PLAYED: A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE

by Wild, Nikki

  He was already slipping down the bed and beside my hips, whipping up the edge of my dress.

  “Wait, what are you–”

  “I knew it,” Lex grinned up at me.

  “Knew what, exactly?” Although, I knew just what he was talking about.

  “You’re so wet for me,” he smiled, tugging at the thin veneer under my dress and across my soaked pussy. I was still in my clothes from the other night, and that included the thong…

  And that very thong was now being tugged down my thighs and dropped to the floor.

  Before I could even pretend to protest, he was burrowing his face between my legs, lapping away at my slickened folds. It was my turn to thread my fingers through his thick hair, tugging him down into my sex and gasping at the touch of his tongue.

  “Oh, Lex… fuck…”

  His tongue began to tease my clit, flicking the engorged bead of my passion. My hips lifted in response, but he kept me pinned down to the bed, his great strength trapping me right where he wanted me.

  With a light sucking motion, he slipped it partially into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue and nuzzling his face against my folds. It was all I could do to keep myself from screaming with pleasure.

  Good fucking god, he’s good at this, I thought to myself. Holy shit, how did I ever think I could turn down more of THIS?

  I felt the tip of a finger part my wet chasm, and a second joined it shortly after. He pressed his digits inside, curling them to manipulate the small bundle of nerves inside. Meanwhile, his mouth released my clit, the tongue tracing the hood and teasing along the very edges, unwilling to drive me too far into total sensitivity.

  It was just the way that I loved it.

  Lex continued to play my sex like an instrument, his mouth deftly working my body with gusto. I realized how deeply into his scalp I was digging my fingertips, but I couldn’t fathom the thought of releasing even an ounce of pressure.

  At the same time, my thighs opened and closed unexpectedly; sometimes, they slackened as I enjoyed his expert touch… but other times, they squeezed tight, trapping his skull in a vice between my legs.

  His fingers, stained with my juices, finally plucked free from my chasm. Lex paused to lick them lightly before reaching up to caress my face, and I took his hand and dove them into my mouth. Cleaning the fluids off with my tongue, I murmured out another moan of satisfaction before releasing his hand.

  It returned down below, and he shouldered my thighs and clenched his fingertips down into the supple skin, holding them tightly around his head as he absolutely went for it.

  As Lex married his mouth to my lower lips, his tongue darted along my clit in unpredictable but jaw-dropping patterns, forcing my body to react with a twitching spine and writhing hips. As he held me close, I kept him there, pressing down harder on his head as my hips rose to meet his pressure.

  “Oh god, just like that,” I murmured. “Don’t stop. Just keep doing that… oh god… oh Lex… oh fuck me, I’m… I’m…”

  My syllables descended into incoherent babbling, followed by sharp, loud moaning, and then a stifled scream. I felt pleasure whiplash down my spine as the forceful string of orgasms came, rocking my body and leaving me in complete, blinding bliss.

  I’d experienced complete sexual fulfillment before. Less often that I’d liked with my partners, but a lucky few choices had brought me to that edge and pushed me all the way.

  But when Lex did it…

  This was completely different.

  I felt a total alignment of ecstasy across my body. Every nerve ending burst into paradise as my body quivered with relentless, bursting satisfaction… I had been driven up to the highest precipice of pleasure, and then sent careening wildly down into a pit of wanton, carnal bliss.

  It was only after the succession of multiple climaxes finally ended that I realized how hard my thighs had clamped around his head. As I released my vice grip on his head, feeling my entire body trembling with ache, I collapsed down into the bed and let my breasts heave with complete orgasmic release.

  “How,” I murmured. “How was that even better than last time?”

  Lex pulled up beside me in bed, supporting his head with a planted elbow in the pillows. “The last time was just a little fun together, but now we trust and respect one another.”

  “Do we?” I asked, not meaning to antagonize, but merely requesting clarification.

  “I certainly like to think so, love,” he chuckled in that smooth British accent.

  My eyes fell upon his skull, and I remembered the blow he’d taken to it… and the resultant gash. “Oh god. Lex! I’m so sorry! I completely forgot about–”

  “It’s perfectly okay,” he smiled handsomely. “I’d have indicated something if you’d been hurting me. They gave me some mild painkillers for it, and I didn’t notice any pain–”

  He stopped, groaning for a moment before sinking into the pillows.

  “Oh, dammit, I should have known better than to fuck you straight out of the hospital,” I bitterly told myself, leaning up to check out his wound. “At least it’s not bleeding…”

  “I’ll be fine,” Lex mumbled. “I just need to take it a little easy for a moment. Believe me, I’m not feeling any pain…”

  “Is that so?” I asked quietly, tracing his muscles with my fingertips again.

