Willows, Jennifer - Lust for Life [The Moreland Brothers 2] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Jennifer Willows

  She tugged out some of the leather she’d bought at the outlet on Black Friday. She looked over the whole outfit. It was too much, and she would burn up while dancing. She needed just the bustier. It was built similar to a corset, black, and butter soft. The item would fit as a second skin, exposing a three-inch ribbon of spine. She could pair it with her metallic-bronze leggings and a pair of leather heels.

  Climbing on a stool, she pulled the pair from her top shelf and looked at the shoes. She wore them dancing plenty of times. Charli was pretty sure if she could dance reggaeton in them, they would work for a salsa. As the shoes were six-inch pumps, she would be hurting by the end of the night. But it would be worth it to see Deven dance.

  Charli also knew she would need a jacket, and she had the perfect one. It was a trench coat, black and low in front. With the decorative buttons and the ruffled tail in back, it could serve as a dress, and the bustier would only peek out. The last thing was jewelry and her hair. She wanted something bouffant with lots of bounce to make her outfit chic and add spice to the ensemble. That only meant one thing, she was going to have to put in a weave. Her hair was too short to achieve the look she wanted, but the length would serve to make a great, hard wrap. Digging further back in the closet produced a shopping bag with several different packages of hair. Opting for the two packs of batik hair, she put the bag back in its place at the back of her closet.

  She texted Deven and let him know she needed to do her hair and wouldn’t be back to him for a couple of hours. When she finished an hour later, she trimmed the hair to fit her face and hit it with a spray of argon oil. She took out a few bangles, necklace, and a pair of stud earrings to accessorize with. Her hairstyle was too much for anything more. She packed everything up and toeing her shoes back on, left.

  * * * *

  While Charli was away, Deven picked up his house from breakfast and made the bed with fresh sheets. He cleaned the tub and debated what he would wear. He decided on several different outfits as he wanted to complement his date. His preferred choice was a copper dress shirt that he could pair with some jeans and a suit jacket. But if need be, he could pull out a dress shirt in white and do the same.

  Deven decided to spend the rest of the time he had left reviewing contracts from other projects. The Japan project was near completion, and there were a few smaller proposed projects that were going to break ground after the New Year. One in particular was for a pool of educators who wanted to invest in a private senior high school.

  It was a new answer to education problems with the government system. They even prepped to have a scholarship set up for lower income families. Deven was personally sponsoring the first student, DeSean. His mother worked in his offices as the security guard by day and cleaned houses in the evening. She had two children, the eldest, Julius, was already in college. DeSean was a sophomore this year, but would attend the new academy when it opened next summer. By the time Deven finished reviewing the various budgets and contracts his brothers sent, he felt mentally exhausted and ready to let go of work. He checked the time. It was approaching five thirty, and the dance club started at eight. He had plenty enough time to shower and dress. If they left by six thirty, they could get to the club and catch a meal and dance until their legs gave out.

  He decided to put together a quick late afternoon snack and, with some digging in his pantry, found his panini press. He layered sourdough bread, Havarti cheese, bacon, turkey, and spinach to produce two mammoth sandwiches. By the time he was seated at the table, Charli walked in.

  Deven almost didn’t recognize her with the new ’do. The woman in his house made him feel as if he were lusting for someone else. But the problem was he didn’t know if it was okay for him to want her. Charli was a nimbus of curls, each no larger than his thumb, and the length cascaded to just a few inches below the shoulder from a center part. He liked the new look on her. It was ultrafeminine and more than a little sensual. He wondered if she would let him touch it, tug and pull it.

  She sauntered over to the table and leaned inward, taking the last half sandwich from his hand. Charli took a bite of the crisp molten sandwich, cheese stringing from her teeth to bread. She smiled, and Deven couldn’t help himself, just dragged her onto his lap. He finally got a whiff of the hair oil, and took an audible inhalation.

