by Tate James
“Because I fucking hate him,” Billy said, and it was pretty clear in his voice that he didn't feel that way at all. “I hope he never shows back up. Good riddance.”
George sighed and propped his face in his hand, looking luxe as hell in a white-white suit against his bronzed skin.
“Yeah, you just say that shit because you two got drunk and fucked—”
“You want to keep going?” Billy asked, standing up and looking like he was about to start a fight right there in the middle of the restaurant.
“Just saying, for a guy who says he has zero homosexual tendencies …” Reg continued, shrugging his shoulders loosely.
“Alright, that's about enough o' that,” Shane said, downing his entire tumbler of Johnnie Walker whiskey. “Can we please just get smashed and enjoy the rest of our night? Who the hell knows when we're gonna get another opportunity like this.”
“You mean because we might die?” I asked with false cheer, picking up my drink and examining the orange liquid inside. I think the menu said cognac, vermouth, and pineapple juice. I didn't much care so long as it got me drunk.
“We just might be busy is all, honeycomb,” Shane said, and I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. I liked that one—honeycomb. Although I'd probably die before admitting it.
“Are we planning on discussing battle strategies or …”
“Mom said she'd train you,” Reg inserted, and I felt all the color drain from my face. “As soon as we get back in town, she'll start working with you five or six times a week.”
Chilly spider legs swept over my skin, like icy needles jabbing into my flesh. That was how excited I was to be working with Reg's mum.
“Oh …” I began, trying not to cough on my drink. “That's … so nice of her.”
“I mean, she's a spirit elemental, so …” Reg just shrugged and picked up his beer—i.e. wheat tea because like, where's all the alcohol?—and continued on like he didn't notice my severe discomfort. “Obviously you guys have different powers. I mean, either that or you're schizophrenic and not actually talking to ghosts.”
“I'm gonna kick your ass,” I told him as I pointed at him with the pineapple leaf from my drink.
“I wish you'd pay more attention to my warnings …” Gram was saying in my ear, making me feel like I really was going crazy or something. “There's magic here—big magic. I might be dead, but I can feel it.”
I continued to ignore her. Frankly, I wasn't sure if I was more concerned with the cuntmuffin guy … or Reg's bitchy mom training me six days a week.
“Joan is a little rough around the edges,” George started, “but you'll get used to her.”
I wanted to call his bluff on that one, but then, I didn't want to ruin dinner by telling the boys I hated their mom.
No, I would take care of that part later.
The stairway that led to the basement level club was this curving majesty of modern architectural design, with glass sides and sleek black steps that seemed to float in the center of a large foyer. Apparently, this club was invitation only.
Huge security guards flanked the heavy velvet curtains which must lead into the main club, and a tiny, waiflike girl held a clipboard to check names off. Reg approached her like they were old friends, and judging by the way she blushed, they probably were.
I had to fight the urge to claw her eyes out. This whole jealousy thing was not working for me. Too misogynistic.
She flipped her hair flirtatiously, and dropped the black velvet rope to allow us all past, but the jealous glare I earned from her was enough to strip paint. Bitch. Oh that reminded me …
“Hey, when this is all over and people aren't trying to kill us, do you guys think you can help do up Gram's house a bit?” I asked Shane, catching up to him and yelling a little to be heard over the booming music.
“Of course, darlin',” he said, taking my hand in his to pull me closer as we wove our way through the crowd, “but I thought you were gonna move in with us?”
Ugh, I had said that in my sex-addled state, hadn't I? I really needed to stop letting my vagina do the talking.
“Yeah, about that …” How to politely say I'd rather stick rusty spoons in my eyes than live in Joan Copthorne's house … hmm … “I think that maybe our own space might be nice for a while? Seeing as we're technically in our honeymoon period and all?”
“And you want to confidently scream at the top of your lungs while we're fucking you, and not have your mother-in-law listening?” Reg popped up on the other side of me, making me jump.
“Um, yeah,” I shrugged. “Fairly much. Shots?”
