“I’m on board with the fucking part.” In fact, my weary brain has fixated on it. I want to get dirty with her right now. Here on the floor, against the hard, smooth tiles, with Knox in the bath beside us. I want to push into her from behind, while I weigh her huge tits in my hands and pinch their peaks into hard little spires, and make her groan my name. I want to hear her beg me to fuck her hard, fuck her fast, to fuck her tight, hot, wet pussy.
Mostly though, I crave the silence and the void that exists when I’m wrapped up inside a woman’s body. I want that moment of peace. That moment of knowing everything is fucking perfect—even if it is only for fifteen—too short—seconds.
“Maybe it’s time we both turned in,” she suggests. Her blue eyes narrow as she looks at me as if she’s distracted by my internal thoughts.
So much for wishful thinking. I really hoped she might take the bait when I mentioned fucking. I stick out my hand in order that we might part of civil terms, but her brows draw low and her tongue becomes wedged between her teeth.
“You know, Bitch Slap aren’t without issues. Ours might not be as immediately apparent, but that doesn’t stop them from being any less potentially catastrophic.”
I’ve a sudden inkling that she’s not here out of the kindness of her heart, or even because there’s a definite spark of attraction between us, but because she senses an opportunity. Is Joel right? Is Loveday Trevaskis ready to jump ship?
“What issues?”
“I told you, Ivy won’t tour. She’ll play for Graham Callahan, but she won’t get on a bus around Europe, and she’s definitely not going to fly any further afield.”
“Don’t you have a friend you can call to step in?” I ask, mimicking her suggestion to me. It’s cruel, and uncalled for, but I’m feeling petty. The combination of tiredness, frustration, anticipation and despair, not to mention horniness make me a horrid person.
“None who can play keyboard, and definitely none who can play keyboard and who are prepared to flash an audience,” she says, ignoring my jibe. “Let’s face it, that’s probably why Graham Callahan’s considering us. Muff wins hands down over music.”
“You’ve some good tunes.” I reckon Callahan’s after them because of her skills, not Ivy’s exhibitionist tendencies.
“We’ve a handful of songs, and you’ve heard the best tonight. While Perverted Tit Fucker might get a concert crowd going, I can’t see it storming the charts, can you? No radio station is ever going to play it. And I don’t know about you, but I’m under no illusion that Graham Callahan’s in this for the money, not to make anyone’s day.”
“I know that. The song you sang, though, that one has all the right elements. It blew me away.”
“Flatterer.”
I cross my heart. “My God’s honest opinion. You’ve a far better voice than Jessie. I got shivers from that song. It’s when I knew Bitch Slap were going to cause us real trouble, and that you amounted to more than a two fingered salute at Dane.”
She smiles at the praise, despite the furrows still wrinkling her forehead. “Bitch Slap are about Jessie’s rage. I hope we’ll become more than that in time, but it’s probably wishful thinking. It’s more likely that Jessie will find herself another guy to obsess over, lose interest in the band and move on.”
“I don’t see her getting over him.” Dane sure as hell isn’t over her. “The pair of them falling back into bed…that’s another matter.”
“Get real, Darke. She hates him.”
I laugh, because…yeah! Obviously Loveday doesn’t know as much about her friend or human nature as she thinks. Hate fucking gives you a burn like nothing else. Hate and love are just flip sides of the same emotion. Dane and Jessie are like magnets. They either repel one another, or they glue themselves so tightly together they’re inseparable. I’ve seen them split and re-attach several times now. Their last break up was definitely the worst, but I doubt it’ll be the last chapter in their relationship.
“Why the hell would you fuck someone you hate?”
I shake my head, because, Duh! “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Is that what earlier was about?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. “Do you hate me, Nathaniel Darke? Did you come all over me because it was some sort of put down?”
I sober immediately, because while she’s definitely my rival, I don’t hate her, I like her. I’m not stretching as far as love yet, but give it time and I think she could sink her claws right into me.
