Marlie looked from the sweater to his bare chest. “What exactly have you been up to?”
“I’d say no good, but Demon’s no fun. Ever,” the beauty on his right pouted. Then the other one did too, until Ford got up and dragged them with him into bed. He started making out with first one than the other while McClusky watched.
Damon sighed. “At least wait until I’m gone, you freak.”
Which caused McClusky to laugh and the others to make fun of him for being a prude.
“Hey, you got tits but not cock. Marlie, want some?” Lars asked, slurring his words.
Oh man, but he was going to regret that in the morning. Ford and McClusky might be off the charts on the kink scale, but Lars didn’t generally drink or get wild in public—though this room in the back was more private, away from the main party.
But he’d scored from the point tonight on a power play and had earned the celebration, or so he’d said. Personally, Damon couldn’t wait to rub this in his face. Especially when the guy opened his pants.
Marlie pointed, her eyes wide. “What the hell?”
“No, Lars, Marlie does not need to see your dick,” he growled. “Yours either, Connor. Marlie, please. Don’t encourage them.”
“Me?” Her face was red, but she sputtered with laughter and not indignation. A woman with a sense of humor, she must have finally realized the group were having a weird kind of fun but not at anyone’s expense.
“Yes, this is why I don’t normally party with the younger crowd.”
“Younger by how many years? Three?”
“Or four. They’re all in their late twenties. Well, except for Vashevski, who’s older than me. But they all act like prepubescent fuckheads.”
Marlie shook her head, her lips curled in amusement. Then she sighed as she noticed the gray sweater he held out away from him. “Puke, you say? You can probably wash it out. Hope your buddy didn’t drink any sugared shots. Dye is hell on fabric.” She looked him over again, and he felt himself getting hard.
He leaned closer. “Want to find a closet and get freaky ourselves?”
She put a hand on his chest. “Ew. You stink.”
“Like vomit. I know.” He turned to glare at Mickey. “Fucking lightweight.”
Mickey laughed then groaned when Connor heaved him toward the trash can, where he vomited again.
Marlie tugged Damon with her into the adjoined bathroom that was bigger than Damon’s bedroom. “Nice.”
“I guess.” He watched her find a washcloth and soap him, stroking his chest slowly. “You want might want to speed things up. You’re making me really hard.”
“Me and not all the naked breasts out there? Or maybe it was all that cock?”
He sighed. “My teammates are wacky. This is usually why I don’t come to their parties.”
“Not even tempted by the pretty ladies?”
“Only this one.” He stopped her hand and leaned down to kiss her. “Man, I want you.”
“Let’s get out of here. And find you something to wear.” They managed to find him a sweater out of McClusky’s closet.
Marlie shrugged. “It’s tight on you, but it’ll do.”
He felt like a mummy, wrapped too tight. “It’s itchy.”
“Stop whining, you baby.” She laughed. “I can’t believe this night. I have got to tell my brothers and Jeff about it.”
“Unbelievable, eh?”
“Yeah. It’s just…” She walked with him back down the hall out into the main area, where so many famous people hung out, laughing and dancing. Lots of booze and food but no drugs. The guys insisted on that. Damon never would have brought Marlie to the party otherwise.
