, I felt lightheaded – and I was very, very turned on.

  The anticipation of what Vic had in store for me –

  The feeling that it was wrong, so very wrong to be doing this –

  A whole flood of memories and sensations came back. The summer of my senior year – the backseat of Mike’s 1970’s muscle car – trysts in parks after dark, half-naked on an old blanket – breaking into the high school at midnight and having sex in the gym –

  I remembered all the excitement, the danger of being caught, the sexual thrill of being bad.

  Dirty.

  Slutty.

  “No,” I moaned softly as Vic pressed me against the wall.

  “Yes,” he whispered in my ear, then kissed me.

  I tried to stop – I did – but I couldn’t.

  I gave in and kissed him back.

  I felt his hand slowly hike up my skirt… felt his fingers touch my panties. They were soaked, and now he knew how right he’d been.

  He started gently caressing me through the wet cloth, and I gasped.

  Suddenly I was years younger and being very, very bad. A very bad girl.

  And I loved it.

  As we continued to kiss, I reached down the front of his shorts and felt for his cock. I didn’t have to search much – it was already rock-hard beneath his clothes.

  I fumbled with the zipper and got it down, put my hand through his fly and touched it, the hot skin satiny beneath my fingers. My eyes were closed as we kissed, so the feeling of his cock in my hand was all the sense of it I had. Even without seeing it, I was amazed as always at how big it was, how much it filled up my grasp.

  I tried to wrestle it out of his pants, but it was too long.

  He took over, though he never stopped kissing me. He pulled back his hips, and after a couple of seconds, pried his cock out of his fly. Now it was uncaged, out in the open, and I stroked it feverishly up and down, clasping my fingers around it, playing with the head.

  He tugged my underwear down past my knees. That was the first time we broke off our kiss – so that I could step out of them. He grinned, balled up my panties in his hand, and shoved them in his pocket.

  As I kept on stroking his cock, I looked fearfully (and excitedly) all around me. I waited for one of the doors in the alleyway to open, for a face to appear at a window, for someone to walk around the curve from the bustling street. No one did. But the noise of footsteps, the murmur of conversation from the street, the sound of traffic – every second was a threat that someone would discover us.

  Vic pushed me back against the wall, and suddenly I was back with him in the present. He pried my legs apart, crouched down slightly, and took his cock in his hand. Looking into my eyes, he slowly guided the head between my thighs… pressed it between my lips… and gently eased the head inside me.

  I gasped, then grabbed his shoulders as I felt him slowly rock inside me, inch by inch. He stared at me intently; I looked at him with an expression of pain and bliss, my mouth wide open in a silent moan.

  Once he was halfway inside me, he hiked my skirt up over my bare ass, grabbed me with his powerful hands, and lifted me until my feet were off the ground. Then he pinned me against the wall and eased his cock the rest of the way in.

  I had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming as I came.

  It was a different type of orgasm: deep and hard and fast, as much electricity and adrenaline as pleasure, and something I hadn’t felt in years – not since that summer before senior year.

  I wrapped my legs around Vic and luxuriated in feeling him, thick and solid and huge, as he gently rocked in and out of my body. I kept biting his shoulder, my orgasmic cries becoming muffled whimpers. My eyes continually darted to and fro, looking in terrified excitement lest somebody walk around the corner and see us – or a woman’s face appear in a window, her expression full of shock and disapproval and desire as she watched me get fucked in an alleyway.

  No one came.

  Well, except for me and Vic, of course.

  I was climaxing for the third time when I felt him tense. He buried his face in my hair and crushed me in his arms so that I almost couldn’t breathe – and then I felt the spasm inside me, the lightning-quick swell of his cock inside my pussy, and the release of wet, hot liquid deep inside me. I screamed again into his shoulder. Then he relaxed and kissed me as I hung there, supported by his hands midair, with his rock-hard cock still inside me.

  Finally he set me down on my feet, pulled out, and tucked himself back in his pants. He had to position himself strategically so that his erection didn’t jut out like a salami – at least until he began to go back to being soft.

  I tugged down my skirt into place and felt the wet slide of my thighs against each other – a delicious reminder of the bad, bad thing I’d just done.

