by Meghan March
If I were on the fence about Windsor before, I’m now firmly in her camp. She’s da bomb.com.
Peyton’s face goes from flushed red to enraged red when she drops the penis-pump line. It’s safe to say he probably wouldn’t call 911 if any of us were dying.
“Fuck all of you. I’m done. If Mitch needs anything else, you can tell him to suck my dick.”
“All six inches of it?” I can’t keep the question from my lips, and Peyton snarls as Cav and Windsor laugh.
He turns and storms out the door.
“I always figured he had little-dick syndrome. It explains so much.” Windsor taps a finger against her brilliantly red lips. “I’m guessing he’s a solid five inches. Maybe four. His poor little Disney Channel girlfriends. They’re going to be in for quite the shock when they get a look at a real man.”
Tears of mirth spill down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away discreetly, but it’s impossible. Cav pulls me into a hug and uses his thumbs to catch them.
“It’s not usually that eventful around here,” he tells me, “but goddamn, Peyton’s a fucking douche. Next thing you know, we’ll be catching pics of him in some European gossip rag with a horse cock photoshopped on it so he can save face.”
I press a hand to my chest, but the laughter won’t stop. “Oh my God. If this is your job, it’s the best.”
“Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Windsor drawls like a perfect Southern belle. She looks pointedly at Cav and drops the accent. “You’re bringing her to the party at my place tonight. It’s a small gathering of friends, nothing too intimidating. The paps won’t be able to get past the front gate, so you don’t have to worry about that nonsense. It’s going to be a hell of a good time. Only the fun people. None of the little pricks like Peyton.”
Party? At Windsor Reed’s Hollywood pad? Banner will kill me if I say no.
I look to Cav and he shrugs. “If you’re up for it, we can go.”
My mind instantly goes where every girl’s mind goes at this point—what am I going to wear?
“Um, I didn’t exactly come party-dress ready on this trip,” I mumble to Windsor.
Her smile is wide and genuine. “No worries about that. I’ll have something sent over. I wouldn’t let you show up underdressed or out of place. Trust me, G.”
All of a sudden, my world has tilted in an entirely new direction. With the nickname she’s bestowed on me, the same one that my best friend uses, I feel like I’ve become part of Cav’s world.
Is this what he wanted when he brought me here? To see if I could fit and we could have a life outside New York and both our pasts? Is that what I want?
A few weeks ago, I would have said my entire life was in New York—my job, my friends, my family. But right now, with Cav’s hand resting on my hip, I feel like I really could have a new beginning here. Maybe a new job. More friends. And my own family. It’s a foundation-rocking thought, but I’m thinking it nonetheless.
Windsor is waiting for an answer, and I give her the only one I want to speak. “That would be great. Thank you so much. I can’t wait.”
She smiles at both Cav and me. “You two are so fucking cute. Come have fun tonight; I swear it’ll be worth it.”
“Thanks, Win. We’ll be there.”
“What the hell did she send you? Is that the whole dress?” I’m ready to kill Windsor.
Short. Tight. Red.
It’s traffic-stopping.
In all reality, the dress is no worse than what you see any night of the week in the LA clubs, but on Greer, it looks sinful. I want to wrap her up in a nun’s habit so no other man can see all her soft, creamy skin. Her dark hair is pulled up, leaving her neck bare and vulnerable.
“You don’t like it?” Greer turns in the mirror, tugging the short skirt of the dress down so it covers a few inches past the curve of her ass.
“Fuck. I love it, but I still want to kill her. She knew exactly what she sent you, and she did it to see if I’d let you out of the house like that.”
Greer turns, and her anxiety about the dress is clear on her face. I’m not helping matters with my outburst.
“It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, it’s not like you can see anything.”
She’s right, you can’t, but the length of the dress and the color makes me want to bend her over and pull the skirt up before I paddle her ass until it matches the red of the fabric.
