Spite Club

by Julie Kriss

  “Where are we going?” she panted against my lip.

  “Shower,” I said.

  We didn’t even stumble. In a second we were in the bathroom as her dress dropped to the floor and she hooked her thumbs into the waist of my boxer briefs. Still kissing her, I banged open the shower door, leaned in, and turned on the water.

  “Why are we showering?” she asked.

  “Because you stink, redhead,” I said. She smelled like Cintano’s, like sugary alcohol and hair product and other men. I wanted all of that off of her. I wanted just her.

  “God, you’re a jerk,” she said, and then she yelped in surprise, because I pushed her back into the shower, under the warm spray. She was still in her bra and panties—lacy and black, because she’d been planning to get laid, which made me lose control again—and I still had my boxer briefs. We got soaked, both of us, the cloth sticking to our skin.

  She sputtered, pushing her wet hair back from her face, but before she could protest I pulled one cup of her lacy bra down, exposing her nipple. Water beaded on her skin, and I bent down and sucked it off.

  I heard her intake of breath, and I pulled the other cup down and sucked the other nipple, which was as wet and juicy as the first one.

  “Do that some more,” she said, reaching behind her back and unhooking the bra. Her voice was throaty and turned on, but I still had work to do. I wanted her to lose it the way I was losing it.

  I tossed the bra to the shower floor and moved my mouth up her collarbone, the warm skin of her neck, as I cupped her tits in my hands. Fuck, they were just like I’d imagined. A perfect fit, spilling past the edges of my palms, their weight settling in my grip. I ran my thumbs over her nipples, pinching them gently.

  She made a satisfying aah sound, and her hands skimmed over the wet skin of my back, sliding down to the waist of my boxer briefs again. She reached down and squeezed my ass where the soaked fabric clung to it, then she peeled the briefs off me. I let go of her tits and helped, stepping out of them where they joined her bra on the shower floor.

  Her eyes got hazy as she took me in. That was good. I spent a lot of time at the boxing gym, and right now every second was paying off. I’d double my workouts if it made her keep looking at me like that.

  I stepped forward and tilted her face to mine, kissing her, tangling with her some more under the hot water. Her hand traveled down and wrapped around my cock, squeezing it, exploring it between us. Her other arm wrapped around my neck so I held her upright.

  She leaned in and licked my earlobe as she rubbed me. “Is this King Cock?” she said in a sexy voice in my ear.

  I put my hand over hers and stroked, using her hand, sliding us both up to the tip and down again. “Don’t say you’re not impressed,” I said.

  “I’m supposed to be impressed?—Oh,” she said as I pushed her back against the wall. I kept using her hand to stroke me, and then I used it to press my cock between her legs, where her soaked black lace panties still clung to her skin. Together, we rubbed the head of my cock against her, back and forth, just a scrap of fabric preventing me from shoving into her.

  She was breathing hard, stroking me obediently, rubbing her pussy against me as I dragged my cock over the soaked fabric. I found her clit and pressed it with my thumb through the panties, and her hips moved against me, pressing me into her harder. She was getting lost now, her self-consciousness nowhere to be seen as she ground against me, her legs parted, her hand on my cock. She was nothing but a fire of need for me, which was good, because I was already there.

  “God, Nick,” she said as the water ran down her perfect tits and into her belly button. She pumped against me. “I’m going to—”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You are.” I dropped my hand from hers and stood back. While she stared at me in surprise, I leaned over and shut the water off. I took her hand and pulled her out of the shower.

  She followed. She was in the zone, so turned on she would have done anything I told her to. She’d finally let go of everything. I wanted her to see that. I wanted her to see herself.

  So I moved her up against the bathroom counter, facing the mirror. Through the steam from the shower she looked soft, almost unbearably sexy—her hair wet and tousled, strands sticking to her cheek and her neck, her lips parted, her eyes heavy-lidded, her nipples hard. I put her hands flat against the counter and moved behind her, stroking her back, down her spine, her hips. Then I pulled the wet remains of the black lace panties slowly down her legs, letting my fingers drag with them, along her thigh, the back of her knee. I crouched and pulled them all the way down, stroking my palm over her calf, letting the fabric drop to the floor. I took a second to admire the view from this vantage point—specifically, Evie’s hot, rounded ass—and then I stood again.

