by Rie Warren
Janice sidled up to me. “That sounded like a really big bust up in there.”
“Trouble on the rough seas?” Jacqueline scanned my legs and the loose robe as I turned down the hall.
“Or maybe just really rough sex,” I called back over my shoulder. “Y’all will be at the contest?”
Swoons, sighs, tweeting!
Yeah, I’m all over this shit now.
****
Feeling like a dude headed for a slaughter but dressed up for a spa day, I ignored all the camera flashes, all the giggles, all the titters sent in my direction as I motivated to the appointed room. Someone else had seen the tango-de-stupido and it wasn’t just me. More like a thousand-plus someone elses.
As soon as I shouldered between the heavy black curtains to backstage, Jules pounced on me. “Stone! You’re late.” She pinched my ear and squeezed my ass. She ripped off my robe and hollered through the megaphone, “Clothes! Hair! Oil! STAT!” She slapped my chest. “Just remember, act natch but don’t act. Make it sexay but not obvie, mm’kay?”
“Right,” I replied as I stood bare ass naked in the middle of a bunch of similarly undressed beefcakes.
A pair of dark brown leathers was handed to me, and a pair of women barely waited until I pulled them over my legs before pushing me into a chair in front of a mirror.
“Spike it?” Female number one with fuchsia stripes in her hair asked her companion.
A glimmering tongue-ring appeared from the other woman’s mouth as she tapped it against her teeth. “Fauxhawk?”
“Not long enough.” Long-nailed fingers scraped along my scalp.
“Keep Stone au naturel. He’s already fit, fine, and fu-hot,” Jules barked through the megaphone, stalking past us.
Assured I was au naturel enough to pass muster, I was released to the fitting area. Male models streamed past me as rock music blasted from speakers overhead.
“Gah! Exact fit.” My seamstress slid her fingers around the waist of my pants, along the inseam and down to my feet. “Shoes?”
“Work boots.” All-seeing Jules commanded the backstage chaos with one eye on everyone.
It was giving me the fucking heebie-jeebies.
A pair of scuffed up Timberlands were offered. I was prodded to a mirror. Wearing low-riding dark brown leathers and nothing else, the snug fit was downright indecent. They cupped my junk, my ass, and left little to the imagination.
“He’s perfect!” Fuchsia-streaks shrieked.
Jules stopped beside me long enough to yank the leathers an inch lower so my Jesus crease showed. “Now he’s purrrrfect.”
“Ah-mazing.” A lady with a mouthful of pins piped up. She accepted a bottle of oil and handed it to me. “Slick up, Stone.”
I held the offending article up to my face. “Huh?”
Fuchsia hair called over, “To show off the cuts of your muscles.”
“To make you a cut above,” Jules confirmed. When I continued to hesitate, she took up a drill sergeant stance, bellowing through the bullhorn, “Do I need to make you drop for twenty?”
“No, ma’am,” I replied sullenly.
I uncapped the bottle to pour oil into my palm. I rubbed it all over my chest, my abs, my shoulders. The atmosphere in the small backstage area was electric, filled with big men puffing up even bigger, herded from station to station. Our egos probably sucked all the oxygen from the room. Sweat dripped down the middle of my back as I tried to reach between my shoulder blades.
“You need help there, braw?” a buff blond dude asked.
“Nah, I got it.” I stretched a little farther, twisted a little harder.
He snatched the slick from me. “No need to be proud. I’ll just do your traps and obliques.”
I forced myself to remain still as he massaged my back, hitting all those places I couldn’t get to on account of not being a contortionist. Thank fuck, Jules hadn’t made this a backstage show; the crowd, Hens, Widows, women would’ve loved a view of this.
“Pull those pants lower.” Big Blond’s fingertips slipped just above my ass-crack before he smacked my left cheek. “Chicks like to see some of that. Nice bod, by the way. Are you auditioning for cover model?”
I thanked him for basically grooming and groping me and turned around. “Not really. Miss Gem roped me into this.”
The guy before me had the whole package. Pretty boy face and dimples. Long blond hair. Shoulders ripped with muscles. If I didn’t possess a healthy ego myself, I’d have gone off and cried in a corner.
