by Warren, Rie
“What was that for?”
“I’m a hugger.” She shrugged.
“That was more than hugging.”
“You can take it.” Janice winked from behind a pair of old-fashioned goggles instead of last night’s John Lennon glasses. A large pendant of what looked like clock gears rested on her bosom.
“So, is this the Steampunk thing?” I asked.
“You got it, hot stuff.” She reached around for a quick squeeze of my ass.
“Hands off the merchandise, wench, he’s mine.” Nicky towed me toward to the table.
They all crowded around, mouths gunning a mile a minute about the big book fair on Saturday, the morning’s epic triumphs and fail moments. Then there were things called flail moments. I was lost again, especially when Missy did a lot of flapping of her arms at me. Maybe she was trying to be a human flogger?
“How about you, hon?” Janice waved her hand in front of Leelee’s face, a burnished antique timepiece replacing her bracelets.
“Oh, I’m just takin’ in the scenery.” And I swore her gaze slid to me before skipping away.
I decided to take in the scenery too, going so far as to angle my chair more toward Nicky and less in Leelee’s direction. I worked my arm around his shoulders, ignoring the chorus of sighs from around the table. While they blazed on about the afternoon’s agenda, I lingered on a woman across the room who danced aimlessly, with no music and no partners.
“What’s her deal?”
Nicky turned to check her out. “Dances to the beat of a different drum?”
I watched the girl awhile longer—her tiny body and face almost completely hidden by acres of flowy shit and incredibly long blond hair. If the kid were here he’d probably ask for her autograph, mistaking her for one of Disney’s cardboard cutout creations. “She reminds me of that chick.”
“Which chick.” He squinted at the nearly fairy princess.
I made sure no one else could hear me. “Angel or Erin or . . . fuck, I can’t remember. The one who used to show up at Stone’s to give me lunchtime blowjobs.”
Snapping his fingers, Nicky said, “Angelica.”
“Yeah, Angelica.” Angelica with the long, long legs and the long blond hair. She was just about addicted to my dick. That’d been a good week.
“She was crazy.”
“A nympho, maybe. Gave some crazy good head though.”
His voice dropped even lower. “You really are a slut.”
“Guys can’t be sluts, can they? I think that makes me a stud.” I pulled him right up to me and bit his earlobe. A love bite, not a sharp punishing pinch of my teeth at all.
“Double standards.” He accused.
“Double penetration.”
“Hopeless case.”
“Yeah.” I raised my voice. “Hopeless for you, babe.”
More sighs from the chickens and a glare-grin combo from Nicky.
“You should join FetLife.” Missy dragged Nicky back into the conversation.
“What the hell is FetLife?” I settled my forearms onto the table.
Nicky pointed to a lady dressed all in leather as black as the hair arranged in a wild formation on her head. “A social board for The Lifestyle.”
He said “the lifestyle” like it was in all-important caps . . . and I stared at leather-lady. “Elvira has a lifestyle?”
Cuffing me with a discreet smack to the back of the head, he explained, “BDSM, remember?”
“Maybe that should’ve been in the note cards, never mind all the other shit,” I grumbled quietly. Then I narrowed my eyes at him. “But you don’t write BDSM.”
With a sharp twist to her pearls and an even sharper smile, Missy said, “No, but I do, dear.”
“You practice what you preach?”
One eyebrow arched in my direction. “If you walk the walk.”
Her comment caused alarm bells to go off inside of me. Leaning in, I whispered for Nicky’s benefit alone, “Please tell me she’s not already onto us.”
“Better hope not.” Clasping my hand, he spoke in a loud drawl, “Besides, you know how much you love bein’ called sir, darlin’.”
Hoots and hollers rose from our companions.
Missy and Nicky had both just one-upped me, assholes.
Half an hour later, some guy muscled in from out of nowhere. I didn’t like him on sight, especially when he perched on the arm of Leelee’s chair. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, his grin oily, his palms were probably greased too. Whatever he was trying to sell her screamed used car salesman, and I knew all about that. My territorial instincts went ballistic.