  I grabbed a condom from my vanity drawer and put a hand on her hip, locking gazes with her in the mirror.

  “Watch,” I said.

  Sixteen

  Evie

  Watch. As if I could look away. As if I could look anywhere else but at his gorgeous body, the tattoo on his shoulder, the whorls of hair on his chest and arrowing down his stomach. The way his forearm flexed when he put his hand on my hip. The bracelets on his wrist. The steam on the mirror made everything seem dreamlike, as if we were doing this in some alternate world. Right now, that world was the only place I wanted to be.

  I had never had sex like this. I had never done anything like this. Sex in the bad old days was something I did for approval, which gave it a nasty, nauseating edge. Sex since then was always in a bed, usually in missionary, after a minimum of three dates. Because that was how you were supposed to do it. You weren’t supposed to be soaking wet, bent over a bathroom counter, rising up on your toes while a very hot, very bad boy spread your legs apart. You weren’t supposed to be bracing yourself on your hands, moaning as he slid his fingers in and out of you. You weren’t supposed to give a cry of pleasure when he rolled on a condom and pushed his cock into you, pinning you to the counter.

  But I did. I gripped the counter as he thrust inside me, then again, then again. It felt so good I was almost lightheaded. I wanted nothing more than for Nick to fuck me, however he wanted, as long as he wanted. I was about to get my wish.

  He paused and, still inside me, he leaned forward, running his hands up my sides and cupping my breasts where they hung down above the countertop. “Look at yourself,” he said.

  I did. I looked like someone else, someone I didn’t recognize. This woman’s hair was dark and wet, her lips were parted, her head was thrown back. She had a man’s hands cupping her tits as he fucked her, and she was loving it. She was pure sex, a goddess.

  “More,” I said.

  He cupped my tits harder and thrust into me again, and I cried out. The tops of my thighs were digging into the edge of the counter, and I didn’t care. It felt good. I arched my back to take him deeper, and he groaned softly as he felt me move. Then he braced a hand on my hip and fucked me harder while I nearly dissolved in the steamy air.

  “Touch yourself, redhead,” he said in my ear while he rocked my life and my whole fucking world. “Make yourself come.”

  I moved a shaky hand from the counter and slid it down in front of me, between my body and the counter. He paused, watching as I brushed my fingertips over my wet curls, then deeper, finding my clit. It throbbed under my touch and I groaned.

  “Fuck,” Nick said, his voice throaty with sex as he watched me. I stroked myself, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as the sensation built. It was exquisite, stroking my clit while his big, blunt cock was inside me. It made the sensation deeper, with a darker edge. I rolled my hips back against him, willing him to move.

  He moved out and in again, slower this time, less harsh. It built into the sensation I was already giving myself. He came all the way out of my body and pushed slowly in again, making me feel everything, the way my pussy parted for him, the way I accommodated him. When he had settled inside me he backed out again, m
aking me make a sound in my throat of turned-on frustration. He bent and kissed my neck, his stubble scraping my skin and making me shiver as he positioned the head against me again.

  “I could do this all fucking night,” he growled.

  No. I couldn’t take that. I didn’t think I could take even a few more minutes without coming or crying or falling apart. He pushed inside me again, slow, watching me stroke myself. “You ready for more, Evie?” he said.

  “There isn’t more,” I managed. I was close. So close. “There can’t be.”

  But he slid his hand over my nipple, then down behind me as he stroked the cheek of my ass. “You know what I see right now?” he said, stroking me, stroking in and out of me in front of the steamy mirror. “I see a woman who likes to fuck. Who can’t get enough of it. Who was born for it. Who wants to be fucked until she can’t stand up anymore.” His hand moved over my ass, his thumb moving between my cheeks. The feeling was strange and made my toes curl.