  Deven had to touch the hair, and without asking, tugged a stray curl south. He watched it spring back up into place. The texture of the hair was even softer than it looked, and he wanted to fist it in his hands as he fucked her from behind. But a glance at the clock had him revisiting that thought as there was no time even for a quickie.

  “If we leave within an hour, we can get to Myrtle by eight.” Deven really wanted Charli, but he would have to be patient and wait.

  “I can work with that, Dev. Are we eating at the salsa club?”

  “Yes, they have an amazing fajita and a few other things you would love to taste.”

  Deven had to kiss her, needed to get some kind of grasp on her to take control of himself. Before releasing her, he brushed his lips over hers once, only then allowing her to stand. They walked back to his bedroom and went their separate ways to get ready.

  Deven was mostly dressed, only lacked shoes and jacket. He was fastening the front of his shirt when Charli walked out of the bathroom bare-breasted. She only wore the cloud of hair and skin tight metallic pants. His cock rose to the occasion, and he saw her mouth move but couldn’t fully understand her. The harder his cock grew, the less he could hear her and only his eyes worked. He had seen plenty of breasts before, but never as perfect as Charli’s. Dusky, dark-tipped nipples the size of fat pencil erasers crowned the areola. The nipple placement seemed divine as he looked down at them. He bit his lip. Surely they could make five minutes, he thought.

  Charli cocked a brow at Dev and turned her back to him. She wrapped a leather band around her and waited for him to pull it taut. He promised himself that he would get around to the fastenings momentarily but first took the single step necessary to be directly behind her, cupping her pussy with the right hand, and thumbed over one of the perky nipples taunting him. Her freshly scrubbed skin pebbled in goose bumps at his touch. The new longer hair teased his skin where the shirt lay gaping open from lack of attention.

  He smoothed his hands over her curves, from the crease of hip to the curve of buttock. Deven lingered over her, adoring the damp soft skin of her arm before he gained some control over himself and stepped back. Charli leaned back with him, following his heat. He stilled her and tugged on the ribbons up the back, tightening the top inch by inch. When he reached the bottom, he tied it off in a double-knotted bow. Once he finished, he turned her to face him and kissed her lips hungrily, taking his lust out on them. When her mouth was reddened and slightly bruised, he let her go.

  The kiss had shaken them both, aggressive on all fronts, and he wanted her to give in. But Charli sauntered back in the bathroom panting heavily, while Deven thought of baseball, trying in vain to lower his stiff cock. They finished dressing fifteen minutes later and hopped in the Challenger, headed for the South Carolina beach.

  Chapter Eight:

  Charlene of Troy and a Thousand Ships

  When they arrived at the club, appropriately named ¡Baila!, Deven parked and escorted Charli to the door. When they walked in, Deven realized the club had changed some since he came in the last time. The decor was toned down, more sensual, less island. He helped Charlene out of the coat, checking his in as well. The claim tickets in hand, he stuffed them in a pocket and walked through the foyer inside. Tonight, there was a guitarist. Apparently the dancing was leaning toward Bachata-style. He had seen some in passing, and the moves were a bit familiar. He escorted Charli to the back of the first level so they could have a drink to start with. At the bar, Charli requested a rumrunner, and Deven ordered himself a rum and Coke.

  He watched Charli move in her seat, her body automatically catching the rhythm. As she finished the drink, he pulled her stan
ding.

  “Wanna dance first?” Deven could tell she wanted to throw herself headlong into the beat and let it carry her away.

  Charli nodded and let him lead her up to the second level, where couples and singles were sauntering to the wailing of guitars. The lights were dimmer than below, a brighter version of candlelight. Charli took the lead and backed into the crowd, hips canting left then right, calling him with her movements.

  When they reached the center of the dancing throng, he took her hand. Deven used the clasping fingers to snap her close and Charli molded her body to his, placing her hand at his hip. They started moving at first independently then by the eighth clave, were in perfect sync. His hips rolled forward and hers backward. Each point of contact was on target even down to the last when their eyes met.

