Seduced

by Cari Quinn

  “You didn’t ask if I was wearing panties.” She shrugged at his awestruck look. “The Rhino was a steambath tonight.”

  “Your skirt ends about an inch below your box.”

  “Try two. And I don’t have a box. Unless you want to call your dick Jack.” Amusement danced in eyes that too often edged toward dark. “Could be more like a Jill.” She gave his length a testing wiggle. “Hard to tell yet.”

  He returned his hand between her legs. His thumb traced circles high on her inner thighs while he met her challenging gaze. “You piss me off, the less inclined I am to be patient with you.”

  “Oh, really?” She flicked her tongue in the corner of her mouth and he leaned forward to bite it. With a squeal, she sucked it back inside, but he contented himself with her plump lower lip. He sunk in his teeth and watched her eyes change from taunting to aroused. When he finally released her abused flesh, her tongue came back out to soothe it. “Bring it on.”

  He zeroed in on her hot slit. Then he stopped moving entirely. He growled again and rolled his thumb over the twin little ball studs that seemed to cage in her clit. “Shit, what is that?”

  She laughed throatily as he flipped up her skirt to examine her for himself. “It’s pierced,” she said, rather unnecessarily at that point since he was staring at the tiny pink—naturally—crystals near her clit with a mixture of wonder and shock. “You’ve never seen a VCH before?” She sounded a little breathless.

  Since he felt plenty breathless himself, he could relate.

  “I probably have.” He’d seen and touched a lot, though he had a feeling he would’ve remembered that. “It had to hurt like a bitch.”

  Her teasing smile prodded his cock to swell even more. “Only the hood’s pierced. Not my clit itself. More like a big pinch.” She grabbed his wrist and pushed his clumsy fingers against her. Those little studs had wrecked his head. “And it feels really good when you rub it. So you know, feel free.”

  He had to laugh. She stiffened at his first caress, her fingers curling around his arm to either encourage him or steady his touch. His strokes were jerky and overeager, as if he’d never fingered a pussy before. Plus he couldn’t keep from watching his fingers darting over her folds, playing peekaboo with the piercing. She was so wet already, and he realized right away she preferred a harder touch. Her back arched and she spread her legs, giving him more room to work. More room to see how swollen she was, and the slickness clinging to his skin.

  “Good?” he asked, his voice thicker than he’d expected it to be.

  She nodded, saying nothing. Biting her lip again.

  Leaning forward, he buried his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, inhaling a deep breath of her shampoo while his fingers slid up and down, circling the studs. Flicking them to see how she would respond. She gasped, thrusting her tits up so that he drew back and clamped down on her nipple through her tank. At the same time he pushed a finger into her, rocking slowly then faster, loving the way she squirmed on his lap. Her eyes were shut now and her lips were wide open, leaving him to imagine standing up and sliding his cock in deep. Right to the back of her throat. Hearing the sexy little noises she’d make as she sucked him off.

  His dick pulsed and he swallowed a groan. He added another finger and a twist that always worked, especially when he sank in all the way. She moaned, gyrating her hips, following his movements, bearing down so her wet heat squeezed out against his palm.

  “Sorry,” she gasped, still rocking. “I get really wet. It’s the piercing—” To shut her up, he clamped his mouth over hers, drawing her tongue between his lips and sucking hard.

  Her strangled sound of pleasure and the way she tightened around his fingers gave him enough time to amp up his game, curving to reach the spot deep inside that made women go mental. Her eyes popped open and she ripped her lips away from him to cry out, her body convulsing as he rubbed his calloused fingertips in a tight circle. He knew the roughness of his skin from years of guitar had to be increasing the friction.

  She proved it by chanting her pleasure. “Oh, God. So good. Coming. Oh, God.”

  He groaned against her neck, lurching forward just from the wild spasms that caught his fingers in their grip. Her pussy twisted again and again and she clung to him, basically saying nonsense stuff and lots of praise to God. He almost grinned until another round of contractions claimed her and she dragged him into her insanity once more.

