by Logan Belle
But she wouldn’t have that kind of time tonight, because Ryan was already off the couch again.
“What did I tell you?” she scolded, but she couldn’t help but smile. He took the razor from her hand and knelt down. She was about to say no, but decided to simply go with it.
Ryan pressed his left hand against her, making sure her skin was taut enough for him to slide the razor without nicking her. His movements were slow, cautious, but deliberate and confident. She closed her eyes, trying to allow herself to give up control, if only for a few minutes. It was impossible.
“Sit,” she said, taking the razor from him. He leaned back on his heels, and she resumed her methodical stroking of the razor against her pussy. He watched her with rapt attention. When she was bare, she reached back, dipped the washcloth into the water, and then handed it to him. He took it and, on his knees, reverently wiped the last specs of shaving cream away.
She sat down, setting her bare ass on the cool glass table. He pushed her legs apart and dipped his face to her pussy, licking her in strokes almost identical to those of the razor just moments earlier. She looked down at his shiny dark hair and let herself run her fingers through it. He was beautiful, no doubt. And she couldn’t wait to see his cock.
He pressed his tongue against her clit, and she groaned, arching back against the wall. She put one heel up on the table, opening herself to him more fully. If he stuck his finger in me now, I would come, she thought—but of course he would not know that about her. That was the trouble with sleeping with random men—they rarely knew the right buttons to push. With women, you had a better chance of them intuiting what to do right off the bat.
She thought of her Lola Lola, imagined her tongue inside of her. But no, not tonight. Ryan Ellison was lapping at her pussy, and she was not going to waste it.
She cupped her hand under his jaw, tilting his face up. He stood, and she ran her hand over his erection straining against his jeans. She liked what she felt. Ryan undid his fly and pulled his pants over his hips. She slipped her hand inside the flap of his plain white boxers, her fingers circling around his thick cock. He pulled the boxers down and smiled at her. She knelt, closed her eyes, and ran her tongue slowly along his cock from the base to the tip, then took the whole thing in her mouth. He was big, but then she remembered she might have read that about him somewhere. Nice to discover you could believe some things you read in the tabloids.
She took him out of her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Let’s go back downstairs.”
“You sure do like to move around a lot,” he said, but he helped her stand. He kissed her mouth, better this time, then her neck, his hands on her breasts then sliding down to squeeze her ass and pull her pelvis against his. The feel of him hard against her stomach made her pussy throb, and she knew she had to get him in place to fuck her properly.
“The stairs,” she said huskily, and she didn’t have to ask twice.
They stopped halfway down, and Violet again turned to look out at the winking lights and the glow of the Empire State Building. In her state of arousal, it seemed for the first time to be such an obvious phallus, a brightly lit cock beckoning in the center of the city.
But the best part of the view was the reflection of Ryan Ellison.
Ryan pressed up against her, his cock rubbing against her ass. He slid his hands around to play with her nipples, and he licked the small of her back, which gave her a chill up her spine. “Fuck me,” she said, leaning slightly over the railing, watching herself in the window. She locked eyes with her reflection, anticipating what Ryan would do, how he would enter her and what that cock would feel like inside.
She was surprised when he took a minute to eat her pussy from behind before grasping her hips and pushing deep inside, long hard thrusts that made her gasp. But she relaxed into his rhythm and watched their beautiful reflection. Between his thickness buried deep inside her and the sight of herself with a movie star, she knew her dry spell was going to be broken. She was almost giddy with anticipation of her orgasm, when his movements slowed.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
“I want to fuck you in the ass,” he said.
Of course you do, you latent homo perv, she thought. All you guys do.
“Hmm, is that so?” she said.
“Yeah—that tattoo of yours is very… suggestive.”
It had been a while since she’d agreed to take the submissive position of accepting anal. She loved getting fucked in the ass, but so few guys were any good at it. But if she didn’t give her ass up to Ryan Ellison … who was she saving it for?
But now the chance of an orgasm was over. She never came from anal. It was only pain—but the best kind of pain. Besides, this night had never been about her getting off. It was a dance—a show from one performer to another.
“Okay,” she said.
“Cool.” He pulled out slowly. “Be right back.”
While he went to the bathroom—hopefully to find some lube—she fingered herself, admiring her reflection. Thank God she was beautiful. At least that was one thing she could count on. Everything else was such a hassle.
Ryan padded back down the stairs, resuming his position behind her. He used both hands to spread her ass and stuck one finger inside of her. She gripped the railing, resting her head on the back of her hand as he slowly eased his cock into her ass.
She felt the familiar sting of pain and near-pleasure, the intense sensation that confused every synapse in her body. Ryan made a noise, his hands grasping her hips tightly.
Violet wished she could come. She closed her eyes and thought of a girl she had met after a show a few weeks ago. She hadn’t been that pretty, but she had the softest, pinkest pussy Violet had ever seen. She ate her out for an hour and lost count of how many times the girl came. But Violet left unsatisfied.
Violet reached down and touched herself, thinking of that pink pussy. Surprisingly, she felt tension building in her cunt, and she kept rubbing as Ryan moved his cock in and out of her with cautious strokes, his breathing heavy. And then she felt it, that blinding shudder. The girl in her mind changed with a click, and Violet moaned as she imagined her Lola Lola.