I shake my head. “I came over you, because coming in you wasn’t an available option, and you’re fucking hot.” I look her over from head to foot, but it’s not just her visual appearance that I find alluring, it’s her passion, her guitar playing, and every little glimpse she gives me of what she is on the inside. “I came over you, because I’m a perverted tit fucker,” I say, “And I’m going to get off on that image for many nights to come.”
Maybe that’s too much information, but she asked, and if you ask for the truth of something, you ought to be prepared for the answer.
“Me too,” she says, blowing my thoughts away.
“You’re gonna—” I hold two fingers up and wiggle the ends of them. “—get off on the memory of me fucking your tits.”
“And wiggling your fingers,” she says, mimicking my hand signal. “You’re not one of these weird guys that think girls don’t masturbate, are you?”
“Nah—I’m just bowled over by the fact you’re going to do it while thinking of me.” There is bona fide heat blossoming in my cheeks. Hopefully, I’m not quite as rosy as she is.
Loveday scrapes her teeth over her lower lip, which only serves to emphasize her grin. A blush sweeps along the top of her cheek bones and turns the tips of her ears pink. “Want to give me another memory to obsess about?”
Oh fuck! Yeah, actually. Yeah, I do.
I want to touch her.
Kiss her.
Feel her underneath me.
I want to slide into her and fuck until the pair of us are nothing but molten goo.
I reach out and brush my fingertips along the edge of her robe where there’s an orangey-brown stain. Touching her beats the shit out of thinking about the coming storm. “He got you earlier.” I say pointing out the ugly mark.
“He got you too.” She wets her thumb and then rubs it along the ridge of my collar bone, where there’s no evidence of anything. Where her fingertips brush, tingles arise in my skin. “Look, there’s another bit here.” This time she aims for a nipple. I’m not overly sensitive there, but the tip still puckers when she caresses it. “And here.” The third touch—low down on my stomach, right above the line of my belt—ignites me like a gas canister. I hiss, as heat rushes through my veins, and my cock rears, wanting in on the action.
Loveday’s gaze fixes on the bulge behind my fly. “You know, when I gave you my number, the idea was that you’d called to arrange sexy times, not to procure help dealing with your screw-up mate.”
Her number is still emblazoned along the edge of my forearm. I might have to make it a permanent feature. “Hang on.” I retrieve her phone from my back pocket and hand it to her, then I dial her number, which is already saved at the top of my contacts list. She answers while cocking a brow at me.
I could say something fancy, try to schmooze her with my charm, but I think we’re way past that, so I stick to direct. “I really want to fuck you. Interested? If you are, come right over.”
“Come right over which bit of you?” she asks, forgetting to speak into the phone, and staring straight at me, interest and mischief sparkling in her eyes.
It’s not actually what I meant, and she knows it, but I appreciate the way she twists my meaning and turns it into something rude. Additional fire ignites in my loins at the notion of her climaxing over me and smearing my skin with her lady juices.
“Here.” I circle my mouth with two fingers. “Come and sit on my face.”
I anticipate her asking if there’s a lack of chairs that necessitate
s her resting her butt on me, but instead she grins.
“Not on your cock?”
“I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous. Though, if you’d like too, I can totally accommodate you.”
“I’ll bet.” She ticks the tip of her tongue against her front incisors. Then she discards her phone and hooks her arms around my neck. “So, say I’m interested, what exactly do you anticipate happening?”
“You want to know what I want to do to you?”
“Supposing I was that easy.” Her hot, sweet breath buffets my face. Her lips are plump and almost on a level with mine.
For starters, I want to taste her, and I mean both sets of lips. French kisses are great, but I meant it when I said I wanted her to sit on my face. Spelling out what I want to do might earn me a slap, but sometimes you have to make that wild leap and throw caution to the wind.
I abandon my phone next to hers on the vanity unit, then I lean in and whisper right into her ear. “I want to taste your slick, hot cunt. I want to fuck you with my tongue until you cream all over it. Then I want to lick you clean before filling your tight wet cunt with my cock.”
