“How’s that feel? Did it hurt?” I know he wants the answer I want to give, need to give.
A tingle races along my hairline as my pussy throbs for more. I need him to move, to throw me completely over this damn couch and fuck me until I lose my voice.
“Yes.”
He withdraws, the wetness between his cock and my walls soothing and erotic and desperately infinite.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just thrusts again. I cry out as he buries himself deeper than any man has before. His hips are fluid, pumping in and out with calculated force … as if he knows just how much makes me ride the line between ecstasy and agony.
Suddenly, he stops and I realize I never answered him.
Forcing my eyes open, I turn my head for his kiss. “Yes, yes, I liked it.”
My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I wrap my thighs around him and urge him with tilt of my hips. Brent pulls at my earlobe, biting, sucking as he fucks me. It’s fast and hard and fuck, so divine. Deep sounds rumble from his throat, his skin going slick and hot. Running my hands down his rock hard biceps, I trail my nails over his flesh, digging in when his thrusts get insane.
Pressure starts to build deep inside and I’m sure I’m going mad. This is my boss, I have to stop.
I’m never going to stop.
I cry his name, and suddenly, he pulls free and drops to his knees. Before I register what he’s doing, he’s on his knees, pulling me down, his hands spreading my thighs as he mouths my pussy. His tongue swirls my clit, relentlessly caressing and teasing the nerves until I scream.
I can’t hold it back. Panting, moaning, I grab his hair and hold him to me. He slips a finger inside, then two, fucking me while he licks my clit. My orgasm is just outside the edges, flying in at me from all directions and I’m frantic to reach it.
“Not yet, Erica.” Brent stands and spins me, pulling my ass back toward him. God, yes. “Spread wide.”
I do, and he’s inside me again, thrusting with enough force to rock me into the back of the chaise. My breasts bounce as he dives deep, over and over. The angle allows him to hit my clit a little with each thrust, and I lean back more, seeking … wanting.
“I need it, please!” The begging flies from my lips and I press back more. Just a little more … Brent curls his body over mine, his chest slick and hot against my back. His hand curls around my hip and slides between my legs—fingers playing my clit with teasing strokes and flicks.
Darkness colors the edge of my vision, the swirl in my brain too much. Not enough. The pleasure is so damn intense. It’s controlling me, dominating me and I can’t … I can’t, but I have to.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” I hear myself sob. Brent’s hand clamps over my mouth, his lips gracing the edge of my ear.
“What do you need, baby? You need this cock?”
I can’t reply because of his hand, so I don’t try but I moan. He murmurs in my ear, soft and dirty things that have me whimpering as my orgasm storms through me. I scream against his hand, my body pressing into the couch, my hips straining against his thrusts.
“Fuck, fuck, yes,” Brent cries out, his cock pulsing in long spurts as he comes.
The sound of our collective breathing consumes me, and I lose more time as I collapse against the couch and just feel. My synapses are slow to recover, and I find myself in Brent’s arms, lolled against the chaise like two dolls tossed there. His eyes rake over my face, a crooked smile pulls his lips right before he kisses me.
I have no idea how I can be so elated and exhausted at the same time, but I am. He’s worn me out, but one bat of his eyelashes and I’ll be ready for round two.
“This is where I say, “That was amazing,” and you say, “Yeah,” I remind him.
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yeah.”
Holding a hand out to me, he helps me upright and I realize what a disaster we’ve made of the room. Our clothing is everywhere, and the unfortunate vase is shattered all over the floor.
“Leave it,” he says after following my gaze. “Come with me.”
Naked, my legs still wobbly, we walk past the master to a door on the right of his bedroom. Curious, I wait as he opens it. From the quick peek I get, it looks like a guest room, but he blocks me from entering.
He looks at me like he’s thinking, deciding, maybe. Then, he swings the door wide and shifts to the side so I can enter. It’s a bedroom, just a bedroom, simple, yet elegant in its design. He moves to the end of the bed where a large wooden trunk sits.
