“Oh God,” I moan as I feel fingers curve around my hips, feel the hard press of something at my opening. I arch my back, lift my hips up and groan as one of my boys pushes inside of me with a hard, cruel thrust.
Now that really is Paxton.
The warmth of his body filling mine is overwhelming, making me cry out, shudder around him. I hear him curse and give my tender ass a slap with his palm.
“Slow down there, Miss Lily,” he says, hitting me with another nickname. I lift my fingers up almost imploringly and find them catching on a crisp denim waistband, sliding down and finding a cock already slicked up with lube, fingers wrapped around it.
I think it's Cope, but I'm not a hundred percent sure.
Grabbing his waistband again, I tug him toward me, encourage him to slip the hard velvety length of his shaft between my lips. My hand drops back to the bed and I open my throat, letting him in as deep as I can, groaning softly as he buries his fingers in my hair.
Maybe I should feel like I'm being used, but I don't. I feel like I'm being worshipped. Something about the monsoon of grief inside of me has washed away all my boundaries, stripped down my walls, torn me apart and left me aching and empty and open and wanting. One man couldn't satisfy me. No, all five years I was with Kevin there was something missing. And maybe that was just him, maybe he was just lacking. But now I've got four guys looking at me like I'm something special and I'm going to take advantage of that.
When I feel Pax tensing up behind me, I push back into him, heart thumping and listen to the sharp sound of his orgasm tearing from his throat as he spills himself into me. And my only regret is that I can't see his face as he does it.
“Bloody hell,” he murmurs and then there's this horrible emptiness as he pulls away and the bed creaks beneath us. The boys don't let me regret or want for long though. Fingers knead my scalp as I suck the cock between my lips and somebody else—the gentle fingers again—pushes up my dress and exposes my bare back.
There's a little spot of sudden warmth on my spine for a moment.
“Tell us if that's too hot, honey,” Ran says and I realize that those gentle fingers are his. Pax might be 'in charge' but Ran is watching over me. The shaft between my lips slides back for a moment, giving me a chance to speak.
“Don't stop,” I murmur because like this, with all of these people and all of these things happening to me, there's no room to feel sad or insecure or lonely. In here, like this, I feel like I might never be lonely again.
“You like this, doll baby?” Ran asks as more bright spots of warmth drip down my back. I think it's candle wax.
“Yes,” I breathe and then the boy in front of me is backing up and moving away. I start to reach out to him when somebody else takes my hand, curling their fingers in mine and dropping their mouth down to kiss me. That controlled need … the smoky smell of incense. Derek? He kisses me for long moments as the wax drips down my back and then gets replaced with gentle fingers, kneading and massaging my skin, fingertips digging into my muscles and making me feel like I might collapse.
Those same hands keep me from falling forward, curving around my hips and pulling me back against a hard warm pelvis. It must be Ran, it has to be, but I don't really care. These four guys, I want them all.
I relax into his touch as he presses the head of his shaft to my sex, pushing inside so slow I almost want to scream. It's like he's trying to be the exact opposite of Paxton. I distract myself with what's happening in front of me, the warm lips of the man kissing me pulling away and being replaced with his cock.
I take it eagerly into my mouth as the man behind me starts to thrust with these long, deep aching strokes that stir up everything inside of me. His shaft feels hot, almost scorchingly so, and I forget all about that little twinge of anxiety at having these guys bare inside of me.
As Ran's thrusting and I'm teasing Muse with my tongue, I feel a tickling softness against my stinging ass cheeks. Somebody's teasing me with a feather and the contrasting sensation of that gentle softness against my sore skin … it makes me crazy.
My hips lift up and press against Ran, encouraging him to move faster and deeper as I increase my intensity on Muse's shaft, sucking and licking him without restraint.
“Holy crap, Cutie,” he says, giving himself away, and I'd smile if … you know.
