Strokes, Vol. 3

by Delilah Devlin

  Alcohol never sat right with me. It made me hot. Something I didn’t need now, because my cheeks were already a fiery beet-red. Alcohol, added to the tanned, waxed, buff bodies gyrating so close that splatters of sweat already spotted my blouse, left me feeling completely out of my element. The only reason I was still sitting here was because I had to see Johnny Blaze—not that any stripper would match up to the man of my fantasies.

  Davy Crockett raised his arms over his head and did a flip, landing near the edge of the stage, his beaver tail slapping his belly then his thighs.

  I couldn’t help where my gaze landed—I wondered how much was furry sock and how much was his pleasure stick. Lord, the man was probably gay, anyway. I slid the napkin from under my drink and fanned my face.

  The music stopped. A handsome man dressed in dark slacks and a black leather vest walked to the center of the stage. “Evenin’, ladies,” he said into the microphone he held, his thick Texas drawl sweet as syrup.

  The crowd shouted back, “Evenin’, Jason.”

  The women knew the announcer by name? Good lord, they needed to get a life.

  Then he snagged my attention… “We have a birthday girl in the audience!” The audience erupted in laughter and catcalls.

  My eyes rounded. I shot a look at Syl. “Nooo….”

  Syl smiled slyly back. “You’re only twenty-five once, cupcake.”

  Two nearly nude men swished through the curtain at the back of the stage, one a bald white dude wearing a biker’s bandana and leather chaps. The other was a black man with a chest a bodybuilder would cry over.

  Jason cupped a hand over his eyes and scanned the audience. “Where can she be?”

  Syl and Heather bounced in their seats, arms flying, hands pointing toward me.

  I hunched low, wondering if I could crawl beneath the table. The two burly men were coming straight for me.

  “Syl, I’m going to kill you,” I said in a harsh whisper.

  Her smile was so broad I didn’t know how her face didn’t split in half. “You are going to thank me, baby girl. Just you wait.”

  When both men flanked me, I stubbornly kept my gaze lowered, pretending I didn’t see them. But the black guy gripped my elbow and gently brought me to my feet. Then the two very muscular men formed a chair with their arms and pushed the “seat” beneath me, nudging me hard enough to collapse my knees. As they swept me up, I gripped their arms, sure they’d drop me as they climbed the stairs to the stage.

  I’m not a little girl. At five-foot-eight and nearly 180 pounds, I gave them a workout—not that they seemed to strain. A wooden chair had been brought to the center of the stage. They stood me in front of it, then the biker pressed me down with a hand on my shoulder.

  Knowing I was going to have to go with it or look like a complete coward, I flopped into the chair and folded my arms across my chest.

  Jason produced two large white squares and raised high them over his head. The crowd began to chant. “Hoo-hoo-hoo!”

  Not until he handed them to the biker and both men went on their knees did I understand. “Uh…why do I need knee pads?”

  The biker flashed a brilliant smile. “To save your pretty knobs, sweetheart.”

  My eyebrows crept up. I wanted to ask why, but I suspected his answer would send me dashing off the stage.

  Biker boy slipped off my pump and smoothed a pad up my calf, fitting it to my knee. His buddy did the same, thankfully not at the same time or I’d have wound up flashing my crotch.

  I was having serious misgivings about my outfit now—a shortish black skirt that had seemed flirty but demure when I’d dressed at home and a black, short-sleeved button-down blouse. With large silver hoops and a thick silver cuff, I looked “cute but casual,” or so Syl had said when she’d scoured my closet for just the right outfit. Since our destination had been a secret until we pulled into a parking lot, I hadn’t given her choice of wardrobe another thought.

  Now I wished I’d worn jeans, something to cover the length of white leg the men were still fondling. Biker dude stood, lifted me to my feet with a firm hand at my elbow, then marched me to the edge of the stage.

  With Syl and Heather grinning like idiots, I knew he wasn’t just sending me back to my chair. Behind me, the curtain whooshed again. The crowd drove to their feet, whistles and shouts rising so loud I wanted to cover my ears. I didn’t dare look back.