He kept leering down the top of Leelee’s dress while she inched as far away as she could. He droned on and on about his pet bunnies, which I took to mean underage girlfriends. The longer he sat and chatted, the more Leelee looked shaken. A blast of protectiveness came out of left field and rocked me to the core.
Finally I glared at him long enough to scare him off. “Who was that dirtbag?”
“Andrew LaForge, big-time agent.” Janice flipped her hand up as if that explained everything.
“He’s one of those folks out to get you?” I asked Leelee.
“Get to her, sign her, same diff.” Jacqueline leaned in close. “Last LitLuv, he walked away with so much ingénue talent, he could’ve worn a suit made of hundred dollar bills. No one knows how he does it. There’s never been a report made against him, but I guaran-damn-tee there’s some skeletons hiding in his swanky walk-in wardrobe.”
I liked less and less the idea of Leelee the small town hit-it-big girl versus the New York City slicker.
Missy met my eyes. “Mark my words, he’s a shark who can smell fresh blood from a mile away.”
“Well. I feel the need for a long, hot shower after that.” Giving a shaky laugh, Leelee got to her feet.
“Stone’ll take you.” Every single one of them rushed to volunteer me while I bit back a groan.
Yeah, I wanted to take her, in more ways than one. I also did not want to be alone with the woman for one damn second longer than I had to be. But she turned to me with such a weary smile there was no way in hell I could resist.
“It’d be my pleasure.” I placed my hand on the small of her back, guiding her along.
We had to make several pit stops for fans who wanted pictures, so I played paparazzo while Leelee smiled and signed books. With each of her readers, she was gracious and genuine, a true southern lady, showing none of the earlier stress.
As soon as the elevator doors shut us in, she slumped. “I don’t do well with crowds or attention.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
She blinked and blushed. Silence—the tense kind that was usually the forerunner of clothes being torn off before some outrageous fucking—thickened between us.
I cleared my throat. “So. This is getting cozy.”
“You, me, and the elevator . . .” Her voice lilted along my skin, tightening the muscles in my lower belly with wicked arousal.
I walked her to her room, unlocked it for her, and this time gallantly accepted her thanks. She rose to her tiptoes and slid her lips across my cheek. My groin thumped with heat, but I played it cool, stepping back and dipping an imaginary hat.
“Wait! I’ve got somethin’ for you.” She darted inside. Rushing back, Leelee thrust a book at me then, with a sultry drawl, a saucy wink and a “Happy readin’, Stone,” she closed the door.
I flipped the book over then slammed my eyes shut.
The title? Ride.
The chick on the cover was riding, all right. Naked and back to, she straddled hard-muscled thighs. Her head was thrown back, the curve of one tit showed, and a pair of masculine hands gripped her hips.
The author? Leelee Songchild.
Holy fuck.
I am a dead man.
Four
Wednesday: Ride It Out
IN THE HOTEL ROOM, I flopped onto the bed and snagged a couple pillows behind my head. Ride, huh
? Let’s see what Leelee’s got.
Avery heard him through the cracked bedroom door.
“Yeah, Ave. Like that, suck my balls.”
Ave? She inhaled a shaky breath before pressing the door open. She and Jase had been roommates for approximately two months, and he’d never so much as given her a second glance. Or maybe she just hadn’t noticed, her nose was usually buried in a textbook. Apparently he’d been saving up any careful consideration of her for something that sounded hypnotically raunchy, entailing things she certainly didn’t do.
Gorgeous Jase cultivated a bad boy image, but he always got up early to cook her breakfast, usually in a low-slung towel fresh from a shower.
Peeking inside, Avery’s face turned hot. His head tilted back, the cords of his neck rigid, Jase sat completely naked in the leather armchair across from her. One fist slowly pumped his cock as the fingers of his other hand slid below to cup his balls.
The door creaked, his muscles flexed, his head flew up. He caught her breathless and staring. Through the shaggy hair falling across his face, she made out his brown eyes, hooded by heavy eyelids.
