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Steve was careful to keep disdain in his expression even when shock registered on Roux’s face. He hoped she’d forgive him for being an ass toward her band in front of everyone. He hadn’t had time to explain to her yet that Tamara was sniffing around with an all-access press pass, which was going to make it incredibly hard to keep their relationship a secret. Best to let everyone think he hated them, he’d decided. He was rethinking that decision when Iona flinched and Roux stared at him wide-eyed, as if he’d physically assaulted her sisters. Perhaps calling them bitches had been a bit much.
“Get over it, Steve,” Max said, He smiled at the members of Baroquen. “We’re happy you’re here and know your performances will be sensational.”
Relief registered on every face—not just the ladies’—and Steve wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t realized how bad his words would sound until they’d crossed his lips, but it was too late to take them back now, so he took another swig of whiskey and growled, “Not as amazing as Twisted Element would have been.”
“Forgive him,” Max said, sending him a warning with his eyes, even though that fake-ass smile he’d perfected was firmly in place. “He’s just a little bitter about the whole Twisted Element thing.”
“A little?” Roux blurted.
Steve lifted his brows, thinking how gorgeous she looked in her rock star getup, yet still preferring her without all the makeup and sexed-up clothing. “Got a problem with me, Red?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re being a jerk.”
“Just living up to my reputation.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.
That had not gone as planned, but when he saw Tamara lurking around a collection of empty equipment cases, trying to be discreet about watching him, he knew he’d done the right thing. There was no way he’d get her off his ass. Best to make her think he was enemies with Roux, but damn, it sucked. He obviously didn’t want to hurt Roux, but he also liked her sisters and he was a huge fan of their music. He was glad Zach would be arriving soon. He needed someone to vent to, and while Roux was in costume and hanging with her band, it couldn’t be her. Maybe Logan could be convinced to leave Toni’s side for a few minutes. He could confide in him, unburden himself of the weight crushing his chest, but not if Toni was around. Though knowing Logan, he’d probably spilled Roux’s secret to her long ago. Steve took another swig of whiskey, wondering how the bottle was almost empty already. He hadn’t drunk nearly as much as usual over the past weeks and was starting to feel the liquor’s effects. Apparently it made him act dumb as fuck and screw up something phenomenal with a single sentence.
“Fuck.” He should apologize. Not in front of everyone, but definitely in private.
“This must really be eating you up inside.”
He turned to find Tamara following him.
“What?”
“Is it because they’re women? Is that why you can’t stand the thought of them being better than Zach’s band?”
“Their gender has nothing to do with this. I happen to think Twisted Element are a better fit for the tour, is all.”
“You just can’t live without Zach, is all.” She smirked.
Steve scowled, knowing she was the one who’d come up with that story about why Twisted Element had been replaced on the tour. Well, either her or her equally bitter sister, Bianca. “Why am I even talking to you? Get lost.”
Tamara examined her nails. “You make this so easy.”
“I make what so easy?”
“Making you look bad.” Her eyes lifted, catching his gaze. “I don’t even have to dig.” She snatched the bottle out of his hand and took a drink. Then she tried to glare him down.
“Whatever. I don’t care what you print about me.” He did want his bottle back, though.
“But you do care what I print about the people you care about. Who was that pretty redhead who snuck out of your room a couple of hours ago?”
Shit. Tamara had seen Roux leave his room. Steve’s heart was thundering, but he pretended confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He reached for his bottle and jerked it out of her hand, very pointedly wiping her spit off the opening on his jeans before taking another drink.
“Surely you weren’t so high and drunk that you don’t remember the last woman you slept with.”
“She was just some stupid groupie.” More accurately, the love of his life who probably hated him now.
“You don’t let groupies into your private hotel room. You’ve always fucked them in the dressing room or a supply closet. Maybe on the tour bus if they’re lucky.”
She had him there, but he shook his head. “Things change.” He turned and started walking with no destination in mind. “Do not follow me,” he called over his shoulder. “If you want to talk to me, schedule an interview.” Which he would not so politely decline.
“Good seeing you. I’ll tell Bianca you said hi.”
“You do that,” he said and walked away.
Would he ever be free of his ex-wife? Not with her annoying fucking sister on tour with them. Whose idea was it to give Tamara an all-access press pass? Oh yeah, that had been Sam’s brilliant idea. Some new publicity stunt of his. Butch had filled him in on the details soon after Roux had left his hotel room. Steve could not wait for the day when the band fired Sam. He hoped Max still wanted him to do the honors, because it would be a major highlight of Steve’s life.