Ran adjusts himself, pulling me back onto his lap so I'm sitting more or less on my knees, encouraging me to take over the motion of our bodies and freeing up my hands to play with Muse's balls. Someone else—must be Cope because the touch isn't cruel enough—slips their hands inside the large arm holes of my dress and frees one of my breasts from my bra, pushing the excess fabric out of his way so he can press his mouth against me, tongue slicking across my nipple, lips scorching.
Pax does the same on the other side and like the gentle feather and the stinging paddle, the two boys couldn't be anymore different.
“Fuck,” Cope whispers from beside me and I can hear the strain in his voice. My left hand seeks him out again, just like I did before, finding the denim of his pants, drifting down to his cock. He lifts up on his knees, giving me better access to his shaft, moving his mouth to my ear, my throat, giving me goose bumps all over my body. I work him with a slow, twisting motion, turning my fist clockwise around the base of his cock and drinking his groans in like fine wine.
Ransom's the next to come, giving into the tight heat of my body with this ragged cry that almost drags me over the edge with him.
But I'm not done yet.
I want to please all of my boys.
I pull away from Muse and shove the blindfold over my head, blinking at the hazy atmosphere of sex and the heavy lidded hazel eyes of the man in front of me.
“Muse and Cope,” I say, focusing my attention on them, eager to show them that Ran and Pax aren't the only stars of this particular show.
I climb off of Ransom as he collapses into the pillows and throws his hood up over his head, Pax watching the three of us as I guide Cope onto his back and straddle him.
He's wearing this adorably sweet but sexually strained little smile as I guide him to my opening and watch his expression shift from desperate to devastated. It feels so fucking good; neither of us is going to last long.
“Muse,” I whisper as he comes up behind me, kissing my neck, brushing my hair over my shoulder as I ride his friend. He produces a small bottle of lube from his pocket, warming me up from behind with a single slick finger, then two, just like Cope did. “I'm ready,” I promise him and he obliges my new carnal obsession, putting his cock to my ass and pushing inside to share my body with Copeland.
The sensation overwhelms me, sending shivers through every inch of my body, taking all my breath away. I feel like I don't dare take another, like there's not enough room inside of me for it. My lids flutter as pleasure takes over my entire body, invades my bones, digs into my muscles. The two cocks rub this thin wall between my ass and my pussy, this bundle of nerve endings I didn't even know I had.
My fingertips dig into Cope's hard chest as sweat drips down the side of my face, a droplet spattering against the pair of heart tattoos on his left pec. Our eyes meet and I feel that same surge of emotion I felt in the gas station, this overwhelming need to cave in and tell him everything. Everything. Everything.
Then my breath catches so sharply my lungs hurt and a powerful orgasm tears right through me, so vivid and vibrant that color flickers behind my tightly shuttered lids. My lips part with a breathless gasp and I collapse onto Cope's chest, sighing as his arms go around me I realize my own orgasm stole one from him and Muse both.
“Jesus Christ,” Ran says as a rush of cool air sweeps into the room and I glance over my shoulder to find Michael standing in the door staring at us. He has Pierced Guy's keys in his hand and a frown plastered on his face.
His violet eyes are murder when they look at the five of us.
“What the hell? We go out to party and you guys come back here to fuck?” he sn
arls, his gaze focused mostly on me. With a scowl, Michael steps inside and closes the door behind him, his leather jacket draped over one elbow, exposing his tattoos and a pair of sumptuously sculpted arms. “Put your dicks away and let's go. Too many paps here now to relax.”
“Jealous, are we, Mikey?” Pax asks, standing up from the bed and buttoning up his slacks. “I would be, if I were chained to a monster like Vanessa.”
“Eat shit, Pax,” Michael says, looking briefly at his friend before turning his glare back to me. “Get up,” he repeats, pupils dilated, skin flushed. Whether it's from dancing or because of what he sees in that dungeon room, I'm not sure. “Follow me and I'll show you what a real night out looks like.”
He turns and leaves the room, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.
The next morning, I wake up to a knee in my back and reach over to slap Muse away from me.
