Untwisted

by Cari Quinn

  Without responding, he went to her and removed it from the package. He waited for her to balk, to suggest they try something else first. No matter how close a couple was, a blindfold required serious trust, and God knows he’d given her reason to be wary toward him since they’d gotten together. Not for sexual reasons, but trust was trust, and couldn’t be turned on and off like a light. But rather than hesitate, she brushed her hair back over her shoulders and bent her head, making it easier for him to tie it on.

  Her reaction made his chest constrict as he covered her eyes with the swatch of black silky material. The blindfold had been included in a section of “implements of sensual torture” like floggers and paddles, items he’d automatically overlooked. He wanted to watch her come undone, not put more marks on her luscious body. At least not now. They were both open-minded. Someday they might explore in that direction, when she wasn’t pregnant and he wasn’t already on edge about hurting her.

  “Lock the door,” she said, and it reminded him they weren’t truly alone. Molly could come back anytime.

  He obliged her then returned to the bed. Without waiting for him to ask, she settled back against the pillow, the legs she spread for him so willingly shaking with a fine tremor. He steadied her with a hand on her thigh before giving in to the craving for what was between her legs. Bending his head, he took one long, slow lick, tasting them mixed together before returning for more. Her nails scraped the back of his neck as she bowed up and parted her thighs even more, not hiding her urgency at all. She loved for him to do this to her.

  Almost as much as he loved it.

  Grabbing her ankle, he pulled her out flat on the bed and quieted her squeal by covering her dripping pussy with his mouth. One stroke of his tongue and she was writhing, the heartbeat against his lips throbbing frantically. He drew her piercing between his teeth and lightly tugged, making her bow up from the mattress.

  “How fast can you come for me?” he breathed, and she whimpered, a sure sign it wouldn’t be long.

  He’d let her have one more quick release before he took her up slow and let her fall.

  Pushing two fingers inside her, he rubbed that swollen area that drove her wild in determined circles. He wouldn’t stop until she drenched his face. All that need pouring out, flooding his mouth. Wetting his lips so that when he kissed her, she could taste what he had.

  “Gray.” The cry broke from her as he pumped his fingers deep. “Just like I used to imagine…” He stopped and she whimpered again, the sound pure plea.

  “Imagined when?”

  She whipped her head from side to side, a flush darkening her from her cleavage to the apples of her cheeks. So fucking sexy. He leaned up to nip her breast and she moaned. He knew she was probably itching to take off the blindfold so she would be able to tell where he intended to land next, but he was enjoying having her at his mercy too much. Her compact, lithe body and full, rounded breasts—even more rounded lately—and arousingly curved belly could keep him busy for a lifetime.

  “Tell me.”

  “Back at your parents’ house. When I was in bed at night…I’d think about you doing this to me.”

  He turned his head and lapped at her other nipple until it stood in a taut reddened peak. Then he sucked it between his teeth and her hips jerked, her pussy tightening around the fingers he still inched in and out at a pace meant to prolong, not finish. “Then what did you do?”

  “Do?” Her obvious confusion would’ve made him smile if he hadn’t been so deadly serious about his task.

  “Do. Tell me, baby.”

  The way she stilled told the tale, but he wanted to hear it from her pretty pink lips. In lurid detail.

  His fingers swiveled as his thumb toyed with her piercing and she quivered, on the verge of soaking him the way he wanted. But not yet. Not even close.

  “I’d touch myself and pretend it was you. Your fingers, opening me up. Exploring me the way I had to do to myself to ease the ache. The way you’d do to those girls in your room.” She sucked in a shuddering breath, causing her breasts to rise and fall. He licked his way between them up to her throat and the guitar pick necklace around her neck, continuing upward to her ear.

  He didn’t have to tell her to continue, she already was.

