by J. C. Grant
“So you're a fan of Tara's?” David asked as he got comfortable, sliding down slightly, his legs widening. There was no mistaking his body language, it said, Fuck off, this couch is taken.
“Yeah,” Josh answered eagerly, clearly not getting the hint as he made himself comfortable in one of the chairs across from us.
I didn’t know why, but I was still surprised at people’s rudeness. Or maybe it was just ignorance. What I did know was that, in all the time I'd lived in LA, I'd never sat at a private table uninvited.
Josh might’ve been rude, but he wasn't bad looking—dark hair, five ten-ish, thin, preppy, like a skinny, shorter version of someone you'd expect to play Superman. He had good bone structure, but he was a far cry from the rock star type Tara liked.
“So, that's her?” Before either of us could answer, Josh continued, “I mean, I thought it was her, but why would she ever be here, you know? You don't expect to see someone like her when you're just out with friends having a drink,” he rambled on.
Josh must've been a tourist, because Warwick was exactly the place you would find people like Tara. We were surrounded by people more famous than Tara.
Then, finally, the woman of the hour walked up, taking the couch across from us.
David extended his arm out toward Josh. “Tara, this is Josh. He's your biggest fan."
From David's tone and general demeanor, he was pissed at Tara. Not that Tara or Josh would ever know. David was playing it cool, his signature stoicism perfectly in place, but I could tell.
Tara turned to Josh, holding her hand out, introducing herself. She loved the attention. I couldn't understand it. I hated it when strangers approached me, but that might've been more of my childhood issues bubbling up.
“Come 'ere,” David growled, his breath warming my ear as his hand wedged between my thighs.
“David, stop.” I leaned into him, not wanting to cause a scene or get Tara's attention. “My dress is too tight.”
I knew what he wanted. Access.
When his bossy hand started to work my skirt up, I grabbed it, halting his progress.
Our gazes locked for a moment in challenge. Then his hand left my thigh as he reached over me, turning the lamp off, plunging us deeper into shadow. He held there a moment, his chest inches from mine, his warm cotton candy, ocean smell invading my senses.
God, he smelled so fucking good, I wanted to lick him, eat his smell.
He must have seen it on my face, because he smirked before moving his hand back to my thigh, his chest pressing to mine as his lips moved to my ear.
“The fringe will cover everything.” His voice was pure persuasion and seduction.
As I breathed him in, my inhibitions started fading. Any onlookers would think that we were simply a couple getting cozy, not that we were contemplating what sexual activities we could get away with in such a public venue. The tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered, No one will notice.
“Come on, you said you wanted it to be like the first time,” he coaxed, his hand working my skirt up higher by the second.
“David,” I started.
Tara was only a few feet away from us; I had no intentions of giving her a show.
“Austin, just let me.” When he pulled back, the look in his eyes was demanding and pleading, melting me to his will. Involuntarily, my thighs went lax, widening, but my dress stopped them short.
“Here's your bottle service,” the hostess interrupted us, setting glasses and a bottle of wine on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
David left his hand exactly where it was as he turned to her. “Yeah, can we get a bottle of flat water please.”
As he spoke, his fingers moved to the top of my inner thigh, working in from another angle.
“Sure, no problem, is that all?”
“Tara, do you want anything?” David asked casually over the music.
Just then, his finger grazed my bare sex. My muscles jumped at the sudden attention. I could feel his sense of victory in his body and his touch.
David turned back to me, our faces only inches from each other.
“Sweetheart,” he purred. “I don't want to rip this gorgeous dress, but I will.”
At his tone, my breathing turned shallow.
His eyes narrowed as he took in my response, a devilish smirk forming on his face.
“Now,” he growled, taking my clutch from me, setting it on the table. When he sat back, he pulled my legs up, draping them over his lap, turning me sideways.
With my back against the arm of the couch and my legs over his thighs, he propped a heavy boot up on the table, bringing his knee up, creating the perfect cover. And the perfect angle, for easy access.