We'd just reached the bar, and I wasn't really ready to have that open conversation about how I was all of a sudden onboard with them moving in, the fact that we were all married, or that I badly wanted that screaming orgasm from them all right here in this swanky nightclub. So instead, I hailed down an employee and ordered us a round of tequila.
The smartly dressed bartender lined up five shot glasses and expertly poured out five shots of Don Julio Blanco right before I remembered that I hadn't actually brought my wallet with me, and had no money to pay for them.
“On the house for Reg and company,” the bartender said with a wink, somehow reading my mind—or maybe my I'm poor as fuck facial expression—before disappearing back down the bar to serve someone else.
Sweet. Who was I to refuse free booze? I handed a shot to each of the guys and we slammed them back, the burning liquid heating a path all the way to my belly and kindling a small fire there.
“We should dance,” I suggested, my eyes fixated on the writhing mass of bodies on the heaving dance floor. Every single person in the club was, without a doubt, stunning. Maybe there was an entry requirement that they only allowed beautiful people in?
So, basically, like most ritzy clubs, huh?
“Shane, dance with me?” I grabbed his hand again and tugged him toward the dance floor, only to be met with resistance.
“Good luck, Sugar Tits,” Reg chuckled, sipping on a beer that George had just handed him. “Skeeter can't dance to save himself. You'll have to try a whole hell of a lot harder than that to get him out there with you.”
That sounded suspiciously like a challenge to me.
I narrow my eyes as George handed a tumbler of scotch to Shane, and another shot glass to both myself and Billy.
“If you're looking for a dance partner,” George grinned, “Billy is your man. I figured shots were easier so you weren't spilling a drink all over that lovely dress while you danced.”
Billy threw me a wicked look as we slammed our shots back, then took my hand in his and led the way onto the crowded floor. It was set down a few steps from the bar, so when we came to a stop somewhere near the center, I could tell the other guys still had a clear view of us while we danced.
“So you want to get Shane out here, huh Firebug?” Billy yelled to be heard over the music, and his gaze was pure smoldering heat as he grasped my hips and began moving with me. “There's one surefire way to do it.”
“And what's that?” I yelled back, letting my body melt into the rhythm of the music and following Billy's lead. All around us, couples and groups were grinding and undulating like they were in some sort of trance, some of them dancing so close they were practically fucking. As I cast my heavy, tequila fuzzed eyes around the room, I thought I saw Rachel and Adonis slipping behind a curtain at the entrance to a VIP lounge. Interesting.
“The only way to drag Shane's two left feet anywhere near a dance floor is to get him incredibly, irreversibly, undeniably … turned on.” This last part was delivered into my ear with a panty melting growl, and my eyes flicked up to meet Shane's across the dance floor.
He was watching us like a hawk. This could be fun …
Flipping my curls over my shoulder, I stepped in closer to Billy and as my hips rolled and moved with the beat he tightened his grip on my waist.
“Get ready to put on a show, doll face,” he snickered, licking a l
ong line up my neck from my shoulder, ending at my ear and sucking the lobe into his mouth. A flutter of excitement flipped in my belly and I shivered.
My arms snaked up around Billy's neck and as he crushed our hips together, I could clearly feel the outline of his stainless steel pipe wrench, straining at his suit pants.
Feeling his hard length pressed between us, I suddenly remembered all of the piercings he had in his junk. Holy fuck, I was dying to get a better look at them all. My clit piercing had hurt like an absolute bitch, but he had three different ones!
“Do you think this'll get Shane out on the dance floor?” I whispered against Billy's ear, smearing hot pink lipstick across his skin. My right hand dipped under Billy's shirt, palm sliding against the rock-hard perfection of his abs until my fingers found the waistband of his slacks. And then down I went until I found the pierced perfection of his cock.
The thick hazy warmth of the crowd gave us as much anonymity as a darkened bedroom and as we continued to grind and gyrate to the music, I started to work Billy's shaft with my hand. It was hot enough in here that we were both dripping sweat, the movement of my fingers on the velvety length of his cock nice and slick. Nobody likes a dry hand job, right?