He wished they didn’t need Sam for the tour. It would be a logistical nightmare to dump him now, but Steve figured any complications would be well worth being rid of him. And Sam could take Tamara—and the rest of the paparazzi on his bankroll—with him.
Deciding it was best to keep down appearances when he was in such an aggravated state, Steve went back to his hotel room. He sent Roux a text telling her that he was sorry for calling her and her sisters bitches in front of a crowd—that had been excessively asshole-ish even by his standards—and that she should be careful around Tamara. The reporter was already sniffing around like a bloodhound on a scent trail. He also told her that he still wanted her to stay the night with him, but would understand if she feared discovery and kept her distance.
Her reply, which came almost half an hour later, made him smile. That’s who that was! I saw her in the hallway earlier and couldn’t place her. Fuck her. I’ll come see you as soon as I can get away. Sam’s making us attend a dinner to impress some music executives from London. You’re supposed to be here too, you know.
Don’t care. I’m not fit for company.
Except yours, he amended in a second message. Or he would be after he slept off a bit of the alcohol he’d consumed. Damn, his head was pounding, and the room was spinning. He doubted he could stand up at this point. Apparently taking a few weeks off drinking had lowered his tolerance of the stuff. He’d prefer to sleep his intoxication off with Roux in his arms, after he sweated some of the poison out during some hot and dirty sex. But he wasn’t even sure he could figure out where her vagina was located in this condition. Fuck, he was wasted. Couldn’t ever remember feeling so wasted.
He received another message from her a few minutes later. He blinked at it, trying to decipher words that blurred together and made little sense to him. This dinner is actually pretty funny. Kyle is fucking with them all so hard. You would be amused.
Kyle?
Iona’s boyfriend Kyle Schultz. The sexy British entertainment scout from American Voice. Surely you’ve heard of him.
Everyone had heard of him. He was notoriously tough on the show’s contestants. He made most of them cry. Especially the men.
Iona is dating him? How had she even met him? Wasn’t he like twenty years older than she was?
Yeah. I never mentioned that?
Nope.
Forbidden to. But if he’s here as her date, it’s sure to get out, am I right?
Is that why Iona has been so insistent that our relationship stay a secret? Because hers is?
That wasn’t really fair.
IDK. TTYL.
Due to his inebriated condition, he translated her abbreviations with some difficulty. I don’t know. Talk to you later.
Well, that sent a clear message. She must be getting herself into trouble and could no longer talk to him. So now he waited. He’d never been the kind of guy who waited around for a woman to get her priorities straight. If the roles had been reversed and he knew she was waiting around to see him, he would have made his excuses and left the dinner at once. But they were not at the same point in their careers. She wasn’t in a position to blow shit off when she felt like it. Still . . . he would have done it for her.
He stretched out across the bed, turned on the television, amused that even the commercials were British, and drifted off to sleep. Or more accurately, passed the fuck out.
He had no idea what time it was when she showed up, but he couldn’t even open his eyelids when she began to remove his jeans. It was weird. He could feel her hand and mouth on his cock, but it was like it was happening to someone else.
“R-r?” He tried to say her name, to open his eyes, to lift his head off the pillow, but he was too far gone. He couldn’t even keep his dick hard, but she was doing her damnedest to help him with that. He was scarcely aware of her bare breast in his hand, in his mouth. Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He’d gotten fucked up on some serious drugs before, but he never remembered feeling this wasted. What the fuck was wrong with him? When she kissed him, he tried to work his mouth to kiss her back, but it was useless. He was useless. And why was she so insistent on fucking him? Couldn’t she tell he wasn’t doing well here? He was starting to think he might need medical attention but felt so disconnected from his own body that he couldn’t ask for help.
Completely numb, he felt consciousness slip away just as she straddled his hips.
*~*~*
Something warm and wet bathed his face, his neck.
“Steve.” Roux’s voice. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. You’re scaring me. What did you take?”
“Nothing,” he said. Maybe. He tried to say the word but wasn’t sure if he spoke it or just thought it.
“How much did you drink?”
“Not as much as usual.” Hey, his mouth was working again! And so were all the pain receptors in his head. Fucking hell, his brain was going to explode.
“When I came in, I thought you were dead.” She dropped over his bare chest and hugged him tight. “I was so scared.”
“That didn’t stop you from trying to jump my bones.” He laughed, but nausea suddenly gripped him. He groaned and reached for a pillow to block out the glaring light.
