by K NILSSON
I never approach a celebrity in public, it's rude.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"One of my clients told me about this place. It's private, members only. I called in a favor for your birthday, and now, we are private members."
I shook my head. "The people you know..." And then it was too loud to talk further.
I turned to the bartender who was wiping down the counter and asked him the name of the bar.
"Club Trawl," he yelled over the noise.
"What kind of name is that?"
He threw me a devilish grin and said, "It’s a fishing term."
The place pulsated energy. Multi-colored beams of light strobed the room in time with the pounding music.
I’d been drinking Varnishes all night, a pleasing combination of rum and honey. It was my favorite cocktail. The bartender was game to make it.
He served our drinks in cocktail glasses stamped with palm trees and fishing poles.
"How’d I do?" he asked.
I gave him the thumbs up and mouthed, "It’s good!"
Candace, the cocktail adventurer, had ordered a Greensleeves, a creamy, chocolate mint martini. He never made one of those either. She gave him the short version of the recipe, crème de cacao, crème de menthe, and cream. Yikes! We watched her suck it down like it was a milkshake.
"Do you want another?" He pointed to her empty glass.
She nodded and licked her lips.
The music pulsed a low, steady beat. I danced in my spot.
The club thrummed with unrestrained decadence. I was having fun, playing it safe for way too long. I can be a little reckless and worry about consequences tomorrow.
Candace pinched my arm just like she did when we were kids. It annoyed me then, just like it did now. I jerked it away, slapping at her hands.
"Dev, look over there, at 9 o'clock. The guy dressed in black jeans."
"All of them have black jeans," I observed.
She frowned.
"Okay," I mumbled.
Putting my head next to hers, I followed her line of vision and squinted.
"Look at the guy with the spiked hair."
Nothing about Spike sparked curiosity. So, I didn't respond. A spark of awareness sliced the air. I saw a man laser-focused on me. He stood at the bar on the other side of the dance floor. It was less crowded than ours. I couldn’t tell if I felt danger or attraction. Either way, it didn't matter.
I watched him look at me, assessing shamelessly. He'd aroused me. My body shifted into a siren’s pose. My neck extended, posture straightened, and my skin flushed. I gazed a little longer than I should. Then he turned and walked away.
Candace downed the second glass of Greensleeves. While she was eye-fucking Spike, I tried not to look for the striking tease.
"Let's do tequila shots!"
Candace shouted, a little louder than normal, and punctuated it with a fist pump.
Really Candace?
Her behavior can appall when she’s drunk.
"Yeah... no. I don’t want to mix," I said.
"Don’t worry," she said.
The bartender gave us two setups of shot glasses, salt in a ramekin, lime wedges in a short glass, and a bottle of Cuervo Gold. Candace put salt on the curve between thumb and index finger, and a lime wedge in her other hand. I mirrored her. We counted down together.
"One."
"Two."
"Three!"
Lick-shoot-suck-gasp.
Elbows went up, and we threw our heads back. The salty-sour taste was the first sensation, followed by the vapor-gasp of tequila.
I gave Candace's back a few sharp smacks when she wheezed for air.
"Let's do flaming shots next!" she shouted.
Oh God no.
She was always one to raise the stakes to the next level. If we were crazy enough to do a flaming shot, I’d expect her to follow up with "Let's do a torch!"
"You do it. I’ll watch." She was past the point of noticing that I put the kibosh on my alcohol intake.
When the music amped up, she pulled me off the stool and dragged me onto the dance floor. I gave myself over to the pounding music, pumping my pelvis, shuffled sideways, and swiveled my hips in a suggestive hula. Facing me, Candace mimicked the moves as best she could. The guy with the spiked hair she'd eye-fucked sidled against her back. Candace was a hot dancing sandwich.
While we danced, my eyes played pinball with the people in the room, hoping they’d land on him. After making it through three songs, Candace moved away from the dance floor with Spike. It was getting late, and people were pairing off.
I went to the bar, sat on a stool, and ordered a Pellegrino, hoping it would dilute the alcohol in my bloodstream. I’d be shepherding Candace home.