  “John-nee! John-nee! John-nee!”

  My heart stuttered then burst into a wild tattoo. Heat burned my cheeks—but also began to pool between my legs. Funny how a little thing like a man with a hose can turn a girl’s insides all weepy.

  Biker dude gripped my shoulders and forced me to turn.

  Johnny Blaze stood, framed by the curtain, his fireman’s hat tipped low in front, the stage lights gleaming on the shiny top and shadowing his features. His tanned chest and ripped abs were bare except for red suspenders—thankfully, attached to yellow turnout pants. His large feet were encased by black boots. He raised a finger and curled it—twice.

  I shook my head, glancing behind me to find the stairs, but gentle pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees.

  “Gotta crawl, Bridget,” biker dude drawled. “All the way on your knees.”

  He knew my name? Kneeling, I cut him a quick glance. “I’m in a skirt.”

  His smile gleamed white against his darkly tanned face. “I know. Sweet how that worked out.”

  And because I knew I’d been set up, and that I couldn’t back away from the challenge now, I bent, pulled my skirt down in the back to cover my ass, and started to crawl on hands and knees toward the fireman who stood stock still, his hands fisted on his hips.

  Lord, he looked so much like my inappropriate crush that what had been a trickle became a warm gush against my panties. I imagined it was him, that he had me in my bedroom, crawling toward him and his lovely baggy pants. The things I’d do…

  Only the closer I drew, the deeper my suspicions grew.

  His chest rose and fell too quickly—not something I’d expect from a guy who hadn’t yet danced his way around the stage. His expression was hidden, but the angle of his jaw, so rigid, so still, reminded me of the new fireman in my hometown I’d been lusting after for weeks.

  Rather than contemplate my very embarrassing trek across the stage, I thought about the man who’d been on my mind since I’d first spied him. The reception desk at the library faced the front door, which had wide glass panels looking onto the main street and the fire station on the other side. I’d spent weeks leaning on an elbow and sighing over the new guy, the one Syl said was single and not a player. She’d been trying to hook me up for weeks, inviting me to drop by with cookies for the men—something I’d done in the past, but which I’d refrained from doing since his arrival because I didn’t want to seem too eager or desperate.

  Besides, what would someone who looked like that want with me?

  I kept crawling, but suddenly, two thick legs gripped my waist. Biker dude straddled my waist, but kept his weight from me. With one hand gripping my shoulder, he gave my ass a slap.

  “Don’t stop now,” he said loudly, slapping me lightly as I crawled faster, his body hopping to keep pace with me. The problem was, his thighs dragged at my skirt, and soon I felt cool air brushing against my bottom. I tried to reach back, but he was in the way. “My skirt!”

  “Don’t worry about it, sugar! Gotta have those birthday spanks.”

  My face got hotter; I started to sweat. I crawled, tugging his thighs along with me until I was three feet from Johnny Blaze, who had yet to move.

  Biker dude stepped away. I pulled my skirt back over my ass, one cheek burning. A chair appeared beside me. Johnny moved, sat with his legs spread, and patted his muscled thigh.

  The gesture was deliberate. I shook my head and glanced up again, seeing his face for the first time. My jaw dropped.

  With a flourish, he tossed his hat away, grabbed my upper arm, and hauled me over his lap, face
down.

  Pushing up, I tried to lean away, but he stuck his elbow in my back, and I collapsed, the undersides of my breasts riding the side of one huge thigh. “What are you doing here?” I whispered harshly.

  “Giving you your birthday present,” he drawled.

  “Did Syl put you up to this?”

  “Syl knows some things about me. Said you’d be into this. Are you?”

  I craned my head around to look him in the eyes.

  His dark brown gaze was narrowed.

  “Not the way I saw our first date,” I muttered, my voice going all breathy because I couldn’t seem to catch it.

  “I can’t think of a better way to get to know you…” He flipped up my skirt.

  I shrieked and reached wildly behind me, but my skirt was up my back. When his fingers dragged down my panties, I bucked. “Oh my freaking God!”