“She’s a right bitch, but she makes the magic happen.” He patted my ribs. “Good luck, man.”
“Places, people!” Jules single-filed us. I wasn’t the show starter or the showstopper. I was the middle man, story of my life. “Don’t make me regret adding you to the line-up, Stone. Now get that squee-worthy ass ready.”
My nuts journeyed up into my body with her threat. No worries about sporting a woody now.
Several minutes later, from somewhere on the other side of the curtains came Jules’s introduction: “Welcome to the 7th Annual Literary Love cover model competition—hosted in conjunction with Fever Romance Publishing—Guys with Balls!”
Screeches filled the air. It sounded like they came from a bunch of otherworldly banshees. But no, it was just the ladies revved up for the show. The blond Viking boy was up first. He took the house down. Shouts raised the roof, money probably fell into his jeans, and his jeans probably disintegrated down to a vinyl g-string.
“Good crowd!” My masseur swaggered back through the curtains.
There were a couple more men before me, and I zeroed in on the hairy-chested, ruffled-shirted rendition up next. It was the guy from the book cover in the elevator. Pirate of the Happy Peen, aka Rafael. He must’ve already had a million fans, and they erupted with bloodthirsty screams while he swashbuckled his way up and down the stage.
I peeked out when the dude before me took his turn. He was built like an army tank. I almost felt inadequate until I watched him shake his ass and kiss his guns. That just made me roll my eyes.
Jules dj’d, “Say hi to Marko, ladies! The louder you yell the more votes he gets. Marko’s fave place to make love is . . .”
The ladies beyond the stage went freakin’ nutso.
“In his bed!”
Boos followed his sooo boring answer.
One of Jules’s minions raced up to me. “This is fail. You have to bring ’em back online.”
The shouts became rabid. “Eye candy! Bring on the eye candy!”
Catcalls and wolf whistles shot through the crowd. “Stone! We want Stone!”
I parted the curtains.
“Hard as a Rock” by AC/DC blared through the speakers.
Strobes blinded me, guitars deafened me, nerves chewed through me. Christ, even my palms were sweaty, not that anyone could tell. They were all greased up like the rest of me. But I sure as hell wasn’t gonna pull some candy-ass move like licking my biceps.
“Introducing our Hard as Rock, smoking hot amateur. I give you STONE!!! Mr. Stone likes to take it all down low, down-home. Can I get a hell yes, ladies?”
The women positively salivated, and I hadn’t so much as moved a step. Lifting my arms behind my head to tip my fedora forward, I scanned the feisty crowd. The Widows and Hens were front and center, seemingly competing for who could be the crudest, loudest, and rowdiest. Nicky winked at me. Leelee stood at the forefront, one palm pressed to her chest, her gaze penetrating me. With my arms raised, my muscles bunched and twisted, the leathers slipped even lower down my pelvis, and that was all it took to bring the noise level to an ear-bruising roar.
The song wailed even louder, the badass beat pumping through my body. One thumb hooked into the pocket of my snug pants, I strutted down the runway.
It was an all-male meatfest. So this was the magic happening. Magic Mike maybe. I just needed to rub my crotch on a broomstick handle and Show Over.
The guttural AC/DC lyrics punched through me. It wa
s all about sex. Fucking. Leelee. I saw her below me, thought about her beneath me. When I reached the end of the mile-long runway, I rubbed a hand down my chest to my waist, tapping on a single silver button while I stared at her.
“DO IT, STONE!” Jacqueline crammed four fingers into her mouth and blew out a screeching whistle.
Felicity jumped up and down, her glasses knocking around on her nose. “Don’t be a pussy tease!”
Pulling the button open, I slipped one hand inside the skintight leathers and touched the base of my cock. The shit was so tight I could hardly form an erection, but blood pounded to my groin nevertheless. Leelee unblinkingly watched every motion as I thrust my pelvis against my hand in time to the music. Dragging my palm up, I made sure the zipper pulled open, a thatch of pubic hair visible.
Swaying on her feet, Leelee skimmed her hands down her sides, swiveling her hips.
I’m gonna have that.
I doffed my fedora to the foaming-at-the-mouth melee, bowing deeply in Leelee’s direction.
