STRIPPED (The Slate Brothers, Book Three)

by Harper James

  “I don’t know about that. And even if she does, I’m not sure I will.”

  I remember how excited we were to move in together back when we got our acceptance letters. We planned our dorm room out to the tiniest detail, coordinating comforters and computer chairs. When the dorms were full and we wound up in the apartment, we dreamed up cooking nights and throw pillows and flowers on the balcony. None of those things happened once she tried out for the cheerleading team.

  But at the same time, I can’t say that I wish she’d never tried out.

  That’s how I met Tyson, and I don’t regret it.

  I won’t regret him, no matter how much Trishelle tried to poison it for me.

  The hotel room is an absolutely insane suite, with a king sized bed, a living room, and a bathroom that’s bigger than my entire bedroom. There’s an Oriental rug on the floor, televisions in each room, and a fabulous view across the lake the resort is situated on. It’s dark by now, but the water is still visible from the lights at the ends of docks and the string lights hanging above the resort’s stone-lined pool. I drop my things on a coffee table, and try to be thrilled at the prospect of staying somewhere so glamorous, but fail.

  My best friends’ horrible insults are still ringing in my ears, even now.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” Tyson says gently, kissing my forehead. “Do you want to order room service?”

  “Yeah,” I say with an exhale. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

  “You can thank my brother,” he says, but he looks relieved that I’m interested in eating rather than merely wallowing in dismay. I order pasta, which I pick at, and then get in the shower after Tyson to wash the burning sensation from tears off my cheeks. I feel world better when I emerge, hair damp, wearing one of the cushy bathrobes that was hanging by the bathroom mirror.

  “Hey,” Tyson says, smiling at me from the bed. “You look like you feel better.”

  “Much better,” I admit. I take a breath, then climb into bed beside him. We’ve never been in a bed together before, and there’s something so sweet about it that I don’t think twice about cuddling up next to him.

  He smells clean and bright, and his bare chest is warm, skin soft over hard muscles. I press my cheek to it; hearing his heartbeat soothes me as much as the shower did.

  Tyson leans over and kisses me gently. I relax into the kiss, then deepen it. It’s not the most passionate kiss we’ve shared— but it’s romantic, and sure. The kind of kiss that only happens when two people have kissed plenty of times before. Tyson reaches over, lifting me up and onto his lap like I weigh nothing all, his lips on mine the entire time. Once I’m situated, he pulls away from my mouth, kisses my cheeks lightly, then meets my eyes. “I don’t regret anything with you. Do you regret being with me?”

  I smile. “No. Not at all. I feel like I ought to— like it’d all be simpler if Trishelle hadn’t gone to that cheerleading tryout. But…I can’t regret it.”

  He pulls me closer, and I feel my heartbeat prick up at the sensation of being protected by his arms. He holds me, stroking my back, and the motion makes the robe slide off my shoulders, exposing my chest to him. He presses his tongue to my teeth when he looks down at my bare breasts, at my nipples hardening in the cool air. I tilt my head to the side, and reach for one, pinching at it, rolling my nipple between my fingers—

  “We don’t have to,” he says quickly. “It’s been a long day. A very long day. I didn’t bring you here to have sex with you.”

  I kiss him, the motion bringing my chest to his, my breasts pressing against his muscles. “I know,” I say. “But when we have sex, you’re in control, Tyson. And believe me when I say, I’ve never wanted to let someone else be in control more than I do right now.”

  I ease myself out of the bathrobe, letting it fall to the bed, and Tyson reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp. The room is lit only by the lights outside, leaving us in near darkness save the occasional flash of Tyson’s eyes, or the gleam of dim light off his sleek arms. He takes charge, turning me onto my back and pushing my limbs out, then kissing my mouth gently, letting his tongue flick at my lips. I arch toward him as he moves down, trailing his tongue across my jaw, down my neck, kissing my shoulders before sliding a hand up my side and cupping my right breast in his palm. He moves down, pulling my nipple to his mouth and sucking it, his tongue circling my areola, his touch gentle but firm.