“Avery, darlin’. Was just thinking about you.”
Happy reading? Was Leelee fucking kidding me? More like horny reading and instant hard-on aided by the fact sometimes shy, sometimes spitfire Leelee had written some seriously kinky shit. At this rate my cock was gonna have an embolism.
“Really? Which head were you using?” She asked in a barely steady voice, her gaze straying low before boring a hole into the wall above his . . . head. The one on top of his shoulders, not the one glistening as it jutted against his belly.
“Now, don’t bust my balls, gorgeous.” He hooked a finger at her. “Why don’t you come over here and suck ’em instead?”
She shook her head, intending to back away, determined not to become another of Jase Everly’s needy little tarts. His flavor of the day. The boy was like Baskin Robbins . . . 31 flavors, one for every day of the month. “I don’t think so.”
I started laughing. Even worse, Leelee tickled my funny bone, as well as my boner.
“Too prissy to suck cock?”
“Too discerning to blow yours, Jase,” she hissed.
In a stern voice, he said, “I’m not gonna ask again. Come inside and close the damn door, Ave.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she shot back, turning to leave.
He was there before she could escape, slamming the door shut and spinning her against it. She smelled him—spicy, a little sweaty—and it made her dizzier than she let on, glaring up at him.
Leaning to the side, he swept one hand up and down the skirt and blouse she wore. “I’m all for a little cat and mouse, but you’re not as mousy as you make yourself out to be. And what you’re hiding underneath all this? Really turns me on, Ave.” He skimmed his nose along her jaw then nipped the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Jase whispered in a velvety voice, “Maybe you just need a little spankin’ to loosen you up.”
“Maybe you want me to hogtie your hand to your cock!”
His warm, rough fingers sliding across her belly to her hip, he jerked her against him so she felt his hot length pressing against her thigh. “I don’t think you wanna do that. Nnh nnnh.” When he retreated, Avery’s body jolted with anger . . . with hunger.
“No, you like this, don’t you?” He gripped himself again and made a slow show of thrusting his cock in and out of his fist, already so erect he was dark red, shiny, and swollen at the tip.
She shook her head.
I laid the book down and dragged my arm across my forehead. Bashful, beautiful, blazing Leelee, who blushed at the drop of a hat, wrote hardcore smut to rival my old collection of Penthouse Forum. This wasn’t good. I didn’t need another reason to think about her and sex in the same sentence.
The steamy cover of Ride facing me made matters worse. My hand automatically reached to unbutton my jeans. Working one-handed, I plucked the buttons free, desperate for release before the built-up pressure in my cock caused irreversible injury. Freeing myself from the denim confines, I flipped the book over.
Jase gave her a wicked grin and tilted his head. A throaty growl escaped him. “I’m gonna come soon. If you don’t want it in your mouth or on your body, you better go.”
Willing her eyes away and her legs to move, she scrambled for the doorknob, listening as Jase strained to say, “See you at breakfast, Ave.”
I’d just pushed my pants down my thighs when my damned iPhone blared the “Bohemian Rhapsody” ringtone.
“Sonuvabitch!” If it wasn’t the maid service disguised as Leelee interrupting my session, it was Ma, instant mood killer.
After shuffling my clothes back in order and slowing my heart rate, I answered. “Ma.”
“Oh good gravy, what have ya done now? You’re all outta breath.”
“Nothin’.” Yet. Unfortunately. Her telling-off tone of voice reminded me of every single time she’d caught me, and usually Nicky, up to some bound-for-reform-school hijinks. I’d hated her saying back then: I got eyes in the back of my head, sonny, so don’t you even think about it, but I planned on being the same way with the kid.
“Mm hmm. Just make sure you keep it that way.” She quickly shifted subjects. “JJ just had his lunch. We went to the Bojangles and then I made him some of my strawberry shortcake with the fresh biscuits I like, not that store-bought sponge cake crap that’s no good for nothin’. He ate it right up.”
