by Sabrina York
“No,” Ponytail snapped, a little too quickly.
They exchanged a glance. She responded to his frown with one of her own. “No.” Devlin repeated. “We just—”
But as usual, Avery didn’t let him finish. Avery rarely let anyone finish. “Well, you look good together.”
“We are not together,” his companion bleated. She shouldn’t have. The heat in her tone captured Avery’s attention. Captured it so much, she narrowed her eyes and scrutinized them both.
It was uncomfortable being analyzed by Avery Warner. Something like that never ended well. Avery excelled at mischief. And it was usually always a little twisted.
She smiled. Like a reptile. If reptiles had glossy, pink lips. “Well,” she gushed. “You must come to my birthday party tomorrow. You simply must.” She leaned in and winked. “It’s a BDSM themed party.”
Devlin swallowed heavily. He’d been to one of Avery’s parties before. He’d barely escaped with his manhood intact. “Tomorrow? Gee, I…”
“I’d love to come,” Ponytail said with a glint in her eye. It was a glint that surprised Devlin. He hadn’t pegged her for a kinky girl. But he liked that she was open to…options.
“Wonderful.” Avery pinned Ponytail with a gimlet glance. “And are any of the other Dawgs here?”
“Holt and Bella—”
A low, evil chuckle. “Oh, they have to come.”
“And Kristi and Cam.”
Avery wrinkled her nose. “You can invite them, but Kristi is pretty vanilla.”
Ponytail grinned. “Drew is supposed to come this weekend, as well as Lane. But I don’t know when they’re getting here.”
Devlin stiffened. Lane was coming? Great. The last time he’d seen Lane Daniels, the bastard had threatened to flatten his nose. For a divorced guy, Lane was pretty territorial about his ex.
That sealed it. He was definitely not going to the party.
“Well, invite them all. The party’s at my place tomorrow and starts at nine on the dot. Don’t be late,” Avery said with a smirk. “There are forfeits for latecomers.” She chuckled at her own joke. Avery always appreciated a pithy double entendre. Even when no one else got it. “And you!” She spun on Devlin, pointing an exquisitely manicured finger in his direction. “You’d better be there. With fucking bells on.”
“Yes ma’am. Jingle, jingle.” He tendered a little salute. He had no intention of going, of course. If things went his way tonight, he and Ponytail would be deep in a playtime of their own. Far too busy to go to the big house on the bluff and prance around in leather, sucking on penis-pops and avoiding the outrageous games Avery liked to play. Games where one never knew who might end up wearing handcuffs and a dog collar.
And if it was Avery’s birthday party, there would, no doubt, be spankings. Probably a lot of them. While Devlin didn’t mind the prospect of bringing his hand down on Ponytail’s shapely ass, he knew, if roles were reversed, she’d be ruthless.
Yeah. Party or not, his plan was to seduce her tonight and keep her in his bed all weekend. The party would have to go on without them.
Avery didn’t stay long after exacting the promises she required. She flounced to the bar to flirt with Darby. Devlin knew she was flirting, and mercilessly so, on account of his blush—visible even from here. Darby, who owned and ran the only bar on the island, was painfully shy and never dated, as far as Devlin could tell.
It seemed as though Avery wanted to eat him alive. She probably did.
“Shall we continue our…game?” Ponytail’s low sultry tones recaptured his attention and he turned back to the table. Her expression pole axed him. “We were playing for peanut butter, I believe.”
“Yes. We were.” He swallowed. “I, ah, where were we?”
“It was my shot.” The way she tried to hide her impish grin told him it was not her shot, but he let it go. He hardly cared who won.
He waved at the table. “Be my guest.”
She flicked him a thoughtful glance before bending to sight along the cue.
Devlin stepped back. And enjoyed the view.
Yeah, he wouldn’t mind draping her over his lap and having those lush globes splayed before him. Preferably bare, but he would work with whatever he got. His fingers curled at the thought of how nice his handprint would look on those rounded globes.
A minx like this deserved a spanking. Especially after the way she’d teased him. Was still teasing him.
As though she could read his thoughts, she gave her ass a little waggle as she prepared to shoot.
Damn.
Damn, damn.
Maybe he did want to win. The thought of her ass covered with peanut butter made his knees weak. But if he won, there was no doubt in his mind exactly where that peanut butter would go. She’d be finishing what she started last week. He quickly reviewed the contents of Ash’s pantry, wondering how much peanut butter there was.
She sank the first ball but missed on the second. “Your turn,” she grunted.
“Yeah.” He stepped up to the table and surveyed the layout of the balls. There were a couple cheap shots—he took them—and then one that was a little more challenging. A trill of excitement slashed him as the ball banked off the felt and landed in the pocket with a neat click. One more to go.
He bent and sighted the ball, and drew back the cue.
Just as he was about to shoot, she cleared her throat. “Is it me, or is it warm in here?”
His gaze snapped to her. Not only because her tone was low and sultry. But because a flutter of movement in the vicinity of her breasts—which were always somewhere on his radar—indicated she was unbuttoning her blouse.
And hell. She was.