“You look beautiful, Greer. But I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you while you’re wearing it.”
And dammit, she’s my woman, so I don’t have to keep my hands off her.
I think back to the games we played in Belize, and how hot they were for both of us. For me, there was no pretending. I like being in control, and Greer responded like she was born to it. But is she game to make it a permanent thing in our relationship?
“I wouldn’t expect you to keep your hands off me.”
Her flirty tone gives me the opening I need. “When we were in Belize, you let me take the lead. And if we were still there, pretending no rules applied, I’d tell you to take off your panties and hand them to me.” I step closer to her. “What I need to know is how you’d react if I told you to do that here. Now. To let me take the lead again.”
Greer bites her lip, her brain working overtime. I imagine she’s flipping through the memories just like I am and trying to decide if she can take this chance with me.
What she says now will tell me whether she trusts me yet or not.
I open my mouth to tell her that there’s no pressure, she can think about it, but she beats me with her response.
“Yes. I want that.”
“Are you sure?”
She stares up at me with those dark eyes, and I can read the excitement in them. “Yes, I’m positive.”
“Then take off your panties and hand them to me.”
Her pupils dilate at the order, and she slips into the role like a seasoned actress. “This dress is way too short for that. I’ll end up flashing everyone when I get out of the car, and it’ll be like that Britney debacle, but worse, because it’ll be me.”
I knew Greer was perfect before, but this just sealed it. I beat back the smile tugging at my mouth and see just how far she’s willing to go.
“Then I guess you better keep your legs closed like a good little girl so no one sees that pussy. Because it’s mine, and I’ll spank your ass if you show it to another man.”
“You can’t be serious.” She might sound like she’s protesting, but without a bra, her nipples are pressing against the fabric of the bodice.
“You like it. Now, take those panties off and hand them over.”
Greer is practically squirming where she stands in the black stiletto sandals Windsor sent along with the dress.
“If they aren’t in my hand in ten seconds, you’re going to be wearing a plug all night, and instead of enjoying the party, you’re going to be focused on keeping your ass tight so it stays in.”
Her dark eyes go wide. “You— What— I—” She stammers words that make no sense.
“Ten,” I say, starting the count.
Greer stays still, arms by her side, her face the picture of shock.
“Nine.” I hold out my hand. “Eight.”
She doesn’t move.
“Fuck, baby. My cock is going to be hard all night knowing your ass is filled. Seven.”
Greer shifts into action, reaching up under the dress.
“Pull it up. I want to see that pretty pussy after you take them off.”
She bites her lip but complies, drawing the skirt of the dress up to her waist and revealing a black lace thong.
“Did you get those panties all wet for me?”
Greer peels them down and steps out of them one leg at a time. “Maybe.” Her response is a whisper.
I hold out my hand. “Bring them here. I want to see.” When she doesn’t step toward me, I continue my countdown. “Six.”
Shuffling across the floor,
“Naughty girl. Show me that tight little pussy. I want to see how wet it is.”
Greer’s pupils dilate further as she stares at me, absorbing my command. She shifts to spread her legs, and I shake my head. “Turn around. Bend over. Spread your ass with both hands. I want to see everything, you dirty girl.”
I squeeze the soaked lace in my fist, waiting and wondering if she’ll keep following my lead.
Her nipples bead up perfectly against the red fabric, and I promise myself they’ll be in my mouth tonight. I might even clamp them. I think she’d love it.
“Five.” I continue my countdown.
“But—”
“Four. You want a plug up your ass? All you have to do is ask, baby.”
Greer spins around on shaky heels, and I catch her elbow to steady her.
“Bend over. Don’t make me tell you again.”
She listens, bending forward until her ass juts toward me obscenely. But it’s not obscene enough. I want it all from her.
“Now, reach back and spread your ass apart. I want to see it all. I want to see that pussy dripping down your legs.”