  Then she went limp in his arms, panting like she’d run a mile. Eyes closed, cheeks pale instead of flushed. All the color had leeched away to pool in the red flesh between her thighs. She was still shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

  Now that was an orgasm. He couldn’t decide if he was proud or jealous.

  Maybe both.

  “You okay?” he asked finally, afraid she’d just slip off his lap and pool bonelessly on the floor. Not before his blowjob, which he’d completely earned in his own modest opinion. Even without giving her a tongue lashing.

  Her eyelashes fluttered and she wet her lips. “Yes. Just gimme a minute.”

  He shifted, trying not to be too obvious. Just obvious enough. His cock and balls were throbbing. “Counting down the seconds,” he gritted out.

  Smiling faintly, she lifted her lids as he removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth. Spreading them, he watched her intently as he dragged his tongue between each, sliding right down to the knuckle. He muffled a groan at her taste, more tart than sweet, and sucked on his own fingers until he’d licked every trace of her away.

  She tossed back her hair, the gesture allowing him to see the way her pulse beat fast underneath her jaw. “I think I like the way you work, Nick Crandall.”

  He smirked and laid his wet palm on her thigh, just high enough she could feel the moisture on her bare skin. She jolted just the way he’d hoped. “Oh, do you?”

  She opened her legs in obvious invitation, again tempting him with that swollen, soaked seam. Bedazzled just like the rest of her. “Wanna fuck me now?” she asked, her voice a throaty purr.

  “Yes.” Somehow he kept his own voice even. “Your mouth.”

  Her smile was as wicked and dirty as they came. “Of course you do.” Instead of objecting, she shimmied off his lap and strolled over to the door. She bent at the waist to grab the purse she’d left there, making him curse at the sight of the puffy lips between her thighs, before she rose with a small tube in her hand.

  “Don’t need lube,” he muttered. “Saliva works for me.”

  Giggling, she rolled the tube over her lips. While he gaped, she capped it and stuck it in her bra. Then she sashayed back over to him, hips working like she was on the Strip, lips so swollen and shiny with gloss that he had to get his zipper down in two point three seconds or risk permanent damage.

  She knelt between his legs and peeled down his jeans and boxers to tug him free. “Nice. Definitely not a Jill.” Her smiling mouth slipped over the head of his cock before he could come up with a retort. Before he could even haul in enough air to prepare.

  “Jesus,” he gasped, transfixed by the vision of that funnel of pink and purple hair bobbing over his lap so enthusiastically. She didn’t suck him off so much as inhale him, her suction so powerful he swore she’d somehow wrapped her lips around his balls too. Every part of him felt soaked in that hot warmth, and it was already spreading. Over his thighs, up his spine. Tingling in the soles of his feet.

  He knotted his fist in her hair, trying to control the intensity. She didn’t let him. With a vicious hum of protest, she jerked her head away then returned, sliding her lips down his shaft until her nose bumped his pelvis. She moved with such enthusiasm he nearly missed the flare of panic in her eyes when he went deeper than she’d expected. From that and her occasional faltering, he’d bet his Taylor that she was covering up inexperience with a lot of effort.

  He’d definitely give her an A-plus.

  Her hella strong fingers coiled around the base of him. Twisting just right. Wor
king him like she worked the sticks. Adding enough pressure to destroy any moronic ideas he’d had about making this last. Not gonna happen.

  With all the tension he’d been carrying around, he needed to come more than he needed to breathe. She seemed to get that and was doing her best to get him off as quickly as possible.

  Maybe he’d send her a thank you card. If he lived.

  While he breathed through his nose and tried not to beat his old high school backseat records, she reached down and palmed his sac, rubbing her thumb—and her thumb ring—on his sensitive balls. God. He drove his hands into her hair and dug his fingers into her scalp, his need to hold on to her too strong. The vibrations from her moan in response sent his head flying back against the chair.

  Shit, he was about to lose it. Less than two minutes into this blowjob, and he had to issue his standard polite warning. “I’m gonna blow,” he choked out.

  More sucking. More ball rubbing. No obvious disgust at the idea of him painting her tonsils with his come.

