Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Blair growled and launched herself at Wiska who easily sidestepped the screeching banshee. The Jell-O obviously made for slippery footing as Blair slipped to her butt. She quickly scampered to her feet again, but Wiska simply reached out and pulled the red tag free. The crowd went quiet, and I went loud, cheering for my girl. Blair was clearly mortified as she moved back to her place in the Jell-O pool, tucking the red tag into the back of her bikini bottoms once again.

  “Wow, that was a surprise. The foreigner takes out Round One!” boomed the referee, rubbing salt in Blair’s wounded pride. “Girls ready?” He glanced to both corners.

  Blair was steaming mad; the only thing missing was the actual steam blowing from her ears. Wiska, on the other hand, was grinning like a loon. Fuck me, she was gorgeous. I wanted to sigh and point out the petite sized angel, letting everyone around me know that she was my girl . . . but I had balls, big manly balls, so no sighing or screaming like a crazy, lovesick fool.

  The bell rang and Blair quickly moved forward. This time she went low and managed to get her arms around Wiska’s waist. Wiska wiggled, her cute little ass teasing me in a way that had my jeans tighten.

  “Not now,” I muttered, deciding in the middle of a Jell-O wrestling match, smack bang in the center of a pub, was not the place for my relentless Wiska boner.

  Wiska somehow pulled Blair away, and they both tumbled down into the Jell-O. I winced as Wiska’s head was dunked into the green by a livid Blair who held her hair in a ruthless grip. I stepped forward to protest, but the referee was quick to intervene.

  “No hair pulling,” he growled at Blair.

  It gave Wiska a chance to regain her footing, and when Blair turned to face her once again, Wiska went down low and picked Blair up, dumping her onto her back, Jell-O splashing over the floor all around the ring. I laughed as Blair slipped while trying to get to her feet, and Wiska fell back to her knees and ducked her head, lunging into Blair’s mid-section. The crowd went wild as Blair was tossed to her back again. I was beginning to see the lure of Jell-O wrestling. This was fucking awesome.

  Giggling like crazy, Wiska worked at turning Blair over to get at her tag. Blair didn’t appear to be having as much fun, her face turned in a frustrated frown as her hands slipped from Wiska’s skin. Blair had made it to her knees and was crowding Wiska’s space, leaning over her, which in turn forced Wiska to lean back. Her head was just about touching the Jell-O, displaying a core strength that I’m pretty sure rivaled my own. Blair was trying to push Wiska to her back and was about to succeed when Wiska simply reached around the redhead’s back and snatched the tag from her bikini. Wiska fell into the Jell-O, and Blair rolled to her side and just sat there, dumbfounded.

  Wiska climbed to her feet and bounced around the pool with a victorious grin on her face, punching her little fists into the air. My eyes, of course, were automatically drawn to her bouncing breasts, and when I noticed Lenny also concentrating on that area of her body, I frowned and cuffed him on the back of the head.

  “Sorry,” he said, grinning, trying to avert his gaze and failing.

  “And the foreigner takes out Round two,” called the ref, and this time the crowd cheered. “Final round!”

  The girls retreated to their corners and fixed their bikinis, then the bell announced it was time to wrestle again. Blair ducked her head and lunged forward, and Wiska shocked the crowd by falling into a perfect split, reaching her hand between Blair’s thighs and snatching the tag from the back of her bikini bottoms. Everyone was stunned, including me. The sight of her sitting in a split . . . fuck being embarrassed about a boner in a crowd. I was proud of my girl and my dick was cheering for her, too. The silence around me turned to groans as people realized Wiska had unanimously beaten Blair, which meant a lot of people had lost money.

  I turned to Lenny and smiled. He just rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

  “I don’t have that kind of cash on me. I’ll transfer into your account.”

  “And?”

  He glared at me, but I wasn’t intimidated. In theory, I was higher up the Bianco ladder, much higher, which kind of made me Lenny’s boss.

  “If I hear anyone repeat this story, I’ll know where they heard it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, spill, Two Socks.”

