Twice the Bang: Delta Heat, Book 4

by Delilah Devlin

  “I like feelin’ you. Period,” he said, giving her a sexy nudge with his cock, which was filling again. He smoothed his hand up her side and cupped her breast. The roughened pad of his thumb swiped the tip of her nipple.

  “Gonna throw a hissy if I start squeezin’?” she murmured, trying to resist the natural urge to clench around him.

  He arched a brow, a wicked light in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I don’t throw hissies.” He scraped her nipple again.

  “And you didn’t answer my question,” she said, gritting her teeth because her pussy was gonna do it, and no thought of punishment was going to stop it. Already, fresh fluid was beginning to coat her inner walls.

  Billy Sorensen still weighed her down, still held her pinned to the mattress, and there wasn’t anything she could do to budge him—not that she wanted to. Oh, no. She relished the fact she lay trapped beneath his huge frame. She swallowed hard and then gave his rapidly expanding cock a sexy, trembling squeeze.

  “Mmm-mmm,” he growled. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  Billy didn’t answer. He just smiled and then moved down her body, his cock slipping from inside her.

  She almost complained, but he was already nibbling on a nipple, so Pansy stared at the ceiling while Billy showed her just how wicked a vanilla boy could be.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Pansy’s doorbell rang. She heard it in the distance but pulled the pillow over her head. She wasn’t ready to let go of the pleasant dream she’d been enjoying—of her and Billy. Her mind replayed the sexy encounter of the night before but with a few subtle changes.

  Rather than her and Billy enjoying the comfort of his king-size bed, they’d been at his firehouse atop a red fire engine as he demonstrated the proper operation of a fireman’s hose.

  The doorbell rang again. This time, the chiming continued in one long, annoying peal.

  “All right,” she yelled. “Coming!” She rubbed her sleepy eyes, raked her fingers through her spiky hair and rolled off the bed.

  “Jesus, who the hell wants me this early?” She glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon. Shit.

  Glancing down to make sure she was wearing her usual sleeping attire, an oversized tee and pull-on shorts, she hurried downstairs to the door.

  The moment she’d swung it open, she tried to swing it back closed.

  But a big foot wedged in the crack. “Morning, sunshine,” Beau’s booming voice rang out.

  She eased open the door a little wider and hid her body behind it before giving the large man a glare. “Thought our date was at the club. Tonight,” she said, knowing she sounded grumpy but not caring. He’d caught her at her worst, and by his uncustomary grin, he knew it.

  “I come bearing gifts,” he said, raising a hand, which held a large black gift bag.

  She eyed it with suspicion, not missing the gleam in his dark eyes. “Really, it couldn’t wait?”

  Then he held up his other hand. He had a cardboard cup tray with two cups of her favorite designer-brand coffee.

  She reached out, took a cup from the tray and dented the nozzle for a sip. “Thanks for the coffee.” She tried to close the door again, but that pesky size-twelve shoe hadn’t moved.

  Sighing, because she knew he wasn’t going to leave gracefully, she stepped back and let the door slowly swing open on its own while she headed to her kitchen for creamer.

  Once there, she ignored the sound of his footsteps trailing slowly behind her. He was likely ogling her things, trying to figure her out. Unfortunately for her, she hadn’t learned the art of subtlety. Family photos graced the walls of the foyer with her in various stages of hair fashion. Now he’d know for sure she wasn’t a natural blonde and that she’d been a cheerleader. And that she was an outdoorsy sort of girl who liked to canoe and hunt.

  And then there was the crazy-quilt-painted chair, colored with every color under the rainbow in curling spirals and polka dots. She wasn’t an artist, but she did like color. She took heart in the fact the kitchen walls would blind him.

  From inside her sherbet-orange sanctum, she gave him a dark frown.

  He cleared his throat, his gaze shooting to the bright walls. “Cheerful,” he said, his face deadpan, as always.

