Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2

by Olivia Thorne

  She surprised me.

  She grabbed my hair with one hand and yanked my head up.

  She stared down at me dreamily with eyes narrowed to slits, her breasts heaving as she panted.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered.

  I wasn’t going to pass that order up.

  I crawled up her body until my cock was between her thighs again.

  Her pussy was the best thing I’d ever felt in my entire life – and the second time she felt even better.

  I groaned as my head slipped inside her. So wet… so soft… so warm…

  Her eyes rolled up inside her head as I got halfway inside her.

  I loved it, and went even deeper.

  Once I was all the way inside, she started to moan with her eyes closed.

  God damn.

  I put my hands on her shoulders and forced her down harder on my cock as I thrust inside her.

  She started murmuring “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”

  That, and raking her nails across my ass.

  Then, all of a sudden, she flipped me over onto my back.

  Well, not really. She pushed at my shoulder and barked, “Roll over,” and I was like, Yes MA’AM.

  I rolled over without coming out of her, and she got up and straddled me. I watched, hypnotized, as she started to grind her hips in a circle, totally working my shaft deep inside her – and without a single thought for my pleasure. This was all for her. She was off in her own little world, eyes closed, as she started to rub her clit and moan louder. I reached up and grabbed her breasts, tweaked the nipples between my fingers –

  She grabbed my hands and put them around her neck again.

  Daaaaamn.

  She opened her eyes and stared down at me seductively from half-open lids.

  “Harder,” she breathed.

  I squeezed a little more.

  “Harder,” she whispered, and began to move up and down rather than grinding.

  I watched in a trance as she began to bounce up and down on me, only halfway at first – then going all the way up my shaft and slamming back down, faster, harder.

  I could feel myself bottoming out when I was all the way inside her – but she seemed to love it. She grunted every time my head hit deep inside, and began to feverishly finger her clit as she moved up and down.

  She started to whimper, then groan, then shudder with pleasure, the whole time rubbing her clit faster and faster.

  And she stared at me the entire time.

  “Yes, yes, Yes, Yes, YES, YES YES YES – ” she cried out.

  Fuck – I’d busted a nut just ten minutes before, and already she had me on the verge of coming again!

  “Harder,” she begged.

  I squeezed her neck harder, and she moaned louder.

  Her fingers moved faster over her clit, wet stroking sounds to match the slap of our pelvises smacking together.

  “Monica,” I warned breathlessly, “slow down – if you don’t slow down, I’m going to come – ”

  She gave me a wicked smile and started bobbing up and down harder, faster.

  “Monica – I’m not kidding,” I gasped. “I’m going to come inside you if you don’t stop – ”

  “I’m on the pill,” she said, her voice two octaves higher than normal – and then she began to scream, “Come inside me – fucking come inside me – ”

  JESUS.

  I couldn’t control it anymore.

  I arched my back, trying to press myself as deep inside her as I could – and roared.

  It felt like all the pleasure in my entire body suddenly erupted out of my cock like a geyser.

  She never stopped, though – she just kept slamming down on top of me, harder, faster.

  But the feeling of me coming must have pushed her over the edge. She screamed, her fingers a blur over her clit, and suddenly hot wetness flowed over my crotch.

  She was squirting.

  She was coming all over me, with my cock still inside her.

  Hottest, sexiest thing I’d ever felt in my life.

  I shouted again and she screamed for almost five seconds straight. Then she collapsed on top of me, her entire body shuddering, every muscle twitching. We lay there like that until she stopped shaking, with me inside her the entire time, feeling every glorious pulse of her pussy as she gradually stopped coming. Then she slowly lifted herself off my still-hard cock and collapsed on the bed beside me.

  54

  Monica

  He lay on his back and cradled me against his body with his arm. I trailed my fingers through his chest hair and traced the delicious contours of his abs and massive chest.

  We didn’t talk for a long time, but when we did, he went back to being the same old Vic.

  “See? You enjoyed it even more the second time,” he teased me.

  “Watch it. You’re talking your way out of a third time,” I murmured, almost half-asleep.

  He craned his neck to look me in the eyes. “Ooh – there’s going to be a third time?”

  “There might be, if you keep your mouth shut. But you’re talking too much.”

  “Is that what you liked the most about me going down on you? That I couldn’t talk?”

  I smiled, eyes closed. “That was a huge bonus, yes. You’re much more pleasant when you’re not talking.”

  “I think you like it.”

  “Oral sex? Yes.”

  “No – me talking.”

  “Not so much, no.”

  He laughed. “Are you always like this with everybody?”

  “Like what?”

  “I hesitate to say it, lest I talk my way out of a third time.”

  I got up on my elbow and narrowed my eyes menacingly (though I was only joking). “A bitch? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “I thought it was a ‘Babe in… something something…’”

  “Babe In Total Control of Herself.”

  “Yeah. The bumper sticker feminist manifesto.”

  “Kitchen magnet,” I said as I settled back down against his body.

  “So? Why are you?” he prodded playfully.

  “Why are you such a child, huh? Answer me that one first.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Right.”