“No idea what you’re talking about. That must have been some dream.”
Not a very good one. He hadn’t been the least bit aroused. More like repulsed.
“I feel like shit,” he said. “Maybe the booze over here is more potent or something.” But he’d never had that kind of reaction when he’d been in England before, and his brand of whiskey had been imported from the US.
“It’s probably a good thing that you threw up.”
He’d thrown up? He didn’t recall that. Yet now that his senses were coming back to him, he smelled the evidence.
“Promise me you won’t drink that much again. It’s dangerous.”
He never wanted to drink that much again—not if it made him feel that horrible in only a few hours—so he nodded his promise.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said. “Can you stand?”
How utterly humiliating to have her discover him in such a state. Naked, unconscious, and covered in his own puke. Lovely. And on the same day he’d been such an ass to her band in front of all the musicians they’d want to respect them while they toured Europe. He was batting a big fat zero today.
“Do you need a new car?” he asked. “What kind do you like? Expensive ones, I hope. Didn’t you mention a Ferrari the day I gave you my number? A red one. I definitely think it should be a red one.”
She lifted a puzzled eyebrow as she helped him haul his unsteady body off the bed. “Could you think of a more useless vehicle?”
“Useless? You’d look hot in it. What kind of Ferrari do you want?”
“You are not buying me a Ferrari.”
“Something less flashy then. How about a Corvette?”
“No. No car. At all.”
“Please let me. I messed up. I messed up bad.”
“Yes, you did.” She wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped him hobble toward the bathroom. His legs were still a bit wobbly, and his head was still pounding, but he was upright. That was a marked improvement over ten minutes ago.
“I need to make this up to you,” he said, “and show you how sorry I am.”
“Not with a car.”
“A yacht?”
She chuckled. “The only way you can make this up to me is by taking better care of yourself so I don’t have to worry about you.”
Strange request. He was sure most women would rather have the car.
“I love you,” she said. “Your self-destructive behavior hurts me too.”
Self-destructive behavior? Was that what she thought this was? “I didn’t aim to get that drunk.”
She pursed her lips and made him sit on the toilet while she turned on the shower.
He caught her arm. “Under no circumstances will you clean up that mess I made in the bed.”
“It’s no big deal. I’d do it for anyone.”
He knew she would have. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such a selfless woman in his life, but he was determined to keep her in it. Not by coercion or force or guilt or bribery, but by making her as happy with him as he was with her.
“Call Butch and tell him you need a discreet cleanup in my room,” Steve said. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Butch?”
Steve smiled. “You didn’t think his only job was heading the security team, did you? He runs interference for us while we’re on tour.” And spent more than a fair share of time dealing with Steve’s mishaps. “Also, ask him for some painkillers. My head is fucking killing me.”
Steve hauled himself into the shower, leaning against the wall when he feared his legs wouldn’t support him. That had been some whiskey. Maybe his liver was starting to fail him. It would be best to lay off the booze entirely for a few days.
Roux handed him soap, shampoo, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and several washcloths. “I’ll call Butch and then help you clean up. Assuming you want my help.”
Her help? He always wanted her help and wasn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d appreciate your assistance.”
“Did you eat anything for dinner?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll order you some food too,” she said. “Something that’ll be gentle on your stomach.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the aftereffects of the alcohol or what, but emotion suddenly flooded him, choking him up. “I don’t deserve you, Red,” he said, “but I’m glad you’re mine.”
She pointed at him, a stern expression on her lovely, makeup-free face. “Don’t make this a habit, you hear me? I won’t put up with this bullshit.”
He nodded, thinking what a great mom she would make, and then wondering if she even wanted kids. He’d have to ask her sometime.
She left the bathroom, and he stuck his head under the flow of water, brushing his teeth first. How had she known his mouth tasted like ass? She’d probably smelled his breath, he thought with a wry smile. She definitely hadn’t offered him any kisses. Had he really dreamt that she’d come and undressed him earlier? It had seemed so real at the time. So real that he’d stripped off his own pants while he’d been dreaming about her. Or maybe he’d taken them off before he’d passed out on the bed. Had he shut off the television? He couldn’t remember. He shrugged, spitting foamy toothpaste into the drain. Hallucinogenic drugs had made him do some weird shit in the past, including climbing out of a five-story-high window when he’d wrongly thought his hotel room was on fire, but alcohol had never had such an effect on him. It made his head hurt to puzzle through the past couple of hours, so he reached for the shampoo and pushed his thoughts away. He’d actually done a pretty good job of not getting vomit all over himself, but he scrubbed his scalp vigorously just in case.