  And just like that she stopped being annoyed with him.

  Not that she was ready to let him know it, but he’d accepted her color scheme. She narrowed her eyes. “The coffee needs cream,” she said, opening the refrigerator door to reach for the French vanilla creamer, which she held up so he could see the brand.

  His head dipped. “Noted.”

  She’d only done it to piss his holy Dom-ness off, but again, he took her surliness in stride. Pouring creamer, she lifted her chin toward the table, a ’50s retro metal with a slightly chipped, strawberry-sherbet Formica top and chrome surround.

  He eased down on a spindly metal chair and raised his eyebrows. Which had her blushing over her rudeness, so she sat as well, cuddling her cup between her hands as she took a sip. At the first taste, she gave a happy sigh.

  “Feel more like it?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you.”

  Her gaze dropped to the table top. “You do know how awkward this is, right?”

  “Because you and Billy had sex last night?”

  Not surprised in the least that he’d guessed right, but shocked he’d mentioned it, she nodded slowly before raising her eyes to meet his gaze.

  His inscrutable expression was unchanged, but there was warmth in his eyes. Melting warmth.

  Her heart fluttered then pounded harder.

  “It was his night,” he said, his voice again dead even.

  She canted her head. “Just like that? You aren’t mad? Not disgusted?”

  He narrowed his eyes just a fraction. “Do you want me to be angry or disgusted?”

  “No,” she said, but felt her lower lip protrude just a bit. Why was he taking this so calmly? A girl liked to know she was important enough to piss a guy off.

  “But you should be punished.”

  Her pussy should have been bone dry after the night she’d had, but from one second to the next, she felt a rush of moisture wetting the crotch of her shorts. “If it was his night, and you don’t care what I do on his time, why am I being punished?”

  “Because you need it.”

  He stated it so matter-of-factly that all she could do was stare.

  Beau arched a dark brow. “Baby, put down that coffee and come around the table. We’ll get the punishment over and you’ll feel better. Come now.”

  Pansy sat still for a long moment, staring back. And then her eyes slowly filled. Beau got her. Completely. A fleeting thought for Billy’s sensibilities flitted through her mind and right out the kitchen door. She set her coffee on the table and walked around to Beau.

  He turned his seat to face her, locked his gaze with hers and then stared pointedly at his lap.

  She didn’t need a second invitation. Pansy lay stomach down across his lap.

  “Place your palms on the floor.”

  She stretched to rest her flattened hands on the floor. Blood rushed to her head, and his hard thigh constricted her chest. Breathless because of the position and her trepidation of what would come next, she held still.

  He smoothed a large, heavy hand down her back, cupped one buttock and squeezed, then moved to the other where it lingered. “How many times did he fuck you?”

  “Three,” she gasped, too surprised by the question to lie.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  This time she paused.

  He squeezed her bottom, nearly to the point of pain.

  “Yes,” she said quickly to forestall a painful pinch.

  “That’s good. I don’t have to beat him to a pulp.”

  She glared at the floor. “You’re okay with him fucking me so long as he does it right?”

  “No, I’m not okay. I’m pissed as hell. But since I’
m confident I can do it better, I’ll admit it’s a good thing you’ll have a basis for comparison. You’ll be a hundred percent sure you like it better with me.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. And then wondered if what he said was true. But then him inserting his fingers beneath her waistband had her stiffening.

  “Any problem with me taking these off? I can’t punish you properly with them interfering.”

  She could have sworn she heard a hint of laughter in his voice, but she couldn’t be sure since she’d never heard him laugh before. “Um, no.” Again, what the hell was she supposed to say? I’m uncomfortable baring my ass because another man might have left a hickey or two on my bottom?

  “Lift up,” he said, waiting as she went up on her toes to make enough space between their bodies for him to pull down her shorts.

  Her face burned hotter. Her breaths were coming in short, feeble pants. Maybe she’d pass out before it hurt more than she could take.