I felt the energy shift and turned toward the provocative man with the dark gaze. Our eyes locked. He moved toward me with the grace of an animal and the hubris of a man who knew how to fuck with aggression and do it well.
Chapter Seven
Devyn
Los Angeles
He was a devil, drawing me toward him like a firefly to a flame. I licked my lips, mouth slightly open. He stood in front of me. The gold-flecked eyes were inquisitive and quick to move. His body radiated the aromas of cedar soap and sweet scotch.
Mr. Provocative had a sophisticated yet hard-boiled look about him, a small cut above his right eye. Dark brows furrowed above his masculine nose that someone had broken a time or two in the past. He tied back his collar-length hair, exposing sharp cheekbones, perfect ears, and a dimple in his chin.
Clad in jeans ripped at the knees, he had the thick thighs of a football player. My eyes followed the line of his attire down to his shoes. Shoes are important. They tell a lot about a person. I’m a sucker for beautiful leather, the more well-loved, the better. He polished his well-worn ankle boots. He had a James Bond-style watch with lots of dials and details. An untucked black T-shirt showed off ripped abdominal muscles.
My stomach quivered. I felt off kilter, struck with the stunning, sexy as sin man facing me. His mouth curved in a devastating grin, a grin that says I’m his captive. It was a grin that could bring me to my knees. He held his hand out to greet me.
"What's a woman like you doing in a place like this?" he asked.
The overused pick up line was at odds with the confident voice which was low and husky as if he swallowed nails and they left scars. If it were anyone else, I'd walk away from the cheesy line alone. But he was the devil on my shoulder and I wanted to be bad. I leaned back, my body absorbing his energy.
The Pellegrino that I'd been nursing clattered onto the floor. My heel caught in the rung of the stool and I would have landed on the ground face first if he hadn’t caught me. It was an unfortunate turn of events, and I felt like an idiot.
“Are you all right?”
He touched my ankle and checked the shoe, but he didn't stop there, his fingers wandered up against my leg, leaving a trail of hot sparks on my skin.
“Yes, I am.”
“Can I get you another drink?”
Still embarrassed, I declined his offer.
“Are you sleeping with anyone?”
He looked at me intently as if he could read my mind.
“Why is it any of your business?” I asked after finding my tongue.
With steely resolve, he said, “I want to fuck you and I think you want to fuck me too. Are you seeing someone?”
I was insulted, flattered, and confused. He was a man who got what he wanted.
“I’m not the least bit interested,” I lied.
My panties were wet. Never have I been so turned on by someone who insulted me. Never have I been drawn to someone whose arrogance was attractive.
A smile ghosted on his lips, a seductive invitation. “And if I put my hand under your dress to check for myself, I’m willing to bet you won’t object.”
I wanted him badly. But I needed no help to screw up my life.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I
said uncertainly.
His hand slipped under my skirt and stroked the seam of my pussy. He smirked. I blushed.
“Your cunt is wet.”
“Stop it!” I hissed. Shocked and turned on by the dirty talk, my nipples were already tight points.
He grinned, putting his arms on each side of me, caging me to the bar. “Give me one good reason.”
My sexual craving for him left me with nothing to say.
“That’s what I thought,” he said with arrogance.
Everything and everyone in the room felt like it had disappeared. It was just him, me, and his magic fingers under my dress. As he pulled the crotch to the side, I smelled my desire and shook with excitement. His finger rimmed my opening, collecting the moisture, rubbing it all over my clit, ignoring my desperate pleas. My squirming thighs were moist as I tried to scoot away. He put his finger slick with my juice in his mouth and sucked it clean.
What? No!
He licked my lips with a softness I hadn’t expected and said, “You taste good.”
Reality slammed me back to earth. The sound of the music got louder, and the crowd was a low roar. He shared the taste of my pussy with me in public, in front of all these people, pushing any limits of propriety I ever had. Sensing my embarrassment, he fluttered soft kisses on my cheek and down my neck, pressing my breasts into his warm palms—they were already erect. Heat from my core bloomed and radiated upward like a firestorm.
He placed his hands on my jaw, kissing each hot cheek. Tilting my face until it was at the right angle for him, he pressed his lips over mine before he took control of my mouth, forcing his tongue between my lips, uncompromising, curling his tongue around mine.