  We don’t speak, even though we’ve been far from silent with one another up until now. There’s something about the room, though, about the situation, about us that makes this time different. I don’t need to tell him that I belong to him; he already knows. He doesn’t need to tell me how hard it is for him to resist fucking me straight away; I already know. Instead, I relax as he appreciates my body with his mouth, pulling my breasts together and licking through my cleavages, biting lightly at each one, flicking my nipples with his tongue one at a time. I hum with pleasure as the rest of the world and its incessant drama melts away, and Tyson moves down to kiss my stomach, my scars, my hips, and then gently slides a hand between my thighs to part them.

  I lift my pussy toward his mouth, but he moves slowly, methodically. He kisses at my knees first, back and forth between each thigh, then along each side of my pussy. I moan, and though the sound is light, it’s perhaps needier than usual. Tyson responds by kissing my clit gently, as quick as a peck on the cheek, and then tongues up and down the sides of my pussy, exploring each fold, tasting me, enjoying me. He finally deepens his kisses, and his mouth covers my pussy, his tongue sliding into me and circling my entrance— I’m still so tight, even when it’s only his tongue penetrating me.

  I moan again; I’m not close to orgasm, exactly, but I’m close to…something. Some feeling of lightness, of trembling, of relief, like I’m experiencing an orgasm over the course of hours instead of moments. Tyson fucks me with his tongue, and I wind my fingers into his hair so I can better grind my hips against his mouth. He moves up, sucking on my clit, and then reaches underneath me to lift my hips up higher, to give him better access to my pussy. I moan again as he squeezes my ass cheeks gently, massaging them with his thumbs, licking at me like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. I lift my legs and wrap them around his shoulders, and he groans against me as the drunken, tender feeling of a long orgasm trickles across my body.

  Tyson eases me down, then turns me over onto my stomach; my legs rap against his cock as he does so, and I smile at how hard he is. He slides a hand between my thighs again, opening them, and then begins to lick at my pussy from behind.

  .

  I squirm when he stops— I want him to keep going— but then I feel his hand on my pussy again, feel him trailing some of my immense wetness backward, up to my ass. The additional lubrication allows him to slide a finger into that entrance easily, and the fine hairs alone my arms prickle at the feeling. Tyson groans again, and I know without looking back that he’s staring at the point where his finger disappears into me. He leaves it there, and then I feel the heat of his cock pressing against my pussy. Bare, again— hot, and bare, and throbbing for me. He eases into me, inch by inch, thrusting lightly, and I moan loud and long as I realize he’s fucking me in two different places.

  That drunk feeling intensifies; my body feels electric, a sustained hum of power rather than a single crashing feeling. Tyson begins to fuck me in long, even strokes, and the sound of his breath, of his body lightly striking mine, only serves to make me feel wilder, headier, happier. He begins to cautiously fuck my ass with his finger, never pulling out entirely, occasionally stopping to slick more wetness from my pussy there. I whine in pleasure when he switches from a finger to his thumb, a wider digit that stretches me more. My pussy is already so stretched around his cock; having yet another part of my body so utterly tight around his is arousing in the most primal of ways.

  He begins to fuck me harder, though still slower than he ever has before, like he’s taking the time to truly savor each th
rust. My mouth is open, my eyes squeezed shut, my body practically limp save for my hips, which I drive against him. I gasp when I feel the base of his cock strike me— he’s wholly inside me. I’ve taken every inch of him, finally. He realizes it too, and stays deep in me for a while, swiveling his hips so his cock rubs me in all the right ways. I moan and writhe for more, and he responds by adding a second finger to my ass.

  “Tyson,” I plead, the first word either of us has uttered since the lights went off.

  “Anna,” he answers, and my name on his tongue is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t know what I’d planned to say— or if I planned to say anything at all. He inhales, then leans down and kisses my back sweetly, softly. I whimper when he pulls his fingers from my ass, and full-on whine when he removes his cock from my pussy. I try to turn over, thinking this might be my chance to get his cock in my mouth, but he puts a hand on my back and prevents me from doing so.

  “Relax, love,” he says softly, and I go still. Love? He called me love? Does he love me?

