by Nora Flite
Peacock
Nora Flite
Allison Starwood
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
~About The Authors~
Copyright © 2016 by Nora Flite and Allison Starwood
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All rights reserved. PEACOCK is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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1
A black Kawasaki. A big-pawed Labrador puppy. And killer abs. Those were the three photos Peacock87 picked for himself on Perfect Click. Usually I would have been wary of a guy who doesn’t post a real photo.
“How can you know that he doesn’t have a dick coming out of his forehead?” is what my best friend Katie would have said, but Katie didn’t know the algorithm like I did. Our proprietary software said that Peacock87 and I were a 97% match, and I never would have rated that high with a penicorn.
I sat at the bar, resplendent in my dark skinny jeans and best fuck-me halter-top (green silk, no bra), sipping my Dark ‘n’ Stormy and waiting for my date to arrive. I was trying to look casual, but also hide my nerves. Not over the date. That was nothing for me. I’d gone on plenty of dates before. An obscene number of them, actually. But I’d never used my company’s software to bag a guy before. In fact, we were expressly forbidden to according to company policy. But my co-worker Riley had assured me that no one would know. And she was a programming genius with a lot riding on this date—$900, to be exact. I’d told Riley I could have a guy fall for me in a week. She swore I couldn’t. Sitting at the bar, I drank down a mouthful of dark rum and spicy ginger beer, squared my shoulders, and prepared to prove her wrong.
That’s when I heard the door behind me swing open. I tried to look smooth when I whipped my head back to see if it was him. But it was only a biker with a massive beer gut. No way that was my Peacock. From the look of his photos, he went for a different type of six pack entirely.
“See something you like?” The voice was liquid velvet and warm leather.
I spun on my barstool, almost tipping my drink. It was a guy at the end of the bar, one I hadn’t noticed before—it was dark in here for the middle of the day.
Even in the dim lighting, I could tell that this guy was cute. He had to be like six five, all muscle, dark, disheveled hair and smoldering eyes. The sleeves were rolled up on his button-down shirt and I could see tattoos snaking all the way around his forearms. Not exactly my usual type. I’d been hoping for a Ben Wyatt kind of guy. You know, sweet, nerdy, loves his mom. But I couldn’t deny that the sight of this stranger had my pulse racing.
“I’m waiting for a friend,” I said firmly.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, sliding off his barstool with an easy movement of his hips. Not that I was looking at his hips. “What’s his name?”
“Peacock87,” I said, biting my lip to keep the smile down as he stepped closer. He even smelled good, like orange peel and cinnamon. I kind of wanted to rub my face all over him, but I knew better. The guy was staring at me intently; it made me want to clarify. “It's a screen name. I don’t know his real one yet.”
“It’s Simon,” he said, and with that, the guy stuck out his hand. It took a moment for my brain to catch up. That’s how distracted I was by his gleaming dark eyes and the perfect dimple in the middle of his chin. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t even noticed the subtle green stripes on his black shirt. Peacock had said he’d be in green and black.
Simon was well-dressed, broad-shouldered, he looked like he’d walked right out of a fashion spread.
His attention rolled over me; judging. The way he shifted his body, he must have liked what he'd seen. “You must be Taz262,” he said thickly. Shit, his voice was way too low and hot, I was starting to squirm. And I am not a squirmer. This was getting out of my control too fast.
“Tazzy,” I said, clearing my throat. I let him slide his hand over mine. His handshake was firm, warm. I held on for just a minute too long. There was something compelling about his cockeyed smile, like he held a secret behind it.
“I thought that was just a screen name. What kind of name is that?”
A prickle rolled up my spine. He'd asked the question too bluntly for my taste. I was already rattled; I didn't need new loops to chase after. For one thing, I didn’t expect him to look like a male model. I'd been hoping for someone who would be easy to wrap around my little finger—I had a bet to win.
“It’s short for Tamsin,” I said, squaring my shoulders. I needed to be cool, controlled—and utterly lovable. “I couldn’t pronounce it when I was a kid. It stuck.”
“Well, it doesn't matter,” he said with a shrug. “Tazzy, Tammy, Tarzan... I'm just as likely to forget any of them.” He ran his eyes over me, my breath hitching at how obvious he was. “I usually remember what a girl looks like. Or how she sounds right as she's breaking down for me.”
Holy hell. I was sweating under my breasts—I prayed another cold drink would appear out of thin air in front of me. Simon was sex on two legs, definitely a player, and I did NOT date players.
Why had the site matched us? He was nothing like I was ready for, and I'd relied on being ready. I'd relied on the algorithm to make sure I ended up with someone I could predict.
I'd relied on winning this damn bet.
Just take a breath, and get this under control. Simon wanted to flirt? Fine. A little flirting with a hot jerk never hurt anyone. I reached out, putting my fingertips on his stomach. I could feel the rock hard abs beneath, the rhythm of his breath moving them up and down.
“Speaking of looks, how am I supposed to know if you even used your own pictures online? Those could have been anyone's six-pack.”