“I think it's working,” Billy breathed at about the same moment I felt Shane slide up behind me, taking over Billy's handholds on my hips, grinding the hard bulge inside his slacks against my ass.
The music in the club was atrocious, but it'd been so long since I'd partied—and partied in good male company—that I didn't care. I pulled out my inner Britt and jacked Billy off at the same time I got my groove on with Shane.
“If you make me stain these slacks …” Billy started, but it sounded more like a challenge than a threat. I pumped his body hard, teasing the piercing on the underside of his shaft and the one on his balls—I couldn't quite reach the one on his taint. Too bad.
Our mouths clashed in frantic heat, and a sonorous groan slipped from Billy's mouth, adding to the booming bass beat above our heads. When he came, his fingers gripped my hips, hands layered atop Shane's, and he squeezed, causing me to bite his lower lip in response.
I slid my hand from his slacks and wiped it on his white button-up, underneath the black lines of his jacket.
“You sneaky bitch,” he whispered as I laughed, smacking him in the face with my hair as I turned to dance with Shane. Two left feet he might've had, but he also had hips like Elvis and a body chiseled from stone. There wasn't a girl in there that would mind the fact that he didn't have the best moves in the room. If it was a choice between a man who could dance … or one who could fuck, well, it was an easy decision to make.
My arms wrapped around Shane's neck, and I loved that even with heels on, he was like a fucking mountain—tall, strong, sexy. Not too bad for a random plumber turned supernatural soul mate, right?
Billy took a few minutes to recover from his, uh, wrench polishing, but then he was right there at my back, encouraging me with his hips as I ground all over Shane. The feeling in the air was electric.
As I was preparing for another deep-sea diving adventure in Shane's pants, Reg and George reappeared with new shots—slippery nipples this time—and we all took another round. By that point, I was starting to have a really good fucking time.
“Coming to the city was the best idea ever,” I drawled, definitely buzzed and edging toward drunk. The room seemed to sway ever so slightly as I hung on Shane, then Reg, George and then Billy. After all, if I was going to be forcibly married to four dudes, why not take advantage of them all?
“Sure seems to have perked you up some,” Shane said, and maybe it was my imagination, but he sounded a bit slurred, too, like that honey-molasses Southern accent of his was dripping. It was sexy as hell.
“I'm still planning on, you know, breaking this up,” I said as I gestured sloppily at the four men. I don't think a damn one of them took me seriously, but it was in my nature to be stubborn, so … I was at least going to pretend to still be anti-elemental.
“Whatever you say, ST,” Reg slurred, and yeah, he was totally drunk, too.
I just giggled stupidly and kept dancing, the lights flashing around me, sweat slicking down my body. I mean, it wasn't like I'd never been clubbing before, but this was … wow. Not only was my cunt throbbing like a volcanic explosion of lust was about to hit my panties, but my nipples were hard as rocks, the boys were all aroused, and I felt like I was drowning in heat.
My hands … they just wanted to be all over the guys. And their hands? Well, somebody had their warm fingers climbing up underneath my short skirt.
George ran a single finger across the crotch of my panties, making me shiver and groan, my hands curling around Shane's broad shoulders as I tried to stay standing up. Maybe I'm a little more intoxicated than I originally thought?
“You look like a fucking flower,” George whispered in my ear, pressing up against my back. Reg and Billy weren't far away, one on either side of me, crushing me together in this protected little circle right there on the dance floor. “Let's part those petals, shall we?”
He licked up the length of my ear, his own voice just as groggy and slurred as the others'.
But at least he was true to his word.
George slid two fingers under the wet fabric of my panties and straight into the molten heat of my core, teasing my inner walls with these delectable come-hither motions. It vaguely occurred to me in the back of my mind that I was in fucking public, in a club, and that even if everyone here was a supernatural creature—and I didn't know that for sure—I was still getting fingered in public.