  “Nick,” I panted.

  “You’ll come,” he said. “I promise.”

  My clit was throbbing hard beneath my fingertips, and his cock moved in and out of me, and he slid his thumb inside my ass. And I didn’t care. It was filthy and unthinkable and completely shocking, and it didn’t matter. I rocked back against him, taking it, taking every kind of pleasure I wanted, in every kind of way.

  And I came. It was an orgasm unlike anything I’d felt before. It shook me and turned the world white and made me scream. And instead of running from it I chased it, chased every last second of it while my body convulsed and Nick kept moving, faster now and harder, chasing his own pleasure. I gripped the counter against the assault of his big, strong body, and for a minute I was a vessel, taking it and waiting for him to come, and it was glorious.

  Fucking glorious.

  He came, his fingers leaving bruises on the skin of my hips. I felt every part of it. And I loved it.

  That was how Nick Mason ruined me for other men.

  Seventeen

  Nick

  We dozed for a while, catching our breath on the bed in the dark. Then I heard the polite scratching that meant Scout needed attention. It figured, after a scene like that, my fucking dog needed to go out.

  Reluctantly, I got up. Evie had pulled the sheet over her and didn’t move; maybe she was asleep. I quietly put on underwear, a pair of jeans, a zip-up sweatshirt, and nothing else. I grabbed Scout’s leash and took her down the elevator and outside.

  It was late—one o’clock, maybe. There was no one around except for a couple of drunk guys walking past and a few taxis on the road. I stood while Scout did her thing and stared at nothing. I felt numb and oversensitized at the same time, my skin tingling. My brain kept looping backward, seeing Evie in that mirror, then shorting completely the fuck out.

  It was like a hangover—a sex hangover. I’d never felt like this before. Sex was just something I did, like eating a hamburger or taking a cool shower after a hot workout. You felt the need to do it, you did it, and you pleased yourself. Like with any guy, my dick needed semi-regular attention, and as long as it got it, I didn’t think about it.

  I was thinking about it now.

  I was thinking about Evie. I could still feel her, on my palms, on my cock. I wanted to go back upstairs and fuck her again, make her make all those sounds again. I also wanted to run, get on a plane and get the hell out of here. She was too close. She had stripped pieces off me, and she didn’t even know it. She could see the things I didn’t want her to see. She could push salt in my open wounds and make it hurt. If only she knew.

  She’s a woman, that’s all. Man up, Mason, and go back in.

  I had no idea what had happened. Who I’d been while I had her in that shower, against that vanity. I had no idea what came next. And I always knew what came next—ever since Andrew’s accident, I’d rearranged my life to work that way.

  Scout finished her business and sat on my shoe, ready to protect me from any dangers that came from the street. I scooped her up and carried her back inside while she tried to lick my face. I was still wrestling with her when I came in the door of my penthouse and saw that Evie was up.

  She was wearing my t-shirt, which she must have picked up from the floor where we dropped it when she tore it off me. She had tied her hair back in a messy ponytail. And she had found the cereal in my cupboards, along with a bowl and some milk from the fridge.

  Her brown eyes widened as I came through the door. “I’m starving,” she said, like it was an embarrassing admission. “Is this okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Pour me one, too.” I put Scout down and unclipped the leash from her collar.

  Evie watched me as she took out another bowl. “I would never peg you as a Chihuahua owner.”

  “She’s not my dog,” I replied automatically. “She was Gina’s, but Gina didn’t want her anymore.”

  Evie banged the second bowl down on the counter a little harder than necessary. “That sounds about right,” she said. Her voice was tight, and I remembered too late that it probably wasn’t the best time to bring up the woman who’d fucked her last boyfriend. The woman who had also been saying something I couldn’t hear—but was obviously very freaking bitchy—to Evie in the bar last night.

  That had pissed me off, seeing that. It pissed me off again to see how tense Evie’s face was right now. So far Bank Boy had been my prime target for revenge in this whole mess, but Gina had just bought her way onto the list. “You want to tell me what she said to you?” I asked Evie.