Hot spots shined on her cheeks.
Pretty damn pleased with myself, I made my retreat, catching a glimpse of Jules up and off to the left, urging the crowd on with her hands raised in the air.
I received a mess of back slaps backstage. Handed a bottle of water and a towel, I stood aside to watch the rest of the men do their thing. I had to hand it to them, it took some kind of balls to get their kit off on book covers for everyone in the world to see, mingle with the man-hungry mobs, and still stand around to cheer one another on. I clinked—or rather, smushed—my bottle of water to the blond’s.
Things didn’t go so happy for the next guy. He pushed through the curtains to a round of boos.
Army-tank gave him a burly hug. “You and me both.”
“Bitches be fickle. One year it’s blonds, the next it’s brunets. No one can predict the trends, but you did great out there.” My Viking mate soothed the man’s busted ego.
He was almost in tears.
“Tough crowd, man.” I patted his back.
“Got that right.” He attempted a smile and glugged his water.
Four models later, the competition was over. I couldn’t wait to get to Leelee so I rubbed as much sweat and oil off my body as I could and hurried to the front. The Hens and Widows had teamed up and taken over a couple tables where two pitchers of beer sat. As I approached, they all jumped up for a standing ovation and more whistles that made my footsteps stutter. My face got hot and I remembered I was wearing the bare essentials, and I’d forgotten to button back up. I hastily remedied my almost-flasher moment. Leelee followed the motion of my hands, making me even hotter as testosterone fueled every single cell in my body.
The bad news was there was nowhere to hide a boner in these pants, and the length, curve, and head of my cock were clearly visible. Shit. Nicky splashed some beer into a cup and cruised up to me. His eyes bright, his smile loose, he was halfway to drunk already.
I accepted the drink with an arched eyebrow. “Forgive me for earlier, lover?”
He slid his cheek against mine. “Maybe if you stop making hot sex eyes at Leelee, babe.”
I needed to get him trashed to get him off my back.
My song came on again causing the entire throng of models, oglers, and me to dance. I pushed against Leelee’s back, slipped my hand over her waist to the curve of her hip, my breath spilling against her ear. All my good intentions went right out the window.
She pressed her ass into me with a gasped, “Stone.”
Jules’s shrill voice jolted us apart. “And the winner of the Guys with Balls Contest and a twelve-month contract with Fever Romance is . . . RAFAEL!”
The porny pirate—that figured. I bet my sword was bigger than his. I cheered him on while he accepted hugs, kisses, and prize shit on stage from Jules and the Editor-in-Chief of Fever.
My friends weren’t into cheering though, they started jeering:
“It was rigged.”
“We demand a recount!”
Like I gave a fuck, honestly. The real win of the night was the unmistakable fact Leelee definitely saw me as a man, and the sexual interest sparking between us burned brighter than ever before.
Fawn opened her mouth to complain, but I clamped my hand over it before the Widows and Hens combined created a full-scale riot. “Don’t worry about it, y’all. I mean, I appreciate your loyalty, but Captain Cock deserved to win. Besides, I’m too busy with the . . . car dealership anyway. I just did it as a favor to Jules.”
Jacqueline’s skin gleamed and her teeth glistened in a grin. “Always stay on her good side, ’cause she will cut you.”
Leelee’s coy smile slid over me to land on Nicky. “Mm hmm. And besides, you seemed to think Captain Cock was kind of hot on the poster in the elevator, didn’t you, Stone?”
Not. Nicky’s eyes danced, mine flattened to a glare.
“I thought nothin’ of the sort.” I sniffed.
Before I could defend my honor any more, we were swarmed by groupies all looking to get my autograph. Mine? This is some wild stuff. I happily obliged as I’d seen Nicky and Leelee do, even when one buxom broad all but bared her tits for me to John Hancock.
As soon as the lusty ladies departed, Fawn sidled up to one side of me, Missy on the other. I didn’t like the two of them in cahoots together.
Fawn slapped my ass hard enough to earn a feral grin of approval from Missy. “Next time, lose the leathers and just wear chaps.”
The crew busted out laughing, and I backed into a corner so no one else could tap my shit. We continued to guzzle beer, the Hens kept peck-peck-pecking, and the Widows held their own in wit and one-liners.