Brent watches me as he lifts the top. My heart flutters and rushes of goosebumps sting my skin. Renewed desire tingles between my legs even as the instinct to back away races down my spine.
Whips. Chains. Handcuffs.
I feel numb.
Floggers. Crops. Vitamin K.
I feel exhilarated.
Cat O’Nine Tails. Collars. Leashes.
I might love him.
“What’s this?” I ask, already knowing.
Brent sweeps his fingers over my cheek. “These are my terms.”
7
I’m not all about the bass, but this song is pretty catchy.
Alexandria—Alex—sets my white zin in front of me before sliding onto her bar stool and clinking her glass against mine.
I sip the crisp, cool wine. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I listen to the chorus playing overhead. “What song is this?”
“Oh, Rachel.” Her blonde curls bounce with her vigorous headshake. “You need to toss the Tchaikovsky and take in the Trainor.”
I smile. Last girl’s night two weeks ago, she told me to “set down the Stravinsky and snatch up the Sia.” Alex is all about alliteration.
“I’m not against pop. Just, when I’m not playing the classics at school, I’m practicing them at home.” There’s not room for any more sound.
“You unwind with silence, not the radio. I know.”
I grin. “I’m beginning to think we’ve had this conversation before.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Once or twice, usually when I’m trying to recommend a band.”
Now I feel bad about brushing off her recommendations because I was too busy or uninterested. “How about you make me a playlist? and I promise to listen to every song all the way through at least once.”
Instead of smiling, sadness clouds her pert features. “I’m going to miss your highbrow music tastes. Promise to call and talk snobby to me at least once a week. Or better yet, skype.”
“I will.” I drown the lump in my throat with more wine and look around.
Alex suggested the bar, a small, subterranean place with rave reviews but not much exposure. White-painted brick walls, tasteful beige and black décor, and recessed lighting provide ample ambiance, but the crowd’s thankfully thin for a Thursday. Tonight’s our last day before I hop a plane Monday morning to start my new life, the final girl’s night with Alex for who knows how long and I want to make it count.
“I won’t be too far away,” I remind us both. “It’s Massachusetts not Mongolia.”
“True. And if nothing else, I managed to wrench that huge instrument from between your legs one last time.”
“Alex!” I hiss, looking around at the nearby tables. Fortunately, our few neighbors are more focused on their intoxication than our conversation. A guy sitting at a faraway booth by himself catches my eye. His head hangs low so all I see is shaggy dark hair and a tight t-shirt showing off the tattoos all over his massive biceps.
He’s not my type, but I still look at him. Can’t stop staring at him. He’s much stronger than the men I spend time with—delicate-handed artists who don’t lift anything heavier than their bow. This guy could easily lift me. Could hoist me over his shoulder, if he wanted.
I’m not sure why I find that so exciting.
“You deserve a little embarrassment for abandoning me for Bean Town.”
I force my gaze back to Alex and
her cherry red pout.
I toy with the stem of my glass. “For work, not a vacation.” I glance back at Tattooed Guy, hoping to see his face, but the waiter delivering drinks to a nearby table blocks my view.
Alex sighs. “That makes it worse because you won’t be coming back in a week. The windy city is going to blow without you.”
“Something tells me you’ll survive just fine,” I joke, but the words have a morose edge. Most of the things I’ve done off campus—and outside my apartment—are directly because of her nagging me to get out more. I thought there’d be more time after graduation to bond and explore the city, but here I am getting ready to leave it. I don’t regret my dedication to my craft. Landing a spot with the Boston Symphony is a dream come true, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something missing in my life. Something I should have done that I didn’t. If there’d been more time…
The waiter finishes his delivery, but now a tall guy with a backwards cap leans over the side of Tattooed Guy’s booth to give him a high five.
“This is all your dad’s fault.” Alex sounds bitter.