  “Yeah, I believe so. That adrenaline, those chemicals in my head… gotta love those endorphins. They make for great therapy.”

  “Well, if that’s so,” I smiled, clutching onto his thick cock. To my amazement, he was still mostly hard, with just the slightest limpness to it. I knew how to clear that up, though.

  I began to stroke his cock again, feeling it gradually stir back to full power within my hand.

  “What, again? You’re going to spoil me,” Lex chuckled, starting to lean up.

  “No, no,” I insisted, pressing him back down with my free palm against his pectoral. “You just lay back and let me do all the work, okay? Let me take care of you… the best way I know how to right this moment.”

  Lex smiled softly.

  “I guess I can’t argue with that…”

  As his cock thrummed with power, I slowly lifted an ankle, shifting myself into a straddle over him. But it was more convenient with the angle to face away from him, and I thought he might appreciate the view of my ass, bouncing up and down his massive cock…

  Slowly lowering my wet, fulfilled lips down around his crimson head, I gasped at how it stretched me. As I held his cock upright with one graceful hand, I gradually sank my hips down his wet erection, inching my way down until I was finally hilting him again.

  “Gotta say, I quite enjoy this view…”

  “Knew ya would,” I smiled over my shoulder, biting my bottom lip. “Now, like I said, just relax and let me take care of you…”

  Slipping one hand into my hair to hold it up and tug against a handful of follicles, I slipped the other against one of his thighs for support. While my hips began to rock against his, I felt his hands slide around them, the fingers clenching in as he started meeting my motions with the sturdy, powerful swaying of his pelvis…

  Chapter 8

  Lex

  The convenience of being on vacation in the States and sleeping with a self-employed painter was that we got to see a whole lot of each other as the weeks dragged on by.

  My scrapes from the alleyway incident cleared up rather quickly, and I was back to my usual, robust self. This presented me with certain responsibilities that it became time to resume.

  Although hours of practically daily sex made for excellent exercise, I made sure to return to my proper training regiment. A nearby gym accepted me for a month’s contract, and I began making good use of the weights, the track, and the indoor swimming pool.

  Meanwhile, I didn’t see a lot of Jess. We kept in touch via text messaging, checking in with each other every day. She grew highly attached to the landmark New Orleans streetcars, eagerly riding down the Garde
n District through St. Charles Street, or hopping onto the other lines and experiencing the downtown views.

  I, on the other hand, grew highly attached to my company here in New Orleans. When I expressed an interest in seeing some of the historical spots as well, Riley took it upon herself to arrange some tours.

  We spent about half a week inseparable from one another; she took me to see the National World War II Museum, the Audubon Aquarium and Zoo of the Americas, the St. Louis Cathedral and Cemetery, the Jean Lafitte National Park (where we enjoyed boat tours and wetlands trips), the cultural Frenchman Street and Jackson Square, and much more.

  At least now I had something meaningful to chat with Jess about, other than Yeah, fucking my American girl is still fun as hell.

  We took a taxi across the Lake Pontchartrain Bridge towards Covington – the largest bridge over water in the world. The city on the other side was sprawling and sparse, and I soon directed us back across to see the magnificently large lake again. It was easy to imagine that I was actually crossing an ocean, as the distant shorelines receded out of sight.

  At my behest, Riley took me to see some of the museums in town as well. Although she was far more hesitant about that particular prospect, I insisted on it – and on her promising that we would visit galleries that held her art.

  “Are you sure?” She asked tentatively as we stood outside a nondescript building, wedged tightly between the others. A modest sign jutted from the bricks – Valliere Museum of Art.

  “Positive,” I smiled radiantly.

  “Well… okay,” she conceded, taking a deep breath. “Come on in, then.”

  I followed her up the steps and stepped through the doors. As soon as we were inside, the atmosphere instantly changed – the museum was contemporary, playing soft, upbeat chillstep as the otherwise dim rooms flowed with splashes of blue lighting.

  “This is beautiful,” I commented warmly. “Are all American museums like this?”

  “Like what?” She asked thoughtfully.

  “So unassuming on the outside, but so magnificently full of life and culture on the inside,” I remarked in response. “I can’t say I remember the last time I’ve been in a museum, but I understand most of the ones back home to be rather… stuffy. Stuffy and drab.”

  “That would make sense,” Riley replied. “England is much older, naturally. I imagine that the vast majority of the museums there have been historic, cultural staples for many, many decades… perhaps centuries, a lot of them. Things that old tend to be fairly resilient to change.”

  “I would expect an institute such as a museum to adapt to the times, perhaps,” I retorted as we took in a room full of vases and ancient tools.

  “You might think that, but there’s a certain prestige and elegance to the traditional method of representing things,” she told me. “Sometimes, the old ways are better.”