The man was skilled in his kissing. He didn't hesitate to talk me right out of my panties. My blood boiled with lust.
I kissed him back as if I could eat him alive. My skin was damp and too sensitive, my breasts heavy and tender. My clit throbbed for attention, pounding along with my raging heartbeat. I was vaguely aware of movement.
“I need to hear the words. Do you want me to fuck you?”
Speechless, I shook my head.
“I know what I want,” he said.
I looked at him expectantly. “What’s your name?” I asked.
The full lips thinned and he stiffened. I knew what this was, a don’t ask, don’t tell, moment. His eyes softened when he saw the desire in mine.
He didn’t tell me his name, instead he breathed these words in my ear, “I want to bury my balls deep inside you and feel your pussy flutter around my cock while I pound until you scream.”
His dirty talk will make me orgasm in a New York minute if he continued. I was inclined to let him talk. I stared at him like a love-struck schoolgirl. I wanted him to decide for me.
My non-answer was my answer. His lips curled into a half smile. That dimple, though...
He moaned into my mouth, recognizing the response. I'd been sitting at a bar getting fingered by a stranger, then agreeing to fuck him. Call me reckless. The lush swirl of his tongue over mine was a promise. I felt his heart beating in time with mine. I sucked his full lips and licked the cleft on his chin.
His breath tickled my ear. “I want you.”
I surrendered absolutely. The world fell away. He smelled of dirty sex and my desire. It was a mistake in the making, but I didn’t care. An opportunity like this will never come again.
He looked at my eyes and nodded. We blocked out the crowd, but not for long. Someone shouted, “Get a room,” and I hoped Candace was not around to embarrass me more than I already was.
As I leaned forward to kiss him, he gripped me by the waist, right off the stool, and carried me away like I was his favorite toy. He walked through the sliding door into a private room. It had two-way mirrors, a stage. No one could see inside. He bolted the door. The only light in the room was the strobe from the dance floor.
“Lose the dress. Leave the shoes,” he ordered.
His eyes raked me from head to toe. He wanted me—he wanted my pussy. The glass-half-empty girl felt cheap, but the glass-half-full girl believed he was so hot for her he got economical with his words. I assumed the latter.
The impatient man peeled off my dress and threw it on the floor. Fuck, that was hot. I stood in my black bra and panty set Candace set out for me earlier. The strobe lights shone through the two-way mirror, and he looked at me with longing. I stood tall, proud of my body. It was a tuned instrument. I hadn't included fucking into my repertoire.
“You are captivating.”
I beamed.
“Bra first, panties, after.”
Holding out his hand for one or the other, I handed him the bra which he threw on the floor as well and the panties went into his back pocket.
“Now you,” I said, my voice a little more assertive than he expected.
Grunting his amusement, the man's eyes were dark with need. He stripped off his shirt, but kept his jeans, opening his zipper to expose the massive erection that jutted straight up.
He looks photoshopped, I marveled.
The beautiful organ glistened at the tip. My mouth watered. I would use the mental picture of this man, posed like this, in my fantasies for a long time. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and now I could fixate on this magnificent man, his muscled, inked body, and his thick cock straining beneath the taut skin. It was worrisome having not been with anyone in over a year, and even that was a short-lived affair. Could I walk after this encounter? I planned to replay this memory for days and weeks to come.
I slid my hands across his chest, marveling at the softness of the thatchy patches. Moving lower, I licked the edge of his belly button. He shivered. With the tip of my tongue I worked my way down the dusky treasure trail to his groin. He smelled clean and delicious. I wondered why he gave me free rein in touching his body.
Just then, he slid his fingers through my hair and brought my face up to his. He had a broad smile, his teeth a bright white. “How long has it been?” he asked nuzzling into my ear.
How did he know? “Over a year.”
"Now is the time to say no if you want this to stop."
Eyes heavy with desire, I nodded my assent. His chest filled with pride and enthusiasm. I expected chest-thumping. He was the wild Tarzan to my biddable Jane.
Backing me up against the wall, he touched me all over, restlessly. His hands roamed over my thighs and buttocks as if waiting another moment to do so would be impossible.
