by Teagan Kade
“We should sing something,” she suggests.
I point between us. “You and I?”
“No, the beer you’re holding,” she teases. “Yes, us.”
Hernandez is laughing his ass off. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
The others are starting to egg me on. I’m many things.
A competent singer is not one of them.
Before I know it, I’m being pulled by Lacey’s hand towards the single pallet that’s doubling as the stage in the middle of the bar. The security guy’s doubling as the DJ.
Mr. Brightside comes to end—thank god.
The Dwayne Johnson lookalike scowls when he sees me coming up to the booth. I haven’t been in his good books since the initial tussle with Ryan. It looks like he’s swapping security duty for disc jockey duty tonight. “What’ll it be?” He looks me over. “Eye of the Tiger?”
“Living on a Prayer,” blabs Lacey, and I sure as shit want to put in a formal protest, but her hand is still in mine and it’s hot and perfect and I’ll agree to damn near anything right now if it means getting closer to her.
Security guy hands us mics and nods to the ‘stage’ (read: a wooden pallet), loading up the music.
Here we fucking go.
The crowd’s rowdy. They cheer when they see us stepping up and the ‘wah wah whoa whoa’ of the vocoded guitar riff kicking in.
Lacey winks at me, already dancing along, swinging her hips in a surprisingly sexual manner.
I watch the words come up onto the screen. “Tommy used to work on the docks,” we sing together, Lacey smiling and, miraculously, her voice actually making mine sound half alright.
By ‘For love, for looooove,’ I’m kind of getting into the swing of it myself, even hip-bumping Lacey along the way.
And then it starts to fall apart.
Lacey’s singing like an angel, but I make ‘We’re half way there’ sound like a throat cancer ad. I swear my testies drop on ‘Living on a,’ practically popping on ‘Prayer.’
It’s a fucking disaster.
But the crowd is lapping it up.
Fucking Hernandez is in hysterics, bent over on his knees with laughter, holding onto a chair for support.
King’s fucking filming it.
Lacey’s smile grows as we come into the second verse.
Embrace it, I realize. Embrace your vocal shittiness.
So I do. I pull out an air guitar for the solo, Lacey barely able to sing along she’s laughing so hard. We rock together, place our heads together through the chorus again, my voice soaring into strangled-sea-lion territory.
The last line and rapturous applause follows, even Dwayne Johnson forced to bring his hands together. We take a bow, hand in hand, and step off the pallet.
Hernandez is struggling to his feet, tears streaming down his face. He claps his hand on my back. “Brother, I’ve heard broken records more in tune than that, but Lacey… What did you do with your wings? Because, baby, that was fucking beautiful.”
She places her hand on my chest. “I don’t know. I thought we sounded pretty good together.”
We sure do, I think, and we sure will as soon as I get between those legs of yours.
The simple suggestion of her naked is almost too much to bear, my cock crying out for attention.
Bon Jovi’s not our last song of the night. Lacey manages to convince everyone at our table to get up for a group rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, an instant crowd-pleaser. I swear I even catch a glimpse of the Captain himself up the back bobbing along.
We’re so busy having a good time, drinking barely factors into it. Everyone’s having a fucking blast. It’s beautiful, but nothing compares to Lacey. She glows, cock-stiffeningly resplendent.
I can’t take it anymore. While someone sings KISS’s Do You Love Me? I take Lacey’s hand in my own and turn her towards me.
She goes to speak, but I lean forward and silence her lips with my own.
It’s a risky move, but the moment our mouths meet her entire body relaxes.
The others at the table are whooping and cheering. It’s all drowned away, because I’m lost in her, this incredible girl, her tongue the first to reach past no man’s land into my mouth, tangling with my own hot and sticky and fucking sexual in the extreme.
She leans forward, the kiss deepening and I know this is only leading one place.
It’s hard to say how long the kiss lasts—seconds, minutes, hours—but when we break I’m certain we both feel it, the start of something incredible.
I place my mouth against her ear, my breath hot on the shell of it. “Do you want to get out of here?”
She’s breathing hard, her mouth opening in a pant, the sugar sweet taste of her still on my lips.
But I want more. I want to taste her nipples, her pussy… everything. I want to lash her most private areas until she’s screaming, completely out of control.
“Yes,” she whispers back.
“Get a fucking room you two,” says Hernandez, skunk drunk.
We ignore him, standing and moving through the crowd hand in hand. We stop by the entrance to kiss again, the urgency of it growing, the arousal palpable between us. We’re trying to press ourselves together, her crotch hot and willing against my dick.
We run—literally dash—across the road back to campus laughing, my cock fucking iron in my pants by now.
We stop in the hallway. “You’re room or mine?” I question.
“Mine,” she replies, taking a handful of my shirt and tugging me inside. I shut the door behind us with the heel of my shoe, her face in my hands, and our bodies burning up with desire.
And this is it.
This is ‘The Miracle.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LACEY
He takes me around the waist, pulling me into his hardness.
I could push him away.
I don’t.