  “As a young lad, I masturbated quite a bit, as all young lads do. I liked to jerk off into a sock; it made clean up easier.”

  I somehow stifled my laughter.

  “I actually began using two socks because I had so much baby juice it would leak through just one. When I discovered my cousin had stiff, dirty tissues lying around the floor of his bedroom, I told him. He called me Two Socks, but because he began doing the exact same thing, he kept it quiet. But Two Socks stuck . . . literally.”

  I slapped Lenny on the back. “Well, think of it like this, it’s a hell of a lot better than Jerking Sock . . . or Shooting Socks . . . or Shining Socks . . .”

  “Uh huh, quit while you’re ahead, Emerson.”

  Having used his smart phone to transfer five hundred pounds into my account, Lenny turned at the sound of someone squealing behind us. I only just caught sight of the slightly green, wet, white bikini clad sex-pot before she launched herself into my arms. I caught her, barely; she was pretty fucking slippery.

  “That was so cool!” she exclaimed, wrapping her legs around my waist.

  I could feel the heavy stares of the people around us and the heavier sensation of Vlad rising to sniff at the object of his fascination that hovered precariously above him.

  “All that’s missing is my victory kiss,” Wiska murmured with a twinkle in her eye, or maybe it was the Jell-O dripping in them that made her squint that way. “After all, I did win the man.”

  “You won him way before tonight,” I whispered.

  The last thing I noticed was the shock that registered on her face, right before I pressed my lips to hers. She tasted vaguely like lime, and I wondered if the Jell-O was mint flavored. That would explain why her eyes might be stinging if the green crap was dripping into them. I licked and sucked at her sweet lips, and when we finally pulled away, Wiska let her legs drop, and I placed her feet back to the ground. I followed her gaze to a clearly pissed off Blair who stood nearby.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse us, we need to be going. My man here wants to pick up where we left off before we came out tonight . . . namely, this mouth,” her finger ran lightly over my bottom lip, “between . . . my . . . thighs.”

  I dropped my face to her neck in an effort to hide my laughter, then kissed the tender spot beneath her ear. I reveled in the sweet shiver that racked her body at my touch.

  “Come on, pussycat. I do believe you, me, and the backseat of my car have a second base date.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Wiska

  It had been a long time since I had been thrown off balance and tossed into the tumultuous world that was dating. I was a confident woman, but I still found myself somewhat unstrung as Bradley drove us through London in what we were officially calling our first date. The first time Bradley took me out to dinner didn’t really count because I didn’t realize it was a date. The love lock experience wasn’t a date because . . . well, I didn’t think it consisted of all the things that constituted a date, and the bike ride was not a date because I got drenched by a leaky rat. Bradley had argued on that one. Bradley assumed that since I removed my shirt when we went for our ride, it made it something special. He had me there, seeing his tanned, taut chest was definitely something special, yet it really wasn’t a date. I refused to consider a trip to the strip club a date, and our last outing, two words . . . Jell-O . . . wrestling. Mind you, the second base make-out session in the backseat of his car when we arrived back at his apartment was definitely date-worthy.

  This time we were alone, destination unknown, but Bradley had insisted it would be Jell-O free, and snippets of things like romance and love sent my pulse racing. I had never felt for another man what I felt for Bradley. The onl
y word to describe it was possessive. He dominated my thoughts, he possessed my sanity, and I was pretty sure he was starting to seize control of my heart, too.

  In my bag was this morning’s sticky note.

  To think that I was driving him to handle his own hard-on was somewhat empowering. Casey’s idea of a little torture most definitely had its advantages. I knew Bradley had wanted me, he made that loud and clear, but now I was beginning to believe his heart wanted me, too.

  His confession of working for Willie Bianco confused me. On one hand, it scared me. The thought he or someone he cared for could find themselves at the mercy of such a man was frightening. On the other hand, it kind of excited me, too. He was like a reluctant bad-boy, and I found that oddly exhilarating. The thoughts I had entertained for his occupation had been ten times worse than the truth itself.