  He trailed a finger down her crack, skipping over her tiny rosette—which caused her breath to hitch for one concerned moment—then moving downward to slide between her closed thighs.

  He fluttered his finger in the narrow space. “Open up, Pansy.”

  Scooting her feet apart, one at a time, she gave him the access he demanded, but he didn’t make a move on her.

  Beau rested his hands on her back. “We should set some ground rules.”

  “Right now?”

  “What better time?” When she took a deep breath to issue another question, he tsked. “Think before you speak. Did I give you leave to speak freely?”

  Her eyes bugged. “We aren’t at the club.”

  “The club doesn’t define who we are, Pansy. Does it?”

  She held silent, because he’d touched on another of her needs.

  “You want to be submissive 24/7, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t want to be a slave.”

  “Didn’t think you did, but you do want your sexual needs seen to on a regular basis by someone who gets you. Someone you might love.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that so hard to admit?”

  “Of course not. I just didn’t think that was what you wanted to talk about.”

  “Are you disappointed we’re having this conversation, right this minute?”

  “My ass is bare and you’re not interested,” she grumbled. “Not great for my ego.”

  “Your ass is pretty. Except for those two hickeys. Did you know he left them?”

  “Yes?” she said, not sure what answer he wanted.

  “Were they a message for me?”

  “I suppose.”

  His body shook.

  She glanced to the side. He was laughing silently, his shoulders shaking. Pansy’s jaw dropped. “Should I arrange for you two to meet tonight, seeing as how you’re both so busy flirting with each other?”

  He lowered his eyebrows in an incredulous frown. “Seriously? Did you just say that to me?””

  “And if I did?”

  He smoothed one hand down to her bottom. “Count.” It lifted and dropped with a heavy thud against her skin.

  Something she could handle. “One.”

  Another thuddy clap, and she eased her legs a little wider, hoping he’d hit her center. “Two. Three.” Her skin was already heating, so was her core. She wriggled. “Um, four.”

  The claps stopped. Beau sighed. “This punishment isn’t going to work because I’m not willing to hurt you, and you’re not at all concerned because you know it.” He gripped her shoulder to help her rise. When she stood beside him, her shorts still around her thighs, he indicated toward the table.

  Secretly thrilled to comply, she turned and bent over the table.

  “Pull up your shirt. I want your tits on the pink Formica.”

  She heard a zipper scratch. Heard the rustle of foil and then the snap of latex. Pansy’s mouth eased into a full smile as she reached out her arms to the sides to flatten her breasts against the table and raised her toes to tilt her bottom higher.

  When the tip of his cock pushed against her, she wiggled slightly, helping him ease into her. Her breath caught as he drove deep. She enjoyed a forceful thrust.

  His cockhead was blunt, not as fat as Billy’s, but the equally thick girth that followed pressed against her walls. For a second, she felt ashamed. She’d fucked two men within hours of each other. What a slut. Not that her remorse could withstand the pleasure.

  When he was buried deep, his groin snuggled against her ass, he leaned over her back and gripped her shoulders. Pinned to the table, she couldn’t move.

  “I want you to wear the costume in the black bag when you come to the club tonight.”

  “Okay.” She wriggled again, hoping he’d start moving.

  “Mondo asked me whether I’d mind Billy watching our session.”

  Before she could respond, he began moving. She thought about his even tone and wondered if he ever raised his voice. Then she wondered what his decision had been. Pansy turned her head, trying to see him behind her, but she was still mashed to the table. “Well? What did you tell him?”

  “He’s welcome to watch and learn. But you’re mine tonight. He can’t say a word.” He gave her another deep stroke. “That okay with you?”

  What the fuck? Pansy wrinkled her nose, wishing she could see his expression before answering, but he stroked again, this time a more forceful thrust that crammed through her swelling inner tissues. The feeling was sublime—hot, hard—and she slumped against the cool hard tabletop. “That’s fine. Will he be in the room or watching from the security monitors?”