One. Two. Three buttons. Until the cleft of her cleavage was clearly visible. She fanned herself there, much lower than was precisely necessary, and then drew her fingertips slowly along that shadowy crease.
Devlin’s muscles locked. His pulse set up a manic tattoo that resonated throughout his body—pounded in his cock.
Shit.
He affected a nonchalant mien. Clucked his tongue. “Cheaters never prosper, Ponytail.”
“I’m not cheating.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m simply making an observation. It is warm in here. Isn’t?”
Hell yeah it was.
“You know…I think I’d like peanut butter here,” she murmured in a pouty voice, tracing her cleavage again. She leaned closer. Touched a nipple, clearly outlined against the fabric of her blouse. “Or here. What do you think, Devlin?”
Think? There was no thinking.
Without glancing at the table, he took his shot. Satisfaction flared as he heard the telltale thunk as the eight ball found its home.
“I win.” He hardly needed to say it. Judging from her grunt of dismay, she knew damn well her ploy hadn’t worked. But it felt good to say.
It also felt good to take her hand and lead her from the bar.
And even better when she followed without demur.
Ash’s house wasn’t far from town, but on this night, the trek felt like a million miles. They did not speak as they made their way along the beach path. The moon was out and the sky was clear. A thousand pinprick stars glittered in the heavens. A gentle breeze carried the briny scent of the ocean inland. Waves shushed in the distance.
And her hand. Her hand was warm in his.
He loved that, as they walked—with a little more purpose than one might normally stroll home after an evening at the bar—her fingers wove through his.
He paused at the stairs leading up the hill to Ash’s house. Tipped up her chin with two fingers. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes and puckered her brows. “A bet’s a bet.”
Yeah. It was. Still… “A game is a game too. And I’ll be frank Ponytail…” She opened her mouth to respond but he silenced her with a finger. “I want you. I want you pretty fuckin’ bad. But not because I won a bet.”
T
his seemed to surprise her. Her lips worked. “But… You did win.”
“I know. But despite what you may think of me, I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage of a woman simply because she can’t resist a dare—”
“That is—”
“If you come inside, it’s because you want to come inside. Because you feel it too. This draw between us. Understood?”
Where this chivalry came from, he had no clue. Then again, maybe it wasn’t chivalry at all. Maybe it was a deep scorching need to know. Know that she wanted him with the same aching desperation.
She studied him for a moment, the moonlight kissing her face, imbuing her with an ethereal glow. Her eyes were magnificent. Wide. Clear. Her mouth ripe and full. He ached to kiss her, but he did not. Could not. Not until he knew.
“Are you releasing me from the bet?” She spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
He nodded. “If you want to be released.”
It seemed to befuddle her, this concept that the choice was hers—to come in or leave. That or the fact that the choice came with a declaration. She had to admit she wanted him. Agree that whatever happened with him was her choice, and not a result of the obligation of some stupid dare.
This took her a moment—an eternity—to process. His heart thudded into the silence. Then she tipped her chin and nodded. “Yes.”
He cupped her cheeks and tipped her chin so he could see her. “What? I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes.” He stared at her lips as they moved. Fascinated by them. Beguiled by the scent of her. The feathery tease of her breath. “Yes. I want to come in.”
The words barely escaped before he sealed her mouth with his. And holy God, what heaven it was. She was soft, submissive, open to him, and so warm. She tasted like ambrosia, a sweet mixture of arousal and surprise.
When she opened to him, welcomed his tongue in its tentative foray, his knees locked. He turned his head and deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, sealing them together. Pleasure skittered through him. She was curvy, pillowy and firm in all the right places. They fit together like puzzle pieces long lost.
She arched into him, wiggling against his cock. Agony speared him. When she tunneled her fingers into his hair and scored him with her nails, he nearly wept.
“God,” he groaned. “God.” It was all he could think to say. It was all he could manage.
She pulled back first, but it was to whisper, “We should go inside.”
She was in the shadows then, her expression hard to read. But he fancied he didn’t need to. Her intention was clear. And her hand was on his ass.
He led the way up the stairs and fumbled with the keys for a bit before he finally got the slender metal shard to fit in the infinitesimally small slot. His mind was a little muddled by thoughts of an entry of another kind.
The door opened and they spilled inside. He meant to reach for the light switch, but completely forgot about that when she stepped into his arms and pulled him into another scorching exchange.
Tongues. Lips. Nibbles. Nips. They consumed each other. Madly, hotly, a rampage of need. He backed her up against the wall and kicked the door shut, then found the hem of her blouse and skated his hand beneath it.
Ah.
Her skin was warm. Velvety smooth. He eased higher and higher until he found and cupped her full breast. Snarls of delight and anticipation danced along his spine, nesting in his balls at the weight, the give, of this treasure. Had he ever felt anything more perfect?
Unable to resist he cupped the other breast, though her shirt. He pressed them together and dipped his head to explore the cleft between them with his tongue, as he had been aching to do since she’d traced it in the bar. He buried his face in her softness and drew in her scent.
Ah. She was fragrant. Some light perfume, or powder or maybe just her.
