Both my head and my heart said, "Fuck it." So I hopped up onto Beau's lap and wiggled my ass for good measure. A girl, even a resolutely "not fun" girl like me, would have to be crazy or dead to turn down the chance to dance with baseball gods while Charles English spun in a purportedly haunted, abandoned theater. I may regret it come dawn, but I wanted to be reckless and young for a change. My college experience to date had consisted of swapping one prison for another. Maybe it was time to tear down some walls—at least for a night. Time to try on "flirty Missy" for size.
"Both of you better be prepared to dance your asses off. Well, maybe not off. They're both pretty hot—what I could see of them." Well! That got a reaction from Beau at least. A very healthy one.
My squirming and Beau's discomfort garnered us both a sharp look from Jon. Interesting. I instinctively snuggled into Jon's neck, reveling in his scent of sandalwood and soap, in an attempt to soothe him. The last thing I wanted was testosterone overload to ruin what was shaping up to be the most fun I'd had in Philadelphia.
We rolled up to what must have been the stage door of the theater during its vaudeville heyday. The alley was still partially cobblestone, and with the only light coming from the gooseneck fixtures hanging over the door, it could pass for the punk version of the portal to Hell in a pinch. Jon parked next to the door, the remains of a sign for a long-closed production of Aida flaking off the brick. He refused to relinquish his keys to someone who may or may not have been a valet, but he nonetheless tipped. He carelessly tossed his coat on the driver's seat, and Beau and I followed suit. Before we even got in the door, the thump of the bass was creeping up my spine, along with Jon's hand. It had found its way, hot and possessive, under my shirt. I locked arms with Beau and brought him close to me as well. We were all in this together. I was afraid of flying solo too close to the sun that was Jon Drazen, and if I had to, I'd use Beau as a buffer.
Through the door we went, down a narrow, dark passage that suddenly opened up in an explosion of light and sound. We found ourselves on the stage, its planks worn slick and smooth over a thousand performances. The promoters had transformed the stage into a dance floor with makeshift bars set around the perimeter. The DJ booth was set up on the catwalk over the stage, and from his perch, Charles English looked like a sorcerer using his music to work an enchantment over the throng of people below him. The setting was surreal, the tattered curtains still in place on either side of the stage and a dark, empty cavernous space where an audience had once sat. The lighting effects brought in for the party did little to dispel the eerie atmosphere, the shifting colors and strobes intermittently revealing the crumbling embellishments that hinted at the theater’s former opulence. The decaying beauty and hypnotic music created the sense of a place out of time—the perfect place to let my hidden self come out to play.
We stood at the edge of the throbbing crowd, their energy crashing over us like a tidal wave of movement and heat and longing. The sexual energy all around us was palpable and contagious. I grabbed them both by the hand, and we plunged into the crowd as the strains of The Damned Alone Again Or came over the sound system. Shimmying and flailing to the music, I let the beat carry me. I just didn't care if I looked silly—it felt so good. Neither of them let me stray more than a step or so, and they were both incredible dancers. It wasn't just their athleticism either; they were channeling the music. Beau was playful and joyous, flirting and cutting up. Not surprisingly, Jon was a bit more polished, no doubt due to some antiquated cotillion class he had been forced to take, and that polish just enhanced his feral grace. Make no mistake, they were both predators. Beau was like a young wolf with a bit of the puppy, but no less dangerous because of his youth, while Jon was a panther, stalking the floor and me with a lithe grace.
Given the way women, and a few men were sidling up like bitches in heat, many held hopes that those dance skills were transferrable to arenas of the horizontal variety. This was the perfect storm for a Saturday night hook-up of the vanilla variety, which held no interest for me anymore. Frankly, as long as I had a ride home, I wouldn't blame either one of them if they succumbed to the aggressive come-ons. Disappointed, sure, but I was realistic. I had done a pretty aggressive job promoting the spinster-in-training image, so getting propositioned by Jon was pretty much out of the question. I had heard rumors about Jon’s tastes, but I wasn't sure the reward outweighed the risk. He was a hot topic of gossip year round. The adventure was gift enough. It was so exhilarating to abandon my default persona for a bit. What I decided to make of the opportunity was all up to me. Time to push some buttons. Fuck it. Go big or go home.