This position also allowed me to really take him in, now that we were out of the swarming crowd. He was wearing a black button-up shirt and fitted black jeans—both tailored to hug in all the right places. No doubt, he had dressed with little thought, but with those scuffed boots and his sleeves rolled up...
Damn.
I was struck with one of those moments, the ones where I was in awe that all that raw male perfection was mine.
As he adjusted my legs, covering his growing erection, the muscles of his forearm flexed, rolling, momentarily distracting me. I wanted to feel those muscles flexing under my hand.
Or between my thighs...
“David!” a deep voice yelled.
Tearing my gaze from its muscle appreciation, I saw Liam’s tatted, athletic form coming up the stairs. He was really working the rocker look—black boots, leather pants, holey white tee, and messy, spiked, sex hair. I could see the glint of a few silver necklaces around his neck. That's when I noticed Josh was nowhere to be seen.
“Good to see you out, man,” Liam greeted as he clasped hands with David in a hybrid bro arm wrestling style handshake. Their black leather cuff watches banged together, and looked similar. Expensive and abused. The male equivalent to carrying a Birkin covered in sharpie doodles, but cooler. “Congrats on the marriage.” He nodded toward me.
“Thanks, man. Sit, hang out.” David gestured to the spot next to Tara. “Have you met Tara?”
I knew from David's demeanor, he’d set this up to keep Tara occupied. Granted, Liam was an actual rock star, but he was too muscular for Tara's taste.
Or maybe not.
Because her face lit up when Liam introduced himself, sitting next to her on the couch.
“David,” Liam shouted over the music, “you mind if I open this bottle?”
“Nah, man. Knock yourself out.” As David responded, his fingers nudged my knees apart, and he began massaging my inner thigh with purpose.
Slowly moving higher.
My body hummed with anticipation as I struggled not to react.
“Dude, I got a favor to ask you,” Liam said as he opened the wine, pouring a glass for both him and Tara.
“Sure, what's up?” David's bossy hand continued its journey. Higher. And higher. Quickly approaching his destination.
“Your gym, can you hook me up?”
My breath caught as David's finger suddenly grazed my sex, tickling, teasing.
“Even though I'm not a baller?” Liam added.
David laughed, deep and rough, vibrating through his chest and against my thigh, making my body flush with arousal. Something about his hand buried deep between my legs in such a public place... Playing with my pussy in front of our guests... My core pulsed and flooded.
Another deep vibration rippled against my leg as his eyes cut to me, and I knew he felt it too.
“Yeah, sure,” David agreed easily as his fingers slipped through my wetness, spreading my lips apart. My fists clenched, fingers digging into my palm as I struggled not to respond.
“What's wrong with your gym?” David asked causally.
“Fucking groupies. My workout use to take me an hour. Now it's two and a half fucking hours to do pretty much the same shit. I just want to get my workout done, you know? There're places
for them to meet me, for us to interact, and the gym's not it.”
David nodded his agreement as his fingers lazily circled my clit, pinching, rubbing, as if he had all day. The stimulation was sweet and gentle, sending sparks of pleasure rolling through me as the tension built. My pulse raced and my lips parted, pulling in light panting breaths.
But David continued as if unaffected. “That's the reason I opened my gym. If I went to a regular gym, I couldn't get my workout done because of chatty fucking girls.” His fingers continued swiping my clit, making my breath hitch with each stroke. “And if I didn't go to the regular gym, I was stuck driving over an hour to work out.”
I watched as his full lips moved, his strong jaw...
Fuck, my clit throbbed painfully as images flashed through my mind: David on his knees, head buried between my legs, licking, sucking...
I had a strong urge to reach up and shove his head between my legs, see if he would eat me out in front of his friend.
“Oh, shit. And you need all the special equipment and stuff right?” Liam asked, leaning in toward us, his elbows on his knees.