“You're fucking stabbing me in the goddamn spine,” I mumble in a dazed half-sleep, sitting up slightly and staring at the gathered collection of assholes on the bed around me. Well, the assholes and Lilith. My friends look like ugly demons when they sleep; Lilith looks like an angel.
Her pink bloom of a mouth draws my thumb, encouraging me to press the whorls of my fingertip against her bottom lip. She sighs gently in her sleep, lashes pressed to her pale cheeks, red hair splayed out across the black silk pillows in a purple-red curtain.
Ah, I really like her.
A lot.
But I have terrible taste in women, so maybe that shouldn't count for anything?
I look back over at my friends. Muse is behind me; Cope is next to Lilith; Pax and Michael are several careful inches apart on the far side of the bed. This wouldn't be the first time we all got drunk and passed out in here—it's the biggest, nicest, most comfortable spot in the entire bus—but it's the first time we've all crashed here with a girl between us.
I sit up against the headboard and try to remember something beyond the dungeon room at the Silver Skull. It's all a goddamn blur. I think we hit two more clubs. Three? I remember having drinks at a small quiet bar, the air hazy with smoke.
And then … I'm completely fucking nude, so more sex I presume?
I think.
God, we need to change these fucking sheets.
I crawl out of the blankets and slide off the end of the bed, searching for my hoodie in the sea of clothes on the floor. When I can't find it, I give up and head to my bunk, open the small drawer underneath and fish out a fresh Beauty in Lies hoodie and some sweats with a faux tear in one leg, a battered skeletal leg showing through. I like the idea of these pants, like part of me's been ripped away and everyone can see my horrid insides peeking through.
I move into the living room and start some coffee, trying to decide if I had any nightmares last night. If I did, I can't remember them.
“Can you bloody believe we made out last night?” Paxton asks from behind me, appearing in … fucking nothing, his dick already half-hard as he leans over me and steals the coffee pot from my hands.
I grit my teeth at him, but he ignores me, pouring a cup, dashing creamer into it and lifting it to his lips as I tug my hood over my hair and glare at him.
“No, not really,” I say as I pour my own coffee and try not to look at him. I have a hard time looking at Pax nowadays—and not just because I don't particularly want to see his dick. He was the first real guy friend I ever had, this pompous rich asshole from England trying to navigate the seedier side of Seattle. I took him under my wing and we've been together ever since, since I was fifteen and he was sixteen.
Ten years of friendship, half of them wonderful and the other half … fucking heartbreaking.
But neither of us will quit and walk away, so here we are. There must still be something here to save, right?
“You kiss like you don't expect to live through tomorrow,” Pax says mildly, giving me pause, drawing my gaze up to his grey eyes and his perfectly combed and styled hair. So, he got up and didn't bother to take the time to put pants on, but he did his hair? Figures. But his words are, well, fuck, I don't know what to make of them.
“Sometimes I pray that I won't, honey,” I whisper and my hands start to shake. My cup starts to slip from my fingers and Pax catches it from the bottom, setting it gently on the counter in front of me. I miss my mom so damn bad in that moment that I could puke. I imagine her sitting at the breakfast nook in our kitchen, sipping coffee from her favorite floral mug.
And then I imagine her waking up to some strange guy in her room, feeling him violate her, kill her, steal her away from me.
My head gets dizzy and I lean against the wall on my right as Pax walks away and leaves me alone in the kitchen. He's only gone for a moment, but when he comes back, he steps right up to me and pulls the hood from my hair.
“Your mum?” he asks as I turn my head slowly to look at him, noticing that he's put on some grey sweats.
“I can't even remember her without remembering how she died,” I whisper, trying not think of the police reports, of Mom's panties around her ankles and her body lying in a pool of blood. He raped her. He killed her. Raped her and killed her.
Killed her, killed her, killed her.
And I killed him.
I stabbed him a hundred and fourteen times. Over and over and over again. And I just couldn't stab him enough. When that bastard died, I was as heartbroken as I was when I found out my mom was gone. Because if he was dead, he couldn't suffer anymore. And I wanted that. I craved it.