Greer’s sharp inhale of breath is the only sound in the room as she follows my orders and reaches back. Her hands pull her ass cheeks apart, showing me everything I want to see. Tight little asshole waiting to be fucked again. A dripping-wet pussy I can’t wait to get my mouth on.
I reach out and slide two fingers through the slickness. Jesus, she’s soaked. I pull my fingers back and step around her far enough to hold them up to her lips.
“Clean up the mess you made on my hand.”
Her eyes dart up to mine, almost hidden by the shadow of her dark lashes.
“What?”
“You heard me. Suck my fingers clean.”
When Greer’s mouth drops open, I slide them between her lips. “Suck.”
My dirty little girl follows orders, her tongue laving every drop of her sweet juice.
“How do you taste, baby girl?” I ask as I pull my fingers free. “Do you like it?”
When she doesn’t answer immediately, I tilt her chin up so I can see into her eyes.
“Give me words. I want to hear exactly how you feel about sucking your slick cream off my fingers.”
She bites down on her lip, and I can’t help but taunt her more. “If you don’t give me words, I’ll give you something else to keep your mouth busy, and then you can tell me how the taste of my cum compares to yours.”
Greer sucks in an unsteady breath. “It’s tart. Tangy. But not bad. Kind of . . . good.”
My grin feels feral. “It’s fucking delicious. You have the sweetest cunt I’ve ever tasted, and I think I’m overdue for a taste right now.”
I move behind her, gripping both cheeks of her ass with my hands. “Keep them spread wide. If you let them slip, you’ll get the plug, and you’ll have to explain to Windsor why you’re squirming under this tiny little dress.”
Oh. My. God. I’ve never been more turned on in my life.
When Cav asked if I wanted him to take the lead, it was like the scattered pieces of my brain snapped together. I loved having that before, and I want it again. No one has ever made me feel like he does. He has barely touched me, and I can feel the wetness sliding down the inside of my thighs. How does he do this to me? Only he can make me want all these dirty, filthy things. Not just once, but over and over and over.
When his tongue slides against my pussy from behind, I can’t hold back the moan on my lips. I’ve been dying for him all day. Last night he took me in his bed, no toys, just straight vanilla sex. Or at least, that’s what I think it would be called. It was amazing; I came twice before I passed out in his arms. But that isn’t quite the same as this dark edge of pleasure we both clearly crave.
Now I understand the true meaning of “eating pussy” because Cav is voracious, leaving no spot untouched. My clit is aching with need, and my orgasm isn’t far out of reach. When he slides his tongue back and licks me there, I jump and my hands slip, almost letting go of the grip on my ass.
Cav feels me start and slaps my hip. “Don’t let go, baby girl, or I’ll do more than put my tongue up this sweet little hole.”
Tremors work through me. How can he say such dirty, filthy things, and why do I love them? I’m soaked, quite literally dripping, and he’s giving me no mercy. When he reaches around to pinch my clit between two fingers, I completely lose it. My orgasm slams into me and my scream fills the room.
Waves rush over me again and again, the aftershocks ricocheting down my arms and legs. I never want to let go of this feeling. I love it. And I’m dangerously close to admitting that I love him.
“If I were a nice guy, I’d let you come again for me, eat you until you scream some more.”
Cav stops speaking to do exactly what he says—lick and suck and nip at my pussy and my ass until another orgasm is building just out of reach. And then he stops abruptly and pulls away.
“But I’m not that nice. I want you wet and aching for me all night. I want you thinking about what I’m going to do to you when I get you alone. How deep you’re going to take my cock down your throat. How hard I’m going to fuck you. How it’s going to feel to have your pussy and your ass filled.”
Just his words send punches of lust through me.
“But I want—”
Cav pulls my hands away from my ass and forces me to stand. “And you’re going to get it all.” After spinning me around, he pulls my skirt down. “But when I say.”
I’m stunned and shaking on borrowed heels, in a borrowed dress, with a body that’s dying for the man standing before me.
