Compliance
Page 9
Lancaster growled his approval, scrapping his thumb over the puckered tip as he did so. His lips feasted on hers, growing hungrier with each nip and swipe of his tongue.
She met his ferocity. Fucked if she was going to deny herself this one moment.
With a low groan, she raked her nails up into his hair, caught his tongue with her lips and sucked.
He responded in kind, massaging her breast with increasing pressure, pinching her nipple, grinding his erection to her belly.
Casey’s head swum. Another shudder rocked her. Her clit tingled with heat, desire swelling the sensitive nub of flesh. She pressed her thighs together, the ache and need building in her sex almost painful.
Holy moley, had she ever been so turned on by a—
Something hard slammed into her.
She stumbled sideways, out of Lancaster’s grip.
“Shit,” a male voice slurred. “Sorry, doll.”
Fighting against the fog of her pleasure-stupefied brain, Casey blinked up at the bulky man standing beside her. He was familiar, but she didn’t know why.
“Oh,” he said, turning to sneer at Lancaster. “It’s the pommy bastard. Why don’t you fuck off to the mother country and leave our women alone, eh?”
“Are you always this belligerent?” Lancaster asked, sliding a hand up Casey’s back as he drew closer to her. She couldn’t help but feel like he was protecting her from the inebriated mountain of man. It was unexpected. And nice, even if she didn’t normally like the notion of being a damsel in distress. “Or are you still pouting about the thrashing we poms gave you convicts in the Rugby World Cup?”
Murderous rage etched the man’s face. “I’ll give you a fucking thrashing,” he slurred, reaching for Lancaster with a wild hand, the other raised in a fist beside his jaw.
Lancaster moved. Fast. With fluid grace, he maneuvered Casey behind him and slammed his head into the lunging man’s forehead.
Bam.
The guy staggered backward. Gaped at Lancaster with stunned shock, swung his gape to Casey and then, as if in slow motion, crumpled to the floor, eyes shut.
Deafening cheers erupted around them. People surged forward, slapping Lancaster on the back. Casey couldn’t stop herself flinching. Jostled from all sides by the jubilant partygoers, she stared at the unconscious man at her feet, her heart pounding fast in her throat.
Wow.
“Well done,” someone shouted over her head, no doubt at Lancaster. “The guy’s been a tosser all night.”
“And he can’t coach for shit,” someone else contributed.
“’Bout time,” another voice joined in. “Wish I’d had the balls to do it myself.”
More people pressed at them, all eager to shake Lancaster’s hand or pound him on the back. When an elbow collided with Casey’s temple, she knew it was time to get out of there.
Ducking under the arms, she shoved herself through the crush of hot bodies. It would have been easier without the ankle-breaking stilettos she’d borrowed for the evening, of course. Christ, how did women wear these all the time?
Finally free of the madness, she allowed herself a glance back at the boisterous crowd—mostly men—engulfing Lancaster in congratulatory cheers. He stood in the middle, bemused merriment on his handsome face, a bright red spot glowing in the middle of his forehead.
Casey’s pussy fluttered. He was so gorgeous and sexy and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him. The night couldn’t get any better…or surreal. Which told her it really was time to go.
Heart fast, she turned from her British knight and hurried away.
Somewhere in amongst all this expensive debauchery was her cousin. The one who’d dragged her to the party. She’d find Sharon and they’d head home. As a breakfast-show DJ, Sharon had an early start the next morning and the drive back to Newcastle was a long one. Fingers crossed, her cousin remembered she’d agreed to be the designated driver for the night. Casey wasn’t drunk, but she’d had at least three cocktails. Too many to consider driving.
Not drunk on alcohol, Casey. But seriously drunk on Lancaster’s kisses.
She rolled her eyes at her own corniness. Still, she’d never forget this night, that was for certain. Or Lancaster’s touch. Damn, there was a lifetime of serious fantasies and vibrator fodder right here. In fact, as soon as she got home, she’d pull her rabbit from the top drawer and revisit the wickedly wanton lust the British knight had awoken in her.
It took fifteen minutes to find Sharon. And another thirty seconds to realize her cousin wasn’t driving anywhere.
Standing at the door of what looked like some kind of sexual torture chamber, complete with cameras mounted to the walls—just who’s house was this?—Casey watched her half-naked cousin lick her way up the incredibly sculpted six-pack of the country’s newest soap-opera heartthrob before lifting her face to the country’s newest pop sensation, who began pouring Moët straight from the bottle into her open mouth.
Casey cleared her throat. “Err, Shaz?”
Without pausing in the rather unorthodox consumption of champagne, Sharon wriggled a finger that clearly said not now at her. And then she wriggled her hips on top of the soap-opera heartthrob stretched out on the shag rug beneath her.
Casey licked her lips. The erotic sight was stirring up the lingering pleasure of Lancaster’s hand on her boob. “Shaz, it’s almost eleven and you’ve got to start work at four a.m., remember?”
Her cousin rolled her hips against Actor Heartthrob and smiled up at Pop-star Heartthrob. “I’ll call in sick. They can play a best-of compilation. Besides, no one listens to the radio early Sunday mornings.”
Both men chuckled. The pop star threaded his fingers into Sharon’s hair and directed her face to his stomach. “Want to join us?” he asked Casey, gazing at her with lidded eyes.
“Oh, good idea,” Sharon purred against his six-pack. “Strip off, Casey and come sit on Bobby’s face. He’ll make you come with his—”
Casey spun on her heel and hurried away, her cheeks on fire. Okay, she’d been wrong when she’d thought the night couldn’t get any more surreal. Now what did she do?
Chewing on her bottom lip, she studied the goings on around her. Things were getting wilder. People were making out all over the place. Couples were dirty dancing, there were threesomes and, good Lord, foursomes taking place on almost every sofa. Lines of white powder were disappearing up peoples’ noses. Alcohol was being licked from naked bellies and breasts. She swallowed. Obviously this was how rich people partied.
What did she do?
A moan from the room behind her, followed by a man’s grunt and another moan, told her exactly what Sharon was doing. And it wasn’t excusing herself so she could drive Casey back home. Argh!
Catch a taxi to Central Station and then grab a train home.
Casey’s stomach clenched. Not exactly the best plan, but the only one available to her at the moment, it seemed. If it weren’t for the fact she’d removed a cyst from Mrs. Osborn’s poodle that morning, she’d book into a hotel room. But she’d promised the sweet elderly lady she could come in at six to see how her beloved dog was going, and Casey wouldn’t let her client down.
Which meant taxi and then train.
“Yay,” she muttered, turning away from the particularly open display of sexual gratification taking place against the wall before her. “Travelling on a train all alone in the middle of a Saturday night. This will be fun.”
“I tell you what else is fun,” a deep voice with a smooth British accent murmured on her right. “Head butting a rugby coach.”
Casey’s throat slammed shut. Her pussy fluttered. Her heart quickened. Turning her head, she gazed into dark eyes she could only describe as mischievous.
Sir Addison Lancaster smiled at her, his lips twitching, his face so close to hers she could feel the warmth of his breath tickling her lips.
Her lips instantly remembered how incredible his lips felt against them and promptly told her body in no unc
ertain terms how much they’d like to feel them there again.
Now.
Pronto.
What was the delay?
Lancaster drew closer. “But nowhere near as fun as kissing you,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I do it again?”
Note from Lexxie
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About Lexxie
Award-winning romance author Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six, and hasn't stopped since. She's not a deviant, but she does have a deviant's imagination, and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get erotic romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear, or tremble with desire…sometimes all at once.
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eBooks by Lexxie Couper
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