“You're so warm and wet, Ari,” he groaned, grinding up against me, putting his mouth on my neck, his spare hand on my breasts. I didn't even seem to mind when he pulled my top down and exposed me completely.
That should've been my real warning right there, but … I was too far gone.
So drunk, I thought, my mind a blurry whirlwind of sex and want and need. That's all I cared about in that moment—getting laid. I didn't care who fucking saw me.
“Fuck me with your cock,” I begged, still clutching onto Shane, loving the fact that his hand was now sneaking into his slacks, his full mouth parting in a groan as he stroked himself. “Now.”
George withdrew his own hand and literally tore my panties off, ripped the fabric to shreds.
So much for being the nice guy.
As I swayed with the music, my breasts hanging fully out of my top, all three of the other men were touching themselves—Reg even had his hard dick out and in his hand. All around us though, everyone else was doing the same.
Clothes were being torn, mouths were clashing, bodies were tangling together.
George shoved my pink skirt up until it was bunched around my hips.
In one smooth motion, he slid inside me all the way to the hilt.
My breath puffed out in a gasp at the sudden feeling of fullness, and I clutched at Shane's shirt for balance when George began to move.
Gone was the nice guy tree-hugging hippy, and in his place was a wild, primal being, pounding into my aching cunt with a force that was almost pushing me off balance in my high heels.
Shane tilted my face up to his and captured my mouth in a searing kiss, dominating me with his demanding lips and tongue.
My head was spinning so hard the room was fuzzing in and out of focus, and I wasn't sure if it was the booze or the sex, or both, but I never wanted it to end. Every inch of my body was lit up with arousal and I wanted more. I needed more. As I groaned into Shane's mouth, and arched my back to push against George's thrusting hips, Billy must have read my mind, because he stepped in close beside George and grabbed hold of my breast with one hand, while the other rested on the curve of my ass.
While George fucked my pussy, and Shane pillaged my mouth, Billy teased my rock-hard nipples with a roughness that sent sharp spikes of pleasure vibrating through me. Every now and then, perfectly in time with George's motion, Billy's hand came down hard
on my ass, making my cunt clench and George groan.
“You like that, don't you Sugar Tits,” Reg asked, his hooded gaze intense on me. As I broke from Shane's kiss for air, I found him on the opposite side to Billy, cock in hand and stroking it like a horny teenager. “You like Billy's hand on your ass, while another man's dick is inside you …” He trailed off, watching as George readjusted his grip on my hips, allowing Billy access to my other ass cheek.
“Yes,” I panted, gripping Shane's shirt tighter in my sweaty grip and crying out in ecstasy as Billy landed another blow, while twisting my captive nipple. “I fucking love it.”
Reg's blue eyes flared with excitement. How had I only just now worked out that he loved a bit of dirty talk? Although he wasn't likely to get much from me the way I was. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth as I spoke the words, and they came out with a tiny bit of a slur.
“I need more though,” I gasped, meeting Reg's heated gaze and begging with my eyes, “Reg, baby, I need more.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, that stupid little voice was muttering about this not being right, that this wasn't normal behavior. Or at least, as normal as my behavior ever really was. But surely she was just the frigid, sexually repressed part of me that was the result of single sex schooling through my formative years?
Slamming a door on the whiney bitch in my mind, I turned back to Shane and let him take my mouth once more, in a kiss that could have easily set my panties alight, had I been wearing any.
But who needed panties when you could wear a bronze god's eight inch cock and some seriously warm handprints instead?
I arched my back a little more, shifting my weight in the pink satin peep-toes and allowing George in deeper. He was practically bottoming out, but his dick was stroking my G-spot in just the right way so I pushed back into him, urging him harder, faster, deeper, I don't even know what.
Reg must have taken me at my word, that I needed more, and he dropped to his knees between Shane and George. I broke my kiss with Shane once again, curious to see what Reg was up to, and watched as he lifted the front of my tiny dress out of the way. Meeting my eyes, he slowly slid his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue over them, then withdrawing them wet and gleaming to rub at my throbbing clit.