  “That was very hurtful what you said about me being a toddler with a beard,” he said, and began to stroke his whiskers. “No toddler could grow a beard as magnificent as this.”

  I sighed and resigned myself.

  Jokes and bullshit – that’s all he had in his arsenal.

  Well, that and some crazy sexual mojo.

  He sensed my shift in mood, and his voice changed tone, too. “You really looking for an answer, or are we just sparring and bantering?”

  I leaned back so I could look at him. I was fully awake now. “Yeah. I really want to know.”

  “Alright,” he said, and shrugged. “Stop me when you get bored.”

  55

  “My dad worked with my uncles when I was a little kid. They had a financial services shop – stock brokerage sort of stuff. Well, my dad was arrested for insider trading and tax evasion when I was about eleven years old. I personally think he took the fall for my uncles, that they were all doing it, but he’s the only one who got prosecuted. He said he acted alone, all the way up to the very end… but I’ve got my doubts.

  “Anyway, all the lawyers for the trial basically bankrupted our family, and my dad still ended up losing. He got sentenced to eight years in jail. It was a country club prison – racquetball courts and private rooms – but it was still prison. I saw him once every two weeks when we went to visit.

  “My uncles took care of me and Mom the whole time. Pretty well, actually. We never lacked for anything, never had to beg for money. I think it was so that my dad wouldn’t rat them out.

  “But with my dad in prison and everybody else we knew sneering down at us, I kind of went off the deep end. I got into a lot of trouble. Sex way too early… alcohol, drugs, terrible grades… just general bad beha
vior.

  “It was one of the worst periods of my entire life, but the one good thing I can say about it was that I was always really good with people, even as a kid. Like, I could make friends with anybody. The pot dealer, the cheerleaders, the jocks, the nerds. I was good at reading people. I could figure out what they most wanted but couldn’t get by themselves, and then I’d help them get it. The pot dealer wanted customers, so I hooked him up with my friends. The cheerleaders wanted booze, so I got that through the pot dealer. The jocks wanted to pass their classes, so I got the nerds to help ‘em out. The nerds wanted girls, so I’d throw parties and do everything I possibly could to get ‘em laid. Basically I was the most popular motherfucker you ever saw, even though my whole life was an emotional wreck.

  “And then my dad died of a heart attack a year before his release. I was 18. So, as fucked up as I was before that, I got even more fucked up afterwards.”

  My heart ached for him – but I was also fascinated. This was a part of Vic I’d never even thought existed. Maybe one that he never showed to anybody.

  He continued his story. “I think my uncles decided since my dad couldn’t rat on them anymore, there was no need to be so generous. My mom had to move out of our house to a two-bedroom apartment. It was a nice two-bedroom, but still – my uncles were living in mansions and driving around in limos by that point, and they basically just evicted my mom. They told her she could move, or she could pay the mortgage and all our living expenses herself… so she moved.

  “Somehow I managed to get into UC Santa Barbara, which is a party school par excellence. So I continued my grand tradition of bad behavior.”

  “What was your major?” I asked.

  “Women and alcohol.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Actually, I was undeclared for the longest time. My uncles wanted me to get a business major, but I was trying to do the seven-year plan so I could party forever, so I kept switching majors all the time. I think I was up to seventeen at one point.” He started counting them off on his fingers. “English, Business, Classics – ”

  “Classics?”

  “Yeah, but then I found out I had to learn Latin, and I was like, ‘Fuckus thatus.’ Um… history, chemistry – ”

  “Chemistry?!”

  “It had to do with LSD. Don’t ask. I only lasted a semester, anyway. Then Biology, History, Anthropology, Early Childhood Education – ”

  “What?!”

  “It was supposed to be the easiest major. Plus all the chicks were hot. That one actually lasted the longest, actually.

  “Anyway, around that time was when I discovered poker. I mean, I knew about it before then, but I’d never played – and I had no idea I was any good at it. I’m okay at calculating the odds, but what I’m really good at is reading people. Really good. And I fuckin’ rocked the house. I played my first hand at a football team party and cleaned them out. Then I started going to this Indian casino about 45 minutes away from Santa Cruz and basically lived there. I was taking home two, three thousand a night… then I started going to Vegas and taking home five or ten grand a night.

  “I got fucking addicted. I dropped out of college, hit the poker circuit, made a shit-ton of friends – celebrity poker players, rock stars, models, actors, Silicon Valley frat boy millionaires, Hollywood directors and producers, high-end call girls, you name it. I started documenting everything on Instagram – the wild parties, the comped suites in Vegas, the rock concerts backstage. I started getting dozens of followers a day… then hundreds… then thousands. Everybody loved me. I was Mr. Good Time Party Guy, and I was damn good at it, too.

  “Around that time, my uncles were trying to close this business deal. I heard about it over Thanksgiving dinner. I told them that if I could help them, I wanted a piece of the action. They were like, ‘Sure, kid, sure. Whatever.’ I mean, at the time they basically thought I was going to wind up dead or in jail because of all my partying.