  “I’d have to try to be quiet. It’d get so hot in my room, and I’d push my covers down and imagine you walking in to find me with my hand in my panties, stroking myself.” She blew out a breath, her shoulders shaking. “I’d push my finger in hesitantly at first, then harder, deeper until I had to bite the pillow to stop from moaning out loud. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I’d slip another one in and think of your tongue on my clit, just licking and licking until I…oh God.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Finish it off,” he said against her ear, his fingers tracing inside her in long, slow pulls. His thumb circling her clit and piercing while she started to quiver.

  “I’d get my panties so wet. And the sheets. I’d come tasting your name, and it wasn’t ever enough.”

  He shifted his head and spoke against her lips, moving them with his own. “What would make it enough now?”

  “You. Your cock inside me. Please.” She gasped between each word.

  Suddenly nothing sounded better. He’d wanted to tease her with the toys, take his time. But they’d have a lifetime to explore, and he couldn’t wait a second longer.

  “Roll over on your side,” he said, shifting behind her and slipping his damp fingers out of her slit.

  She made an impatient noise as he trailed them up her belly and helped her into position. Brushing kisses over her shoulder, he reached up to tease her distended nipples with his wet fingers. Her breasts were so sensitive now that with a few flicks, she was rolling her hips in eager circles.

  “I use to fantasize about you too. But it wasn’t right. You were my sister.”

  “I was never your sister,” she declared hotly, and he chuckled and drew her earlobe between his teeth. Tugging until she gasped.

  “Didn’t stop me from jerking off in the shower and imagining you on your knees in front of me. Those pretty lips open.” He grazed them with the pads of his fingers. “Open up, baby. Taste us.”

  She sucked his fingers inside and made a sound of delight that seemed to reverberate through her body into his.

  “Then I’d go into my room and I still wasn’t done. I’d grab a T-shirt and walk to the walk between our rooms and wait until I heard your voice. You’d laugh, and I’d have my hand on my cock. Pumping it into my fist, stroking so hard that I soaked my shirt.” He pushed his fingers deeper into her mouth and she sucked harder, right up to the knuckle. “You never knew how I wanted to fuck you back then, even though it was wrong. I wanted to be your first. Your only.”

  Rather than speak, she shifted her leg up on both of his, spreading herself open for him. She knew that was an invitation he could never refuse.

  But first, he had something to take care of.

  He reached across her belly, the light pressure of his arm causing her to squirm. He grabbed a thin wand vibrator, the kind that would never satisfy her on its own. That’s why he’d chosen it. This would rev her up, and he would help her over.

  “What’re you doing?” Her voice sounded muffled, thick. “I ache.”

  “I know. It’s about to get better.” He flipped the switch and the low buzz triggered her shiver. She backed into him, rubbing against his cock, and he turned his grin against her throat. “How much can you take?”

  “Nothing. Not one thing.”

  Now he did laugh, helplessly. Her honesty at all times never failed to humble him. “You underestimate yourself, baby. But I never do.” He pressed the toy against her clit, careful to avoid the piercing, and she released a high, thin cry. “Careful,” he murmured against her hair. “Someone might hear you.”

  “Let them,” she gasped.

  “Naughty girl.” He nipped along her jaw, drawing in the vanilla and watermelon scent he’d loved since he was a teenag
er. She was summer and happiness and the life he’d always dreamed of, all wrapped into one. “Tell me what you want. Beg for it and I’ll give it to you. Anything you want.” Everything.

  “Inside me. Please. Now.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The man she loved was a sadist. How she’d never known this fact before she pledged to live with him for the rest of her life, she did not know, but boy, the knowledge was cold and cruel now.

  He gave her what she asked for—sort of. He slipped something inside her, but it wasn’t his cock. The toy was so narrow that even her most vigorous clenching didn’t begin to alleviate the emptiness. She rocked upward, desperate for more, and he only grazed his teeth down the side of her throat while he bumped up the setting higher and higher. Until she clasped the sheets in sweaty hands and mumbled pleas she wasn’t even sure he could understand.

  “I know. I know what you need, sweetheart.”