He heard a deep, muffled voice in the bedroom. Butch wasn’t only discreet and efficient, but also quick to respond. Steve figured when they fired Sam, they could offer Butch the guy’s exorbitant salary. Butch deserved to be better compensated for all the shit—and vomit—he had to deal with.
A few minutes later, Butch entered the bathroom with Roux right behind him.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Butch asked. “Your lady is really worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine as soon as I get some painkillers for this headache.”
“I’m not giving you anything until you tell me what you took.”
Butch focused on Roux for a moment. He probably wondered if Steve would be honest about his drug usage in front of her.
“I didn’t take anything. Just drank some Jack. Quite a bit of it. But I didn’t mix it with anything.”
“You’re sure? You don’t usually react to alcohol that way.”
“I’m sure.”
“I won’t be responsible for giving you a painkiller that will react with whatever you took earlier. You’re absolutely positive that you didn’t take anything else?” Butch spoke slowly, as if Steve didn’t understand English.
“Positive.”
Butch sighed loudly, but palmed him a couple of pills, which Steve tossed into his mouth and swallowed. They got stuck in his throat, so he tilted his face into the shower flow and forced down a drink of warm water.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re lucky I love you, you fucking pain in my ass,” Butch grumbled before slipping past Roux and out of the bathroom.
“Love you too, errand boy!” Steve yelled after him, and even though he couldn’t see into the bedroom, he knew that Butch was extending a middle finger in his direction.
“Maybe we should take you to the ER,” Roux said. Both hands were twisted in the hem of her shirt. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll be fine. I have the liver of a rock star. They’re indestructible.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Now are you going to get in here with me before I use up the hotel’s entire supply of hot water?”
She smiled. “I suppose we have time before your soup arrives.”
She closed the door and had just shimmied out of her leggings when Butch called, “Your soup is here. I’m leaving now.”
“Thanks, Butch,” Roux shouted through the door. “I’ll take care of him.”
“It’s about time I got some help around here,” Butch yelled.
“You know you love the challenges only I can offer you,” Steve hollered back, smiling to himself. He gave Butch a hard time, but the man was one of his favorite people, and not just because he saved his ass on a regular basis.
Roux slipped into the shower behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her face against his back. Her fingers sought the bullet on the bracelet he now wore around his wrist, and he could only imagine how upset she’d been when she’d discovered him unconscious. He knew she was afraid of losing him. He had to be more careful in the future not only for himself, but for her as well. He never wanted to cause her pain of any sort.
“Are you sure you don’t want a car?” he asked as guilt churned in his belly, and she laughed.
“No, I don’t want a stupid car. I want you, Steve. Only you.”
“A car is better,” he assured her.
“Not in my opinion.”
Silence stretched between them as she washed his back with a soapy washcloth. He sighed in bliss, the impotence problem he’d dreamt about while unconscious no longer an issue. He turned to face her and tilted his head, lifting his brows and then lowering his gaze toward the erect issue she’d created with her touch.
“Yeah, that’s not happening tonight,” she said, stepping out of the shower.
“What do you mean that’s not happening tonight?”
“I mean sex. It’s not happening.”
“Are you on your period?” His gaze dropped to look for traces on her inner thighs. “Because I don’t mind.”
“Now that you’re not dying, I realize that I’m pissed at you. Supremely pissed.”
He’d thought she was over her anger already. “I said I was sorry.” Had he? He couldn’t remember if he’d actually issued an apology or had just felt it. “I’m really sorry, Roux. This might not ever happen again.”
Apparently his joke didn’t amuse her. She scowled and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel before scooping her clothes off the floor and hurrying into the bedroom. He didn’t bother to rinse off or grab a towel before following her.
“Roux, don’t be mad. It’s our first night together in Europe. It should be special.”
“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you drank yourself to unconsciousness.”
He moved to stand in front of her, gingerly lifting his hands to cup her shoulders. He’d never seen her mad and didn’t know if she was biter. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she dropped her chin.
His heart froze in his chest. “Can do what?”
“Be with someone who drinks.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and took several deep and shaky breaths.
“If that’s how you feel,” he said.
She whimpered, and her arms shot outward, wrapping tightly around his back. He took it that she thought he meant they should break up.
“I won’t drink around you again,” he said, “and since I plan to be around you at all times, I guess that means I won’t drink at all.”