I feel myself start to slip away, the world around me blurring into shapes and colors instead of objects and things … and then I hear Pax sigh.
“Fucking hell, Ran,” he says and then he's hugging me.
He hugs me.
Paxton Blackwell hugs me.
“Your mouth tastes like ash and heartache, Ran,” he says, giving me a long, tight squeeze that snaps my brain back to the bus, to the steaming cup of coffee in front of me, to the light streaming in above the kitchen window. “Don't kiss me with it again until you get that shite cleaned up, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper and then we both pause at the sound of soft footsteps behind us.
Pax lets go of me and I glance back to find Lilith in Cope's Dracula tank and a pair of Muse's sweats. She slips out of the hallway and closes the door softly behind her. When her eyes search us both out, she smiles at what she sees.
“Good morning,” she says as I look back at her, my eyes catching on the vibrant green of her gaze, the faint blush of hardened nipples I can see beneath the shirt's thin fabric.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I say, passing over my coffee and enjoying the brush of our fingers when she takes it.
“Thanks,” she says, nodding at Paxton. He smiles sharply at her, but he doesn't say anything. I think we both need a minute to process what just happened. God. I hope this isn't a fluke, some hungover remnant of what we used to have. Losing Mom and not having Pax around to help me through it was like torture.
The night Chloe and Harper died … it was like he died right along with them.
“What time's the show tonight?” Lilith asks, eyes sparkling.
Before I can question myself, I step forward and kiss her coffee tainted lips.
“Nine,” I whisper, “but the doors open at eight. We'll be busy most of the day today.”
Lilith nods as I take a step back, watching her and imagining that beautiful body laid out in front of me, dripping hot massage oil from the black metal candle down her curved spine. Her cunt was warm and slick, a million times better bare than with a condom. I never want to use a condom with this girl again.
“I should probably try to … make some plans,” she says, her voice dropping slightly as she glances away from Pax and me, sipping her coffee and letting her face crumple up with pain. I don't think she even realizes it, but there it is, pulling down the corners of her beautiful mouth. “I have two hundred bucks cash and a car from 1977.” She flicks her gaze back to us a
nd makes herself smile. “People have done more with less.”
“What's your passion, baby?” I ask as she moves over to sit on the couch, her bare breasts showing through the giant armholes on the side of the tank top. Jesus. I glance over at Pax and see I'm not the only one that's noticed. We exchange a look, me and him, and it's the most companionable look we've shared in four years.
“My passion?” Lilith echoes, glancing up and staring between the two of us for a moment. “I'm not sure. Art, I think. I like making things.”
“Then you're in the right place, baby girl,” I whisper as I pour myself another cup of coffee and join her on the couch, sitting so close that she has to adjust herself and drape her left leg over my right. “We're all artists here. What do you like to make besides sexy shirt-dresses?”
Lilith smiles and the expression makes her cheeks dimple, makes the scattering of freckles on her nose stand out. I want to kiss each and every one of them.
“I like to paint,” she says tentatively, and I remember her drawing yesterday on her phone, using a stylus to trace out a design that she didn't show to anyone. “Digitally or with oils. I guess it doesn't really matter. I just like to see something beautiful come from nothing.”
“What kind of stuff do you like to paint?” I ask as Pax sits down in one of the swivel chairs and for once in his fucking life, has the decency to say nothing at all.
“Life,” she says, her cheeks reddening slightly. I wonder if she's thinking of last night, of being blindfolded and surrounded by the four of us. Not a single one of us could take our eyes off of her, not even for a second. She has magnetism, this girl does. And she's nothing at all like Chloe or Kortney, not even close. They were similar to each other, pretty and elusive and fully aware that they held all the cards in life. Neither of them was particularly artistic although they were both smart. Chloe wanted to be a plastic surgeon … Kortney ended up marrying some guy back in Seattle and having a son. I think she's a housewife now. I don't particularly care.
Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1) Page 22