The first sensual chords of “Gorilla” started and David’s eyes met mine. Everything in me warmed, softening. I didn’t know if he’d requested it, or if it was a coincidence, but I didn’t care as his other hand moved up my side, between me and the couch, cupping my breast, squeezing.
“Yeah.” David’s thick fingers pushed inside me then, rubbing my sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced precision. My body shuddered and my eyes closed, overwhelmed by the building pleasure. “But we have all the regular stuff. You'll be able to find what you need.”
I tried to ignore their conversation and focus on Bruno Mars’s dirty words and David’s skilled digits. My hands clenched tighter, resisting the urge to run my hands over my breasts, his thighs, or grab his hand and work it deeper.
“I'll pay extra if you want,” Liam offered.
At the nearness of Liam's voice, my eyes opened, immediately swiveling to Tara and him. Tara was on her phone, paying no attention to us, which I was grateful for.
David shook his head as his fingers continued to work my tender flesh. His forearm flexing between my thighs only added to my arousal.
“Mr. Taylor, can I get you anything else?” the hostess appeared again.
“Yeah.” He nodded toward the lamp at the end of our couch. “Can you turn that off?”
“Oh, sure no problem.” She quickly turned off the lamp and left us alone again.
“Are you sure it's cool?” Liam checked.
David’s thumb met my clit, and I sucked in a breath.
“Yeah, it's cool. Austin, works out there. It's not a problem.”
Liam's gaze moved to me, then darted to David's arm between my legs and back to my face. He seemed taken aback.
At first.
He adjusted quickly, relaxing, casually leaning over, turning off both of their lamps as well, plunging us into near darkness.
David pulled my legs closer as he slouched deeper into the couch. It didn’t hide what he was doing, but it did make it less obvious. And through all of this, those talented fingers didn’t stop for one second, working my spot ruthlessly.
Gripping his forearm, I pushed. Whether I was trying to stop him or just needed something to hold onto, I wasn't sure.
“Can I get an invite to this gym?” Tara finally joined in the conversation.
While I was confident it was too dark for anyone else to tell what we were doing, I knew there was a chance Tara and Liam could, so I tried not to look like I was on the verge of orgasm, but David was pushing me beyond any self-control. And there was no way I could answer her and not give away our activities.
“Sure,” David answered, smoothly covering for me. “We usually go in the morning. What's your schedule like?”
Goddamn, that man was good. His cock was hard as stone, pressed against my thigh, straining to break through the fly of his jeans while his fingers worked with steady determination, but his voice gave none of that away. Smooth. Relaxed. Casual.
“I usually have two free weekday mornings every week,” Tara responded, oblivious to our activity.
“Just come on up—text Austin first, so she can make sure you get in the gate.” As he spoke his fingers started pressing rhythmically. Harder. And harder.
My hips jerked involuntarily, and my head fell back, my body slumping deeper into the couch. There was an intense pressure building in my cunt; it took a second for me to recognize it.
Oh fuck, he's trying to make me squirt.
My fingers squeezed his forearm tight, pulling and pushing at the same time.
“It's one of those super fancy gyms? Do you have a valet?” she asked, getting excited.
“Hey,” Liam interrupted. “You said you only have two free mornings a week? What do you do?”
Once Liam had her distracted, I focused on David. Reaching up, I gripped the back of his neck, tugging. He let me direct him, coming down, bracing his forearm by my head, his lips against my ear.
“Finally,” he growled.
At his tone, I knew he'd been working to get a response, to get me to forget about our surroundings and lose myself in him.
“David, stop, I'm gonna come,” I panted against his stubbled cheek.
“That's the point.” His voice was low, rough, and mischievous.
“Not here, not in this dress,” I begged, breathlessly.
Truth was, if it’d been any other dress, I wouldn’t have cared; I just didn’t want to squirt in my Hervé Leger dress. But if he applied any pressure to my lower abdomen, that's exactly what was going to happen.
His fingers left me and my body sagged, both in relief and protest, grateful not to make a scene but wanting—no, needing him to finish what he started.