I sidled up to Jon, his heat drawing me in. My back was to him, and my hips swayed as the tempo slowed into the hypnotic beat of "#1 Crush." His strong arms wrapped around me, his hand splayed on my pelvis and his dick grinding into my ass. He wrapped my hair in his free hand and pulled me closer. His hot breath on my neck sent a buzz through me. My nipples were suddenly irritated to be trapped in a lace prison. He bit down on my earlobe hard, and my pussy clenched. God. Don't stop.
What was I getting myself into? Did it really matter? Surely, I can keep a scene under control.
JONATHAN
"The teasing stops now," I growled as I soothed the sting my nip had undoubtedly caused. "Because the way you dance—it's luring men to their doom."
It was as if she were calling down the spirits or charming snakes with her sinuous hips and lissome gestures. The sharks were circling—it was time to stake my claim. I pulled her back against my dick and continued to grind. The way she relaxed into me, as if her whole body sighed, made me pull her tighter and grind harder. I sucked her neck making sure to leave a mark. She tastes like berries and custard. Let there be no doubt that I was accepting her subconscious submission and every responsibility that came with it. The sidelong glance she gave me wasn't saucy—it was full of promise and acquiescence. She looked at me—it was a question and a statement—before she reached out to Beau, wrapped her hand around his neck, and brought him in sync with our hypnotic rhythm. I was so obsessed with her that in that moment, I couldn't deny her anything. I felt as if I was trying to catch lightning with my bare hands, and I would do anything to achieve it.
As she pulled him in, she turned and kissed me tentatively, unsure that her plea would be heard. I devoured the kiss she offered, tasting the faint butterscotch of the bourbon she favored before I grabbed her lush, velvet lip with my teeth, tugging then soothing with the soft caress of the tip of my tongue. It emboldened her to return the favor, with a delicacy and sweetness that was strange to me after the parade of gold-diggers and wannabe porn stars I had passed the time with since Rachel. I met that delicacy with hunger and heat, burying my hand deeper into her soft nest of hair and pulling just hard enough to make her gasp into my devouring mouth.
She broke the kiss first, her glittering, dark eyes drinking me in, and touched her forehead to mine before turning to Beau. He tried to extricate himself from our bubble, demonstrating that he was far smarter than most people were giving him credit for, but Missy kissed him just as lustily, urging him to stay. He traded a look with me, and I made it clear that Missy was running the show. Whatever she wants, she's getting because I'm getting her.
She turned in my arms, her tits crushed against me, her nipples hard as rocks, and gyrated pelvis to pelvis. We may have been on the dance floor and fully clothed, but there was nothing fake about it. We were fucking. My dick was fighting its way out of my jeans to find its way home. Missy was rubbing against me like a cat in heat trying to find some relief. Beau was right behind her, kissing the back of her neck with his dick against her ass.
Declan be damned, the drought is over. If Missy is offering, I’m taking, whatever the terms. It will be worth the repercussions from the family, from Lucius. This is happening.
BEAU
Her kiss tasted like fire and candy. Being on the receiving end of it shocked me because she was so clearly into Drazen. But that kiss, an
d Drazen's reaction didn't feel like the usual ploy to stir up jealousy. I was no stranger to drama—always of someone else's making. The drama always outweighed the sex, which was usually a lot of groping, a lackluster blowjob, and if I was really lucky, some uninspired fucking. The boyfriend usually ended up pissed at me, which made for an uncomfortable locker room more often than not. In the last few months, I’d taken up with college girls because I was tired of being the special guest star in some high school girl's drama.