  Somehow he was on the move again and she felt his mouth between her legs, playing with her piercing, taunting her clit, as he pumped the vibrator in and out. That wicked tongue stroking, licking. The pleasure tightened inside her, coiling hot, leaving her helpless to stop writhing while he drove her up to the cliff and left her hanging there.

  And then when she was absolutely certain she couldn’t hang on another second, he replaced the vibrator with his thick, throbbing cock and shoved her into freefall.

  “Come with me,” he whispered into her mouth, drawing her up into his arms. She still was, couldn’t stop. She shivered with endless spasms, incapable of doing more than holding on to him and moaning from the incredible assault on her senses. Only the feeling of him rearing back and slamming home one last time before he spilled himself inside her registered through the haze.

  Afterward, he pulled off the blindfold and she blinked against the bright light of the suite. For a second, she marveled at how easy it was for her to get naked with him now, whether in full light or bright sunlight. No part of her was off-limits to him. He had her trust and her heart and her soul.

  “Sleep,” he said against her cheek, and she was already nodding and curling into the silky sheets. Her body felt wrung out in the best way possible.

  He turned off the light and rolled into the bed behind her, pulling her close. “Love you. So fucking much.”

  Her lips curved. She couldn’t even admonish him for the curse when he swore like that. It was probably his way of bending the rules. “Love you more,” she murmured, lacing her fingers with his over her belly.

  His warm breath on the back of her neck lulled her into rest. Just a nap. It wasn’t that late yet and they had so much to explore. She’d barely checked out the suite and God, they were in San Francisco, her favorite place in the universe.

  The place where she’d be getting married. Tomorrow. With her best friend and her band and her sister—God—all in attendance. Her life wasn’t anything close a fairy tale, but right now it was doing a damn good job of resembling one.

  Her bladder woke her. Naturally. She ignored the urge to pee for as long as humanly possible, and rolled over with a groan, pressing her face into bedding that smelled of Gray’s spicy aftershave.

  Smelled of him, but he wasn’t there. His side of the bed was cool.

  She shoved her hair out of her eyes and leaned up one elbow, squinting as she got her bearings. This wasn’t home. They were in San Francisco, at the Palatial hotel. In the tricked-out, impossible to believe penthouse suite. Sunshine trickled through the window, bathing her in a warm glow.

  Morning already. Damn, she felt wasted, and she’d had nothing stronger than great sex.

  She glanced around, taking in the antique furnishings and expensive trinkets that seemed to be everywhere. A crystal dish of mints on the nightstand. A cut glass water pitcher. A bunch of sex toys littering the thick cream rug.

  A laugh escaped her. Oh yeah, they’d ordered sex toys instead of a late night snack. Hard to forget that.

  And they weren’t alone. Her sister was with them. The girl who just happened to be screaming like a pissed off banshee in the next room.

  Screaming was probably an overstatement. Slightly. Now and then low male tones that Jazz swiftly identified as Gray’s voice calmed down the screeching, only for it to start again along with the clinking of bottles. Someone was drinking. Maybe they both were.

  Jazz shook her head. Stupid. Gray had never been much of a drinker, and he definitely didn’t touch the stuff now. Clearly she needed to head into the bathroom and take care of business so she could figure out what was going on before they killed each other.

  She climbed out of bed and glanced around for her clothes. They seemed to be strewn in places other than where she’d left them, but she picked up her shorts, bra and shirt and headed into the bath. She’d change after she spoke to the combatants in the next room. It was her wedding day, so that meant she should—

  She stopped and stared at herself in the mirror, barely noticing the smudges under her eyes or the wild bedhead. All she could think about was one word.

  Wedding.

  Wedding.

  Holy-fracking-hell-wedding.

  A wedding meant she would be married. An actual adult with actual responsibilities beyond taking care of herself. She’d gotten the first heads up that things were changing in that department when the pregnancy test came up positive, but this was a whole new ballgame.

  This was the first day of the rest of her life.