  My big white ass was there for all the world to see. For Cooper James to see. I melted over his thigh, my breaths shuddering out and tears welling in my eyes.

  A hand cupped the hot side. “Nice, Brady.”

  “You’re welcome, man,” biker dude said, chuckling beside us.

  “So how many licks does the little lady get?” came Jason’s voice over the loudspeaker.

  “Twenty-five,” shouted Syl and Heather.

  “No, no, no.” I twisted again to glare at Coop. “I already got a dozen from the biker.”

  Cooper’s mouth curved. “Not by me, sweetheart. Count.” His hand raised.

  I jerked my head forward, body tensing.

  The first slap burned like fire.

  “Ow!” I wriggled, to no avail. “That hurt.”

  “Good. You’ve been avoidin’ me for weeks.”

  “I wasn’t avoiding you,” I whispered. “But I would have if I’d known you were a sadist!”

  “Not a sadist, sweetheart, but I do like to make my woman hot.” He slapped me again. “Count.”

  “Three!”

  The strokes landed one after the other on the cheek Brady hadn’t been able to reach as he’d ridden me across the stage. My ass burned. But so did my pussy, blood filling my labia; moisture seeped from inside me. “They’re going to see!” I hissed.

  “See what, darlin’?” His hand paused, lying on my bottom, but giving me a squeeze.

  “That I’m we—”

  He swatted me again, but this time at the center of my seam, fingers lingering, trailing in the wetness. His thighs bunched beneath my torso then widened. Something hard bulged against my soft belly.

  “Fifteen,” I squealed.

  “Yeah, let’s finish this up,” he said, his voice gruff now.

  Swats landed on both cheeks then against the backs of my thighs. I lost count and repeated a number, but he didn’t seem to mind I was mathematically challenged. His chuckle made me wetter.

  I skipped. “Twenty-five!” I screamed.

  Laughter fell all around us. Fingers pulled up my panties and pushed down my skirt to cover my bottom. Biker dude grabbed my hand and dragged me up to stand beside him, an arm around my waist. He must have sensed my knees were weak, because right when I started to crumple, he held me against his side, turning me to the audience.

  The women were laughing, clapping, but I didn’t care. I glanced behind me at Johnny Blaze, no, Cooper James, who pushed off his chair. My tongue thickened. Was that drool pooling in my mouth? Lord, he was a beautiful man—all hard angles and thick muscles with dark, short-cropped hair and wicked eyes.

  Brady leaned toward my ear. “You gonna fall on your ass if I let you go?”

  I snorted. “If I do, it’s padded.”

  His smile flashed. “Padded just right. You ask Coop. You didn’t see his face, but he ’bout died when he bared it.”

  I swallowed hard, forced a smile, and gave a small bow to the crowd. I took a step, but a hand gripped my forearm and swung me. Before I knew it, my ass was in the air again, my body bent over a broad shoulder. Glancing down, I didn’t need to see the yellow pants to know whose hard ass had me.

  The walk through the curtains and down the hallway behind it was brisk. “Is there a fire?” I asked, bouncing on his hard shoulder.

  “Yeah, in my pants.”

  I barked a hoarse laugh. “You can put me down now.”

  “We’re not there yet.”

  The loud crash of the emergency door opening at the end of the corridor was the first indicator that Coop had something besides finishing my birthday-girl spanks on his mind. He strode into the parking lot.

  I pushed against the sexy small of his back and tried to look around him. He was heading for a shiny red pickup. His. I knew because I’d watched him peel out of the station’s parking lot often enough.

  A door slammed open, and he dumped me on the edge of the seat then tucked my legs inside. “Get your belt on.”

  Had to admit, the gruff texture of his voice as he barked orders turned me on. I reached for the belt and buckled in, watching as he walked quickly around the front of the truck and climbed into the cab beside me.

  With his head and chest bare, suspenders covering his nipples, I could barely draw a deep breath. And I needed it. My mind was whirling, my body humming with excitement. “Syl tell you to show me a good time? Does she pimp you out to all the girls?”