  “But I actually knew a guy who knew the guy they wanted, so I got us all together and got the main dude laid like a rock star. Hot chicks left and right, I just kept throwing them in his lap. Once he was my best buddy, I made the introductions, my uncles closed the deal, and suddenly they realized I might be of some use to them.

  “They started off doing shit like renting a yacht, so they could conduct one business meeting on it a month and write it off as a business expense… and I just ran with it. Turned it into a floating Fantasy Island. Had a friend who was running an ad agency for social media stars, got hooked up with a manager, and BOOM – I was off to the races. And you know the rest.”

  “It sounds like you’re living out every guy’s fantasy,” I said – a little glumly. You never want to sleep with someone and really enjoy it, and then be reminded that he’s living a lifestyle that will tear him away.

  But his answer surprised me.

  “I am… sort of. I mean… a few years ago, I hit a real low point. My mom died in a car accident. That fucked me up.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “It was terrible. I didn’t even get to say goodbye – she was just… gone.” He stared at the wall for a moment, then started talking again. “As a result, I started using drugs more and more. Got addicted to coke. My poker playing went all to shit, I lost about six million dollars that year… and then a friend of mine OD’d at a party I was at. Died right in front of me. That’s what woke me the fuck up. Went to rehab the next day, and now I don’t touch the shit.”

  He must have sensed my objection, because he addressed it right away. “Yeah, I still drink, but I never had a problem with booze. However, I am an absolute raving loon when I’m on coke, so – no more coke.

  “And then there’s my uncles. Besides my mom dying, they practically drove me to drugs by being such stingy little bitches. They absolutely refuse to admit how much I bring to the table. I should be clearing 20 million a year, easy, just on finder’s fees alone – but they basically just pay for the boat, stock the food and booze, and let me use their jet. Honestly, a lot of the stuff I have is swag I get from people who want to advertise with me on Instagram. Some jet ski company sponsors me with the jet skis. Car dealers lend me Aston Martins and Lamborghinis all the time just so I’ll mention them, and maybe some rich kid in Beverly Hills will go to their dealership.”

  “So where do you get your money?”

  “I play poker once in a while.”

  “That’s it?!”

  “My needs are relatively simple.”

  “Yeah – just a luxury yacht, million-dollar sports cars, and a private jet.”

  “Well, I don’t own any of it.”

  “You say you do on Instagram,” I pointed out.

  “Oooh – it’s on the internet, it must be true!”

  I noticed one glaring omission in his story.

  “What about girlfriends?” I asked.

  “Look on Instagram, I got plenty of those, too.”

  “No, I mean real girlfriends. Didn’t you ever fall in love?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Not really, no. There were girls I cared for, but… my lifestyle doesn’t exactly encourage long relationships.”

  For some reason when he said that, I felt incredibly sad.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “long story short, I’m probably the way I am because I grew up without a dad around, not to mention a history of emotional trauma and lack of positive male role models, all of which I coped with through substance abuse, alcoholism, and gambling.”

  “And extreme promiscuity,” I added.

  “No, that part I just did for fun,” he joked.

  “Hm.”

  “So… now that I’ve answered your question… why are you such a bitch?” he asked lightheartedly.

  “I’m not a bitch.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Fuck you,” I laughed, “I can feel you looking at me.”

  “Oh, wait, I know why you’re a bitch – I totally forgot.”


  I got up on my elbow so I could see his face. “Why?”

  He grinned. “You’re from New Jersey.”

  I laughed and slapped his chest. “Fuck YOU!”

  “That sounds like a VERY good idea,” he said, and pulled me in close.

  “No,” I said playfully, resisting him by pushing my arms against his body.

  “Yes,” he said, burying his face in my neck and kissing me up and down.

  “No!” I giggled (and immediately hated myself for giggling). “We had a bet – I didn’t welch, I even did it twice. That’s it.”

  He pulled back in horror. “What?! Seriously?! We just had some of the best sex ever in the history of the world, and you’re gonna say, ‘Naaah, no more’?”

  Mmmm.

  I liked that he was comparing our romp to ‘the best sex ever in the history of the world.’

  But I still wanted to tease him.

  “Maybe you had some of the best sex ever in the history of the world,” I said. “Me… mm.”

  “Oh please – I rocked your world.”

  “You rocked the bed. I don’t know about my world.”

  He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “Come on…. one more time?”

  I closed my eyes and felt the chills shivering up and down my spine.

  “Eh…”

  His fingers circled my nipple, causing it to harden… and then his hand dropped between my legs, where he stroked my clit with the lightest of touches.

  “Please?” he whispered.

  “…fine,” I relented. “One more time.”

  “I’ll have to make this one so good you can’t ever say no again,” he grinned as he pinned my arms on the bed beside me and started to kiss his way down his body.

  You already have, I thought, but there was no way I was going to say that.

  “You can try,” I said tartly, then started moaning again as his tongue did its magic.

  56

  The sex was even better than the last two times – and those had already been fantastic.

  He went slower this time. Teasing me… drawing out my orgasm… overwhelming me with sensation.