“’Course he did, Ma. You just loaded him to the gills with fast food and sugar.” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, that’s what ol’ Jamma’s for.” I could nearly see her preening her sharply cut, silvery-white bobbed hair. “He’s just about to go down for a nap, and he wanted you to sing to him. Then later we’re gettin’ in the pool—”
I interrupted her. “Yeah, about the pool and letting him swim in the deep end—”
“Shush it. You think I’d ever let anything happen to him? I gotta remind you I’ve got an extra set of eyes—”
“In the back of your head, yeah, I know.” Just what I’d been thinking. “Is he there now?”
“He’s wrestlin’ with Viper, that big old softie. Aren’t they a pair?” Ma made soft cooing noises. Anyone would think she was talking about JJ playing with a cute little kitten instead of an eighty-pound Rottie.
It didn’t matter that the kid had Viper wrapped around his little finger, that shit flipped me right the fuck out. “Please go get him, Ma,” I gritted between clenched teeth.
“JJ baby, Daddy’s on the phone. Don’t let Viper kiss you on the face, hon, she ain’t brushed her teeth today . . .”
Not to mention that they were big killer teeth. Fuckin’ A. I was gonna have a heart attack during this trip, one way or the other.
I let loose a big sigh of relief when I heard the kid’s breathless squeaky voice. “Hi, Daddy!”
My heart walloped in my chest. I smiled through the need to wrap him in my arms, keeping him safe from everything and everyone . . . including Viper the big softie. “Winding down for a nap?”
“Jamma says I gotta.”
“Jamma says I have to.” I reminded him.
“’S’what I said,” he complained with that teetering-on-the-edge whine.
“That is not what you said.” I gentled my tone.
“Daddy, why you talkin’ funny at me?”
Oh well, we’d have to tackle grammar, sugar withdrawals, and dog avoidance behavior when I got home . . . after I hugged the almighty hell out of him. “I’ll just sing to you instead, huh?”
“I like that best. And when you hug on me. And ice cream . . .” The sleepy ramble heralded an extra-long nap.
“Me too, kid. Which song will it be this time?”
“Not the scary lady with the horns,” he muttered, taking his decision very seriously. He’d be frowning and pulling at the cowlick on the crown of his head.
“Got it. No scary Maleficent.” I didn’t do the chick parts very well anyway.
JJ hummed for about half a minute before shouting, “The Flynn one!”
I grumbled. That Flynn Rider dude was nothing but an itinerant playboy. I preferred the horse or the chameleon. “You’re doing Rapunzel.”
“Mm hmm.”
This one was pure schmaltzy romance, and I tried not to laugh as the kid mumbled through half his turn of “I See The Light”. I’d sat through the movies on repeat so many times they almost played in the background of my head, which could become really disturbing.
We finished on a warbled, half-out-of tune harmonization that definitely wasn’t our best work. I’d have to toss the Tangled DVD when the kid wasn’t looking.
While I still had him half-awake, I rattled off the same list of dos and don’ts I had when Ma had picked him up Friday night. “Don’t forget to say please and thanks and ma’am.”
“Uh huh.”
I heard him fading so I rushed, “And be careful in the pool and around Viper.”
“Aw, Daddy. Viper wuvs me. Not as much as you and Uncle Wicky and Jamma, but she do.”
“She does.” I corrected him.
“I know, ’s’what I said.”
My life had become all about semantics.
Ma came back on after the kid and I exchanged I love yous, which I managed to get through without my voice breaking. She yelled across the room, “Don’t let her lick your fingers, either!”
“Dog cooties,” I murmured.
“Whatsa-coochies?” She’d finished getting the kid’s fingers out of the mutt’s maw, presumably.
My eyes lit on the Book of Torment beside me. “Hey, Ma, you read romance stuff, right?”
“Sure, and any lady who tells you she doesn’t is a damn liar.” She had a little book club that was known to get rowdy at times, what with the mimosas on tap and the bawdy books they read.
“You ever read anything by a Leelee Songchild?”