“I bet you’re wet right now,” Payton whispers, his lips close to mine. “I bet my cock would run right in.”
Instead of speaking, I release a caught moan deep from the bottom of my throat. “And if I am?”
I watch for his response with wide eyes, my body electric. I breathe in, holding it while I wait.
I go to speak again, unable to take the anticipation, but he silences me with his mouth, bringing his lips hard upon my own until I falter, growing limp at his touch.
Our tongues meet, mine hesitant at first as he seeks me out. He reaches up and threads his fingers through my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss, devouring me from the outset.
My heart beats hard against his chest, his cock twitching between us.
When he finally pulls away, I gasp for air.
He stills holds onto my hair, gently tugging so my head tilts back and my neck is exposed.
In a second his lips are upon it, a hot trail of heated kisses following up to my earlobe, teased by the arrow-like tip of his tongue.
I lick my lower lip, my chest lifting and falling against this sudden onslaught, the need welling up strong inside me. I want his mouth everywhere—on my breasts, my nipples, my… sex.
My heart’s hammering so hard I’m worried it’s going to beat right out of my chest.
I’ve never wanted anything this bad.
His other hand reaches up, playing with my lips, slipping inside my mouth like a tiny cock. I suck it while he watches.
I inhale when he draws it away.
“Do you know what I want?” he purrs.
I don’t reply. I can’t, I’m breathing so hard.
“I want to lick every last inch of your body with my tongue. I want to drive it inside that sweet little pussy of yours and take away your breath. I want you to think you’re having a fucking heart attack when you come. Do you hear me?”
I’m not used to be spoken to in this way, this dirty talk. I’m surprised it’s turning me on so much.
“Yes,” I pant.
Payton slides his hand over my stomach before it disapp
ears down the front of my panties. A shock runs through me as his fingers find my clit.
My face distorts when he applies pressure, his tawny eyes watching me all the while. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe his hand is between my legs right now, touching me… there… where no other hand has gone before.
“Would you rather I replace it with my mouth?” he purrs.
Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, my head screams, but I can’t form the words.
I lift my lips to his. We kiss, light at first and then with greater urgency, his tongue deep in my mouth. I tilt my hips against his hand, my entire body beating with nervous excitement.
Our tongues flutter against one another, his free hand moving into the thick of my hair to pull away the tie. It unspools like silk around his fingers.
And I feel safe. I feel completely protected here against him, cocooned away from the world by his body—hard and warm.
His fingers work against the slick seam of my pussy. My eyes squeeze shut as I clamp my thighs around his wrist and snap my hips upwards, suddenly freezing as my entire body contracts on the brink of orgasm.
It’s right at that pivotal moment he removes his hand.
“What are you—” But my words are silenced as I’m driven onto the bed, my shoes, jeans, and panties stripped away by his hands.
He removes his own, pulling his shirt free, his giant cock bobbing before him majestically while I remove my top and bra, blushing in the semi-darkness.
He kneels, warm, heavy hands parting my thighs, and places his mouth upon me.
The sensation of his tongue exploring the hot space of my pussy is otherworldly. He uses the flat of his tongue against my clit, then the tip, alternating until I’m bucking helplessly, my fingers woven through his inky hair, my legs scissoring open and shut against his head.
I pant like a wild animal, grunting and mewing and completely out of control, a junkie without her fix.
I’m close, way too close, but I want him—all of him.
I don’t care if this is Mr. Right in this moment, that we’re from two worlds.
All I want is his cock.
And I want it now.
I lift his head up, his eyes glassy with arousal.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him.
His brow furrows. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
He reaches to his jeans on the floor and removes a foil packet from his wallet, sheathing his enormous cock before me.
One hand flat on the mattress beside my head, he lowers himself over me, a hand around his cock to guide it against the slippery seam between my legs.
I place one hand on his shoulder, let the other stroke his back from the nape of his neck to the bottom of his spine.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I am.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He drives forward, a fleeting pinch as he plunges inside me, deep into the heated clutch of my pussy.
I moan, my hands locking around his neck as he draws away, his breath hot against my face as he slides forward into the tight compression once more.
I’m so wet he enters me easily, the flare of pain subsiding and replaced by a new and profound pleasure I had no idea existed until this moment. His thick cock fills me out completely, his hot flesh against mine maddeningly wonderful.
I urge him on.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he moans, his lips against my ear.
All I can do is whisper his name in response, over and over as if a chant, a prayer.
“Yes,” I tell him, “yes,” a breathy, hollow sound that’s not my voice at all.
My core tightens. Payton builds into a rhythm.
I move against him, my hips gyrating, sucking his member in.
I press my eyes tight together to stave off the impending orgasm. I don’t want this to end—not now, not ever.
The mattress flexes below us, the springs registering an audible protest, but it’s lost to the waves of sensation threatening to overwhelm me.
Payton pounds away with everything he has, my mouth caught open, struggling to pull in breath.
I flail, his cock stirring alien sensation inside me.
