by Alyson Hale
“Fuck, Damien.” He swirls his tongue around my clit before licking his way down to my cunt. Somehow his tongue manages to slide all the way up to my G-spot even in his restrained state. “Oh, fuck! Right there.”
Grinding on top of him, I can’t seem to pull myself away as Damien works me toward a beautiful climax with only his tongue. This I wasn’t expecting. Gathering from how surprised he looked when I cuffed him to the bed, I thought maybe he was one of those selfish lovers who had only ever ground out his own release inside a girl’s pussy and left her to take care of herself. It’s a pleasant surprise for sure.
Using his nose as if it were a finger, Damien works my clit, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure all the way up to my teeth. I scream, moving on top of him and pulling his tongue inside me even deeper. The flicking of his tongue inside me builds me up until I can’t help but gush all over him. My climax quickly follows, making everything including my asshole clench. I moan like the whore I am, clutching the bedpost for dear life. Damien pulls out of my pussy and I whine in protest, making him chuckle.
“As soon as you release me, I’m giving you a spanking for that,” Damien promises, making my ass quiver as I settle on his chest. “That wasn’t fair, cumming all over my face and not giving me a chance to stroke myself.”
Hearing that it turned him on so much to have me come on his face makes me wet all over again. I move down on his body, leaving a streak of my juices behind. They glisten on his abs and smell delicious. I lean down and lick myself off of him, making him groan with delight.
“Fuck, Alexandrea. You’re such a dirty girl.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it yet,” I assure him with a saucy wink.
I yank his jeans and boxers down around his knees and lick up his cock, teasing the tip. His eyes clamp shut and he arches his hips toward me. Thrusting his cock into my mouth, I hold the base and pump it. He meets my gaze and electricity ignites between us. I move at a frenzied pace, desperate for the salty flavor of his cum on my tongue.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he moans as he watches me move up and down on his cock. A smile pulls at my lips even though they’re stretched to capacity. It’s not like I’ve never done this before, but damn. He’s so thick I think I might be bleeding at the corners of my mouth after this.
I push down as far as I can manage on his glorious girth, and it isn’t long before I feel spurts of warm liquid shoot toward the back of my throat. I hold still, enjoying the feeling of his seed filling me up. Keeping my eyes fixed on his face, I give him the pleasure of watching the cum go into my mouth, opening it just above the tip and sticking my tongue out. I slap his cock against my tongue, wanting every bit of the rich, fresh, baby-making liquid gone before I ride him cowgirl style, bareback.
We did it without a condom in the club, and it was the most fantastic sensation I’ve ever had. I crave that. I’m not letting him leave until I feel that again.
Chapter 8
Damien
It’s official. I’m a goner for this girl.
In the space of one night, she’s knocking out every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. Cuffed to a bedpost? Check. Come on my face from only my tongue touching her? Check. Being sucked off and slapped against a woman’s tongue as I come? Check.
Taken control of by a woman and loving every second? Check times infinity.
As she eases down on my cock, wrapping her velvety sweetness around me, I feel more than just lust surging through me on overdrive. I try to fight the feeling, but when she leans down to kiss me while sliding up and down on my cock, I give in to the emotion and let it pour out to her, thrusting my tongue through the small opening of her lips. I’d give anything to take hold of that arse, flip her over, and fuck her from behind until she’s raw, but I’m powerless. The only thing I can move is my hips, and she’s doing plenty of the moving for me.
Normally I’ve been with girls that lie there like a ragdoll and let me do all the work. Sure they’re desperate for me at first, but once I take control it’s like they lose their grip on their senses and faint for me. It’s not that I mind, but I’ve always thought that once, just once, I’d like to be the spoiled one. Be treated like the rock king I am. Perhaps that makes me arrogant, but I wanted to be worshipped by someone I wanted to worship in return. Here she is, my fantasy in living flesh, and she knows everything about me. I can tell by the sassy sparkle in her eye she’s fully aware of what she’s doing to me and loves every second.