  “Since I don’t want him to miss a single moan or you begging to come, he’s welcome to stand right in front of you. But everything depends on the first choice you make.”

  Her mind skipped over that last vague statement. Pansy couldn’t help it. The picture that formed in her mind of Billy watching while Beau had his wicked way with her was so close to her own favorite personal fantasy she groaned. Even knowing Billy might flatly refuse, she couldn’t deny the thrill the thought of it caused.

  Beau let go of her shoulder and gripped her hips, lifting her bottom to improve the angle and thrust deeper this time. His motions quickened, pounding her bottom and shaking the table so badly it started to inch across the floor.

  Just when she started to worry about the linoleum and her coffee cup dancing closer to the edge, he reached beneath her and began flicking her clit. Each sharp tap reverberated through her. Her pussy clamped down, ripples climbing her walls to clasp around his shaft. Her nipples spiked, sliding on the cool, smooth table with each jolting thrust.

  A smack landed on one buttock, then other, sharper than the thuddy ones he’d used to warm her backside before. She cried out, but not in pain. The slaps sent her over the edge and her back curved upward, her head bent back as he continued hammering her from behind until he’d milked every last contraction from her orgasm.

  When she fell gently against the table, Beau withdrew. His zipper scratched. Kisses, one on each globe of her bottom, pressed against the hot stamps he’d left. “Don’t be late,” he said, his voice far too cheerful for a man who hadn’t come.

  She didn’t move, not because he hadn’t given her permission, but because she was afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her up.

  When the door closed with a soft snick, only then did she push up on her arms. Confused by everything she’d done, by both men’s actions and attitudes, she wondered if maybe all of it was some sort of test.

  She knew for a fact Billy wasn’t into the scene and wasn’t accustomed to her lifestyle. She also knew he didn’t like Beau, even though he barely knew him. And Beau, for all his stoic posturing, was a possessive man. So how could he be so blasé about the fact she’d spent the previous night in bed with another man and then invite that same man to watch their play?

  The biggest question though, was for herself. Why was she doing this—letting two me
n pursue her at the same time and allowing them both intimacies? She wasn’t truly promiscuous. Yes, she played at the club, but not often, and only when someone needed a good demo girl. And if she orgasmed, it wasn’t due to intercourse, but rather to having a Dom torture her clit with a soft flogger until she begged for release. And yes, she’d never been shy about nudity or her own sexuality. But she sensed that either, or maybe even both, of these men might be perfect for her.

  There had been those moments at Aiden’s, first meeting Beau’s steady gaze and realizing how truly happy she was to have his full attention. She’d felt warmth spread through her, not a sexual kind, but a cozy homecoming. Then she’s seen Billy striding right for her—a moment when her heart had stopped and she’d been unable to look away. Within minutes, she’d had two experiences that had felt important, even inevitable. And Pansy believed in fate.

  She’d had boyfriends, been exclusive a couple of times, but never felt any sense of connection or deep-seated need for her partner. It wasn’t until her closest friends, Jenn and Aiden, had found happiness in a relationship with Craig, that she’d felt a twinge of envy and discovered she was ready to find something like that for herself. The thought of belonging to someone else, maybe two someone elses, made her feel prickly inside. Hopeful. On the verge of something wonderful.

  Last night, Billy had snuck up on her, surprising her with his intuitive lovemaking and quiet dominance. And Beau? Well, he was just the kind of man she needed in her life. Steady as a rock to anchor her flighty ways. And he’d been the man she’d longed for from afar for months. Now that she’d gotten a brief taste of what being his might be like, she definitely wanted more.

  She edged off the table and sank into the chair he’d been sitting on, and then looked down at the black bag.

  Beneath the pretty silver tissue paper, she found her costume. She dug deeper, finding the rest of the props, not understanding at first what they all meant. Not until she found the envelope at the very bottom and opened it.