It’s when I feel his hand enclose my breast, the pad of his thumb glazing over my nipple, that the rope that was tethering me to earth snaps for good.
I half-shout half-scream, clawing my fingers into Payton’s back as I explode from the inside out.
My head floats. I’m starved of oxygen, but still my pussy pulses and contracts around Payton’s driving cock, a strange ringing sound filling my ears as a second climax rolls over the first and sends me to near unconsciousness.
I’m still shuddering when Payton stiffens, groaning as he finds his own release deep in the most private confines of my body.
He slumps sideways still inside me, pulling into his chest as I continue to jerk from the aftershocks.
We kiss again, tender and soft now in the afterglow of it.
A new bout of lightheadedness strikes me. It feels like I’m going to pass out.
I had no idea it would be this… satisfying.
“Well,” Payton asks, still breathing hard, “how was it?”
“It was,” I search for the right word, “miraculous.”
Payton laughs against my cheek. “That’s quite a compliment coming from the Miracle herself.”
“Twelve shots of grade-A tap water is hardly a miracle.”
He sits up. “Say what now?”
I let my finger run down the center of his chest. “You don’t really think I could do all those shots of vodka and actually leave that bar standing, do you? Look at me. I’m lucky if I could handle two or three before keeling over.”
He’s shaking his head in amazement. “Hang on. You’re saying you hustled me in the bar that night? How?”
“My secret,” I shrug.
He reaches down and finds my clit, applying light pressure.
I moan, lost again.
“Tell me or I’m going to make you come all damn night.”
I’m way too sensitive right now. Another orgasm would kill me. I take hold of his wrist. “Fine, fine. When I said I was going to the bathroom that night I slipped into the back and had a girl talk with your buddy the bartender.”
He’s still shaking his head. “The Britney clone? You slippery motherfu—”
I place a finger on his lips.
“How did you pay her?” he mumbles.
I smile. “To fill my shots with water and yours with the strongest vodka she had? Absolutely nothing.”
I release my finger. “But I saw…”
“Her pour them? At the back of the bar?”
I register the surprise on his face. It’s almost as good as an orgasm—almost.
Poor guy. He’s still confused. “But why did she do it?”
I sit up on an elbow. “I said you needed to be taught a lesson, told her about how you tried to hit on me in your birthday suit on day one. Once I told her that, she was all in.”
Payton throws a hand up. “I cannot fucking believe this. I just slept with Cruella de Vil. First cheating at the Tower, then the drink-off… What next? A quarter-mile drag race?”
I raise an eyebrow, looking down at my still-flushed nipples. “Do I look like Dom Toretto to you?”
He takes me around the waist, rolling me under him, his hand planted beside my head and his cock see-sawing between us once again hard. “No, you look like you need to be taught a lesson.”
“And what are you going to do?” I whimper.
His eyes glean with wicked prospect. “I’m going to fuck that naughty streak right out of you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
PAYTON
It’s a miracle alright—twice in one night and double the orgasms, her perfect pussy squeezing my cock dry, but when I wake around one AM, she’s gone.
Bathroom, I conclude, thinking of it no more as I slip back to sleep.
She’s there again come
morning, curled into my chest, her hand against it and her leg over mine.
I brush her hair back over her ears, her eyes fluttering open with such density of color I’m speechless.
“Cat got your tongue?” she laughs, voice croaky. She looks almost as tired as I feel.
“I don’t know about the cat, but a certain pussy was privy to it last night.”
She slaps my chest. “You’re incorrigible, you know.”
I pull her closer. “But you love it.”
“Say it again.”
“You love it?”
“No,” she laughs, “the ‘P’ word.”
“Pussy,” I purr, grinding my cock up against the front of her panties. “Say ‘cock.’”
“Cock,” she stammers, instantly blushing.
“Say ‘I want your cock, Payton.’”
Her eyes glint with newfound mischief. “I want your big, hard cock, Payton.”
I roll her underneath me, reaching down to tug her panties away. “And you’re going to get it.”
*
Given our rather audible meeting last night, we’re harassed in the cafeteria. Lacey’s so embarrassed she can barely make eye contact with the others, but I manage to tone them down a little, move the conversation onto something other than our sudden sexual awakening.
I lift a spoonful of scrambled eggs to my mouth. I need all the damn energy I can get after last night. “Where’d you say you’re from again, Hernandez?”
“Bell Gardens, Cali-fucking-fornia,” he replies.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
He dips his head. “Well, it has either serving tacos or serving cards in the casino, neither of which are going to save any lives now, are they?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ve had some damn fine tacos in my time.”
Hernandez’s eyes roll to Lacey. “I bet you have.”
Lacey shakes her head at him. “Are you seriously calling my vagina a taco right now?”
That shuts Hernandez up. “Call it whatever you want—honey pot, pink canoe, potorro. I don’t mind.”
She shrugs. “I’ve always been fond of ‘cock socket’ myself.”
There’s a moment of shock before everyone bursts into laughter.
“You’re full of surprises, Miracle,” says Hernandez, returning to his food.