  After thirty minutes of strolling from exhibit to exhibit, we finally came across a small room, filled with at least a dozen paintings. The styles clashed a bit, including artwork reflective more of older art styles, paired with contemporary landscapes, and several portraits of animals in various painting modes.

  “Well, here we are,” Riley chuckled nervously.

  “These are yours?” I asked, stepping forward to admire the work.

  “They are.”

  I glanced around the room, taking in the various pieces. Although there were a couple that seemed like rather… interesting choices, the vast majority of the paintings were crafted with such talent and care that it took my breath away.

  “These are fantastic, Riley,” I whispered to her, trying to keep from gushing.

  Of course, she had told me herself that she was a talented painter with artwork featured in various museums around the country, but a part of me reserved interest for actually seeing this with my own eyes.

  My gaze fell upon a small sign near the doorway, featuring her headshot and a short biography.

  It was unmistakably her.

  Riley Ricketts.

  “You… don’t need to read that,” she quickly tugged me away, her arm looped through mine. “Anyway, you’ve seen my art now. Satisfied?”

  “The other museums, do they carry different paintings than these?”

  “I sell them my originals,” she responded. “Some of them have taken it upon themselves to license reproductions, but yes, virtually all of the museums here in town that carry me have different selections of my work.”

  “Can I see more?” I asked.

  “You… really want to?” She seemed surprised, and I couldn’t imagine why.

  “Of course I do, Riley,” I told her. “This part of your life is one you haven’t shared with me yet, and I want to see more of it… but only if you’re comfortable with the prospect.”

  An approaching young man interrupted us. He was dressed immaculately with his hair tucked behind his ears, a pair of thick glasses over his eyes, and feminine charm in everything from his strut to his facial features.

  “Oh, dear me, it’s really you, isn’t it?”

  Riley stiffened up slightly, but put a mildly charmed smile on her face. “I assume so, yes.”

  “Oh, Miss Ricketts, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you,” he emphatically told us. “I’m a huge fan of your work. I don’t want to bother you for too long… but could you take a selfie with me?”

  She blinked a few times, then laughed.

  “You… want to take a picture.”

  “Of course! If that’s not too much trouble, that is. My friends and I, we’ve followed your skill for some time. My older brother bought one of your paintings a decade ago, long before all this!”

  He nervously chuckled, throwing his arms up to indicate the room. “Not that, I mean, you completely deserve the recognition, I wasn’t saying–”

  “Your brother,” Riley commented, putting his star-struck stammer to a stop. “Who is he?”

  “Jackson Wilcox,” he replied with a wide smile. “I think he said you two went to school together a long time ago–”

  “Jax? I remember Jax!”

  Riley beamed with pleasure. “I think I remember you, too. I recall a younger Wilcox, the one time I was over at his house.. a little rambunctious thing in a Cookie Monster onesie, watching cartoons the entire time. Was that you?”

  “Guilty as charged. I used to love that thing.”

  Riley chuckled, moving into position next to him. “Alright, then. One selfie. Let’s do it.”

  He smiled like a goofball, then whipped out his phone and flicked to the camera app. Holding it outstretched in front of them on portrait mode, he threw up a thumbs up with his free hand as she slipped her arm around him and summoned up a smile.

  I was used to this treatment, but I hadn’t realized that she was this popular here. Sure, it wasn’t quite the levels of a World Cup football star… but there was an incredible validation in a stranger off the street, recognizing your skills, and wanting to freeze forever in time the moment that they bumped into you.

  My willingness to pose with fans had really worked in my favour, although I’d always been fine with it. It was less an ego thing, and much more a flattery thing.

  Well… maybe it was an ego thing anyway.

  After it was done, they examined the picture together. “Not too bad,” she observed. “Anyway, I’m about to get going, but it’s nice to bump into you after all this time. Tell Jax I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see him… and that I’m still the better arm wrestler.”

  “Will do!” He grinned, before looking from her to me, and then back to her again. “Listen, Riley… if you’re not doing anything tonight…”

  “I’m busy,” she robotically answered, “but flattered.”

  “Right,” he quickly chuckled through the rejection, suddenly aware that I wasn’t alone. “Right… well… it was great to see you again. You take care now, alright?”

  “Will do,” she nodded. “You too.”

  We took our leave of
the museum. “That’s the chirpiest I think I’ve seen you yet,” I commented to her.

  “Yeah, that was exhausting,” she confided. “It’s rare that I bump into a fan, but it usually drains me to keep up the cheeriness for more than a couple of seconds.”

  “Is that so?” I asked.

  “Definitely. I don’t have the energy for that. It’s a part of the reason why I keep to myself… the longer I’m on the streets, the more that people recognize me.”