“How do you know I’m tight?” she whispers back. “Could be that I’ve been around the block a few times. I might have squeezed a kid out for all you know.”
“Have you?”
“No.”
I’m relieved in an almost unfathomable way—some half formed notion that the only seed I want to see planted in her belly is mine. This girl has me on a visceral level. It’s not just lust that grabs me by the goolies when I touch her, there’s something deeper sizzling away in the background too.
We joust a few more moments, the conversation played out in the silence between our breaths and the slight shifts in our stances. Skin touches skin. Our hips fit neatly together. We don’t kiss though, not yet. When we do, that’ll be the point of no return, when we both stop thinking about Knox snoring in the bathtub, and our respective groups and the crap that’s due to rain down upon them.
We fumble about, failing to decide which direction to throw our lots, then diving simultaneously into headlong disaster.
“I’m going to suck your clit until it’s poking up begging me for attention,” I tell her. “Then I’m going to put my tongue in your cunt and my fingers in your arse, and get you so overwrought that you beg me not just to pound you hard, but to do it in the dirtiest, nastiest ways you can imagine.”
“I hope you’re not all talk, Mr. Darke.”
“I hope you’re not easily shocked.”
ELEVEN
Loveday Trevaskis
Life rarely produces anything strange enough to shock me, and yet he manages to startle me with the fierceness of his loving. It’s not simply that his hands and mouth are on me, or that his body is a solid, unyielding wall of muscle that’s pressed hard up against mine. It’s the fire I see burning in his eyes when he speaks. There’s an edge to his words that causes my central nervous system to light up like I’ve been connected to the national power grid.
Actually fucking him is probably the stupidest thing I could do right now, but it’s absolutely the course I’m set upon. It doesn’t matter that if Jessie walks in, I’d be swilling about in so much shit I’d smell like a sun-ripened turd, because I’d be a blissed out, well-fucked turd.
I want this guy. Normally I pick someone up, have my fun with them and move on. No one is worth taking a huge risk over, because they’re not going to be around long enough to warrant the fall out, but Darke has crawled under my skin in a way that convinces me to stick two fingers up at the consequences of doing him.
All that matters is that we get naked and bang like maniacs.
I’m already panting in expectation of it. My heart is drumming in my throat, and each breath seems to get stalled in my chest to then emerge as a gasp. Darke teases me with his words as much as his fingers. It’s as if he’s tuned himself in to my psyche, and has the solution to the combination lock that is my libido.
I want his mouth on me in the way he promises, hard up against my sex, lapping with his tongue. It’s difficult not to simply grab him by the hair and force his delivery.
His fingers stroke along the edge of my robe again, this time following the line of fabric down to where the belt is knotted, holding the two front halves together. One quick rip and the knot is no more, likewise any sort of shield I had. The edges of the robe peel apart, exposing me—breasts, stomach, the insides of both thighs, and my best pair of utilitarian black cotton panties.
He tucks a finger under the top edge of their elastic while an amused smile plays upon his lips. “Practical,” he teases, plunging two fingers downwards through the thatch of my hair to the split of my pussy.
I clamp a hand down fast over the top of his. “Kiss me,” I demand. I need the connection. I want this to be personal, even though every second I spend in his presence is sheer folly.
He rolls our foreheads together, so we’re looking one another in the eyes, but our mouths are still inches apart.
“Please,” I whimper. I want his mouth on me, his tongue dancing with mine.
Darke’s lips are soft, where everything else about him is hard, especially that broomstick poking me in the thigh. I want him to jab it right into me, split the lips of my sex and bury himself to the hilt. I want all the dirty things he’s said to be the warm-up to the even more perverted things he’s not said.
Every time he mentions doing something to my arse, I feel a little more unhinged. I imagine his thumb inside of me, making the nerve endings of my arsehole light up like sparklers, then his cock in that dark part of me, pounding away.
