Sins, Lies & Naughty Games: A Blackwell-Lyon Security Collection

by J. Kenner

  “It’s hot, like when we’d watch porn. Remember?”

  I do, and the feel of her lips and the whisper of breath are as arousing as her words.

  “But I never wanted to be in the movie, and I don’t want to be on display here. Public group sex isn’t my thing. I just wanted—I want—to be with you.” She runs her tongue along the edge of my ear, and I stifle a moan.

  I should put a stop to this. Weren’t we just having the friends-only talk? “We shouldn’t,” I manage.

  “Probably not. But I’m leaving anyway. The utility room was hardly a good send off. There’s a bedroom here. And a shower with jets.”

  Her hand slides down to stroke me. I’m already as hard as steel. “What about Leo?”

  Her hand stills. “Huh?”

  “Aren’t you two seeing each other?”

  Again, her tongue teases me. “Would that be a problem?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Her laugh is like the tinkling of bells. “We’re not dating. What gave you that idea?”

  I don’t bother answering. They’re friends, of course. And I wished a relationship on her because I want her happy. Because I didn’t want to be the asshole who loved her and left her.

  Still…

  “We shouldn’t. You know we shouldn’t.”

  But she just shakes her head. “No, John, you’re wrong. It’s a sex party, remember? And we’re not Kerrie and Connor,” she adds, her voice so soft I can barely hear it, even with her lips against my ear. “We’re Lydia and John. And they’re hot and heavy. So isn’t that what we need to be? Isn’t that how to not only survive undercover, but to excel at it? To get fully and completely into character? To embrace the role?”

  She slides around my body until her ass is pressed against me. “So let’s embrace it.” She takes my hand and rests it on her thigh. Then she takes my other hand and cups it over her breast. And God help me I let her. For that matter, it’s all I can do not to yank her skirt up and fuck her right there. Hell, it’s private enough.

  And when she eases her hand onto mine, then starts to inch our way up her thigh, I know that whatever battle I’ve been fighting is a lost cause. I take control, easing my fingers up, teasing the soft skin between her thigh and her pussy, and then slowly—so deliciously slowly—teasing my finger along her slit, reveling in how damn wet she is for me.

  “John?” Her voice is rough. Needy.

  “Yes?”

  “Now,” she demands. “Please, please fuck me now.”

  Chapter Ten

  That is an invitation I’m not prepared to ignore, especially when her low, sensual groan entices me as I ease my finger inside her, my cock now painfully hard.

  “God, yes,” she murmurs, her hips moving as I finger fuck her fast and deep. “More,” she demands. “Con—John. Please. Please, I want more. I want everything. You,” she says, making my heart swell. “I want you.”

  “Upstairs,” I say, but she shakes her head. “Now. Here.” It’s a demand, and oh, Christ, how the hell do I say no to that? “Are there doors?”

  I glance to both sides. “No.” Apparently it’s not a butler’s pantry after all. More like a damn butler’s hallway, and I don’t care what kind of party we’re at, I can’t fuck her here where anyone can walk in, anyone can see. I’m not that guy.

  But at the same time, who am I to ignore her demands. Maybe I can’t fuck her, but I can make her come. That I want to do. To hold her here in the dark in her slinky gold dress. To play my fingers over her clit. To listen as her sensual sounds join the moans and sighs filling the air around us.

  Yeah, I’m all over that.

  “Just relax, baby,” I whisper, as I tease her clit, stroking and playing with her pussy as my other hand slides inside that low-cut dress to find her nipple and squeeze it hard between my thumb and forefinger.

  I know Kerrie’s body as well as I know my own, and I can tell that she’s already close. Her nipple is tight under my fingers, her breasts full and heavy. And her core is slick and hot, her clit hard and sensitive.

  Usually, she’s a slow build, and I’ll take my time, playing and teasing and coaxing an explosive orgasm out of her. But now I’m thinking that she likes the hint of danger. The possibility that we’re being watched. Because I can tell how turned on she is, how much this whole kinky scenario has revved her up. And damned if it doesn’t make me even harder.