  Vic grinned and kissed me again, then looked me deeply in the eyes. “I’d like to do that again sometime.”

  “Oh HELL yes,” I said.

  He laughed, then took my hand and guided me out of the alleyway back onto the crowded streets of Prague.

  88

  As we were walking down the street, exhilaration gave way to paranoia. It was the same thing that
had happened after every time I had sex with Mike as a teenager: the good girl – the one who wanted to be in control at all times – began to worry about what the bad girl had done, and what bad things might happen as a result.

  I fretted with my hair, trying to fix it, sure that everyone was looking at me. Sure that everyone knew.

  Vic noticed my fidgeting. “What’s wrong?”

  “We just had sex in public,” I whispered.

  He laughed. “That’s not wrong, that’s great!”

  “We could have gotten caught!”

  “But we didn’t.”

  “Somebody could have found out – ”

  “But they didn’t.”

  “But – ”

  “Simmer down, worrywart, your secret is safe with me. As long as you keep doing it with me for a long, long time,” he murmured playfully in my ear.

  His words excited me – but they also sent a chill down my spine, because they recalled something from the café. Something I’d been trying to forget.

  89

  As we’d all been saying our goodbyes and the boys were talking amongst themselves, I had whispered to Katie, “Can you make sure your husband doesn’t mention this to anybody? I mean – uh, Vic and our – ”

  “Business relationship?” Katie grinned. “Relax, I’ll handle it. A word of advice?”

  “What?”

  “You should enjoy yourself.”

  I smiled slyly. “…I am.”

  “I never got a clear answer before – how long have you two been… uh, seeing each other?”

  “About three weeks now.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “WOW. That qualifies as a long-term relationship for Vic.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said, panicked.

  She misinterpreted my reaction, apparently thinking that I was concerned about Vic’s character. “No, no – he’s not like Mike whatsisname. I know Vic comes off as a player, but deep down, he’s a really good guy.”

  Yeah… unfortunately, I know that.

  And I’m starting to fall for that guy.

  I just wish I weren’t.

  90

  Why didn’t I want to fall for him?

  Well, for one – it was Vic we were talking about.

  He just wasn’t the kind of man I envisioned myself being with. I didn’t want a player, a partier, a back-slapping goofball – I wanted a hard-charging CEO, a doctor, a successful entrepreneur. Someone who commanded respect from serious people. Not some guy whose entire life, personal and professional, centered around getting drunk on a boat with a bunch of naked chicks.

  So there was that.

  But that didn’t stop me from having feelings about him. And those feelings were scary. It’s not fun when you realize you’re falling for somebody you never planned for – somebody you would have said was the exact opposite of what you wanted before you met them.

  See, I’d always been the girl with The Plan.

  The Plan was simple:

  Always be in control.

  Always control everything that was in your control.

  Make a plan and follow through, no matter what.

  If I had to guess where that came from, I’d say it was from losing my mom when I was 13, and then from my dad’s medical problems. Growing up, life felt crazy and out of control to me. It was scary.

  So I came up with a Plan.

  I could control my studying, so I got good grades and made it into NYU. I’d made the Dean’s List there almost every semester, and from there I got into Wharton. And then I got the job with Cortelian Capital.

  Guys had always been the same. I controlled what happened, because I was always in control of my emotions. Any guy I’d dated for any length of time had been part of The Plan. (Well, after Mike Polizzi, anyway.)

  Had my boyfriends worked out? No – after all, I wasn’t with any of them anymore. But at the time, they’d fit into my life perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle piece in its own little slot.

  Vic? He didn’t fit in with anything. Nothing that I thought I wanted, anyway.

  Well, except for the astoundingly great sex.

  Other than that, there were too many things about him I just didn’t want.

  But I still had all these damn feelings about him – feelings I couldn’t control. And the more worried I became about those feelings, the more I started pushing them away.

  And the more I started pushing him away, too.

  Not overtly. Not even consciously. Only in retrospect, after it was all over, did I see a pattern in what I was doing.

  A good example is at the café when I said “God no” when Katie asked if we were dating. Vic had actually sounded a little hurt when he said, GOD no? Really? – though he covered it up with humor.

  And that whole exchange about us being a bickering couple and getting married? That particular conversation had sent a cold shiver down my spine.