  She didn’t ask what I was talking about. “Insults, of course,” she said, dumping some cereal into my bowl for me. “The girl kind.”

  “Girl insults,” I said, sliding the bowl away from her and picking up the milk. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  Her voice was harsh. “Why does it matter?”

  “It fucking matters.”

  She looked at me for a second, and then looked away, blinking. “I’m dull and boring,” she said. “That was the gist of it. The fat part was implied. Also, I’m lying about sleeping with you.”

  Oh, yes. There were going to be consequences to this. “You’re not those things,” I said, “and you are sleeping with me.”

  Evie must have caught something in my voice, because she stared at me for a minute, distracted. Thinking about that scene in the bathroom, like I was.

  Fuck, what we’d done in the bathroom. That was the hottest, dirtiest sex I’d ever had. And if it was the last thing I did, I was going to convince Evie Bates to do it again. To do me again.

  “Yeah, well,” she said after a second, clearing her throat, “I was lying at the time, so I had to make some things up on the spot to sound convincing.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, digging in to my cereal. “Did you come up with something good?”

  She reddened. “I told her—um, I told her you like blow jobs.”

  I put down my spoon and stared at her.

  She looked flustered. “Never mind. It was just—”

  “I do,” I said.

  She got distracted again. I knew the feeling, because I was staring at her mouth, thinking about blow jobs. Thinking about how good that would be. I wasn’t thinking of running away now; those thoughts had gone. I was thinking about her licking me and cupping my balls and—

  “I told her you like it when I swallow,” Evie said.

  There was dead silence in the room. We just stared at each other across my kitchen counter, and I wondered which of us would leap over it first. Probably me.

  “Evie, I swear to fucking God,” I said, giving her a warning.

  She licked her lips nervously as I came around the counter, stalking her. The move didn’t make her any less sexy. “We should probably change the subject,” she said.

  “Yeah?” I came closer, put my hands on her waist, moved them down to cup her ass. “You want to talk about how I just fucked you raw, and I plan to do it again?”

  Her jaw went slack at that, she
was so turned on. She unzipped my sweatshirt and ran her hand down my bare chest. “We should talk first,” she said vaguely as she touched my pecs, my stomach.

  I leaned in and kissed her neck. She smelled clean, overlaid with woman-sweat and sex. I slid my mouth over her skin, taking it in. “What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Anything.” Her hands skimmed up to my shoulders, pushing the sweatshirt off and belying her words. I dropped the shirt to the floor. “We should get to know each other.”

  “Sure,” I said. I moved one hand to her front, pressing it between her legs and cupping her. She was bare, no panties, and I could feel her heat. “I already know a lot about you, though, Evie. A fuck of a lot.”

  “That—that isn’t the same thing,” she said, breathing shallow. “We should talk about other things, not just sex, and—oh, fuck.” My finger pressed between the lips of her pussy, rubbing where she was wet for me. Her eyes half closed as she fought for control. “Nick, that isn’t fair. My underwear was ruined in the shower.”

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference.” I circled her entrance, sliding my fingertip in, feeling her tighten around me. “I’d still do what I’m doing right now.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head back, and I watched her neck, the fall of her hair, in complete fascination. Jesus, this fucking woman. “Wait,” she said weakly after a minute, putting a hand on my wrist.

  I stopped moving. “Yeah?” I said. I was thinking about whether to make her come here or in the bedroom, with my cock inside her. I was leaning toward option two. My cock was hard as a hammer in my jeans, ready to start the dirty work.

  Evie seemed to forcibly get herself together. “We should talk,” she said. “I mean it.” She pushed on my wrist, and I took my hand away. She closed her legs, looking regretful. “We should eat our cereal and get to know each other.”

  Somewhere deep in my lust-addled brain, a warning bell went off. I didn’t talk to the women I had sex with. I didn’t get to know them. That wasn’t me. But I looked at Evie’s face, flushed and nervous, and it didn’t cross my mind to tell her no. If I told her no, she’d get dressed and leave, and there was no way I was letting that fucking happen.