“Oh, baby, you look beautiful. Those cheeks are flushed.” He skims the back of his fingers over my burning face. “These nipples are so fucking hard.” He lowers his hand to stroke them as I arch into him.
Finally, he rubs his hand over my pussy, pressing lightly against my clit. “This pussy is going to stay wet for me all night until I’m ready to fuck it. Isn’t it?”
At this rate, I’m going to be wet and waiting for him for the rest of my damn life.
“Tell me.”
“Yes,” I whisper, wanting to taunt him the same way he’s taunting me. “I’m going to be wet all night, constantly thinking about how hard I’m going to get you with my mouth before you bend me over and fuck me, and about how good it’s going to feel when you fill me up.”
His eyes flash golden-green. “You’re goddamn perfect, Greer. That filthy little mouth of yours is going to get you fucked like the dirty girl you are.”
I bite my lip because the only words on my tongue are more pleas that he not wait and take me right now. But I can read the look in his eyes. This is his game. He’s going to tease me all night until I can’t take it anymore. It’s a game I’m ready to play.
“I can’t wait,” I tell him. Lifting up on my toes, I press my lips to his jaw.
Cav’s eyes heat. He wants me just as badly as I want him.
Tonight’s going to be fun.
I’m no stranger to high-society parties, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for glitz and glam at Hollywood levels. From the moment we’re admitted behind the massive fence protecting Windsor Reed’s home from paparazzi and curious onlookers, it’s very clear this society girl isn’t in New York anymore. It’s not the money factor; it’s the boldness of it.
Inside the gates, it seems there are no boundaries. Dresses barely cover the essentials, and I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen flashes of two women’s lady bits before we’re even out of the car.
Luckily for me, my man doesn’t want me putting on the same show, so he lifts me down from the back of the SUV.
He nods to the driver. “I’ll call you in a few hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
When our ride is gone, we walk up to the front door of a sprawling house with a similar Spanish style as Cav’s, but where his is simple and understated, this house is over the top in every way, starting with the fountain in the front courtyard where two women are calf-deep and splashing water at each other. Two men, most likely their dates, stand back and enjoy the show. One of the women is wearing a solid white dress that the water has turned sheer. The bulge below the belt of one onlooker also can’t be missed.
What kind of party is Cav taking me to?
One of the men lifts his chin to Cav, and he returns the gesture. The man’s gaze lands on me and rakes down my dress so boldly, I imagine I can feel the trail. Cav’s arm is already around me, but he splays his hand out on the front of my hip, his fingers edging toward my center, and squeezes me against his side.
It’s a move of possession.
The other man’s gaze falls away, returning to the show in the fountain. It’s not until we’re at the massive white arched front door that I recognize the man from the movie Cav and I watched the other night.
“Was that—” I start to ask, not remembering the guy’s name.
“Yes. And he’s got a thing for brunettes who aren’t his, so watch yourself. If we get separated, find me or Windsor. Some of these guys are too helpful for the wrong reasons. Throw on a layer of entitlement and a coating of being really fucking impressed with themselves, you’re more than likely to kick someone in the balls if they try to pick you up.”
Instantly, I’m on guard. “Why would we get separated?”
Cav looks at me, not so far down as usual due to the borrowed heels I’m wearing, and clearly reads the uneasiness on my face. “I’m not planning on it, but I’m just saying, if we do . . . I want you to be prepared. There’s no one here you can’t put in their place with a few well-chosen words.”
And with that little pep talk, Cav shoves open the wood-and-glass monstrosity that Windsor calls a door, and we step inside my first Hollywood party.
It’s an odd sensation, seeing people and recognizing them, but never having met them before. Still, when nearly everyone in the room has been on TV, that’s what you get. People are dressed in various levels of sophistication. Some eschewed the fancy vibe of the party altogether and wore jeans—or at least parts and pieces of them.
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