by Amber Lin
His eyes flared with recognition. Oh my God, did he actually listen to my albums? Her sex clenched as if he’d just flexed his muscles for her or bent over. That was how big of a turn-on it was. She wondered what he did while he listened.
I never meant to hurt you. I just want to belong.
“Get on your knees,” he said gruffly.
She slid down with the grace that came from thousands of hours of physical training and dance practice. Her eyes met his. She licked her lips.
His mouth twitched in a half smile. He knew exactly what she was doing—teasing him, yanking him around by his dick—but he liked it. The bulge in his boxer shorts proved that he did. Along with the gleam of sweat at his temples.
“You just gonna stand there, rock star? Or do you have something to prove?”
He laughed roughly. “Eager much?”
She flinched, then covered quickly. “Used to working on a tight schedule.”
He shucked off his jeans and his boxers in a smooth move. One hand reached back, and then his shirt was gone. He stood in front of her in all his lean, tattooed glory, and she had to force herself not to stare. But it was hard. Because God, all that colorful ink. She wanted to run her tongue along every line. She wanted to find a pale, unmarked patch of skin and leave her teeth marks in it.
But if he could do it, so could she. She held his gaze, only breaking it to dip her head and blink slowly in faux shyness.
His hand went to his dick, stroking. Once. Twice. “Tight, huh?”
The doubt in his voice was a direct hit, right in the solar plexus. She did what she always did when in pain: she smiled. Tight. Loose. He thought she was easy? This from the man who’d sucked dick in front of ten thousand viewers on RedTube.
“Tight as you can handle,” she whispered.
He stalked forward until he was inches away. His cock was inches away. She was close enough to really see the intricate ink swirling over his abs, the same design that popped up when she played his album on her iPod, larger than life, but all she could look at was the thick length bobbing in front of her. He just kept stroking himself, teasing her, yanking her around by her clit. Yeah, he could play the game too.
That’s what made it so fucking hot.
She leaned forward, half expecting him to jerk out of reach at the last minute. He could play airplane with his dick, swirling it around and around, making a little humming noise before directing it into her mouth. The sick part is she would’ve gone along with it. She would’ve followed the head of his cock like a beacon, circling, mouth open and empty until he filled it.
So it was a surprise when he held still. Even his breath hitched as he held it. Waiting.
She flicked her tongue out and licked the tip. His fist tightened on his cock. She watched the tensing of his fingers, the bulging of the veins while she licked again and again. He was a salty ice cream cone, homemade caramel, and she used the flat of her tongue to lap him up.
His thighs began to quiver. Was he that close to coming? No way. That was impossible. Although…his hips were subtly rocking. His head was thrown back.
Oh man, he was actually about to come. And all she’d done was lick the precum off him. He gave a whole new meaning to just the tip.
But she wasn’t ready for this to be over, not by a long shot.
She sat back on her heels and gazed up at him adoringly, awestruck with exactly enough irony in her expression to let him know she didn’t mean it. He’d been about to blow, and she hadn’t even gotten her mouth around him. “Was that tight enough for you?” she asked sweetly.
Chapter Six
It wasn’t a game anymore. It was a competition, and she’d almost won before they’d even gotten started. Almost. That smug little quirk of her lips as she wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb set his teeth on edge. She’d caught him off guard, that was all. He could edge for days, building and building until his impending orgasm hummed under every inch of his skin. Until when he finally came, it was like the world was ending.
He circled the base of his cock and squeezed hard, turning his fingers into a makeshift cock ring. “Do your best.”
“I’m only getting started.” She covered his hand with hers and skimmed her thumb up the underside of his shaft, making him jerk. She leaned in close, brushing her lips against his as she spoke. “I think you’re the one who needs to try harder. I could make you come in five-point-two seconds, and that would be a shame.”
A kiss like a slap, featherlight and taunting. She challenged him, not to take her, not to bend her over and fuck her senseless, but to give in, to let her lead.