She thought of Mallory.
Alec knocked on the door.
“Are you coming to bed soon?”
Mallory looked at herself in the mirror, her mascara slightly smudged under her eyes. She opened the bathroom cabinet, searching for another container of Almay eyemakeup remover pads with oil. The waterproof mascara Poppy had lent her backstage must have been some crazy designer brand because she couldn’t get it to budge off her lashes. She’d already gone through half a dozen pads with no progress. She decided she’d have to break one of her cardinal rules and go to sleep with makeup on.
She knew she’d look like a wreck in the morning, but she gave up and tossed the cotton pad into the garbage.
Alec knocked again. “Are you alive in there? I’ll never figure out what you do in there all that time. Come on, Mal, open the door.”
She opened the door. “It’s open. Happy now?”
He looked adorable in his powder blue, long-sleeved T-shirt and navy blue boxers. He had great legs, an even better ass, and she loved nothing more than the feeling of his arms around her. It took all of her strength not to fold herself against him.
“No. Why are you so pissy?” Alec said. “I know Billy’s a jerk sometimes, but he signs my paycheck. And trust me, he’s not a bad guy. Just a lot of talk.”
“Can I finish taking off my makeup now?”
She closed the door. Guys were so dense. Did he really think she was this upset about Billy? Did he think the argument last night had just evaporated—that there was an expiration date on the issue of his inviting Violet Offender on their date?
She pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail and surveyed herself in the mirror. It felt good to be in a simple white cotton T-shirt after a night in costume, but she thought better of i
t. Maybe she was getting too domesticated—maybe that was why Alec was so intrigued by that crazy bitch, Violet Offender. It was difficult to imagine that woman in anything but corsets and leather. She probably slept in a spiked bra, handcuffed to her headboard.
Mallory pulled off her T-shirt and wrapped a towel around herself. She crept out of the bathroom to her closet, where she pulled out a red camisole and matching underwear. She had zero interest in having sex with Alec, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t want to get a little something. She couldn’t wait to say no.
He was in bed reading Vanity Fair. As soon as he noticed her in the room, he put the magazine down, watching her closely for any sign of warmth or forgiveness.
She gave him nothing.
The covers were tightly tucked on her side of the bed. She pulled them away just enough to slip her slim body between the sheets. She turned out her bedside light, her back to him.
He moved under the covers, too, but didn’t make an attempt to touch her. She appreciated that. After a moment, he turned out his bedside light, too.
The thought of going to sleep without talking suddenly made her want to cry.
As much as she wanted to just shut him out, she couldn’t. Going to bed angry—or ending an argument with one of them storming out—had caused a lot of problems in the past. She hoped she had at least learned something after all of these years with Alec.
“I’m really upset about last night,” she said. There. Simple and direct—healthy communication 101.
“I know,” he said. “And I’m really sorry. Violet asked what I was doing after the show, I told her we were going to get a late dinner at the Stone Rose, and I just asked her if she wanted to go to be polite. The last thing I wanted was to upset you. I know you think I was trying to orchestrate something, but I swear I wasn’t.”
“You’re telling me you have no sexual interest in her?” Mallory said, sitting up and turning on her light.
“I don’t,” he said, sitting up, too. His hair was tousled, his gray-blue eyes sleepy. She wanted to reach out and stroke his face, press her lips against his neck, and breathe him in.
“Be honest.”
“Okay, ‘sexual interest’ in her is an overstatement. But I guess I find her intriguing.”
Mallory took a sharp breath. Even though she had known it without his saying it, the words stung.
“What am I supposed to do with that information?” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. He looked at her arms—she knew he hated when she got into defensive body posture. Sure enough, he reached over and pulled gently on her arm. She kicked him under the covers.
“Ow!” he said.
“You know, I see lots of ‘intriguing’ guys—and women, for that matter. But I don’t ever put those thoughts or feelings before our relationship. And that’s what you did last night.”
“I wasn’t putting it before our relationship! God, Mallory. I can’t win with you. I’m being honest—yes, I find her attractive. Who wouldn’t? If anything, I was diffusing any potential sexual tension by inviting her out with my girlfriend. Everyone knows we are together—there was no subtext. I would have invited Poppy or Scarlett in the same situation. Unless …”
“Unless what?” She finally let herself look him in the eyes.
“Unless you’re projecting all this onto me because you’re attracted to her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. And yet she knew he wasn’t being ridiculous. Last year, he had been interested in Bette Noir. And yet Mallory was the one who ended up fooling around with her—surprising even herself with the expansiveness of her own sexuality. But that wasn’t the case this time—far from it. Mallory not only didn’t trust Violet, she didn’t like her, regardless of how hot she was.
“Am I being ridiculous?” he said.
“Yes!”
“Okay, then can’t you admit that maybe you are, too?”
“No,” she said. But she knew the tone of her voice was giving away the fact that she’d forgiven him. Sure enough, under the covers, his hand traced the lace of her underwear along the outer curve of her ass. She was glad she’d changed out of that T-shirt.
