She glares at me, and without warning, she spits.
And everything in me lights up. This girl was made for me, the spark in her eyes forcing both of us out of our heads and into the moment. “Bad move,” I say, lowering my fly and taking my rock-hard dick into my hand and rubbing it along that full bottom lip that has haunted my dreams for more than a year.
“I bite,” she says, a challenge.
I lower her arms with the tail of my tie, letting her settle back on her heels. Then I squat down in front of her, running my tongue along the column of her neck. “So do I,” I say before pressing my teeth to the juncture there, all her muscles growing slack, a soft whimper falling from her lips. When I let go, I meet her hazy eyes. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Use care.”
Standing back up as she licks those lips, the red painted on them faded after an evening of excess, and I’m harder than I thought I could get. “Open,” I command.
And she does, her tongue a warm bed for me to rest on. The first hint of her heat and wet, the first swirl of her tongue has me going to the same hazy space she seems to be in, working me over like I’m dessert.
God, is this fucking good. Better than I’d imagined, which seems impossible, but it’s so fucking true. She looks up at me through her lashes, and then, with a smirk, she drags her teeth against the underside of my dick, just a little, and oh my God. It’s too much, but also just right, violence and pleasure meeting. I pull out, tapping her cheek lightly in reprimand. “Do that again, and you don’t get to come.”
She smirks, but doesn’t say anything, and when I feed her my dick again, it’s just as heavenly, but with the added element of risk, keeping me on edge. And just as I’m ready to come, practically fucking her mouth, she scrapes her teeth against me again, timing it with my orgasm, and the world goes black for a moment.
She swallows me down, not a drop missed, and when I pull out, she licks her lips, but her grin tells me she doesn’t have an ounce of remorse. So, I drop to my knees in front of her,and kiss her, plunging my fingers into her soaking core, a ragged hole cut into the thousand-dollar dress at some point. Somebody’s earned my gratitude tonight.
Once she’s fully on edge, chasing my fingers every time I pull away, her tongue and mine tangling, her pussy clutching at me like it wants to pull me deep, I bite down on her tongue, yank my fingers free, and holding her shocked, then furious gaze, I let her tongue go.
“I warned you,” I say, licking my fingers clean before I stand, leaving her tied, kneeling on the floor, on edge and full of rage, passing RJ just a dozen feet down the hallway. “All yours.”
He slaps me on the shoulder as he passes, and something in me settles. We can come back from this. And I grin, a little extra something in my step as I head back toward the car.
“You’re an asshole, Trips,” Clara barks from behind me.
And I laugh, knowing that she wouldn’t have me any other way.
Chapter 78
Clara
RJ shakes his head at Trips’ stupidly broad back, then shuffles toward me, not in any rush despite my predicament. I knew I shouldn’t have bitten Trips. Or at least, I didn’t think he’d follow through on his threat. He’d worked so hard to make sure I came as often as possible under the strictures we had that I’d figured he’d be the same now. Apparently, when he’s free to play, he’s as much of an ass as ever.
A damn sexy ass, as is clear as he walks away. Fuck him.
Sadly not literally tonight.
I turn my attention to RJ as he stops in front of me. Peering up at him, I wonder what he’s going to do. He’s usually my sweetest lover, but there’s something about him tonight that hints that might not be the case. Not when he’s watched me with three other guys. Not when I’m his birthday gift.
Sure enough, he steps behind me, grabbing the tie and giving it an experimental pull. The slow slide of his knuckledown my spine as my arms strain behind me has me falling forward, trusting him to catch me. He does, slowly lowering me until I’m flat on my stomach, the concrete cold against my cheek. “RJ?” I ask as I feel him standing over me.
He lets go of my arms, and a moment later, the jingle of a belt being tossed aside tells me my ankles are free. He’s silent, though, until he coaxes me up on my knees, my face still against the ground, the warmth of his blazer tucked under my already sore knees. I tremble, not sure what to expect, already exhausted from running and playing, on edge from my thwarted orgasm.
Warm hands slide up the outsides of my thighs, the rush of colder air making me shiver as my dress gets bunched around my waist.
“He left you hanging?” he asks, voice dark and sinuous.
I nod, my choked throat unable to speak.
“My poor, poor, girl.” That same knuckle brushes my slit, and I tilt my hips toward him, seeking the relief I need. But his knuckle disappears, and I whine, so electric that I might explode if something doesn’t happen soon. “Do you know who else has been left hanging? Over, and over, and over again?” he asks, the metallic slink of his zipper loud in the quiet space.
But nothing happens. Nothing happens for long enough that I realize he expects me to answer. I struggle to find my voice, and when I do, I sound like a desperate frog. “You.”
“That’s right. Me.” He plunges into me and I yelp, not expecting it, the mask digging into my cheek with the motion.
“I thought that’s what you wanted?”
“It was.”
