by Piper Malone
Lifting her hands to my stomach, I encourage her to touch the ridge of my hip that dips toward the appendage I know she loves. “Am I convincing you?”
She smirks, her fingernails grazing the lines of my body. “A little.”
Gripping her wrist, I push her hand past the waistband of my boxer briefs and feel her fingers grip my cock with a heady force. “There’s nothing little about my argument, doll,” I grit, as her fingers dance around my cockhead.
“I’m still not sure, Blaze.” She’s sitting, her knees spread, the miniscule skirt covering her thighs bunching around her hips. Her pussy is on full display. A second later, she exposes me and pulls me into her mouth.
I can’t reach down to play with her body without withdrawing from her lips. The heat of her mouth fans down my legs and across my abdomen. The telltale prickling sensation gathering at the base of my spine numbs the rational, centered parts of my brain.
“Kat,” the word is strangled, held tight by the desire to hang on for her, “let me make you feel good.”
She disengages from her task and looks up at me, her lips swollen and red from sucking my brain from my body. Her tongue licks the tip of my dick and nearly drops me to the ground. Katya is dangerous. And I love it.
“Make me feel good, Blaze.” Her hands grip the chair behind her, her legs deliciously spread.
Her authorization is a gift. With careful movements, I pull the crown from her head. I rip the sash that tells everyone she’s going to marry someone else to shreds. Her dress is a heap of fabric on the floor a minute later. I like Kat’s clothing on the floor.
She stills me for a moment, quickly dressing me with a condom, then assuming the position. I can’t get caught up in the desire to only be with her, to make her understand that our chemistry is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Now isn’t the time to argue my point. Now is the time to show her that there is no one like me.
Still trying to keep in tempo with the music, I undulate against her body, pressing my mouth to hers. Our tongues tangle as I tilt the chair backward, gripping the back to keep her steady. She squeaks a tight noise as the balance shifts. I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her close enough to keep her steady and probe her hot and honeyed core. Her knees lift, allowing me to slide home in a single thrust.
The moan of her satisfaction kicks me off the rails, my hips pounding into her with strong, powerful strokes. When her arms lock around my neck, I take the cue to move this party to another location. I carry her to the edge of her sofa, sitting her on the arm and continuing to plunder her mouth and body. Kat is tight and warm. She is paradise. She asked me to make her feel good. The knowledge that she is willing to ask me to please her settles in my body with a calming force. She’d be a beautiful sub. Kat will be fiery and I’m sure she’ll resist at times, but she’d always be beautiful. We can do this.
“Blake,” she whimpers, “please…”
“Yes, doll. Show me I changed your mind and come for me.”
I pull her body to mine, grinding against her clit. Mere seconds pass before she’s screaming, clawing at my back as her body grips me with a wild force.
Moments later, I follow. My vision narrows, everything shrouded in blackness with the singular exception of Kat.
We fall back onto the sofa, her giggle pulling us out of the moment.
“You make a good argument, Blaze,” she says, removing the condom from my body with gentle hands. “That was fun.”
“I’m always up for convincing you to stay with me, Kat. I bet Dudley never made you scream down the roof.”
She looks thoughtful for a moment before leaning in to kiss me. “You are right about that, Blaze.”
Chapter 11
Kat
I made him dance for me.
Should I really be texting Ax about this shit when I’m at work? I haven’t been able to think straight since that night.
The hokey pokey?
For the next hour, I text Ax about STUDZ. He asks question after question, not about the events as they unfolded, but about my feelings. And not the feelings between my thighs, the ones in my heart and mind. What does that have to do with anything? It was just fun.
How does this help me?
Seriously, if he’s willing to be my guru, he needs to give me some clear guidance. Was it wrong that I set up a play to have Blake strip for me? Is that a no-no? Should I have asked permission first?
You need to talk to him.
About what? I wanted him to strip for me. I was curious. I was too shy to ask for it outright. I didn’t know what he’d say.
I can’t be so bold as to tell Ax that part of me wanted to see how he’d react if someone else wanted me. I know what he thinks about Dane, so that was an easy pick.
Did I bait him? Yes.
Was it hot? Hell yes.
Can I confess my fears about trying some kink?
My throat closes as visions of my aunt’s body flash through my mind. I can still hear her sobbing. There is no mistaking the metallic scent of fresh blood.
I push air out of my nose, trying to dislodge the scent of the memory. It won’t work; it never has. The more I think about it, the worse it gets. I have to get out of my office before the memory creates a phantom coppery taste in my mouth.
Once outside the office, I take a deep, cleansing breath. Maybe an order of fries and a gooey cheeseburger will help me come up with an idea for this campaign. I’m still stuck and now I have a clinger. I entered my name in the competition and was promptly assigned an intern. I’ve tried to come up with activities for Greg that will help me with the project but he’s been a slight hindrance. I need to have a talk with him because his college-boy confidence is annoying. He always has a cloud of cologne following him. Greg walks that fine line of complimenting me and hitting on me. When the idea to have him get me coffee from the Starbucks in a neighboring town rattled my own bitch alarm, I realized this project needed a plan, pronto.