  I sighed as I tried to rest back in the warm leather embrace of the passenger seat. Bradley drove with his usual quiet confidence, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was cool out tonight, but Bradley insisted I wear something old, which made me panic because I assumed something messier than Jell-O would be involved. Bradley promised it wouldn’t. So instead of the long, warm, expensive coat I was going to wear, I was dressed in a pair of comfy jeans that were ripped at the knee and a New York Mets jersey with one of Bradley’s hoodies over the top. It was clearly not date attire, but Bradley was clear our clothes could get wrecked and to wear something I didn’t really care for. While I cared a lot for the Mets, I had another jersey at home, a newer one.

  Wearing Bradley’s hoodie was doing all sorts of crazy things to my heart, and from the look on Bradley’s face when I put it on, he was pleased, too. All day, I’d been trying to whittle out of him what we were doing tonight. The thought of clothes being destroyed in the process had me bouncing around with impatience and a healthy dose of lust.

  I was completely confused about my dating procedure. While this was an official first date, we had reached second base last night, which meant tonight should be third base. The base before home run. Crap, I was nervous. Would tonight be third base or should I revert back to first base because it was really our first date? Heck, who was I kidding? I wanted a home run weeks ago. Bradley had smacked the rules out of the ball park when he kissed me on the side of the love lock bridge on our first non-date. I was willing to climb his body like an out of control lusty monkey that night, but I had somehow restrained myself. So, here we were at date four?—Or one?—and I was curious where the night would lead us. Secretly, I hoped it led me on my back and Bradley cradled between my thighs, clothes off this time.

  Bradley parked the car, and before I could unclasp my seatbelt and reach for my purse, he was opening the door, reaching a hand out for me. The smile he gifted me was my undoing. There was so much youthful mischief in that smile; it turned his brooding persona into nothing more than a hazy, distant memory.

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t even touched your laundry, so there is no chance I’ve screwed it up. This is simply me being chivalrous.”

  I allowed him to pull me from the car. “How very gallant of you. I feel like I should be dressed as a princess.”

  “Pussycat, you are far too dirty to be a princess.”

  I should have been insulted, but the little kiss under my ear was too distracting.

  Bradley stood back, and his possessive gaze roamed over me. I sighed, melting into a state of feminine rapture. The things this man could do to me with just a look should have been illegal. In some states, I’m sure they were. His words could have filled the pages of a romance for dummies manual. Mind you, a few of those pages might be contaminated by typical male arrogance and outright roguishness, but I liked a man who was confident enough to be poetic and romantic while a little rough around the edges.

  Bradley tugged me along by the hand, leading me into a building and up a set of narrow stairs. When we came to a door, he rapped his knuckles quickly against the white wood, and a moment later, it sprung open, a jaw-dropping man standing on its other side.

  His hair was an untamed mess of electric blue, and his light grey eyes were framed with thick, white rimmed glasses. His soft, almost feminine cheeks were smudged with what looked like paint. He was wearing white overalls that were splashed in an almost deliberate way with all shades of color. A brilliant smile was centered on Bradley, and when his gaze moved my way, it grew bigger.

  “You made it,” he sang in a heavy French accent.

  The wild, bright young man stepped aside, and Bradley pulled me into the studio apartment. I glanced around and quickly noticed the easels set up around a vacant chair in the center of the room. There were four other people crowded around a coffee machine, their curious eyes unashamedly watching us.

  “Manuel, this is Wiska. Wiska, meet my good friend Manuel.”

  Manuel grabbed me by the shoulders and leaned forward to air kiss each cheek before moving back to gaze over me with a look of wonder and awe.

  “Elle a la beauté d’un ange, Bradley.”

  I had no idea what he had just said; my first and only language was English, with the occasional dash of sarcasm.

  “Oui,” Bradley said from my side, surprisingly understanding the language. French! Could this man get any sexier?

  “Come, come, we are ready to start.” Manuel reached for both my and Bradley’s hands and pulled us into his studio. I looked again to the easels then back to Bradley with my best what-the-fig look in place. He simply winked and smiled.