The corner of his mouth curled up in a smile, as if he’d only just remembered the photos he’d uploaded to Perfect Click. He began to lift his shirt from the waistband of his pants, giving me a tantalizing peek of his hips. But then he pulled the fabric straight again.
“I’m not going to take my shirt off for you,” he teased, his eyes locked on mine. They looked me up and down, undressing me.
A hot spark invaded between my thighs. He hadn't touched me and I was feeling the wicked pressure of arousal. No no no, I needed to focus. “Oh, come on,” I shot back. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
His eyebrows knotted together, but he didn’t give in. I could tell this guy was going to be a hard nut to crack. He reached down and grabbed my hand, gently moving my fingers away. But his firm grip lingered over my wrist.
“No,” he said, his voice smooth and velvety. “You haven’t earned it yet.” The word yet lingered on the air, tantalizing.
Licking my lips, I ran through my head for something to make this go my way. Simon was set on ruffling my feathers. And he was good at it. In business, they say a tric
k to take charge is to change the location. Shake things up with new scenery.
I said, “Okay. Then how about giving me a peek at that motorcycle?”
He definitely smiled at that, perfect and white and gleaming.
He’d parked his bike in the alley beside the bar. It was an H2 Ninja, and it looked like something out of a sci-fi novel, all black and silver with swooping edges. It was gorgeous. I swung my leg over and settled in.
“Make yourself at home,” he grumbled, but he was grinning just a little bit as I leaned forward and imagined hugging the curves of the road, Simon’s bike between my legs. His smile was almost feline at the sight of me. “You look good on that.”
His compliment caught me off guard. “Thanks,” I said, moving to dismount. Simon put his hand on my hip and helped me swing my leg over. I felt the heat of his touch, and my heart sped up. “I grew up watching my dad ride. I’ve been saving up for my own.” And once I had Simon head over heels for me and I bagged this bet, I’d be closer than ever to my own ride.
“Something pink?” he asked, his hand slipping away from my leg. I laughed.
“God, no. A Triumph. Classic and iconic.”
His eyes were so dark that it was hard to read them at first, but it almost seemed like he was measuring me up, trying to decide the best course of action. He could have said something snarky, and I was waiting for it.
He reached out, and with a sure hand, hooked his finger into my belt loop. “Iconic,” he mused, repeating me. “You sure are.” He gave me a firm tug, pulling my hips against his. His hard length ground on me through his jeans--jackpot. Motorcycle talk and my green halter haven’t failed me yet.
My heart was racing as I tipped my head back so I could see him better. Simon's chest flared; dark eyelashes, heavy-lidded eyes, half-closed. Part of my brain flashed with the joy of success. I was doing it, I was making it happen. This stranger was going to fall for me faster than I even expected.
Maybe it was cruel, but I didn't think so. It wasn't like we wouldn't have some fun... a lot of fun, probably, if his hard-on was any indication. And besides, Simon gave off manwhore vibes. He'd no doubt be relieved to hookup with me, get some time with something that wasn't serious, and then we'd both walk away.
I'd just be a little richer.
I was staring at his face, so I saw his lips part. I felt him tighten his hold on me. His breath was hot on my cheek, but that warmth kept spreading, heading right into my lower belly. It swam around my lungs until my breath came in short gasps.
He's going to kiss me, I thought, flicking my stare from his mouth to his dark eyes, then back again. I wanted him to do it... but now, want wasn't a strong enough word. How was he turning my knees into jelly? Why was I trembling so much?
“Fuck,” he growled, crashing onto me like a tsunami. And I was happy to drown.
He kissed the tender flesh of my throat. I felt the scratch of his five o’clock shadow, and his cock against me, rock hard and huge. A whimper escaped me.
“We should go somewhere private,” I whispered. “We can go back to my place.”
He growled his response, low and throaty just beside my ear. “I want you here,” he said. My eyes opened wide at that. This was an alleyway, in broad daylight. Someone could walk by at any moment! We could get arrested.
“Oh,” I began, ready to argue. But Simon didn’t let me linger on my fears. With his thick, muscular arms, he lifted me right off the ground. I had to wrap my legs around his waist just to steady myself. I could feel his hard cock grinding into me.
His eyes were clouded with desire. And I loved the way his body felt through my jeans: so solid it could bruise me if he held me too close. He spun me around and pushed my back up against the brick wall. He was kissing my throat again, letting his tongue dip into the sloping divot between my collarbones.
“Oh god,” I gasped. There was something about the movement of his mouth that was driving me crazy. I’m no pushover—this wasn’t like me, to be literally swept off my feet in some dirty alley. But suddenly, I didn’t care. My arms were pricked with goose bumps. My nipples were tightening against his chest.
His movements were wild, and a little rough, as he found my left breast with his broad hand, and reached out to pinch my nipple. My spine arched at that, pressing my belly into him and finding no relief. I could hardly breathe. Suffocating had never gotten me so wet before, but truly, I didn't need air—I needed him to give me release. To break me open and take away the maddening pressure of my own desire.