He found a nipple, a pouty protuberance, and scored it with a nail. She shuddered and released a guttural groan. “Oh, God!”
She took his head in her hands, turned it to the side and nested in his neck, licking and laving and nuzzling the sensitive skin there until he thought he might expire. Unable to move away from such bliss, he held still, held his breath and simply savored the sensations she drew on him with her tongue.
When she nibbled his earlobe, dabbed into the shell of his ear, he nearly lost his load. His overwhelming response to something so simple and small was astounding. But her touch was potent. It took everything in him to hold back the prickles of need goading him, lancing him. He wanted to come, but he needed more.
He reached down and yanked up her leg, wrapping it around his waist. She scrabbled for purchase, but he balanced her, pinned her against the wall, pressing his aching cock against her groin. And rubbed.
She threw back her head and met his gaze.
What he saw there scored him to the core.
Need.
Hunger.
Desire.
“I want you,” he grunted. “I want you now.”
“Yes,” A whisper. But threaded through it, a passion that was not tentative in the slightest.
He flicked open the snap of her jeans. Released her leg and yanked them down, along with her panties. She kicked them off and reached for his zipper.
In her frenzy, her hand brushed against his cock and Devlin closed his eyes. Fought back a whimper.
When she followed his jeans down and knelt before him, his vision went red. She hooked her fingers in the elastic of his briefs and slowly eased them down. His cock, rampant and ready, stood proud.
She released a ragged moan and cupped him, took him in her fist and tested his girth.
Good. So good.
He’d wanted her on her knees before him. Dreamed of it for the past seven nights. Wanted her on her knees before him with his cock buried deep in her throat. But now…
But now, all he could think of was owning her. Possessing her. Planting himself so deeply into her cunt he might never find his way out again. He wouldn’t want to.
Gently, he took her shoulders and brought her to her feet. He answered the question in her eyes with a kiss. A ravenous kiss.
Passion rode him. Need and hunger crawled in his belly.
Her moans inflamed him.
Without thought, without premeditation or sanity or finesse, he ripped open her blouse and yanked down the cups of her bra. Though it was dark and they tangled in the shadows, barely in the foyer of the house, the moonlight filtering through the window gleamed off the creamy globes of her breasts. They bobbled as he lifted her up, pinned her against the wall. As though she knew what he needed, as though she needed it desperately too, she wrapped her legs around his waist and tipped her hips. He captured a rosy peak in his mouth and sucked as he slipped inside. Slipped into heaven.
God, she was hot. Hot and tight and slick. He moaned as he sank deeper and deeper still. The tiny muscles of her channel quivered around his invading cock, sending pings of pleasure, shards of exquisite torment, over every nerve, invigorating him. He sucked on her nipple again and felt the reverberation of her groan to the base of his balls.
He shifted her higher, repositioning her against the wall. And began a slow, decadent rhythm. At the end of each thrust he twitched his hips to the side, exploring her depths until he found it.
And oh. He knew when he found it.
She shivered and quailed. She buried her nails in his back and scored him through his t-shirt. She clenched him tight and hissed a sigh.
“Is that it?” he huffed. “Is that what you like?”
“Yes,” she growled. The growl became a wail as he withdrew and drove home again. And again. And again.
His pace increased, though there was no intent, no thought behind it. Simply instinct fed by need, hunger, a desperate ache to feel her come around him. To make her loose every scrap of control. To make her wild.
Make her his.
He pounded, hell for leather. Whipping in and out of her cunt. Relishing the illicit slap of skin against we
t skin. And she drenched him. As her arousal rose, her body released, easing the friction, allowing for a riotous ride.
He knew when she came. Heard it, felt it, wore it. Her cunt devolved from a tight measured hold to a series of savage spasms, clenching, clasping and then finally clamping down in a manic grip he could not escape. Then again, he didn’t want to.
His cock swelled. Cum burned at the base of his balls. He dipped his head and suckled her nipples, dug his fingers deep into the flesh of her ass.
Sanity flew in the force of his orgasm. Like a flood of lava, hot and scorching and delirious to be free, he erupted, filling her.
Even when it was over, he couldn’t stop moving, though his thrusts were slow, sleepy, reluctant for it to end.
She was slow to recover too. He held her there, against the wall, buried in her warmth until she caught her breath. She looked up at him and hitched a small laugh.
“What?” he murmured through a kiss.
“We forgot…” she said.
“We forgot what?” His brain was barely functioning, but he was sure they’d left out a lot of things…
“We forgot the peanut butter.”
She said this with such a pout, he couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh.
Because there would be time for that…later. They had all night. All weekend. Maybe longer…
Afterwards they curled up together on the sofa to recuperate. He must have dozed off because when he awoke, she was gone. Even though that pissed him off, he found himself laughing.
Because, again, she’d taken his jeans.
His humor didn’t stall until he remembered…he still didn’t know her name.
Chapter Seven
Tara nibbled at a smile as she slipped in the back door of the house she shared with her friends, clutching a pair of rumpled jeans to her chest. They smelled of him. Fresh, clean and manly.