  “For the belle femme,” Manuel said, pulling me to stand in front of an easel. He quickly arranged a palette of paints on a small wooden table at my side, then with a little twirl, he passed me a paint brush. While Manuel made himself busy setting Bradley up alongside me, I stared at the brush and paints, then took another curious look around the room. The other people had slowly moved to their own easels, casting me encouraging smiles as they joked and talked among themselves. This was our date? Painting? I didn’t have the first clue about painting, and I felt the need to point out that this was a group thing. THIS WAS SO NOT A DATE!

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for joining us today. I have good news, and bad news. Mademoiselle Lillian was unable to make it—” That news was met with disappointed grumbles. Lillian was obviously something special. “Tut, tut, I have someone even better.” Manuel clapped excitedly. “Benjamin,” he called out.

  A door to one side of the room opened, and a tall, dark, and handsome slice of heaven walked through, a robe draped over his shoulders. His entrance was met with oohs and aahs. I glanced to Bradley whose brow was sitting comically high on his forehead. “Everyone, meet Benjamin. Benjamin, meet my budding artistes.”

  Benjamin gave a charming grin as his eyes flittered over the small gathering. He proceeded to stroll casually into our carefully gathered circle before disrobing and sitting on the chair in front of us. My jaw dropped as I watched the powerful, beautiful, very naked body of this strange man assume a thoughtful pose, his elbow resting on one knee, a closed fist under his jaw, his knees spread . . . wide. My eyes became glued to the centerpiece of his amazing body, the tuft of dark hair nestled around the large, limp penis that fell with obvious disinterest between his legs. I don’t know why I had this reaction to a naked man; it sure as hell wasn’t like I hadn’t seen one before. I think this was just a very unexpected turn of events for what I expected from our date. I finally glanced to Bradley who looked equally as shocked.

  “This wasn’t what you were expecting, was it?” I murmured, trying to contain a chuckle.

  He actually blushed as he glanced my way. “Fuck no,” he whispered back with a smile.

  “Well, I’m very impressed, Bradley. This is a great date, probably the best I’ve ever been on,” I said with a very pleased smile.

  Bradley rolled his eyes.

  “So, you paint?” I asked as I dipped my brush into some black.

  “Nope, but Manuel has been bugging me to come for ages, and I though
t this would be the perfect opportunity. He made quite the fuss about how great Lillian is and how people pay top dollar to paint her.” Bradley chuckled. “Now I get to stare at some stranger’s . . .” He tried hard not to look, but the scrunching of his nose told me his eyes had found their unwelcome target.

  “Cock?” I supplied helpfully.

  A small bark of laughter escaped Bradley’s lips, and Manuel cast him a chastising look. Bradley tried to look contrite, and failed.

  “Well, I’m glad Benjamin is here,” I said, trying to put the same French flare on the name as Manuel had done. “I’ve always wanted to paint a penis.”

  Bradley grinned as he picked up his brush, and I began to create what was quite obviously the worst impression of a big, limp dick one had ever seen.

  *

  I couldn’t stop laughing. The paint date had been fun, but my and Bradley’s attempts to recreate the beautiful Benjamin had been a disaster. I think Manuel had cursed in French upon seeing Bradley’s painting. I couldn’t be sure, but Bradley had laughed, and Manuel gifted him with a playful slap across the arm. Manuel was a little more diplomatic with my attempt, but I knew he was trying hard to find kind words for my appalling painting.

  We now had the studio to ourselves. I’m not sure how Bradley managed it, but we were alone. As soft music played in the background, Bradley had spread out a clean drop cloth on the hardwood floors and arranged a picnic of breads, cheese, and fruit in front of us. He even had non-alcoholic wine and expensive crystal looking glasses. My belly was full, and laughter had me sprawled out on my back, while Bradley lay propped up on one elbow beside me.

  “This could have been a disaster,” he said with a grin. “I guess I should be thankful a naked man showed up to save the day.”

  The mention of the word naked had my eyes automatically drop to the unbuttoned V in the top of his shirt, exposing the warm, smooth skin beneath. Bradley obviously didn’t miss my momentary slip of appreciation.