As I walk around town, the sounds and images of Boston blend into a hip tale of legacies and innovations. The colleges, Fenway, the Freedom Trail, the Commons, Union Square. This city is unique. Classic and evolving in its presence and culture. It’s beautiful, majestic. It’s where I’ve always lived and loved.
While enjoying the blissful hum of the city, I realize I’ve wandered a few blocks away from the house I’ve been e-stalking. Against my better judgment, I keep going. Homes always look different online than in person. Maybe there’s a gaping hole in the side or a group of raccoons are nesting under the front steps. I need a reason to stop my useless pining for this house. It might be too much to take on right now.
Until I’m standing at its steps. The structure is massive; beautiful stonework kisses the intricate woodwork of the heavy door. The turn-of-the-century doorknocker peers down at me looking a little evil and completely awesome. It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined. The trees are stately, lush and green. A wrought iron fence ties the little front courtyard together. The windows are large and lovely. It looks like home.
I feel a little weird. I’m standing outside of the house I’ve watched for weeks. I almost feel like I’m in the presence of a celebrity and I’m about to have a fangirl moment.
“Can I help you, dear?” The voice makes me jump, too lost in my fantasy of coming here every night to hear someone approaching.
“Oh,” I stammer at the impeccably dressed woman who materialized next to me, “I, uh…” Yes, Kat, what were you doing? House stalking? Are you going to say that to a total stranger? “I’ve seen this listing and happened to be in the area.”
“Well, I’m their Realtor.” She offers her hand. “Melinda Edwards.” Her handshake is firm, confident. I like that. Nothing kills a handshake like a limp grip, even for a woman.
“Hi, I’m Kat.” I look back at the house, debating if I should ask to go inside.
“Are you looking for a place, Kat?”
“I’ve been considering it…” I admit. If she do
esn’t think I’m serious, there’s no way she’ll let me tour the house. That’s probably for the best.
“Well, the house is empty. They’ve moved already. If you’d like to see it, we can go in.” Melinda’s kind offer is finished with a smile that would make a shark proud. She knows what she’s doing.
Do I want to throw myself on this sword? Should I spend time in a place I’m not sure I can afford without winning the pitch? Shall I get my heart wrapped up in something I might not ever truly have?
Well, I did it with Blake, so why not add insult to injury.
“Sure, Melinda. I’d love to see it.”
Chapter 12
Blake
“Hi.”
“Hey, doll. What’s up?”
“Uhrm…” She hesitates. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was fidgeting. “Would you like to come over for dinner?”
Well, this is new. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you cooking for me, take-out queen?”
She makes a sound that tells me she’s rolling her eyes. “No, I’m not cooking. My grandmother is.” She pauses, the line strangely silent before she whispers, “My parents want to meet you.”
Family? “You want me to meet your family?”
“My family wants to meet you.” The words come out in a slurry rush.
“But you don’t want me to meet your family?”
“Holy shit, Blake! Could you not make this so awkward for me? Yes, I want you to meet my family. They want to meet you. Can you come over on Saturday for dinner or not?”
Kat frazzled is the best. She’s all bluster and fuss. “I’ll be there Saturday. Friday night we’ll have dinner with my parents.”
“What? W-why am I meeting your parents, Blake?”
“Why am I meeting yours, Kat?”
“They want to meet you.”
“I want my family to meet my doll, regardless if she refuses to admit she has feelings for me and that we are good together.”
She is silent, contemplating.
“You’re ballsy, Blake.”
“You’re perfection, Katya.”
I hear her inhale and envision Kat shaking her head as her tough exterior softens.
“What time should I be there?” she asks softly.
“I’ll pick you up after work, doll.”
“See you then, stud.”
Chapter 13
Blake
“Nick?” I yell into the darkened hallways of Reign. “Where are you, man?” It’s a good thing the club is closed during the week. This place looks like hell.
The weekly delivery of soda and water lines the back hallway. On a Tuesday, it would seem normal. Not a Thursday. Some of the cases are open, the contents strewn across the floor or dumped on the kitchen counter. Someone is grabbing things on the run instead of stocking the shelves and bar area.
What the fuck has he been doing?
When we split the responsibilities for managing the club while Caleb was on his honeymoon, Nick wanted to stay as far away from people as possible. We agreed that I’d do the front line, he could manage behind the scenes. He’s slipping. This place is a mess.
When I parked next to Nick’s truck in the lot, I thought for sure he’d be milling around. There’s no sign of him. No music. Nothing smells like food.
The hallway leading past Room One and to the rear entrance of Caleb’s office is dark. The dim security lights are the only indication this place even has electricity.
When I walk into Caleb’s office, the carnage continues. Piles of new member inquiries cover his desk. The phone’s voicemail light blinks with messages. Mail is tossed in random heaps. The trashcan is full, empty bottles of Heineken litter the floor.
Caleb’s going to shit a brick. And then he’s going to kill me.
I know this is my fault. I’ve spent too much time with Kat and not enough time here. I told Caleb I would hold down the fort. I didn’t know that meant babysitting Nick in the process.