  Me get married to Vic?

  HELL to the no.

  But it had hurt to hear him say, Haha – well, we know THAT’S not happening!

  It was like I wanted the freedom to say ‘no’ – the freedom to say ‘this is just a fling and nothing more than that.’

  But I wanted him to want to be with me.

  I wanted him to take our – relationship, arrangement, whatever the hell this was – more seriously, even if I didn’t.

  And when he didn’t take it seriously – even though he was saying the same things as I was, like Getting married to each other?! God no! Hell no! We know THAT’S not happening – I think I started to hold it against him.

  I wanted to stick to The Plan, and there was nothing about Vic that fit into its rigid boundaries.

  I wanted to control the situation… and there was nothing about Vic that could ever be controlled.

  Except that 30-day bet. That was the only thing that could keep him in check – staying true to his word and never welching on a bet.

  But then the 30 days ran out.

  91

  We’d been back in San Francisco for a week when it happened. We were working on his yacht after a particularly steamy night of sex, going over financial reports and agreements from our meetings in Europe.

  Out of nowhere he asked, “Know what tomorrow is?”

  Of course I did. I’d been anticipating it with dread. Wouldn’t you, if the rampaging wild stallion you were in charge of handling – that your entire career depended on keeping under control – was suddenly getting let out of the corral without a saddle, bridle, or bit?

  “The end of the thirty days,” I said grimly.

  “That’s RIGHT!” he hooted as he clapped his hands together and rubbed them deviously.

  “We need to talk about that.”

  “What, how we’re gonna celebrate?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to be celebrating.”

  “Why not? We’re still on, right?” He put a happy face on it, but I could sense a little alarm underneath.

  “That depends,” I said.

  “On what?”

  I paused.

  It was a weird moment.

  I knew I shouldn’t lock myself in to seeing just Vic – but the sex was just too damn good to give up.

  On the other hand, I couldn’t see things getting serious between us in the long term.

  I should be free, right?

  Free to date other people.

  Free to see what else was out there.

  Free to get on with The Plan.

  But – and I’m not proud to say this – I didn’t want him seeing other women.

  It bothered me.

  Made me jealous to even think about it.

  I didn’t want to be hypocritical, though, so in the end, I decided to kick the can down the road for a while.

  We’ll keep going… just a little while longer.

  I convinced myself it was a safety issue. STDs and all that.

  “If we’re going to keep seeing each other, then it has to be monogamous,” I said. “I want us
to be safe.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” he said, waving it off blithely.

  Okay, that was unexpected.

  What came next, though, wasn’t.

  “But I need to go back to having parties,” he added.

  Jealousy flared up inside me.

  “No,” I said resolutely.

  “Yes.”

  “Vic – ”

  “Come on, this is part of my image.”

  “I don’t like you having a thousand naked bimbos around you.”

  He grinned and winked. “You’re the only bimbo for me, babe.”

  I raised my eyebrows in a WHAT did you just say? expression.

  He could see I was pissed. “Come onnnnn, that was funny,” he insisted.

  I switched to the Arctic Glare.

  “Look, it’s just you and me, okay?” he said, trying to sound reassuring (and failing). “I’m not sleeping with any of them.”

  “But they’re around.”

  “I told you, it’s part of my image. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

  “Well, I don’t like that part of you,” I snapped.

  “No, you’re just threatened by that part of me.” For the first time in the conversation, he wasn’t playing the happy funny guy anymore. He was irritated and he was letting me see it.

  “What, the gross womanizer?” I shot back.

  “No, the guy who has choices.”

  “So he can choose to do what, exactly?”

  Vic sighed. “Look… can we not do this? You heard Ramit – people expect this out of me. It’s like asking Michael Jordan not to play basketball, or Joe Montana not to play football.”

  “They both retired,” I said pointedly.

  “Okay, bad examples. But if I went with Tom Brady, we would’ve started talking about my balls, and that would’ve been weird…”

  By now I was staring daggers at him.

  “DEFLATEGATE! Come ON!” he cried, like a comic begging his audience to laugh.

  “I don’t like this,” I said coldly.

  “Well, once the bet’s over, I get to do what I want. So… like it or not, you’re gonna have to deal with it.”