The back of my neck prickled as I stood at the high top table mashed between Nicky and Leelee. Glancing aside, I saw two babes staring at me. They each crooked a come-hither finger at me.
“Uh, I think I have to go talk to some people,” I whispered to Nicky.
He gave the girls a quick inspection. “Those two are the book reviewers and webmistresses at LolliPOP Grrrls. Go say hi.”
At his prodding, I slipped away from the table, ambling up to the young ladies. They were opposites of each other. One dressed in a hoodie and all-black clothes, sporting an array of facial piercings from her ears to her eyebrows to her nose and lips. Her consort was a bottle blonde femme in tight all-white neoprene. They both had bods any man with a working cock in his pants would appreciate. Miss Blondie sucked a lollipop with audible slurps and the dark angel smacked a piece of gum like she was chewing a cow cud.
They made me feel like a dirty old man, and I wasn’t even the one leering; they were. At me. It was then I remembered once again I was bare-chested, almost naked . . . and not at all interested in them in any way.
The grins they gave me as I sauntered over were as saccharine as their treats. “Quite a show, Stone.”
I pulled my fedora lower, wishing I had a shirt on, too. “Thanks, ladies.”
Even though they looked like eye candy, Suck and Blow started in all business. “We run a review blog and we want you on it. You write ’em, we suck ’em down,” they said in unison.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was drowning in innuendo-ville.
“But I don’t write.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. That brought the leather low-riders another dangerous inch down my lubed-up body.
Their eyes riveted to the extra amount of skin on show, I withdrew my hands and crossed my arms over my chest. Half naked, oiled down like the kid’s Slip and Slide when we squirted Dawn dish soap on it, I couldn’t have made more of an immodest spectacle of myself.
The gum smacker said, “Oh, we don’t care about that. We just think you’re smoking—”
“Capital H hawt.” Lollipop twirled a ringlet of white-blond hair around her finger.
Her kinky cohort snapped her gum. “Centerfolds? Nude?”
“Cover guy.” They both sighed.
Yap, yap, yap, they went. I turned half around to the table so I could dri
nk in Leelee’s fresh-faced gorgeousness to find her . . . glaring at me. Glaring? What’d I do now? Oh. She was glaring at me and the two girls. Was she jealous?
Hell yeah to that.
I took their card and promised to contact them. They sucked, smacked, and finally backed away, finding new prey to hunt down. I’d almost made it back to the table when I saw LaForge headed our way. Determination in his steady march, he glommed onto Leelee.
Hell no to that.
Whether the skuzzball was looking to get into her panties or her purse, both were a no-go. And I was gonna make sure of that. He got in Leelee’s line of sight and she visibly flinched. I beelined for her before he made contact.
Her green eyes full of anxiety skipped to mine. “Can you get me outta here?”
Knight in shining armor, here I come. Grasping Leelee’s hand, I sent an apologetic look to Nicky. Her fingers tucked around mine while I skirted the edges of the room.
We played a game of duck and dodge while our friends covered our retreat. The cover models had first string. Rafael, Viking, and Army Tank stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a solid wall of muscle between LaForge and our exit. Not to be outdone, LaFucker skirmished aside, intent on getting to Leelee.
The Hens held second defense, Nicky with them, his jaw visibly grinding. Mess with Leelee, mess with them. That devotion became apparent when from out of nowhere, Missy brandished a crop to beat him over the head. Better him than me. Jacqueline’s nails were out, Nicky took up a boxing stance, Janice threw off her bangles. They converged on him, giving him a taste of his own predatory tactics.
By the time we reached the door, LaForge had hurtled past the Hens only to be foiled by the Widows. Fred, Devon, Fawn, and Felicity made a last stand as we broke through the exit. Nicky glared at me one final time. Noted. Ignored. I’d deal with the consequences later.
Reaching the lobby, we dived between masses of people. One of Leelee’s heels broke off against an uneven tile. I lifted her into my arms.
“Stone! Put me down.”
Not likely, not now that I had her with me. Once we reached our escape route, I slipped her slowly to the floor, cushioning her landing with my hands on the backs of her thighs.