When David reached across me to the table, my gaze darted to Tara and Liam. She was still occupied with him, perfectly ignorant of our activities.
Then I felt David’s lips against my ear. “Unbutton my shirt,” he muttered, his demand clear. He was leaning over me, a hand braced on the arm of the couch by my head.
A shiver ran up my spine as I obeyed, slowly revealing the hard slabs of muscle shifting under his skin. My fingers fanned out over his ribs, thumbs tracing along the deep groove under his pec.
This man is a fucking god.
Leaning up, I ran the flat of my tongue over his nipple before sinking my teeth into the thick muscle there. Any concerns about being seen by Tara or anyone else were long gone.
“Yeah, fucking bite me.” His groan was deep and erotic, tugging at something inside me, making my pussy clench. He sat back, taking over, quickly slipping the shirt off his sculpted frame.
“Up,” he demanded, hauling me up to an awkward sitting position. “Put this on.”
He helped me slip into his shirt, buttoning two middle buttons.
Then his hands wedged under my ass, forcing me on my back as he pushed my skirt up. I held my breath, waiting to feel the material ripping, but it never came as he managed to work it up to my waist without incident.
With a heated, narrowed gaze and a clenched jaw, he shoved a hand under my back, yanking me up. My breath caught at the sudden roughness. I clung to his strong neck as he easily maneuvered me into position, straddling his lap. His big hands held my hips, locking me in place.
Despite his shirt hitting me midthigh, I felt truly naked waist down.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
I scooted forward, until our bodies were flush together, my knees digging into the couch, my lips at his ear. “David,” I breathed a weak protest as my arms wrapped around his warm shoulders, my bare ass against his denim-covered thighs. I tucked my head into the crook of his neck, blocking everyone else out. The heat between our bodies was intense, aiding in the endeavor, allowing me to get lost in our little cocoon of comfort.
His squeezed my hips as his lips brushed my ear. “I wanna feel you come on me, feel you squirt w
ith my cock buried deep inside your pussy... please,” he pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice, making me feel powerful.
Having this big, strong man at my mercy, begging me, knowing I had control over him, knowing I could break him, stirred that dark need inside me. The need to dominate him, make him submit.
Pulling back, I gave him a cruel smirk and shifted my hips, pressing down against his length. Rubbing. His hands glided up across my back as he buried his face in my breasts, letting out a low groan. It was a helpless, needy noise, sending my arousal to reckless heights.
Fisting my hands in his hair, I tugged his head back, claiming his lips in a fierce kiss, licking, sucking, biting, eating at his mouth with a hunger bordering on violent. He whimpered, and that savage hunger took over. Reaching down, I fumbled with his zipper, pulling his cock out. It was hot and heavy, pulsing in my hand. I gave it one rough squeeze before slipping the swollen head through my folds, working my clit. It was raw and empowering and filthy as hell.
“Fuck yes,” he hissed against my lips, his dark eyes watching me. The way the dim light caught on his face, he looked almost angelic, like a dangerous fallen angel, gorgeous as hell.
His hands drifted down to my thighs, kneading absently as he buried his head in the crook of my neck, his warm breath skating over my skin. It was a submissive posture that egged me on.
My lips moved against his ear as I asked, “How much do you want me?”
I didn’t hear his response, but I felt a deep groan rattle through him as his hands gripped my ass, squeezing with a desperate neediness. I shifted, positioning the wide head at my opening and lowering my hips, slowly taking his brutal length into me.
“Oh fuck, yeah,” he groaned, echoing my sentiments as he stretched me open, filling me.
When my bare cheeks settled against his denim-clad thighs, reality set in. We were in a club, surrounded by people, and two of them were sitting only eight feet away. Then I wondered what would happen if the hostess came back, or a waiter, or Tara’s fan. David’s shirt more than covered us, we probably just looked like we were hugging. Really close. As I straddled him. While he was shirtless.
Holy fuck, what the hell was I thinking.