Missy wasn't like any of those college girls. This kiss was different. It was an invitation to join in their adventure. And I wanted to. Badly. I wanted to give her what she craved, even if it pushed past my experience and comfort zone. I loved the way that her hair smelled like berries and leather and wood smoke and her skin felt like silk as I trailed my lips along her neck. Her ass was high and round, and the relaxed cut of her jeans couldn't hide it. When she reached around and grabbed my dick, I about exploded in my jeans. I grabbed her hand and brushed it against my lips then nipped and licked the tips of her fingers.
By then, she had danced her way free of Drazen's grip to breathe in my ear, "Don't start something you won't finish."
Missy was pure temptation as she danced, trapped between us. Writhing and caressing with her breasts and thighs. Soft against hard. Her pale, delicate hands left a trail of sparks in their wake that had my dick twitching. She must have had a similar effect on Drazen, because the next thing I knew, he grabbed one of those teasing hands, gave me a look, and cocked his head toward the exit. We were out of there.
JONATHAN
"I warned you about the teasing. The punishments are racking up, missy." The tone of my voice made it clear that I wasn't using her frivolous, totally unsuitable nickname.
Every time she rubbed those soft, warm, delectable breasts against me was a test. She had me on the razor's edge, and it took all my willpower to keep this from turning into a quick, messy public fuck in the back of my truck, which was the last thing I wanted. I intended to savor every second, bringing her to the brink over and over. I wanted to shatter her serenity.
I blew through the foyer, practically dragging her behind me, I was moving so fast. In one of my less brilliant moves, I backed her against the door of the G-Wagon, my arms caged around her, and I asked the million-dollar question. "What do you want? From me? From us? You need to spell it out. You have the control."
Anyone watching from a distance would undoubtedly jump to the conclusion that coercion was involved and her consent dubious. More athletes taking what they wanted. No one would believe the truth—Snow White had all the power here. And she was about to unleash it.
Missy looked me right in the eye. "I want to be Messalina for a change. Sir, would you be willing to take me home? And both of you fuck me 'til dawn?"
"I'm not 'sir.' You will address me as Jonathan from here on out, pet. I'm in charge, and there will be ground rules. And no 'fucking' unless and until I say so. Do you understand what that means?"
"Completely, Jonathan." She bowed her head slightly.
I kissed her hair like a love-sick teenager, thankful that she understood the unspoken darkness between us. "I need to know your limits."
"No blood. No anal. No humiliation. No gags. And no locker room talk about it—ever. This night stays between us. My safe word is Cicero."
She was quick to answer. She has experience in the lifestyle. "Thank you, pet. You can tell me whether it's the philosopher or the thoroughfare later. Now get that sweet ass into the truck so we can get on with the evening's activities." I smacked her ass hard and urged her into the truck. Now for the tricky part. "Beau, are you on board? Can you honor the lady's limits, trust me to know what she needs, and follow my lead? Otherwise, this isn't happening. She’s my responsibility, and her scene will not turn into a half-assed, frat gang bang."
Beau's crush was written all over his face. "I’ll follow your lead. Anything for Missy. You understand her. I want to."
God. He's every bit the nineteen-year-old I never had the chance to be. Was there ever a time I wasn't jaded? He'd better get jaded quick, or he's going to get eaten alive.
***
We pulled into my building's parking structure after the longest ten minutes of my life. There wasn't a lot of conversation on the drive back. Missy had trembled as she leaned against me. Whether it was fear or anticipation, I couldn't be sure. I wanted to ask her, "Why two guys?" but couldn't come up with a way to do it without sounding like an insecure douche, so I just kept my mouth shut.
We piled out of the G-Wagon and onto the penthouse elevator. As soon as the doors closed, I pinned her against the wall, hands in her hair, kissing her like a starving man. I was plundering her mouth with my tongue and lips, and she was answering in kind. She wrapped her legs around my waist and squeezed. She was already looking for relief. The trembling was gone. Definitely anticipation. I came up for air as the doors opened into my condo.