No.
He wouldn’t give her that.
“Did sucking me get you wet, princess?”
She drew in a sharp breath and squeezed him as if trying to regain her balance. He could only half stifle his groan in response, and she smiled, reassured in her power. “Yeah, baby. Real wet. Just dripping.”
She was still performing. He was performing too with his gruff commands. He wanted her more than naked. He wanted to strip her of artifice. “Prove it.”
She bent to shimmy out of her panties, but he stopped her before she could get them over her hips. “No, leave them on. Use your fingers to show me.”
Her eyes widened, uncertain. Oh, he was back in the lead of this game they were making up as they went along. She slipped her hand into the front of the thin silk panties barely covering her mound and worked her fingers between her folds. The fabric bunched against her knuckles, and she let out a moan.
He grabbed her wrist. “Ah-ah, princess. Let me see.”
She stilled her hand, and he withdrew her fingers for inspection. Her perfect pink manicure shimmered slick in the dim light of the bedroom. His cock ached. “Wet, but that doesn’t look like dripping to me. You lied.”
She tugged her hand back, but he only held on tighter. Maddy licked her lips and sighed. “Only a little lie. I thought that was what you wanted.”
She tugged again, and this time he let go. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I want to hear.”
He didn’t even know what he wanted to hear.
“I’m sorry.”
Sorry. It grated because she wasn’t. She’d play and vamp and perform again in a heartbeat. “Don’t apologize. Fix it. Touch yourself. Get that pussy all dripping wet like you said, and then maybe I’ll fuck you.”
“Maybe?” She arched a brow and drew her lip between her teeth.
“Yeah, maybe.” This wasn’t about giving her what she wanted; she got enough of that. This was about taking what he needed. And winning whatever twisted game they were playing. He grunted. “No more promises.”
She huffed, falling back on the pile of pillows and letting her legs drift apart. She raked up her thighs. “I usually have a little help for this.”
“Fingers aren’t enough for you, princess? You got a jewel-encrusted vibrator around here somewhere we need to find?”
Her hand disappeared into her panties again, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the outline of her fingers as she worked them in lazy circles against her clit. “Or an assistant.”
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. “You make your assistants get you off?” Of course she did. What else did princesses do besides make their loyal servants do all their dirty work? His pulse beat hot and steady between his legs.
Her fingers moved faster, the circles tightening. Her other hand cupped her breast, tugging at one stiff nipple. He felt it like a pull on his own. “Only the pretty ones. Should I call Paige? She’s always willing to lend a hand.”
Riveted, throbbing, he tried to remember if he’d seen Paige, but all he could focus on was the damp patch spreading at the crotch of Madeline’s panties and the slick bead leaking from the tip of his dick. “Is that all she does, lend a hand?”
“I think,” Madeline gasped, plunging deep into her cunt, panties twisting to reveal pink flesh, “she’d be game for more.”
Krist couldn’t answer.
If he spoke, he’d lose the last shred of his control. He might lose control even if he didn’t speak. A few more minutes and he might come just from listening to her talk. Was this more show? More of what she thought he wanted to hear?
He didn’t know if they were fucking or fighting, but he loved it, and from the dreamy expression on Maddy’s face she did too.
He needed to get inside her before he jerked himself to a sloppy finish at the foot of the bed, scattering his shame, the evidence of his absolute lack of self-control, all over the duvet.
What would she say if he did that? He didn’t want to know. He might like it too much.
“Enough,” he growled.
“You gonna fuck me now?” She fluttered her fingers. Slick, so slick. He wanted to drop to the bed and suck them, but he wouldn’t give her that either. Instead he plucked a condom from the dish on her nightstand and wondered as he rolled it on if it was Paige’s job to keep it full.
He wedged himself between her thighs, pushed her panties aside, and teased her opening with the head of his cock, every muscle in his body tense with restrained desire, and studied her expectant face. “I’m having too much fun watching you work. How about you fuck me?”