  Love. I feel like I’m in love, right now. I feel like I’m in love with everything to do with him, from the way he makes me feel to the way he speaks to me to the way seeing him makes my heart pound. I swallow, bite my lip, unsure how to respond other than doing as he says and relaxing my body as best I can. Tyson fingers at my pussy, soaking his hands with my wetness, then massages my asshole lightly. I realize what he means to do, and even though my rational brain tells me I should be scared, my heart pounds raw desire into my veins.

  Tyson then reaches into one of the nightstand drawers and sorts through the assortment of things there; from my position I can just make out the usual, like sewing kits and pencils. He then removes a condom, which he drops on the table without interest, and then a small package of something else. He tears it open with his teeth, then lowers it to my ass. It’s lube, cool and tingling, and he rubs it against my asshole, letting it dribble down from the top of my ass cheeks, gently pushing it into me with his fingers. I’m slick with it, my body no longer resisting the push of his fingers as he delicately fucks me with one, then two, then three, making sure I’m properly wet. He finally stops and takes a long, steady breath, one full of anticipation and hunger.

  “Tell me if it hurts, Anna,” he whispers, and I nod against the bed linens. I bite my lip when I feel Tyson line his cock up with my ass, and then at the pressure of him leaning forward, pushing into me. I yelp in surprise when the hot head of his cock enters my ass in a quick, popping motion, and he goes still. “Alright?” he asks.

  “Yes. Yes,” I gasp, forcing myself to relax despite the fact that this feels so, so good. I had no idea it could feel so good, in fact. Tyson exhales and pushes forward again, gentle and slow, entering my ass as carefully and deliberately as he entered my pussy that first time. He puts a hand on my shoulder to steady himself, and I realize he’s nearly trembling with pleasure just as I am.

  “So tight,” he murmurs. “Everything about you is so tight.” His voice is kind and adoring, and I sigh at how precious it all makes me feel. I rock my hips back, giving him another inch inside me, and he groans. I can’t tell how deep he is in me, but it’s certainly farther than his fingers explored. I lick my lips, enjoying how my ass squeezes against him, and then wail with pleasure when he slowly begins to pump in and out of me. He fucks my ass with small and shallow strokes, but they fill me; he grabs for the packet of lube and drizzles it along his cock, then thrusts in deeper. I’ve never felt so alive, so aroused, so full; the long, dizzying orgasm that’s been teasing at me since we started begins to rise up, threatening to finally erupt through my body.

  I whine, trying to find the words to tell him this— that I’m going to come, and that it’s going to be intense— but I’m unable. Tyson begins to fuck me a little harder, never as swiftly as he moves when fucking my pussy, but still, it’s intense, and I can feel him growing harder, his cock pulsing as he takes my virginity for a second time. He groans and spreads my ass cheeks apart with his hands; I look over my shoulder and my lips curl into a smile at the sight of him watching his cock enter me. He glances up, meets my eyes, and I know he’s as close to orgasm as I am.

  “Anna,” he says, voice guttural and needy. “Can I—“

  “Come in my ass,” I answer before he gets the chance to ask the question. I want to say more, I want to tell him that he’ll have everything there is of me once he does this, I want to know he’s aware of just how fully he possesses me, but I can’t— because he’s groaning and pushing deep into me, all the way to the base of his shaft. I cry out, almost in pain, but no, not pain— it’s so close to that, but it’s still pleasure, still need, still want.

  I close my eyes and let his body rock mine back and forth on the bed, and my chest wells with heat. I let out a long, hungry cry as the orgasm finally escapes my chest and ricochets down my body, through my limbs, my fingers, my toes, back again. My pussy clenches tight, as does my ass around his thick cock, and suddenly I hear Tyson moan like I’ve never heard him before— like he’s an animal, like the sound is as much a part of him as the breath in his lungs. He thrusts fully into me and goes still; his cock pulses hard, and he fills my ass as he comes deep, deep inside me.