  So, yeah. I want to fuck her. Want to sink myself deep inside her. But not here. And not yet.

  Right now, this is all about her.

  Her hips move in the kind of rhythm that lets me know that what I’m doing is exactly what she wants, and damned if the whole scene isn’t erotic as hell. Me getting her off, her on the knife-edge of what promises to be an explosive orgasm, and the sounds of sex all around us.

  “That’s it, baby. Come for me,” I order. “Explode for me, so I can take you upstairs and fuck you all over again.”

  She moans, then reaches up, cupping her hand over mine and forcing me to squeeze her breast harder as she arches back, her entire body shaking as she goes completely over the edge, her core tightening so hard around my fingers I fear for my circulation.

  She grinds against my hand, her body on overdrive, as I continue thrusting, wanting to keep her on edge as her climax explodes in wave after delicious wave that almost sends me over as well, until finally her legs sag and she starts to sink, her little body utterly worn out.

  I catch her as she goes down, scooping her up and holding her close as she hooks her arms around my neck. “That was incredible.” Her voice caresses me, the sound like liquid sex.

  “It really was,” I agree. “Want more?”

  Her laugh delights me. “I want you to take me to our room and fuck me so deep they can hear me scream all the way down here.”

  Considering how hard her words make me, I think that may actually be possible. Assuming I can get us to the room. Carrying her and walking with my cock this hard is no easy task. But I wasn’t a soldier for nothing, and soon enough we reach the room.

  I gently put her on the bed, then turn on the music in defense against the microphone. I’m tempted to let whoever’s tuned in get a thrill by listening to us, but I figure they probably get enough of that. Plus, I don’t want them to hear our real names if one of us makes a mistake in bed.

  As for the television, I’m not sure about that. The one thing I know for certain is that I have no interest in starring in a sex tape. There’s always the bathroom, but I’ve never been one for making love in a whirlpool tub. Call me old fashioned, but I like a bed.

  I can tell that Kerrie is thinking along the same lines, and after a moment, she sits up, then slides off the bed. Then she indicates that she wants me to sit.

  “Showtime,” she says, taking my phone off the dresser and scrolling through the streaming app until she finds a playlist of sexy, sultry songs.

  I watch, mesmerized, as she dances in front of me, her hands going to the side zipper of her dress. She wriggles her hips and shoulders and the entire garment slithers down, leaving her completely naked.

  Whoever’s at the other end of that video feed is getting quite a show, but since I know Kerrie’s aware of that, too, I don’t say a word. Instead, I watch as she bends over, picks up the dress, then tosses it over the television, taking care to cover the top middle where the camera would be embedded. “I’ll hang it up later,” she says loudly, obviously for the benefit of our undoubtedly disappointed audience. “Right now, I just want you.”

  Then she turns up the volume on the speaker, tosses my phone onto a nearby chair, and moves to stand in front of me.

  “Okay?” She asks, and she pushes me back, then climbs onto the bed. Now I’m leaning back on my elbows, still fully clothed, and she’s riding me, her hot little body enticing me, and her slick core leaving a wet patch on the silk blend of my pants where she’s rubbing herself against my thigh.

  It’s ridiculously sexy, and part of me wants to stay like
that, watching her use my body to get herself off. But it’s just not enough, and when I can’t take it anymore, I grab her waist, flip her onto her back, and close my mouth over hers.

  I kiss her long and deep, and she responds with wild enthusiasm, arms and legs clutching me tight, pulling me to her. “Too many clothes,” she murmurs. “I want you naked.”

  That’s easy enough to remedy, and soon my clothes are on the floor, my skin warm against hers. “Please,” she begs. “I don’t want to go slow. I just want you inside me.”

  “Oh, baby.” I meet her eyes, looking deep. This is more than just the eroticism of the weekend. It’s more than play-acting Lydia and John. This is the desire that has always burned between us. A desire I know well. That I wish we could nurture. But we both know that this weekend is going to be the end. Our last hurrah.