Not five minutes later, I feel sweat beading on my forehead and a dynamite blast building up in my balls. I can’t stimulate her with my fingers, so I thrust harder into her cunt, raking my tip across her G-spot.
“Oh, fuck,” she moans softly. “I’m close.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I thrust in her three more good times, and she trembles around me, crying out into the open room. She pulls me out of her, and I come on her stomach, watching my long streams of semen mark her as mine. I ache to come inside her. I want the world knowing she’s mine so no one will ever touch her but me.
Panting, we watch each other as we come down from our peaks. She takes my lips one last time, nipping at them as she breaks free of me. Then she reaches down into her bag, which we knocked onto the floor, and pulls out a key to unlock my cuffs.
I rub my wrists after pulling them free. They’re red and raw from pulling against the restraints in the throes of passion. Alexandrea brings one of my wrists up to her mouth and licks around it, soothing the pain. My cock twitches, instantly getting hard again at the feeling of her tongue on my skin.
“You like being my submissive, don’t you? You sick fuck.” She talks down to me as she takes the other wrist in her small hand and licks it too. I wouldn’t call myself a submissive by any means, but right now I’m not upset at all.
“A woman like you can do anything she wants to me,” I confess, feeling like she has my balls tied up with a string.
Her expression changes, and I can’t read it until she takes my nipple between her surprisingly strong thumb and forefinger and twists hard. I have to bite my lip to hold back a yelp of pain.
“A woman like me? What are you implying?”
My inner dominant finally takes over in that moment, and I flip her over with ease, slamming her down on the bed. Her deep, honey-brown eyes pop open with surprise…and if I’m not mistaken, a little fear.
“I’m implying that you’re a nasty, naughty girl who needs a taste of a real man.”
Faster than I can anticipate it, her hand winds up and smacks me on the cheek. I clench my teeth, surprised at how much that hurt and fueled my sexual fire at the same time. Nothing she does can possibly turn me off right now.
Holding her hands back, I keep her pinned to the bed even though she’s struggling to get up. Her big chocolate breasts wobble underneath me. I have to swallow down my drool. The tender buds of her nipples are beckoning me.
“What’s the matter, princess? Don’t like being out of control?”
A terrified whimper draws my gaze upward, and I watch in horror as her eyes well up with tears. Turning her head, she bites her lip, then whispers, “Let me up. Please.”
My stomach turns. Releasing her, I sit back on the bed, chastising myself. I must have taken things too far. She’d dirty talked to me, so I thought I could do the same to her without upsetting her. Clearly something else is going on here.
“Alexandrea, I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t,” she interrupts me, shaking her head. “But still, I think I’d better go.”
I watch with an ache in my chest as she scrambles for her dress and pulls it back up over her luscious body. I pull my trousers up around my waist, feeling crushed for some reason. Once she has her bag in her hand, she stands to leave.
As if of its own accord, my hand grabs hers. I hold her back and she meets my gaze.
“Please stay. At least spend the night here with me.”
She gives me a strange look. “You want
me to sleep with you? Like, actually sleep?”
Her question causes me to doubt myself. Am I really that far gone for this girl?
I nod, not caring how insane I seem to her. It’s been so long since I spent the night with someone wrapped in my arms. Even if more sex is off the table, I just want to hold her.
Alexandrea shrugs, sets her bag on the table, and lies down on the right side of the bed. I turn off the lamps and lie down behind her, hesitantly threading my arm around her waist. She pulls my arm closer around her and I snuggle into her back. Her warmth fills me, flooding me with a foreign sense of calm.
***
I wake up to something soft and plush in my arms. I squeeze on it, a cheeky grin tugging at my lips. My palm is met with a fistful of down pillow instead of the handful of tit I was expecting. I spring up in the bed, sleepiness falling away quickly.