  At the renewed sounds of fighting in the other room, she sighed and hurried up. The first day of the rest of her life was starting like many of the days prior—with squabbling before breakfast—though the players were different. Nick wasn’t bitching about someone eating his cereal and Simon wasn’t laughing as Deak told him to put on some damn pants. She was used to those sounds. Heck, she even enjoyed them most days. The argument in the living room had a decidedly different tenor.

  She washed up and pulled on her clothes, then stopped at the bathroom door. Something made her hesitate before pulling it open, and her lack of movement made it easy for her to hear Molly’s latest declaration.

  “No money’s enough to stay to listen to this bullshit.”

  Jazz wrapped her fingers around the knob, her spine turning to ice. Goose bumps popped up on her skin and she tightened her grip to keep her from swaying on her feet.

  It couldn’t be what it sounded like. Molly was just spouting off, as Jazz could already tell she did regularly. She shouldn’t read more into it. What she needed to do was walk out there, tell them both to shut up, and find out what exactly was going on.

  “Keep it up and you won’t be getting any.”

  Jazz shut her eyes at Gray’s hushed voice, incapable of smothering the pained noise that escaped her. He was trying to be quiet, so she wouldn’t hear. His wife-to-be, the woman he loved enough to arrange weddings for without her say and pay off her estranged family members so she could pretend he had a normal family for one day.

  She’d had enough pretenses for one lifetime. Probably two.

  You wondered why she came with you. She hated you on sight, and now you know why. She’d intended to do just what Harper thought, but for some reason she changed her mind and then she wanted you gone.

  Jazz dropped her forehead to the door, dimly aware of their voices in the other room. Nothing could be louder than the voice in her head.

  Gray decided to make nicey-nice for the wedding—no matter what it cost. That money he’s been working his ass off for, taking him away from you, is now funneling into your sister’s pocket so she can tolerate one day in your presence.

  She was so fucking naïve. Harper was right. Hell, she’d been too dumb to see Gray was on drugs for how long? Obviously burying her head in the sand was her favorite pastime, and she’d done the same damn thing with Molly.

  Now Gray was trying to smooth things over, to make sure his investment stuck around for the full twenty-four hours. How many more songs would he have to write to make up for
what he’d shelled out today? What was her baby sister’s asking price?

  Whatever she’d demanded, he’d obviously thought the price was fair, because hey, they had a wedding to put on today. Anything to make it seem like everything was perfect for gullible little Jazz. Somehow she was supposed to smile and pledge her life to the man she adored while knowing he’d paid off her own flesh and blood.

  God, how could she face Molly again? How could she face him? Clearly he’d already decided she needed to be coddled and protected from reality and they weren’t even married yet.

  So much for being partners. For sharing a life. She hadn’t had a father, so he’d taken it upon himself to shelter and guide her because she was too dumb to face life as it came.

  Swallowing the lump that tried to form in her throat, she turned in the knob and went back in the bedroom. After toeing on her shoes, she grabbed her purse. Once she’d ascertained that she had some money and her cell phone, she slipped out the door from the bedroom to the hallway she’d noticed yesterday. Apparently fancy suites came with more than one exit.

  She’d just never expected to need to use it.

  ***

  Gray was almost at the end of his rope. And when he reached it, he was pretty sure he’d wrap it around Molly’s scrawny neck and pull.

  How could one teenager be so damn annoying?

  He’d awakened about an hour ago after a very erotic dream starring his fiancée—who had been snuggled against his chest while he had said dream—only to find Molly sprawled out on the couch in the sitting area with an array of bottles from the minibar strewn around her and some kind of dirty movie on the TV. She’d claimed it wasn’t porn, though he never would’ve been able to tell judging from the sex act he’d walked in on.

  She hadn’t even seemed properly ashamed to be caught drunk and watching almost-porn. At seventeen, if his parents had caught him in such a state he would’ve blushed down to the soles of his feet. Not Molly. She’d just offered him a bottle and announced he’d arrived in time for “the good part.”