“Your skin is so soft,” he said petting my pussy.
Pinned in place with his body, I was helpless while he touched my cleft, teasing, and pulling. I was squirming, moaning, and pleading, —an evil laugh escaped from his lips. My nipples were hard pebbles rubbing against his chest. Dew covered my face while his skin was hot and dry. Then, he dropped to his knees, and using his fingers to part my folds, he fluttered his tongue across my bud.
Oh God!
I rocked onto his face, softly cursing, begging, whimpering, and pleading. Pressing my legs wider, he thrust two fingers inside, scissoring them to widen the opening and looking for my G-spot. Head thudding against the wall, heat pulsed through my veins. He engulfed my flower with his mouth, gently sucking, bestowing me with a dirty kiss. He drew my lips between his, tasting me with the flat of his tongue. It felt so good, so good.
My vision blurred as I frantically tried to ride his tongue to suit my pace. He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder to give him better access. His wide tongue pressed against my opening from back to front. My flexed leg drew him closer. When I pulled his hair toward my pelvis, he nipped the inside of my thigh. He had control of the taut string that would tip me over to orgasm or bring me crashing down by withholding it. My pulse thrummed, my core tightened, savagely chasing my orgasm. I would push my luck and see which side of the string he’d give me. My leg was still over his shoulder and I tried levering myself to his mouth, fully prepared to launch on him and ride.
Fuck discretion being the better part
of valor. Shakespeare wasn’t battling for an orgasm, I was.
“I’m ready!” I cried.
“You're mistaken if you think you’re driving this car,” he growled.
The flinty look of a devil intent on making me crazy spread across his face. His ability to read me was beyond his incredible oral skills. The combination would be addictive. I was ready to come as much from the sight of his head between my legs as his wickedly gifted mouth. My body shuddered, and my eyes rolled back in my head and I squeezed them shut.
“I am going to come hard!” I warned, thinking it would at least be a courtesy.
“You don’t listen well. I. Say. When.”
He tsked, then slapped my splayed pussy. With the precision of a sadist, he mastered the hypersensitive nub. I hissed at him, but, the heady scent of his skin mixed with my arousal had me hurtling toward that forbidden orgasm again. The more he kept me from coming, the more aroused I became, and the quicker I hurtled toward my goal. The whimpering, cursing, and groaning hardened his resolve. I struggled with him, fighting for my orgasm, but he was bigger. Having control of my legs gave him the physical leverage to flip and bend me over the table and laying the groundwork to sheathe himself with me. His skin was hot. The room was cold, and I was simmering on the edge. I heard the tear of foil, a condom packet torn open, and he slipped it on, quickly, silently, like an expert.
He pulled my wrists to the small of my back, holding them in place with his big paw while he notched himself between my legs with the other. His cock lay hard and hot at the entrance, holding himself back from his orgasm to tease me. With no place to rub my cleft, I pushed my backside against his shaft, dislodging it from its place at my entrance.
“Not yet,” he panted.
I snarled. He chuckled. I was out of control. He wasn't. He held my hips in place with both hands, ending my attempt to get him inside me.
“You’re too tight. I don't want to hurt you, not like this.”
“Please. I can take it,” I pleaded, adrenalin overcoming common sense.
He fisted my hair, holding me still. The moment calmed my heated blood. I caught his reflection in the mirror I’d totally forgotten. His face was a mask of pain. He was holding himself back so he wouldn’t hurt me. But his restraint was costing him. A tic began in his jaw, he tested the walls of my pussy with his cock, pushing in, watching my face in the mirror as he progressed. At last, his cock sank into my hole, each stroke drove deeper, until he seated himself deep inside me. For a moment, the only sound was the quickening of his breath. As the thick cock stretched my entrance, the sensation was pleasure with a pinch of pain. I wept with joy; I wept with relief. His pounding was relentless. I wanted no mercy; I wanted him deep. As he thrust, I clenched my muscles, so close to the edge of coming. It was wild. It was raw. His hand wrapped around my throat, not really squeezing, but the threat was there, increasing the excitement. He bent over me and gently bit the spot between my neck and shoulder. It was primal.