“Hmm?” I look away from the bad boy and drain half my glass as Alex repeats her statement. “He just wants what’s best for me.”
It’s true, but only half the story. The whole story is that he’s mortified about my career choice and he’ll stay mortified unless I can prove to him I’m a good enough cello player to make a name for myself.
I draw swirls in the condensation of my glass with a fingertip, my stomach knotting as I’m reminded of my father’s constant criticism. “I should have taken out student loans instead of letting him pay my tuition. Maybe that would have earned his respect.”
“Probably not.”
I take an extra big gulp of zin. “Now you see why it’s a good thing I got this job in the Boston Symphony.” I bet Tattooed Guy doesn’t have to answer to an overbearing parent. I bet he doesn’t answer to anyone. I bet he’s the one in control of the people around him.
If he was the one bossing me around, I wouldn’t be so opposed. What it would be like to be a woman who let him do that?
I prop my head on my fist and sigh.
“You okay?”
My cheeks heat as though she can read my mind. “Yeah. Just, you know. All of this. It’s a big change. But at least I’ll be playing.”
Alex squeezes more lime into her beer. “Yeah, but at what price?” The directness of her stare unnerves me.
“I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. It’s a smarter course of action than, say, hooking up with a stranger in a bar. Especially a strong, inked, in-control-of-his-own-life hottie like the one at the back of the bar.
I sneak another peek and bingo! I finally see his face.
God, his face…
Now that I see it, I’m not sure I can ever look away. It’s striking. Stunning. Strangely beautiful.
His eyes are inset, his jaw and nose strong. And his mouth—perfect, his lips full but not girly. They’re sin and sex, yet, as he smirks at something on his phone, also quite boyish. It’s the kind of mouth I could stare at for hours, watching the way it shapes words and slides into smiles. The kind of mouth that feels good to kiss and better to suck and my, oh, my, I bet he sucks down there so right I wouldn’t need to grab a vibrator after.
Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a prude, but having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style.
It’s a sign of stress, that’s all. In my mind, Beautiful Tattooed Boy is the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan. It’s the other road—the road I didn’t take. Correction—wouldn’t take. He’s nice to look at, but other than that, we’d probably clash. Big time. I’m only attracted to him because, although I’m happy with my choices and my plans, I can’t help being curious about what else might have been.
Yeah. That’s totally it.
But what if I’m more than curious?
I take another large sip of wine and ask the question no one can answer. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”
“But…?”
She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “But it feels so final. I hope it really is what you want and not just what your father wants.”
“It is.” And if it isn’t, I’m not sure what is.
“Then you’re definitely not making a mistake.” It’s impossible for her to know that as confidently as she’s said it, but I cling to her reassurance. “But you need to at least have a good fuck before you leave.”
I’m glad I’m not drinking or I’d have spit my wine. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”
“Hey, you’re the one who practices fingering. For hours at a time, I might add.”
“For music.” I laugh, warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, there’s no one I’m attracted to.”
Except for him.
My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be strong, his wrist firm as he ran his touch over my—
“Why don’t you go talk to him?”
“To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.
“Tall, dark, and delicious over there. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You’ve been checking him out since we got here. And I approve! He’s alone… you’re alone…”
The thought of talking to him causes a strange flutter low in my belly that I don’t like. Or I do like. I’m not quite sure yet. “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting some quality girl time in before I move.” I uncross and re-cross my legs, feeling restless and needy.
“You need to get it in before you move. One last hurrah before being a real, responsible adult for the rest of your days.”
I couldn’t.
Could I?
Keep reading…
Also by Rae Lynn Blaise
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Boss 1
Boss 2
Boss 3
Boss 4 Coming Soon
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Badass in My Bed Complete Bundle
Badass in My Bed #1
Badass in My Bed #2
Badass in My Bed #3
Teacher’s Pet
Made for Him: A Mafia Baby Romance Page 16