“Look at you,” he groaned. His expression hardened into a mask of fierce passion. “You're shaking with how much you need me to fuck you. I can smell how soaked you are. And I bet you taste amazing.”
I've never had a man talk to me like that. If I wasn't thrilling at his thick voice, I would have expected to hate it. This wasn't hate. It wasn't even close.
He was rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb over my nipple, harder and harder, faster and faster, until my skin was nothing but a series of exclamation points. His skin seemed broiling hot through his clothes. My patience crumbled; hands dipped low, trying to find the button of his jeans but struggling.
Simon leaned back, giving me enough access that I could flick the zipper down. The second I brushed it, he hissed—and I throbbed. I was one big giant throb. A bead of precum pooled at the tip, and I ran it up and down his shaft. Now he groaned, resting his head on my shoulder. “I want you inside of me,” I whimpered.
He took a step away, suddenly letting go of my body, leaving me cold and aching. His chest was moving up and down; his heart pounding against me. He looked feral, almost angry. I worried for a second that I’d done something wrong, that I’d already lost the bet—hell, that I’d lost him. My pussy was painfully empty, I was ready to strip down and touch myself if he didn't.
Somehow, he sensed my desperation. His hands, shaking with urgency, unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them down my hips, revealing my black lace thong. He breathed out until his lungs had nothing in them—like I was all he could possibly need. Then he spun me around again and bent me over his motorcycle.
Flushing with anticipation, I braced myself on the bike. My legs spread like I was a slut in heat, and I didn't care. Not even a little bit. My brain had lasered in on one thing—release. I had to come, I fucking needed to or I'd lose my mind.
But he didn’t fuck me, not yet, even though I could feel the hard pressure of his dick against my ass. The crinkle of a condom wrapper filled the air, the snap of rubber as he put it on. Then he rubbed his cock up and down the fabric of my thong while his hands caressed the toned flesh of my ass cheeks. He was surprisingly gentle as he moved my panties aside and worked his fingers over my swollen lips. Lazily he circled my clit, toying with it... with me. I was a wet, quivering puddle.
“You like it,” he growled, and from his hardness and his heat, I could tell that he liked it, too. “Tell me how much you want me.”
“So damn bad,” I hissed, and I wasn’t acting, and it had nothing to do with the bet. It had been so long since I’d had a decent lay.
“Not good enough,” he chuckled, tracing his fingers over my pink folds.
Light danced behind my eyes. “Fuck—tell me what you want me to say. I'll say it, just tell me and stop teasing me!” If the motorcycle weren’t beneath me, I think I would have collapsed to the ground. I added, in a desperate, pleading tone, “Please.”
“Say you need my cock.”
Blushing, I wagged my hips. “I need your cock. Simon, please, this...”
He groaned so low it was like a mountain coming apart. “I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he said, pressing his face into my hair, but I could almost hear laughter in his voice, like he couldn’t quite believe it either, what we’re doing here, under the bright light of day. And still, he tugged my panties down, and my jeans down lower. And then, with the flat of his strong hand, he gave my ass cheek a slap. I yelped in surprise, but my pussy was so wet and warm and open
for him that the jolt of pain only made it more delicious. I could feel the head of his cock drawing lower across my ass crack. He paused with it right against my lips.
“Tell me you want it again,” he panted. His hand was on my thigh, holding us both close together.
“I—”
Is all I managed before he pushed himself into me. He was so turned on that he couldn’t hold back, not for a second. He was huge and thick, stretching my walls and making me feel like a virgin all over again. I was worried that I couldn’t take him all in when he drew back and pounded into me again.
His cock stroked me deeper and deeper. And not only that, it felt like there were hands everywhere. His muscular arms enveloped me. His fingers grabbed my nipples and caressed my stomach and worked down low, skimming my smooth skin and moving between the folds until he found my swollen clit and started to rub it, hard.
“Simon!” I gasped, gripping his handlebars. He plowed into me, each pass long and slow. I couldn't fill my lungs, everything was shallow except for his thrusts.
“Your pussy is choking me,” he growled. “You love this, hm? Can't get enough of me. What a greedy pussy you have.”
It was true. My back was arching; my pleasure mounting. I was so close already.
He flipped me over without even bothering to pull his cock out of my body, and I was so wet that he didn’t need to. He drew back, his hand moving up my belly toward my tits. That’s when our eyes connected. His dark gaze was sultry, steamy. But there also seemed to be something deeper there, warmer, as our bodies locked together in pleasure. Whatever was there, he broke away from it, eyes closing tight.
“You feel so good,” is what he managed to say next, all hot-breathed and slippery, before he pulled out of me and tugged the condom off. His hands were just a little rough, just a little urgent as he pushed my shirt up to expose the white skin of my belly.
“Then what are you doing?” I panted. I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel him fill me up with his desire. But he wasn’t going to give me that satisfaction.