Since Nick lives here, I didn’t think it would be a big deal for him to manage the place. He knows he can ask me for help if things get out of hand. Then again, Nick is never one to ask anyone for anything.
I glance at the calendar, realizing that it’s a month behind. Flipping to the correct date, I see the possible culprit. Every winter, Nick leaves for his annual hibernation in Maine. He’s usually gone through the holidays and well into the New Year. In Caleb’s handwriting there’s a note that Nick might leave this month.
Does he think he can’t leave, or did he bail? It wouldn’t be the first time he disappeared.
The thought of managing Reign, working, and keeping Kat as close to me as possible is exhausting. If that asshole left without a word, he’s going to wish for death.
You don’t leave brothers behind.
I exit the office, charging though the open command center that is Skyler’s hub. The circular desk is actually two half circles for ease of access, which saves me from walking around the massive wooden structure. The air of the club is stale from the vent unit being shut down, but inside Skyler’s work area the tart scent of lemons lingers.
Her desk looks slick, shiny, in the shadowed building. The space where her files and notes are housed is orderly, papers stacked in neat piles. Sky’s coffee mug is upside down on a folded paper towel.
It looks like a museum exhibit. The only part of Reign that has some semblance of order is the place where no one currently resides. Sky’s been gone for months. No one has manned this desk in her absence.
And he made it a shrine to her.
Holy fuck… He lost his mind.
“Nick!” I holler, checking every room I pass. The more empty space I find, the more I worry. Is his stress over Sky’s absence worse than we anticipated? Caleb told me he thought he’d be fine. He seemed to be keeping up appearances but…
Across the main area of the club, a second hallway holds the privacy rooms. Nick’s living space is the last suite on the corridor, the doorway painted the same deep gray as the walls. If you didn’t know the door was there, you would never suspect an expansive living area was nestled in the club. His ability to slip in and out of the space gives Nick a ghostly quality. He’s always quiet, quick, and either appears or disappears in a moment.
The door is shut tight, sealing out anyone who might try to enter. A flash of nervous energy zips up my spine. What if he lost it and he did something to himself? Was Skyler leaving more than he could handle? What if he couldn’t take it anymore and decided to give up?
I swallow a thick bubble of dread and hope that I’m wrong. I could barely stomach Caleb hooked up to a ventilator. It dusted up all the shit with David. Nick may be an ass but I refuse to bury another brother.
The door is closed, but it might not be vacant. Before forcing the door open with the master key, I decide to take the less dramatic route and go with pounding on the door first.
Fist raised and ready to yell into the steel portal, a flash of light catches my eye. The doorway adjacent to Nick’s shows a thin line between the jamb and the door. The clang of warning bells ring in my head. No one should be in there with the exception of the person who claims that space. Skyler is currently MIA so that door should not be open.
I peek into her sparsely decorated living area. The curtains glow, illuminated by the bright daylight. A quick scan of the room is all I needed to ease some of the edgy tension running through my body. On the bed, sprawled on his back is the culprit behind the break in. Nick’s body takes up most of the bed; the deep breathing of a man passed out from drinking too much fills the room. One arm is covering his eyes and forehead. His other hand is shoved down the front of his pants.
I step closer wanting to make sure there’s nothing wrong with him and stumble over two empty beer bottles. Nick must have been plastered because the sound of glass hitting the tile floor doesn’t wake him. He never drinks like that. It’s always one beer at the most. He’s too controlled to get truly drunk. Unless the woman he wants is gon
e.
He hasn’t shaved. His clothes look slept in and not just from last night. Nick smells as if he’s been at the bar. Clearly he didn’t go out because all the empty beer bottles indicate that the bar came to him. I’ve never seen him this sloppy.
He’s a fucking train wreck.
“Hey, Nick.” I kick the side of the bed hoping the movement will roust him. He grunts, shifts, his fist mounds the front of his jeans as he grabs himself.
I’ll put up with a lot, and he’s in bad shape, but I refuse to watch this one-man fuck fest.
“Hey, sleeping beauty!” I yell, jostling the mattress with a few heavy stomps. “Rise and shine.”
Nick’s body jackknifes up and off the mattress, his hands moving quickly to defend himself from an attack. He pauses, eyes trained on me with dark intent. It takes him almost a minute to morph from violent anger to sullen irritation.
“What?” he says, his voice sounds like pasty gravel from the drinking.
“What do you mean what? Have you looked at this place? Are you helping me out at all?”
Nick’s eyes narrow. A vibration of tension shakes his frame. He stumbles a little before finding his footing on his way out the door.
“Where the fuck are you going?” I yell after him.
“Kitchen,” he growls, without turning back.
“It’s about time you found yourself there. The inventory hasn’t been put away and everything is a mess. What have you been doing here, man?”
Nick stops, his shoulders hunching forward, hands clenched. “It’ll get done,” he grates.
“When?” I press, still hot on his heels when he starts toward the kitchen again. “From the looks of things around here, your schedule only includes getting shit-faced and jacking off on Sky’s bed, so do you think you could find some time to shelve the sodas?”