The sound she made, half laugh, half moan, tightened something low in his belly he’d thought was already as tight as it could get. She knew how much he wanted this right now. As much as she did. More, maybe. Her whole body moved with it, exposing her neck, thrusting her breasts, drawing the tip of him farther inside. Just one push and he’d be balls-deep. Exploding. God, not yet.
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him in a wild tumble, more of that moan-laugh coursing over him like sandpaper. He hadn’t just been denying her. He’d been denying himself because he didn’t trust her to do it for him. Still didn’t, but he was too far gone to the lust now to care.
She steadied herself above him with a palm on his chest, reached between them to grip his cock and grinned. “Watch me work, but don’t you dare come before me.”
And it was his turn to moan-laugh, to buck and arch beneath her. He wouldn’t dream of it.
*
Maddy had told herself not to get too close. This was only a fake engagement, complete with fake intimacy. Fake sex. But who was she kidding? Her entire life was fake, from her smile to her nails to the carefully produced pitch playing over the radio waves.
But this—the tight abs clenching beneath her fingers, the stutter of Krist’s breath—felt more real than anything. More real than two a.m. with only a piano and a bottle of Jack.
More vulnerable.
“Do it,” he muttered between clenched teeth.
God, he needed her so bad. Her stomach twisted with a bitter kind of pleasure. The kind that liked power. The kind that didn’t care how she got it.
Like now, for instance, stroking the head of Krist’s cock with her fingertip. “Impatient,” she observed. “Demanding. Selfish?”
“Guilty as charged.” He bucked against her.
She raised her forefinger, then tapped his cock. “I was talking about this.”
“One in the same, princess.”
Princess. He kept calling her that. Did he think she wouldn’t know it was an insult? Or did he just not care? It was horrible…and honest. The opposite of fake. The opposite of everything she was. He breathed heavy enough that his chest rose and fell, betraying his arousal. A fierce light burned in his eyes, because he wanted her to hurry—because he wished she’d make him wait.
Oh, he liked to suffer. He may hate her music, and she may despise his cruelty, but they were well matched in this one area.
Because, God, she loved to make him hurt. “We’re getting there,” she said.
She used the sway of her breasts to taunt him as she leaned down. She used her teeth as she nipped his collarbone. She used her breath to raise goose bumps all along his skin.
“Fuck,” he said—and it wasn’t even a word anymore. Not with a starting consonant and an end. It was just a sound, punching the air, making her shiver.
Enunciate, her voice coach would say. But her voice coach would be wrong. Sometimes words were better jumbled and twisted and broken. Sometimes people were better that way too.
She reached down and grabbed his cock—a thick, warm rod covered in rubbery latex—and reveled in the string of garbled curses. Jesus and goddamn and just suck me fuck me anything make it stop don’t stop. His body matched his words, senseless and hungry. Helpless.
She’d made him helpless.
Just for that, she sank onto his cock. Halfway. “Don’t move,” she warned.
Too late. He was shuddering from head to toe. His hips had found a way to rock between the bed and her body, fucking her while lying flat.
He made a choked sound. “Can’t.”
“Can’t what? Can’t move? Can’t come?” She ground down a little farther. Her breath caught at the stretch deep inside.
Pleasure sparked from inside her, reaching all the way out to her toes and her fingers and the top of her scalp. She felt lit up inside, as if he could see right through the tender layer of her skin, see deep inside to where she’d wanted this forever.
“I’ll do—” Sweat beaded his brow. It must have dripped into his eyes, because he blinked up at her, brow furrowed. His fists clenched in the sheets beside him, twisting and tangling. He was a mess, and he had never been more beautiful.
Maddy walked her fingers down his neck and over his chest. No matter how he stretched and shuddered beneath her, she kept walking until her middle and forefinger framed his dick. Her hold on him formed a V—like scissors but designed to caress instead of cut. She stroked him like that, touching the velvet skin of his dick right above the condom, and imagined him inside her without the condom between them.