  And dammit, we’re going to make the most of it.

  I lower my mouth to hers, wanting the kiss to start slowly. But I’m too aroused, too lost in the scent and taste of her. Instead of slow and sensual, our mouths clash violently, a wild kiss. A claiming. A demand.

  We devour each other, and then I move down, tasting her neck, teasing her collar bone, sucking on her sensitive breasts as she arches up, squirming beneath me, taking more and more until she twines her fingers in my hair and urges me down lower.

  I go eagerly, wanting the taste of her. Wanting to tease her all the way to the edge with my tongue. She’s soft and sweet and she moves against me in a way that always takes me to the brink. There’s no question with Kerrie that she likes what I’m doing. With her, sex is an all-in proposition; something that I’ve always found so damned arousing.

  “Yes,” she cries as I suck on her swollen clit, her hips bucking with passion as another orgasm washes over her and she grinds against my mouth, riding it out until she’s gasping and begging for more. Begging for me to thrust deep inside of her.

  “Hard,” she begs. “Fast.”

  And that’s what I give her. Thrusting in deep and riding her, our bodies slamming together in a wild frenzy until I clench up, frozen for that sweet moment before I explode, filling her, and then collapsing, spent, on top of her.

  She strokes my hair, sighing with contentment. “That was incredible,” she says. And then, even though I’ve barely had time to catch my breath, she asks sweetly, “Can we do it again?”

  And, honestly, how the hell can I say no to that?

  Chapter Eleven

  I wake to the familiar feel of Kerrie beside me, her naked body pressed against mine, her leg thrown over me as if to keep me beside her. She’s a possessive sleeper, and I used to revel in that, knowing that even deep in sleep she wanted to be near me.

  I feel no different now, and I pull her close, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair and the musky smell of sex that lingers on our bodies and the sheets. Today’s the day, and I don’t want to let her go. Because what if something goes wrong and Rollins realizes our game? What if she gets caught or hurt or worse? How the hell could I live with myself?

  You broke her heart. You’re living with that.

  I push the thought away. She understands. And she’s doing fine.

  She’s leaving. Moving away from her family and friends because of you.

  “Del is family,” I mutter, only realizing I’ve spoken aloud when she stirs.

  “Did you say something?”

  “I said good morning,” I lie, then kiss her, glowing with warmth when she rolls over so that she can wrap her arms around me.

  “Can we just stay here all day?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like better,” I admit.

  “But?”

  I laugh. “But if we did that, I couldn’t make love to you in the shower.”

  She studies my face, then props herself up on her elbow. “I need some music to help me wake up.” She grabs my phone off the windowsill above us. Then she opens a music app, connects my speaker to Bluetooth, and blares the music just loud enough to ensure we can talk in privacy.

  “I thought last night was a one off.” She’s whispering, but I can hear the note of eagerness in her voice.

  “Did you want it to be?”

  I see her throat move as she swallows. “You know what I want.” She meets my eyes, her gaze steady. “I’ve wanted it since the first day Pierce dragged your sorry ass home with him when you guys were on leave.”

  “And you know I can’t offer that.”

  She nods. “I know. I do. If memory serves, I was the one who convinced you that last night would be a good idea. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “Last night was incredible.”

  She nods firmly. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Last night wasn’t a one-off, but it also wasn’t a beginning. It was the Lydia and John show. A limited run. No touring production. Call it a bubble or an anomaly, it doesn’t matter. Hell, we can call it a glorious send-off, because once we get back, I really am giving notice. I can’t do this with you and stay. I wish I could be that girl—I thought I could. Before the utility room, I think I even was. There was a dull ache when I was around you, but I handled it. I don’t think I can handle it any more.”

  I nod. I know exactly what she means.

  “So John and Lydia?” Her voice rises in question.

  “Is that a yes?” I think it is, but I want to be absolutely clear that we’re on the same page.