I walked her into the middle of the room, set her down in front of the Barcelona lounge, and gave her my best "Dom" look.
"How do you wish me, Jonathan?"
"You need to get out of those clothes. Slowly. They'll only be in the way."
She sank gracefully onto the leather bench behind her and unlaced her Docs. Those fucking boots. She toed them off with a surprisingly sexy wiggle and moved on to her jeans. She managed to get the fly unzipped before impatience got the best of me and Beau and I moved in to take over, one on either side, lifting her to her feet. She was our gift, and we were going to enjoy every bit of it.
With her jeans undone and barely staying on her round hips, I literally unwrapped her black ballerina sweater which, with her lush breasts, looked nothing like the staple of my sisters' childhood dance class wardrobes, and revealed a delicious retro black lace bullet bra. I ran my finger along the edge of the lace and up under the strap, which I snapped against her skin. No real pain, but I got her attention. She shivered slightly but kept still.
Beau was rubbing the back of his hand against her breast with a soft, insistent pressure. I mimicked his action, and slowly we slipped our hands under the cups and freed her breasts from their lacy black prison. God, there's nothing sexier than a woman trussed up in her lingerie with her breasts hanging free. She looked sumptuous, all disheveled and undone, a wisp of black lace barely hiding her pussy. Now to make her feel as undone as she looked.
Missy's breasts were a perfect natural D-cup, lush and soft. Watching them sway was hypnotic. Her nipples were like pink gumdrops, waiting for the perfect set of clamps. I pinched her nipple hard, giving it a twist and catching her yelp with a kiss. Beau rolled her other nipple between his fingers, pulling and pinching it. We worked over her breasts, kissing and sucking, bruising them with little bites.
Missy responded with soft pants, her chest and neck flushing a rosy pink, her nipples darkening. I twisted one rather viciously, and her panting quickened before it turned to a guttural moan that Beau smothered with a kiss. Missy gave over to the feelings, her legs getting weak. I swept her off her feet before she could fall and laid her on the bench. Beau pulled off her jeans, and we could finally fully appreciate her delicate beauty, set off by her vintage bra and wispy lace thong. She looked like a Vargas pinup—but not for long. It was time for the lingerie to come off.
I sat down next to our semi-blissed-out angel and said, "Missy, before we go any further, there's the matter of punishment for your bratty behavior earlier. I believe ten strokes is appropriate. Since it's our first time together, it's only fair that I give you a choice between a bare hand or a ruler. What'll it be, pet?”
MISSY
I was still climbing toward what was shaping up to be a lovely, intense orgasm from all the breast play and kissing—who knew that was possible? Jon's question put the brakes on my almost orgasm.
I blurted, "Bare-handed, please, Jonathan." It was going to hurt, but I wanted those beautiful hands on me as much as possible. I wanted to make as many memories ton
ight as I could to get me through the rest of this cold, bleak winter. Just call me the sex squirrel.
"Up. The rest of that needs to come off, and lay over the headrest of the lounge chair." He waved in the general direction of a le Corbusier LC4 Chaise.
Funny how it had never occurred to me that that was the perfect design to hide a spanking bench in plain sight. And it had to be pony skin. Live and learn. I was going to learn, vividly and indelibly no doubt. I stripped off my bra and soaking wet thong quickly and efficiently, hopefully avoiding any additional punishment. I draped myself over the headrest, then I waited.
Jonathan casually stripped off his "oh so dark it's almost black" green shirt, popping the snap on his jeans while Beau peeled off that delicious Henley. I sneaked a better look while they were kicking off their shoes. They were a study in contrasts, both chiseled to perfection but muscled in totally different ways. Jonathan lean and hard, the picture of coiled power ready to spring. Beau bulkier and bigger, a steadfast shelter from the storm.
The Drazen World: The Lesson (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 3