“Even though you were mad at me, your pussy so was so wet backstage,” he whispered in her ear. “It took a lot of selfcontrol not to fuck you right then and there.”
Mallory smiled, arching her back against him. She felt him hard against her, and she moved her hand behind her to stroke him over his boxers.
“What makes you think I’m not mad anymore?”
“Okay—maybe you’re mad at me. But I think you’ve forgiven my penis.”
“I should be most angry with your penis. That’s obviously what you think with half the time.”
“Only the half that I’m in bed with you.” He scooped her in his arms and turned her around so she was lying on top of him. It was a clumsy maneuver, and she laughed.
“This isn’t comfortable.”
“So get comfortable,” he said, stroking her hair. She threw the covers aside, then inched down lower until her breasts were between his legs, her arms were resting on his thighs, and she was able to run her tongue along his cock over his underwear. “Yeah, that’s definitely better,” he said. She could tell by the catch in his voice how turned on he was. Maybe she was a pushover, but fucking was so much better than fighting.
She eased his boxers down, gliding her lips against his bare cock as she undressed him.
She loved Alec’s body, everything about it—from his legs to his cock to the hollow between his collarbone that she liked to kiss. But maybe her favorite part—the part that she had first noticed—was his hands. They had been study partners in a prelaw class senior year, and she had immediately noticed how beautiful his hands were—large but elegant, with beautiful, tapered fingers like those of a sculptor or a piano player. And when he got excited about something he gestured with them broadly. She would just watch his hands, shamefully imagining how they would feel on her breasts or between her legs. And then one day he wanted to show her something in a document on the library computer, and she was scrolling for it with the mouse but kept missing the paragraph. He placed his hand on top of hers to guide her, and that was it.
She had confided in Julie over coffee the next morning.
“I am in major lust with my study partner.”
“Do you want to break up with Jeremy?” Julie asked about Mallory’s boyfriend of six months.
“No! Of course not. I love Jeremy.”
Three weeks later she was in bed with Alec Martin. And that was the end of Jeremy.
Now those hands wound in her hair as she pulled down his boxers and took the tip of his cock into her mouth. She tongued his foreskin, lifting it slightly then licking his shaft downward until she reached his balls. Cupping them, she flicked her tongue at them gently, until he gave her the satisfaction of moaning.
“Turn around… . Let me eat your pussy while you do that,” he said. She smiled. She loved that he could be that direct with her, that he could talk so dirty. When they first got together it had shocked her. Now she wondered how she could ever be satisfied without it.
Mallory eagerly complied, switching her position so that her legs were on either side of his face, her pussy bent toward his mouth. Now that she had access to his cock from a different angle, she focused on the tip, running her tongue around the rim before taking his entire length into her mouth. She sucked firmly, moving her lips back and forth, her tongue circling the tip every time her oral strokes reached the head of his penis. She trailed her mouth with one hand firmly on his wet shaft, working it up and down in tandem with her mouth. She tasted the first bud of semen. And between her legs, his tongue lapped at her cunt while his finger massaged her clit.
When she got excited, it became more difficult for her to concentrate on working his cock with her mouth. She tried to focus, but when he started circling the rim of her asshole with his thumb, she knew it was over. He gently pressed his thumb into her
ass, his mouth sucking on her clit like a pomegranate seed. A low moan escaped from her.
He held her by the hips, his tongue moving from her clit to the center of her pussy, then pressing deep inside her, fucking her, while his thumb worked in and out of her ass. She didn’t want to come like this—apart from him, while he played her like an instrument. She pulled away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want you inside of me,” she said. He sat up, pressing her down to the bed. Instead of letting her mount him, he moved his full weight on top of her. She slipped her arms around him, kissing his neck, running her lips along the rough stubble on his chin. He brushed her swollen outer lips with his cock, and she felt a familiar surge of anticipation knowing he was going to enter her. But he kept his cock outside, rubbing against her until she was in a frenzy. She grabbed his ass, pulling him to her as hard as she could.
“Alec …”
“What?” he said, kissing her temple.
“I want you,” she said quietly, wondering if she would get away with only saying that much. Sometimes he made her beg for it; as much as she loved sex, she hated articulating what she wanted. And really, when it came to pleasing her, he never needed her to say a word—he knew her body almost better than she did.
“I want you, too,” he said. And then, so quickly it was almost startling, he thrust his hard cock inside of her. She gasped, adjusting her hips so he didn’t get quite so deep. His mouth moved down to her breasts, biting her nipple. She didn’t know why she liked it rough sometimes, but with Alec she had learned the interplay between pleasure and pain.
He slid in and out slowly, and she had to fight the urge to tell him to stop moving, to just stay inside of her. She felt like she could come just from feeling him fill up her pussy. Then, his movements quickened and shortened to hard thrusts, and she knew he was close to coming. He pressed his finger inside her ass, and her pussy convulsed in waves.
“Oh, my God,” she said, clutching his back. His thrusts grew harder, animalistic in their intensity, and then he cried out. Her pussy clenched against his cock over and over, the waves of pleasure overtaking her.