Turns out I wasn’t imagining it; I was cuddling with a pillow just now instead of a person. Granted, I fell asleep with someone in my arms, so at least I’m not completely insane for thinking someone might be there when I wake up. I search the room, but there’s no sign of Alexandrea anywhere. She vanished in the night, leaving behind only her impression in the pillow.
I rub my neck and groan. The sound of my voice is gravelly and deep from sleep. I feel sick to my stomach, though I’m not sure why. Normally I’d be relieved to find out my one-night stand left of her own accord. After all, it’s less work for me to do. But this one was different. I was truly hoping to find her in my arms this morning. I’m left feeling empty now that she’s gone without a trace.
Sighing, I pull myself up from the bed and spot something on my nightstand as I’m about to stand and search for my shoes. A small bit of neon pink paper is stuck to the wood. There’s only one word scribbled on it—
Thanks
That’s it. After the most incredible sex of my life, all I get in the morning is an empty bed and fucking “thanks.”
I drag myself to my feet and hunt the room for my belongings, grumbling to myself as I go. Why is this bothering me so much? What’s done is done. I had my first American girl of the tour, and she was a stunner. She’s plenty to brag about to my mates; sexy as hell with a fiery, dominant side in bed. Yet all I keep thinking is I wish I got her number. Did she chop off my balls during the night? That’s the only explanation for this girlish mindset.
Rolling my shoulders, I stand, get dressed, grab my key card, and head for the door so I can go downstairs and check out.
“Get a grip, Turner,” I chastise myself. As if on cue, my mobile rings. Some irrational part of me jumps with joy, thinking somehow it might be her. The name “Cyril” populates on the screen. Rolling my eyes, I answer.
“What do you want, cocksucker? It’s a dick move calling me this early.”
“Right, I keep forgetting you’re in a different time zone. Sorry about that,” my uncle apologizes. Shrugging it off, I shut the door behind me and head down the hall toward the lift. I can’t stay angry at the man who raised me, even if he did a shit job of it at times.
“What’s so urgent that you have to call me at this hour? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping until at least three p.m. anyway?”
I hear Cyril’s raspy chuckle sound over the phone. Poor man hardly has a voice anymore. I suppose that’s what happens after screaming into the microphone for thirty years straight. His band has been touring the world nonstop for as long as I can remember, and it took a toll on his vocal cords. No rock star is immune to the passage of time. I know I’m guaranteed to have arthritis in my hands someday. It’s a musician’s sacrifice, one we’re more than willing to make.
“My idiot cockatoo woke me up,” Cyril explains. “She jumped on my face for no reason and dug her claws in, fucking shithead. After all I do for her. That, and I had some news to discuss with you. I wanted to let you know this tour is our last one for a while. Al isn’t doing well. He had a heart attack a couple of nights ago on stage.”
My body tenses as I approach the hotel receptionist at the front desk. Al is the drummer for Cyril’s band. He’s always been in perfect health. I never even dreamed I’d be getting this call.
“Fuck, Cyril. I’m so sorry.”
“We are, too. He’s in stable condition now, but the doc said he shouldn’t perform for a while. The stress was hard on his heart. Honestly, I think this might be it for us.”
“Damn…”
“We’ve had a good, long run though. Nothing to complain about. Al is our brother, so of course his health comes first. In any case, I was wondering if you’d like me to join you in the States after we’re done here. It would be a couple of months before I’d arrive. I’d love to see you and Eddie again and perhaps tag along with you for a change.”
I laugh at that comment. After our parents passed away when we were too young to remember them, Eddie and I spent our entire lives in a trailer with a nanny and a tutor, following Uncle Cyril around wherever he went. It wasn’t a bad life; we saw the world many times over and had a vast menagerie of exotic pets. It was a little lonely not having any real friends, but Eddie and I always had each other and Cyril. As long as the three of us were together, all was well. Our brotherhood was the only stability we needed.
I was hoping for the same feeling when I joined Filthy Bangers, but it seems like there’s always some sort of battle going on. If it’s not over girls, it’s over our music. If it’s not over music, it’s over one of us trashing the tour bus or burning the food. There’s no unity, and it makes me wonder if we’re going to last the test of time like Cyril and his mates have.