  Her smile is wide and a little bit devious. “It’s not only a yes, it’s a hell yes. Because if this is our last run, John, I want to go out wild. I want everything. And then I’m going to store it in my heart, a dirty sweet memory that I can pull out whenever I need to. Deal?”

  I slide out of bed and stand up, my hand held out to her. “Deal,” I say. “Now let’s go make it official with a fast fuck in the shower.”

  She laughs as I pull her to her feet. “I’ll say one thing. You sure do know how to romance a girl.”

  If last night’s atmosphere could be described as darkly raunchy, today’s is steamy and sticky.

  The Texas sun beats down on the back yard, and dozens of naked men and women sprawl on the cushioned chaises that surround the huge, rectangular pool.

  Another dozen or so float or swim in the water. And a few rebellious types even wear bathing suits.

  One couple is fucking languorously under a giant umbrella, the woman’s loud moans acting as a counterpoint to the wet smack of the volleyball that two well-endowed women are batting back and forth over a net.

  It’s all very surreal and not my scene at all. Though I can’t deny that I’m enjoying stealing glances at Kerrie beside me. She’s topless, but she drew the line at removing her bikini bottoms. A decision I heartily approve of. I’m not the sharing type.

  Unlike last night, which apparently got even wilder after Kerrie and I moved our private party to our room, today feels like we’ve time traveled to the sixties and stumbled upon a nudist commune.

  Tamer, but still not my scene. And while I can’t deny that fucking Kerrie in the butler’s pantry was seriously hot, this assignment has driven home that public sex and sex parties aren’t my thing at all.

  On the contrary, I’m a one-woman man, and I don’t like to share.

  For a moment, I let myself acknowledge that the one woman in that equation is Kerrie. But that’s false reasoning. The one woman in this moment is Kerrie. And I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

  This weekend, that woman is Kerrie.

  Right now, that woman is Kerrie.

  But moving forward? That’s a different story altogether.

  I glance over at the woman beside me, soaking up the sun. She’s lithe and lovely, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. That much I can tell by the attention she’s drawing from everyone who passes in front of the area we’ve staked out.

  Kerrie, of course, notices none of it, as her eyes are not only closed, but covered with cucumber slices. She’s been that way for the last fifteen minutes
, and I’m under strict orders to wake her at thirty so that she can turn over. “Especially since my tits aren’t used to the sun,” she’d added.

  When I asked why she didn’t keep her top on if she was worried, she shrugged. “When in Rome. Besides, who wants tan lines if you can avoid them? And what’s the big deal anyway? They’re just breasts.”

  I almost countered that I was feeling proprietary about them and didn’t want to share with the entire party. But considering the limitations of our weekend arrangement, I decided I didn’t have the right.

  As I study her now, I notice Rollins heading our way. “I didn’t see much of you two last night,” he says as he pauses beside Kerrie’s lounge chair.

  “We had our own private party,” I confess, since with the surveillance in our room, he must know that anyway. “You might say the atmosphere downstairs inspired us.”

  “In that case I won’t be insulted. But now that you’ve got that out of your system, I expect we’ll see you downstairs tonight.” His gaze cuts to Kerrie. “I want to claim my dance with Lydia. And anything else I can persuade you to give me.” His words are directed to me but his gaze is on Kerrie as she sits up, peeling the cucumbers off her eyes.

  She smiles at him, not self-conscious at all as he stares at her breasts.

  “She’ll need to be in on that negotiation,” I say. “Unlike some of your guests, I can’t claim ownership of the woman I’m with.”

  She turns a wide, genuine smile on me before returning her attention to Rollins. “Well, you know that Johnny has my heart. But I suppose there are parts of me that are available for sharing. The three of us could make some sort of deal, don’t you think, darling?”

  “I do,” I say, deliberately looking toward Amy, who’s standing by the bar chatting with the bartender.

  Rollins follows my gaze, then chuckles. “Oh, yes. That can definitely be arranged.”

  “You can speak for her?” Kerrie asks innocently.