  “You have a smart mouth,” he said, starting the ignition and putting the truck in reverse. The tires screamed as he pulled quickly out of the lot and hooked a left toward the highway and our own small town. “Makes me think of all the ways I want to stuff it.”

  My jaw sagged. “That how you talk to your girlfriends? No wonder you’re single.”

  “No, just to you. I’m going to be very clear. Don’t want to start this thing without you understanding a few things first.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “Like?”

  His glance darted from the road to me. “Like, I want your bare cheeks on my leather seat.”

  My expression must have been every bit as outraged as I felt.

  His mouth twitched then flattened. “Now, Bridget. Ass on leather. Now.”

  So you have to be wondering why I didn’t just tell him to fuck himself. I wanted to. But as soon as I thought the words, I knew I wanted the arrogant jerk to fuck me. Hard. Every way I’d always imagined.

  He knew I was hot. I knew he was hard. There was no mistaking what tented his pants. And I wanted all that stuffed inside me. Right then. After sliding off the kneepads, I eased up and slipped off my panties, then pulled my skirt up in the back where it bunched. My ass sat on the cool seat, and my excitement leaked onto the leather.

  “Pull it up in front,” he said. “I want to see your pussy.”

  No protest from me there. I wanted him to see it, too. I pulled up my skirt, tucking it under the belt to keep it high, then went a step farther and opened my legs.

  Leaning back, I gripped the belt above my shoulder and held very still, wondering what he’d do next, not believing that I was sitting beside my fireman, my lower half completely exposed. My breasts tingled, the tips pushing against my lacy bra. My pussy clenched.

  His lack of reaction had my breath leaving in a slow disappointed drain.

  But then the truck veered off the road.

  I screamed and grabbed for the dashboard. He pulled quickly onto a gravel road, drove another thirty feet, then slammed the brakes.

  My body jerked forward and back. Before I’d righted myself, he was out the door and stomping around the front. My door slammed open, his hands released the buckle then turned my body to face him, spreading my legs.

  Just when I wondered if he was a serial killer who’d found just the right spot to bury me, he climbed onto the truck rail and leaned inside. His hands clutched the back of my head, and his mouth met mine in a fierce, blistering kiss.

  I dug my fingers into his hot shoulders and held on. He rocked into me, his bare chest gliding against my clothing, and it wasn’t enough. I pulled back. “Please.”


  His eyes closed. He drew a deep breath then leaned his forehead against mine. “Back at my house,” he whispered harshly, “I have the AC cranked low enough we can start a fire in the hearth. I have candles ready to be lit. Wine on the hearth with two glasses. Birthday cake in the fridge. I’ll give you roses, make it sweet…like you deserve.” His eyes opened, his gaze boring into mine. “But right now, Bridget, I need your hot pussy on my dick.”

  I gasped, then gave a sharp laugh. “I don’t think a man has ever said anything that crass to me before.”

  “Sorry, but I’m so hard right now, I can’t think.”

  I smiled. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it…”

  His head tilted. A grin stretched. “Scoot that butt off my leather. You’re gettin’ it wet.”

  I ducked my head and flirted from beneath my eyelashes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make a mess.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said tapping my nose. “But I won’t spank you again—if you do what I say. Scootch.”

  I edged closer.

  His hands reached around me and cupped my buttocks. He stepped down, bringing me with him.

  I snaked my arms around his shoulders. “I’m too heavy for this,” I said, thankful for the moonlight so he couldn’t see my mortified blush.

  “Baby, I can handle you. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not little.”

  “No, you’re not. But I like your curves. I like your soft ass. I can’t wait to fuck it, make you howl—but that’ll come another time.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I shook my head. “Again, no man’s ever been that rude to me.”

  “Honesty, baby. I’ll always give you that. I like your fleshy body. Like the way you bounce, all over, when you walk. It’s my thing. Syl knows. I’ve been hot for you since the first day I saw you walkin’ up the library steps. Knew I had to have that ass.”

  Caught between dismay and a strange, shuddering joy, I readjusted my grip on his shoulders. “Hurt your back and I won’t be happy.”

  “Afraid you’ll put me out of action?”