  He would’ve smiled if his lips hadn’t frozen in place. Instead he flexed his hips and tightened his ass, grinding into her mouth. She took him with more of those erotic noises, her throat widening to make room for his size. No easy task, since he felt harder than iron. Her slick lips slid up and down his erection while he tried to watch and close his eyes at the same time.

  “Christ, baby, don’t stop. Please.” Time to beg. To anyone. Everyone. Even his Great Aunt Martha, God bless her soul. “Please. God.”

  She smiled around him even as her eyebrows lifted, presumably at his breathless exhalations. Then she sank down again and added a tongue flutter over the head of his cock that changed his pleas for more into gasps.

  There weren’t words. She was a goddess, a pink-and-purple-haired miracle, an angel in patterned leggings—

  The door of the apartment banged open, the knob hitting the wall. A burst of familiar laughter cut off, ending in a hushed, “Oh shit,” that made Nick shove his knuckles between his teeth.

  He was going to kill Deacon McCoy.

  Chapter Eight

  Simon: Burn

  Carving out the heart she burns so deep

  Instead of flame it’s ice that remains

  Simon bounced off of Stacy’s curvy butt and into the cement wall. He crowded in again and stroked the indent of her spine. “What’s with the pause on the forward momentum?”

  “Demon stopped,” Stacy said with an obvious pout in her voice. She shimmied higher on Deacon’s back, rubbing said firm ass into Simon’s belly at the same time. “But still the best piggyback ride ever.”

  Simon groaned. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d managed to get through the Fluff and Fold with her clothes intact. His eyes were still rolled back in his head from round one at the skate park and round two on the industrial sized dryer. She was insatiable—exactly what he and Deak needed tonight.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “What?” Simon ducked down to see through the railing. “Why are you stopping?”

  “Sorry, man.” Deacon’s voice was barely contrite. There was too much laughter and volume for Deacon to be saying sorry to Simon.

  Furious whispers filtered out to them from downstairs. Mostly expletives. Inventive ones.

  Simon winced. Man, out of all of them, Nick definitely needed one-on-one time with a babe the most. Crappy timing. “Sorry, dude. There was nothing on the knob. Hell, you didn’t even throw the bolt. We didn’t know you had someone down here.” He backed up a step, but even blurry-eyed with beer, he saw a flash of pink that made him pause.

  Simon strained forward.

  No.

  He wouldn’t.

  But the distinctive purple and pink hair couldn’t be denied.

  Simon slid through the open railing and dropped down to the ground floor of the basement. He stumbled a bit but the haze of red had him tearing through the doorway into the living room. He gripped Nick by the throat and slammed him against the wall. “You dumb piece of shit.”

  He looked over his shoulder to make sure it was who he thought it was. Jazz backed into one of the crates, almost losing her balance, swiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

  Her well-used mouth. The kind of mouth a woman has when she’s sucked off a man well and truly.

  “What the fuck?” Simon couldn’t hold on to the rage. It flooded his beer-soaked brain, clearing out everything as effectively as ice water. He swung, his knuckles connecting with Nick’s mouth. “There was a bar room full of chicks that would have been on their knees in a nanosecond and you go for her?”

  “Her is right here,” Jazz tossed back, kicking the crate out of her way.

  Simon turned his gaze to her. “I’ll deal with you in a minute, Stevie Nicks.”

  Nick took the moment’s distraction to slam his fist into Simon’s ribs. Simon doubled over, a flash of stars rocking his vision as Nick brought up his knee and it glanced off his cheekbone. The pain was so intense he found himself on all fours on the floor, shaking off black spots.

  Nick stumbled to the side, his hands at his own throat. “You crazy drunk maniac. What is it to you?”

  Simon stared up at him. Well, he tried to. He was fairly sure his eye was going to explode out of his socket. “You’re going to ball the chick that just joined the band. The chick that Gray wants?”

  “That chick is right here, asshole.”

  “So? I was only doing my part for band relations,” Nick said with a cocky grin as he dabbed at his bleeding lip.