“I can’t ask you to give up drinking for me.” They both knew those kinds of promises rarely worked anyway.
“To be honest, I didn’t enjoy drinking at all today. I swear I won’t miss it.” He usually drank to alleviate boredom, or to allow himself to behave like the jerk everyone expected him to be, but when Roux was with him he was never bored, and the last thing he wanted to do was behave like a jerk. His big fat jerk of a mouth had already upset her once today. “But I’d miss you. I’ve been missing you all day. Forgive me?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Give me another chance?”
She nodded again and then stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him. His head was still pounding—though slightly less than before—but the bed was freshly made, and her towel was quite simple to remove. With the slightest brush of his hand, the corner of the terry cloth slipped free and the whole towel dropped to the floor. She pulled away and squatted to retrieve it.
“I’m still not having sex with you,” she said, glaring at him through narrowed eyelids. “Until you eat your soup.”
She grinned, and his entire world brightened.
“And go rinse that soap off,” she added. “You’re all sticky.”
“Yes, my lady.”
After claiming a lengthy kiss from her pliant lips, he returned to the bathroom to rinse off. He even turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He vowed to be on his best behavior until his soup was gone, and then they were going to dig into the contents of the big black box still sitting on his dresser. When he returned to the bedroom, he discovered that Roux was of the same mind. She was already wearing the black crotchless, braless leotard and was slipping her shapely leg into a leather boot. His dick decided his thighs were a bit overwarm and lifted the front of his towel.
“The faster you eat your soup, the faster I can begin your punishment,” she said, not bothering to look at him as she reached for her second boot. “That is, if you think you’re up for it.”
“Oh, I’m up,” he said. He hurried to the covered dish on the table in the corner. He lifted the lid and tilted the bowl to his mouth, downing the entire contents in several deep gulps.
“I guess you’re feeling better,” Roux said, an amused smile twisting her lush lips.
“I am now that you’re wearing that.”
“Not sure what to do now that I have it on.”
She rose to her feet and planted a fist on either hip, staring down at her body as if it belonged to someone else. Her tits looked fantastic, her waist appeared exceptionally tiny in the clinging black leotard, her clean-shaven pussy was exposed just enough to tease, and the few inches of her thighs that showed above those boots made him incapable of speech. He stared with mouth-watering anticipation.
“You’re not much help,” she said with a disarming grin.
His heart skipped a beat, probably because it was overstrained from pumping all the blood in his body into his painfully engorged cock.
God, he was in love with her. He prayed the feeling lasted forever.
“Have you been naughty?” she asked.
“No more than usual,” he said, surprised he’d strung a coherent sentence together.
She approached him, and his legs trembled as if he’d just done ten thousand squats at the gym. An aftereffect of his binge drinking? Or did this woman make him weak in the knees?
“A simple yes will suffice,” she said, her normally soft voice laced with an iciness that made him shiver.
“Yes.”
She took his hand and tugged him toward the bed. “Come with me.”
“I love to come with you.”
“Not tonight. You’re being punished.” She fastened a restraint around his wrist and pushed him to sit on the bed.
“I have the feeling that you’re a particularly vicious mistress.”
She smiled an evil little grin. Lord, what it did to him.
“You have no idea. Your safety phrase is I’m coming.”
“That’s not a very good one. I’ll probably say it when I don’t want you to stop, not when I do want you to.”
She didn’t respond, just fastened a restraint around his other wrist. He scrutinized the headboard and found it was one of those fake padded things designers anchored to walls. Damn. Hotel rooms should be required to have headboards with sturdy rails. He’d request such from Butch for the remaining stops of the tour. Luckily for him, his woman was as smart as she was talented and beautiful. She took a flat sheet from the pile the cleaning crew had left behind—presumably in case he had another vomiting incident or two in the night—and slid one diagonally under the mattress at the head of the bed and the second under the mattress at the foot. This gave her four sheet corners to tie him down spread-eagle. He probably could have ripped himself free if he tried hard enough, but he had no plans to struggle.
She tossed aside the towel that was crumpled around his hips, leaving him naked and ready for whatever she had in store for him. He was sort of surprised that she hadn’t tied him facedown so that she could paddle his ass. It could use a good paddling. He hoped she didn’t get too rough with his more vulnerable front side, though he was already seeping precum at the thought of her hurting him.
“Remember your safety phrase,” she said.
“I’m coming.”