  The beat was intoxicating and Deven found himself being led into something he wasn’t ready for. They were in perfect sync, and she followed his lead as if she were a puppet without strings. Each clave he presented his partner was executed flawlessly, as she accepted his guide to the dance no matter if a dip, spin, turn or hesitation was requested.

  They stepped back and forward, knees dipped as the pair took over the dance floor. Other dancers watched them as they played within the confines of the music. One moment Deven would send her spinning away and in the next watch her dance back to him in a mock Cumbia. He laid his hands on her, roamed her shape and curves, showered over her. His woman gave herself to the dance and him the same way she gave her body during sex. No reservations, only undiluted passion for him. His cock grew slightly turgid, and Deven pulled her closer, letting her feel every inch. At that moment he wished he could give her what they both needed. That they could be skin to skin, no holds barred.

  Deven could see almost every man present watching her, the snap of her hips calling their eyes. Even the women looked, most with a mixture of envy, some in lust. He felt insanely jealous. She was his. Charli had one leg bent, clenching his hip, and rocked her searing pussy along his thigh. Determined to prove his mastery of her, Deven ground his cock against her offered mound. He watched her toss her hair, eyes closed, savoring him. She visibly shuddered, and he wanted inside her right now, audience or not.

  One dance led to another, and yet another. The night was still young, or so it felt. Each touch drew them closer in spirit, if not just body, until the guitarist took a break. They were still dancing until Deven realized that there was no music keeping time for them. When he looked at his Piaget, he realized that they better order soon, or they were going to leave hungry. The kitchen closed at ten thirty, and it was near that now. He pulled his date, still intoxicated from their sultry mating, away from the dance floor.

  Deven was hot, from the outside in. His skin burned with lust for Charlene, and he needed her badly. When they arrived downstairs, they each were coated in a thin film of sweat from their exertions. The look in her eyes was dazed, and he didn’t think his was much better. He found a seat in the back of the dining room, a small booth in the far corner. Once he got them seated, he quickly flagged a passing waitress for drinks and to place an order for their meal.

  * * * *

  When they left the dance floor Charli followed Deven, hands linked down the stairwell. Her feet were already begging for mercy, but she wanted at least one more hour like the last. She would just have to soak her aching dogs in Epsom salt and hobble for a couple of days. But it was worth it. Neither of them had spoken since they had come upstairs. There was no need to. Their bodies talked for them, the beautiful moaning of the music, a vehicle they used to communicate. She felt heat from the inside out. Charli could still feel him cradling her through the moves with each clave. It came to the point where the cues became superfluous, and she danced to the look in his eyes. It had never been so effortless with another person, let alone a man.

  After Deven found them a table and hailed a member of the staff, Charli realized she was ravenous. The server was older, nearing fifty and stocky, her face wearing a network of lines mapping her eyes and mouth. She carried heavy curves and a bright smile. The woman introduced herself as Tia, and told Deven regretfully that the kitchen had begun closing. Charli only had a moment to feel discouraged before he merely pulled out his wallet and handed Tia several large bills, requesting whatever the chef could make on such short notice and water.

  Charli watched Tia’s eyes light up with greed, and knew even if the server had to go in back and make it herself, something was coming from the kitchen to eat. Good thing, as her stomach was touching her backbone at that point. Tia came back in short order with the requested large glasses of water topped by sliced lemons floating in both glasses. As the waitress walked back to the kitchen, Charli drank half of her glass and Deven polished his off to the last dregs.

  Charli licked her lips, catching the lemon used to flavor the water on her tongue. He got a glint in his eye, turning the silver depths stormy and her pussy quivered. Before she knew it, he took her hand and she was walking away from the table. Not to mention she was being dragged away from the opportunity to eat the meal she was promised.

  “Damn it, Deven, I’m starving! I know you aren’t going to strong-arm me outta here...”