  Jazz and Gray were here to save them from obscurity and Nick had to screw it up on the first freaking night? Simon knew he didn’t want the new band lineup, but they were so close—so goddamn close to something real—and he was going to blow it all to hell and back for some tail?

  “Son of a selfish bitch.” Simon hauled himself to his feet and shoved his shoulder into Nick’s gut, driving him back onto the couch. Nick grunted when they both went down hard.

  Simon felt the couch give, but he didn’t care. He jammed his knee into Nick’s ribs to pin him down and swung at Nick’s face until he could feel blood slicking his fingers.

  Nick came up with an openhanded slap against Simon’s left ear. His already precarious balance shifted with the ringing in his ears and he crashed through the two crates that made up their coffee table. Flat on his back, Simon dragged a lungful of oxygen into his lungs.

  “C’mon, pussy, is that all you got?” Nick loomed over him, bent at the waist, hugging his ribs.

  Simon rolled onto his knees and used the only thing that didn’t hurt—his shoulder—as a battering ram. Nick darted out of the line of fire and he scraped his shoulder down the cement wall.

  “Do something!”

  Vaguely, Simon heard Jazz’s screech from across the room. But she was the least of his worries. He and Nick had gotten into it before, but the earlier hammer blow to Simon’s ribs was more than them just blowing off steam.

  Simon looked up. Blood streamed down Nick’s face and his eyes were wild with anger. But it was more than that. Wild didn’t even cover it. Simon threw up his hands, but they were beyond a time out.

  Nick swung and Simon managed to duck. Again, he used his shoulder. He and Nick were evenly matched in weight and height, but Nick was a far better fighter than he was. He was also a lot more mean.

  They tore through the place like animals, leaping furniture to get at each other. Leaving one hell of a mess in their wake.

  “Not the amp!” Deacon took both of them by the shoulder and threw them across the room, but he didn’t try to break them up.

  Not good.

  If Deak wasn’t playing peacemaker Nick would pound the holy hell out of him for sure. But Simon couldn’t…wouldn’t back down.

  “Deacon, do something, dammit.”

  Jazz again. Simon snarled and brought a knee up into Nick’s ribs. The fight had started because of Jazz, but even he knew it was just the catalyst. He just hoped he survived the fight without a brok
en limb.

  “They’ve been on the edge of this for days. Obviously they need to get it out of their system.”

  No help coming there. Phenomenal.

  Nick grabbed Simon’s knee and upended him. They both landed hard on the floor. Simon swore and pushed at Nick, but it was like trying to shove a boulder. Fucker would not move.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jazz hissed, leaping back in a blur of pink.

  “Get out of the way, Jazz.”

  Simon dimly heard Deacon’s sharp command. He was too busy dying to check and see if anyone else got nailed from a flying fist or foot. Or debris. The carpet already looked like they’d been in a ticker tape parade, except their confetti was cigarette butts, a broken crystal ashtray and other assorted junk.

  Nick finally rolled off him, the sole of his boot giving him one last stomp before he stood. “Stay the fuck down.”

  Simon curled into a ball. Pride be damned. He didn’t want to end up in the hospital. “I give.”

  Nick flipped his hair back and wiped at his bleeding lip, then lowered his face to Simon’s. “Of all of us, you’re the one that’s going to give me a morality check? Give me a break.”

  Deacon moved in, grabbing Nick’s arm. “Back off.”

  With reflexes that would do any self-defense instructor proud, Nick rounded on Deacon, pulling his punch at the last second. Deacon reared back, but not before fist connected with bone.

  Deacon grabbed Nick at the back of the neck, his huge hand spanning the entire width, and shoved him at the couch. “Sit down.”

  Simon rolled to his knees, his ribs screaming. Hell, every part of his body was screaming. From what he could tell bruises, cuts, and possibly a busted rib or two were on his tally sheet. But all of that was fine—it was his goddamn face he was afraid to look at.

  “Jesus.” Stacy squatted in front of him. Her hand hovered just over his cheekbone. He craned his neck out of the way and she winced, curling her fingers into her palm. “Got any ice?” Her voice was soft. “I think you’re gonna need it.”