I used to dream about having a lover who only ever screwed me in the arse.
Former teenage fantasies—I’ve always been terrified of babies, but too horny to adhere to any form of chastity.
We kiss with our eyes open at first, and I fall deep into the hearts of his pupils. When his fingers push into me, though, I close my eyes and drown in the darkness.
“Your cunt’s not wet,” he claims in his gravel roughened voice. “It’s sopping.” He continues to stroke me with his clever fingers. He hasn’t even touched my clit yet and I’m already little more than a sack of mush. When he does stroke me there, if he does, I’m probably going to come right away. On tenterhooks, I await that moment, shivers coursing through my body, and my skin alive with tingles.
“Open your legs for me. Let me give you what you crave.”
I want to, but my legs are like jelly, the knees ready to buckle.
“You’re not concerned about Knox, are you?”
Knox? I’d forgotten he existed.
Darke turns to his comatose friend, and wrenches the shower curtain across the side of the bath, blocking Knox from sight. Then he turns back to me, face full of merry devilment.
“Up,” he demands and lifts me so my butt is balanced on the edge of the counter. Then he’s on his knees, his head buried between my thighs, kissing me through the no-frills cotton.
He hooks my legs over his shoulders, and I push my hands into the dark, glossy strands of his hair. Even through the cotton, the sensation is almost too raw. I’m on the edge of panic. I guess he senses it because he keeps his touch super light. My clit is so hard and needy it’s poked up out of its protective hood so that even the lightest touch is borderline painful.
“Shh! Easy now,” he says, blowing on me.
A breath of air has never caused me to tumble before, but it sets me off, and I come against his face, pulse thundering, my world reduced to the thunder and stars inside my own head.
My knickers are sopping when my vision is restored. Darke pulls them from me, exposing the bright pink folds of my swollen pussy to his view. He licks me until I’m shiny with his saliva instead of my own juices, then pushes two stiff fingers inside of me and tests my limits. Excitement builds inside my cells again, almost at once, so that my hips jig of their own accord, matching the steady rhythm with which he finger fucks me.
> My pussy is so wet that the action makes sticky sounds.
“Ready for something a little thicker?”
“Hnnrr!” I whimper, because apparently I’ve lost the ability to form words.
“I want to hear you say it. I want you order me to thrust my cock into you. To do it over and over, harder and faster. I want to hear you shouting out how good it is.”
What I need is to feel him first of all. I drag him upwards off his knees, so that his buff, raw and sexy body is plastered against mine, and he’s smearing my own juices all over my mouth and chin.
I make short work of his belt, don’t bother with the buttons or zip, just drag down his low-rise jeans so that I can curl my fingers first into his arse, and then wrap a hand around his long, stiff cock.
He croaks as I handle him. I rub the tip of him against my clit, which about makes us both lose our minds.
“Condoms,” I breathe heavily into his ear. “I need you inside of me.”
“Inside your cunt?” I’m not sure if it’s a statement or if he’s asking for clarification. I only know that I’m desperate. “Ask me properly. Say, ‘Please shove your cock inside my cunt and fuck me until the earth moves.’”
The words gather at the back of my throat, but don’t quite make it to my lips.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, turning me on with the hiss of his voice in addition to the driving rage he’s using to fill me with his finger. I’m not sure what his anger is directed at, me, Knox, something else, but I can feel it buzzing away inside of him beneath his skin. “You don’t just want this,” he says of his fingers. “You want my cock in your hungry cunt. Say it.”
Cunt—every time he says it, I shiver in a hopelessly deplorable way.
Cunt—it has such a hard, ruthless ring to it. It’s impolite. Every time it rolls off his tongue, a little part of me protests while the rest threatens to overheat. It’s not a word I ever use in conversation, but fact—the way Nathaniel Darke makes it sound turns me on.
“Say it, Loveday. You want my cock in your pretty, sopping wet cunt, and you want me to fuck you to kingdom come.”
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 46