  But he was, in fact, already had. He had brought her to the men’s room and had his hand on the door. There was one occupant washing his hands and, when he saw the look on Deven’s face, left in a hurry. The man didn’t even get to dry the hands he just washed, and he left a breadcrumb trail of water on his way out the door.

  Deven locked the door, the snick signaling Charli’s heart to beat faster. He turned his back to the door and pulled her close.

  “Take those pants and your underwear off, or I can’t be responsible what happens to them.” Deven’s voice was like gravel, rasping over her roughly.

  She could see how serious he was, and had no desire to leave the public bathroom naked tonight. Tugging her leggings to her ankles, she toed the shoes off, leaving the articles where they lay. Dev pulled her to him again and freed his cock from the fly of his pants. Charli wrapped her hands around his neck and clasped her legs at his waist. Deven fitted himself, nice and tight at her entrance, and thrust home. Charli gasped, a moan aborted by lack of breath to give the expression audible dimension.

  Charli was long gone, was coming from the moment he entered her. Small orgasms rippled with each thrust of his hips, and she didn’t need another. But Deven wanted it, and what he desired, he got. She was only able to hold on, let alone work toward their mutual pleasure, as he used his iron grasp to shuttle her up and down his length, repeatedly spearing her. She was grateful that he held her. Otherwise her legs would have given out. Their mingled loins were wet with juices, spread with each grinding pass made from their hips. Charli grunted and shuddered against him, another climax nearing, and this one was screamingly intense. She found herself grinding his erection with ticktocks of her hips, needy and weak with the desire for more.

  * * * *

  It was all her fault, Deven knew it. From the moment he watched her lick the stray droplets of water off her lips he was enthralled. He was struck watching the beads carried away with the tongue she used to taste them. He was hungry for her, needed her pussy more than his next meal. Before he knew what he was doing, he had stood and looked Charli in the eye, before he led her away from the table. The snap in judgment was fortuitous as it brought him here, cock-deep in the haven of wet pussy.

  Deven gritted his teeth. There wasn’t much time, and he was on a dangerously short fuse. He pistoned his cock in and shuttled back out of her pussy with the only goal to quench the fire roaring below the skin. By the time he acknowledged how good she felt around him, he was near coming. But he couldn’t stop himself. There was no will when it came to her. No other woman felt half as good as she did. He knew that she was made for him. Their fit was one of kind. She was a lock created for his key, a perfectly oiled combination. He needed her to come so he could take his pleasure without guilt or restraint. Deven wan
ted to cover the small bundle in his arms, plunder her and he did as his body demanded with a quick snap of his hips.

  “God, you feel so good. Come for me, Charli, and take me with you.” He was terrified that he would come and leave her in the dust. Deven bit his cheek, trying in vain to hold back. The dance had served as the foreplay, and he knew Charli could have come on the floor in his arms. She wasn’t having any of him holding back and rocked her hips, each movement serving to make him grit his teeth harder. He didn’t know how in the world he kept from grinding his molars to dust.

  He spun around placing Charli’s back to the wall, using his forearms to keep from bruising her skin against the wood. The mass of hair teased his nostrils as he buried his face in her neck. Deven felt violent and more than a bit angry at his loss of control. He was hanging on by a thin thread. If she squeezed his cock once more, he was a goner.

  Deven worried her gently on the side of her neck and sucked the damp skin. The pull from his mouth was powerful enough that he was able taste her pulse beating against his tongue. Charli screamed his name, and he let her, making no attempt to stifle the squeals signaling her pleasure. He wanted every male who watched her dance earlier to hear and know she belonged to him. That not only did she belong to him but her delectable pussy was his as well. His cock jerked, and he gave in to the desire to come for her, inside her.

  Deven walked to the sink and sat her on the edge, spreading her wide open. His eyes burned a path over their freed loins, watching her body drip dry. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned her first with the dry cloth. Then he rinsed and wrung it dry for another pass. When her pussy stopped leaking juices from the mingled orgasms, he proceeded to wash his cock clean and stuff the still-hard length back in his jeans.