She nodded and climbed onto the bed between his open thighs. “Thank you for spoiling me with all those gifts while we were apart,” she said, looking so sweet—even in her devilish attire—that it made his teeth and his heart ache. “It helped me realize that you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you. I’ve been trying to come up with a way to repay you.”
“You already have.”
She shook her head slightly and then lowered her face. When her first soft kiss pressed against his inner thigh, he jerked, pulling against his restraints. They held easily, and he wondered if he actually could get away if he needed to. He was in an awfully vulnerable position and . . . Dear God, what was she doing with her tongue?
She kissed and sucked and licked the insides of his upper thighs until he thought he’d die from unfulfilled desire. His hips thrust gently in an instinctual rhythm as his cock was given none of the attention it deserved. If this was her idea of repaying him . . . Her mouth moved to his balls. He groaned, head pressing back against the mattress, every muscle in his body tight. Her tongue was gentle as she sucked and licked every inch of his sac. His toes curled, and his hands fisted around the sheet attached to his wrist cuffs.
“Dear God,” he moaned.
She nibbled his taint, and if he hadn’t been restrained, he would have launched off the bed and through the ceiling. When her hand circled his shaft, a violent shudder ripped through his entire body. She didn’t stroke his length the way he craved, just held her hand around the base of his cock while she continued to pleasure his balls. She was getting precariously close to his asshole with that tongue of hers. God, how it made him twitch.
“Wha-what are y-you . . . What are you doing to me?” he asked, his breath hitching.
“Punishing you for being so, so good to me,” she said.
“I promise I’ll never do it again.”
“You don’t like this?”
The uncertainty in her tone tore at him. “Of course I do,” he said. “It’s the best torture I’ve ever endured.”
She giggled, and her breath tickled against his wet balls. Oh fuck, he couldn’t take much more.
“Suck my dick now. Please.”
She lifted onto her elbows, and her lovely face came into view. Unfortunately, she was scowling. “Did you just tell me to suck your dick?”
“I said please!”
“Not yet.”
She resumed torturing him with more pleasure than he could stand. He thrust his hips, trying to get that hand circling the base of his cock to brush the head. Just a little, and he could endure more of those maddeningly soft kisses and licks of hers, but no. Her hand followed the movement of his hips and didn’t slide up his length even a centimeter.
“Please, Roux. Please. I can’t take— I can’t take it anymore.”
“You will. Because I’m giving you more.”
More?
Her tongue swirled over his asshole, and his mouth dropped open. He went completely still. It wasn’t his first rim job, but by God, in his current overexcited state, it was by far the best. She retreated quickly.
“I hope that was okay,” she said. “I’ve never had the courage to try it before.”
“A-OK,” he said, more than willing to be her test subject in anything she wanted to try. “Have you ever tried . . . sucking my dick?”
She laughed. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not yet.”
Fuck! What else could she possibly do to him that— His breath caught as she stuck her finger in her mouth.
“I heard that you can make a guy come by massaging his prostate. Is it true?”
“I’m guessing you’re about to find out.”
She grinned. “Is it okay?”
“You have me tied down. You can pretty much do whatever you want to me.”
“But I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to.”
“Yet you won’t do the thing I really want you to.”
“Suck your dick?”
He nodded eagerly.
“Not yet.”
Damn! “You’re an evil, torturing brat.”
And then her finger was in his ass.
“What am I feeling for?”
“Deeper.” He shuddered when she complied. “Forward. Toward the front.” She followed his instructions, and blinding pleasure shot straight up his dick. “Holy fuck!”
“Found it.” She had the gall to suck his balls while she rubbed his prostate until he had no choice but to come.
“I’m coming,” he groaned.
Her lips released the nut she was kissing, and she said, “Finally,” before she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth.
She’d been waiting for the safety phrase? He’d have yelled it twenty minutes ago if . . . Oh fuck, he really was coming. She fingered his ass perfectly as she swallowed his load down her throat, wringing out every ounce of release his body had to give. When he went still, completely spent and unable to move, she climbed up to straddle his hips and pressed his still-hard cock inside her. He forced his eyes to stay open as she leaned back, giving him a perfect view of her cock-filled pussy as she rubbed her clit, bringing herself to orgasm. She rode him as she came, still stroking her clit and straining for more stimulation as her inner walls tightened around him in hard spasms.
When her tremors stilled, she dropped to lie beside him. Immediately, her hand circled his softening cock, gently stroking its length as he twitched in overstimulated misery.
“The torture continues,” he murmured.
“It’s only beginning, my love. You called my sisters bitches.”