“You’ll do,” she repeated, her voice faintly mocking. “You’ll do whatever I say, won’t you? Because you’re begging now.”
Just to prove her point, she flicked his nipple with her forefinger.
He gasped and thrust the rest of the way into her. “No.”
“No?” She laughed. And clenched her inner muscles around him tight.
His eyes fell shut. His jaw looked painfully clenched. He’d really only gotten a single thrust into her, and he was ready to blow. Beyond ready. So this was going to be hard for him, because she was only getting started.
She had spent a long time dreaming of riding this particular dick. And now that she was here and seated atop it, she decided she liked it. Eight hours a day of grueling physical training meant her stamina was amazing.
Rise. Lower. Rise. Lower. She moved her body to the beat in her head. His moans played like the track coming through her headphones, and she was singing her heart out. Singing it out with every downward push of her hips, sliding the broad head of Krist’s cock against her inner walls. Right there. She didn’t need him thrusting or pushing or doing anything at all. She could get herself off with his cock like it was nothing but a warm, pulsing burst from her fantasy.
All except for the man glaring up at her. He seemed to know exactly how she was using him. He seemed to hate it, even though that cock pulsed like a reverb, boundless and deep, proving that he liked it after all.
“Look at me if you’re going to fuck me,” he muttered.
And just for that, she closed her eyes. Because two could play at that game. And because that way, he couldn’t see the hurt she held inside. When she spoke, it was without looking. Without stopping her smooth, bittersweet dance. Without letting even an ounce of emotion into her voice.
She had a lot of practice at that.
“Beg me,” she said, swiveling her hips. His body vibrated beneath hers. She didn’t need a jewel-encrusted vibrator—just him. He was her personal sex toy, decorated with colorful ink and glittering nipple piercings.
“Stop teasing,” he bit out. “Just fuck me.”
“One in the same, sweetheart.”
Then he said the word that broke her, that splintered her i
nto pieces, that sent shards of pleasure bursting into her veins, spilling herself all over him.
“Please.”
He said it, and she shook and shattered her way through climax.
Please.
*
Maddy collapsed on top of him, and he followed her over the edge. Her release was all the permission he needed to let go. He had come like the world was ending, like all that mattered was the blind oblivion spiraling out from where their bodies were joined. Helpless, sudden, inevitable.
Please.
He unclenched the sheets and skated his palms over her body. The bone-knife hips. The xylophone of her back. The bow of her shoulders. He traced every sharp place he could reach and planned to follow the path again with his tongue. He’d cut himself until there was nothing left but her will and his wanting. Every inch of her humming, warm, tacky, and perfect.
Please.
He needed a shower, a sandwich, and a gallon of some electrolyte-balancing drink. Maybe not in that order. But he needed to stay still more. He needed to keep feeling Maddy’s heart pounding and her lips puffing against his chest. If he moved, he’d have to let her go. And he wasn’t ready for that. This time there was no harness wrapped around her, no pulley to hoist her away. He pressed her to him, cupping the back of her head, resting his cheek in the tangle of her hair, and inhaled. A deep, shuddering breath that rocked them both. The cotton-candy scent of her had gone musky and dark. Decadent excess. Burnt sugar.
“Please.” Her voice cracked like soft gravel.
He didn’t know what she was asking for, but in that moment he didn’t care. Blissed out, bold, still buried in her softness, he’d give it. “Anything.”
Chapter Seven
Maddy woke up feeling warm. And cozy. And safe. Her body wanted to burrow into the cocoon it was in and ignore the daylight battering against her eyelids. Except, wait. Daylight? She was usually on her third latte by the time the sun came out. So barring some kind of wackadoo solar event…
She’d slept in. Her eyes flew open. The red lines of the hotel alarm clock gleamed at her, proving the point. Six forty-five. Jesus.