“You can tag along with us any time you want, Uncle.”
“Brill.” I hear the excitement in his voice. “I’ll let you know when to expect me.”
“Take care, sir.”
“You too. Bye.”
I hang up and shove my mobile in my back pocket. What to do until my uncle arrives…
Two months is a long time to wait for the original party animal to come to town, and I didn’t plan anything to occupy me until then. The only thing I can even think of that might be worth my time is pursuing the girl who left this throbbing ache in my chest.
Chapter 9
Alex
When I arrive back at the house in the same outfit I wore out the night before, Mom gives me a once-over and raises a suspicious eyebrow.
“Where have you been?”
“Out,” I grumble, brushing stray hair out of my face. Taking the kitchen floor in long strides, I hurry past her, hoping she won’t ask me any further questions. We’ve already had this fight many times; I’m an adult. I’m independent. Just because I’m living under her roof doesn’t mean I’m still a little girl she can boss around.
I hear her weary sigh and feel just a twinge of guilt. “I wish you’d let me know when you’re going to be out all night. I worry about you.”
An uncomfortable lump forms in my throat. “I’m fine, Mom. Just had a night out with Ky and some friends. I’m going to go apply for some jobs in my room.”
I hear a smile enter her voice. “Well, that sounds like a good idea. Let me know if you find anything.”
I nod, smirking to myself. Mentioning my desire to get a job is always a good way to get her off my back. There’s nothing else in the world that can make the mom of a twenty-ager happier.
As I climb the stairs on the way to my bedroom, I feel the ache from last night still throbbing between my thighs. Damien was by far the biggest guy I’ve ever been with, and while I’m a curvy girl, I’m still small down there so it was a tight fit. Not that I’m complaining…that was by far the best sex I’ve ever had. The perfect last hurrah. I would have stayed for round two this morning but I didn’t want to let my feelings get involved, and for some reason I felt like they might if I hung around. There’s something about that guy…I can’t put my finger on it, and I don’t plan on trying.
Once I’m inside my room with the door locked, I shed my dress and put on a comfy t-shirt an
d athletic shorts, then pull my wild mane into a rubber band. In my full-length mirror, I can see that my makeup is smudged to hell, so I take a makeup remover wipe from the top of my oak dresser and wipe my skin clean. Once I’m fresh-faced, I smile at myself in the mirror.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”
Damien’s words echo in my head. They bring a swell of satisfaction to my chest and then a pang of sorrow. That was it. My last one. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to top the Filthy Bangers’ lead guitarist. I won’t even try.
Now it’s time to get serious. My future is at stake. I’ve got to make something more of myself than just a sex goddess with gorgeous hair.
I get settled on the bed with my laptop and turn it on, leaning against the headrest while I wait on it to boot up. Luckily for me, I’m not the kind of girl to get hangovers, but I do get a dull headache that hangs on all day. Rubbing my temples, I recite a mantra to myself that I came up with on the flight back from London.
“Letting go, moving on. Face your fears and you’ve won.”
Before I know it, I’m dozing off with my computer on my lap. I snort myself awake and shake my head. I’ve got to start sleeping again. I barely slept all night in Damien’s arms. It wasn’t because I didn’t feel safe with him; quite the contrary. He felt too safe. Too warm. Too inviting.
He’s the kind of bad boy girls always lose their heart to and regret it. I’ve never felt anything like the wells of emotion I had while having sex with him. It was like we were communicating with more than just our bodies. Like without knowing each other, we understood everything about each other.
Shaking off my insane thoughts, I go to a job listing site and start plugging in my resume. The only place I’ve worked in the past is Mom’s salon as a receptionist-slash-janitor. Basically I’d sit in the front and take calls until Mom needed me to sweep up the dead hair off the floor. Not the most glamorous job, but I was willing to do it for a hundred dollars a week back then. Now I need something that pays better than that.