  I’ve never felt anything like this, never thought I’d want anything like this, but I lift my ass up, rubbing him against my interior, enjoying how the slickness of the lube and my own moisture allows him to fill me so easily. He reaches forward, steadying himself with a hand braced above my shoulder, and then drops his head down to kiss me, cock still buried in my ass. I never thought I’d be the one to amaze Tyson, but when I curve my upper body, that’s the look in his eyes— amazement. He opens his mouth like he means to say something, but instead he merely kisses me passionately as he slowly, carefully pulls out. My ass feels tender and empty and wanting.

  Finally, he collapses beside me, and we pant against one another, wet and hot and happy.

  “I can’t believe you took me like that,” Tyson murmurs against my forehead. “I can’t believe you gave yourself to me like that. You’re amazing.”

  I kiss his throat. “I told you. I’m all yours. Every part of me.”

  “So perfect,” he says, pulling me closer to him. “And so strong. I meant what I said that first night we kissed, Anna— it takes someone strong to give up control.”

  “I never wanted to give it up, before I met you,” I answer. “All yours, Tyson. I want to always be yours.”

  He kisses my forehead again, then threads his fingers with mine. That’s how we fall asleep, my body sore in the best of ways, his pressed against mine, like we’re afraid to allow any distance between us.

  That’s how we’re positioned when someone pounds on the door the following morning.

  Chapter 17

  “What the hell?” Tyson says, frowning. We make brief eye contact, and I shrug— maybe it’s housekeeping? He rises, throws on the bathrobe I’d been wearing last night (it barely covers him), and goes to the door. His body goes still when he looks out the peephole to see our visitor.

  “Who is it?” I whisper.

  He turns back to me, meeting my eyes but then surveying the room. The food from last night, my few belongings, the empty pack of lube and the condom on the counter. He moves fast, grabbing my things, the sex paraphernalia, then tossing them all into the closet. My eyes widen, but then Tyson grabs for my hand.

  “You need to hide,” he says in a cool, steely voice— not at all like the voice he used with me last night.

  “What? Who is it?” I ask, a little too loudly, because he gives me a hard look.

  “It’s the press— or at least, one member of the press.”

  “What does he want?

  “I have no clue. If there’s one here, there are more on the way. This will be my only chance to get out of here without there being a thousand photos. I can slow things down with a quick interview, and—“

  “Wait,” I say, stumbling as he ushers me toward the cl
oset door. “What about me? How will I get out?”

  “I’ll send a car for you, we’ll figure it out. It’s got to be me they’re after— they don’t know who you are. You aren’t anyone, so they should follow me out and leave you alone.”

  I know what he means— I’m not a cheerleader, or famous, or relevant in any way to the press. They care about Tyson Slate, he’s the important one.

  Still, his words— you aren’t anyone— slice me every bit as cruelly as Trishelle’s did last night. It’s Tyson, the man I let have my body in every way, the man who somehow got my heart while he was at it, and I’m not anyone. Not his girlfriend, not his friend, not his hookup. I’m not anyone.

  “But—“

  “Please, Anna. Just hide,” Tyson says, now sounding almost angry. I don’t know if he doesn’t see or simply doesn’t care about the tears that well in my eyes as I finally step into the closet. He shuts the door behind me without even looking back, his gaze already on the front door as the thread of light narrows and I’m finally left in total darkness. I squeeze my lips together, violating my own rule of letting myself cry when the need arises— because if I cry, whomever is at the door will hear me. They’ll hear me, and they’ll know I’m in here, and Tyson will be furious, and—

  Why are you protecting the man who just shoved you into the closet? I ask myself angrily. Moreover, why hadn’t I listened to Trishelle last night? She was angry, sure, but she was right— Tyson refuses to be seen with me.

  I hear the door open, and Tyson’s voice is steely and calm with the reporter on the other side.

  “Mr. Slate! I’m so glad I found you,” the man says.

  “In a private hotel room. I hope you paid bellhop who told you my room number enough to cover his salary, since he’ll lose his job over this,” Tyson said stiffly.

  The reporter doesn’t respond to this, and I hear his feet shuffle into the room. “I won’t take up much of your time— I just wanted to get your thoughts. You know how the rest of the media is, all focused on Sebastian and Carson, but I think you’re the one who really counts where your father is concerned.”