Was Ashley Player about to see them?
Shit. Why didn’t I put on my sexy underpants? I was pretty sure I was wearing the boring gray cotton ones. The comfiest ones. Because I wasn’t exactly expecting to have a rock star up my dress tonight.
“Breathe,” he said softly, his gaze drifting to my lips again, and I realized I’d been holding my breath, hard, in my chest.
I exhaled… and he slid his hand down, between my legs.
My mouth dropped open. But I was hardly gonna stop him… It had been a while since a dude had been down there, and my clit was already pulsing with need. My pussy was swollen. All I wanted him to do was rub me, harder, faster, as his fingers whispered over the cotton of my panties, sliding deeper between my legs.
Holy hell…
What the fuck was happening?
I was so sure Ashley couldn’t stand me. But considering he now had his hand on my pussy, I was really starting to rethink that. Then he leaned in, his body almost touching mine, and I could feel his heat. He smelled like soap and clean clothes and man. And pineapple juice.
I wanted to suck on his mouth… but he leaned closer, nuzzling into my hair and skimming his lips down the side of my neck. He breathed in, and a shiver of excitement ran down my spine. My pussy clenched.
Was he smelling me?
“Um… what happened last night, at the party?” I managed.
“Hmm?”
“You started being nice to me. Or at least… less hostile.” I was gripping the table behind me so hard I thought my knuckles might burst. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to touch him.
Was this all some cruel joke? Was he just messing with me?
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice low and rough, and his blue eyes met mine. “I can’t stand you.”
Then he kissed me—on the mouth.
My head spun as his lips slid over mine and he thrust his pierced tongue into me… making my body melt, even as the meaning behind his words tore through me in a hot wave of confusion…
Holy fuck…
Did this guy like me or not?
Was this amping up to be some kind of hate fuck situation?
And if so, did I care?
He pressed against me and I felt the stiff bulge in his tight jeans, hard against me. So, okay. He liked me that way.
But he wasn’t just trying to fuck me… Instead, he was caressing me between my legs, slowly, and he started licking and sucking his way down my neck.
“You stopped me when I tried to touch you,” I reminded him, breathless, as some innate sense of self-protection tried to slow this down. Just a bit…
“You were wasted,” he muttered against my skin. Then he suddenly turned me around, pushing me up against the table, his body pressing against my backside. He slipped my cardigan off my shoulders, and slowly down my arms… and dropped it aside on the floor. Somehow, his fingertips drifting down my arms as he undressed me was one of the most intensely arousing sensations I’d ever felt.
I swallowed as tingles raced all over my body.
Then he reached around in front of me, and I felt him pull my panties aside, exposing my pussy.
Oh, God…
I leaned on the table, my arms shaking, just trying not to collapse as the sensations overwhelmed me… as heat flooded me and my head got light. As I waited for him to touch me—my bare, needy flesh. “So… you didn’t want to take advantage…?” My voice was getting all wobbly and needy as he finally touched me—slicking his middle finger down toward my opening.
I was wet already. So wet.
“Just wanted to be sure you really wanted it…”
“Oh. Um… and now you’re sure?” I gasped as his finger slid into me.
He hissed in a breath between his teeth. “Fuck… you’re wet…” he growled. “So fucking soft…”
And my eyes rolled back in my head. My mouth stretched open in wordless want. I spread my legs to give him access.
Even as I did it I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I shouldn’t be giving into this. Not if I hoped to have any chance with Dylan.
So why was I giving in to this?
Why was Ashley Player kissing my neck?
Why was his finger up my—oh, God. Two fingers. And his thumb, rubbing circles around my—
“I—I really thought you… um… preferred men…” I managed, even as his fingers stroked in and out of my pussy in that way only a man could do it—rough, aggressive, hungry. And with skill. No hesitation. Even I didn’t love putting my fingers up there all that much. And not like this. But his? … Holy shit.
He’s done this before.
Like, a lot.
“Doesn’t everyone?” he murmured as he licked my neck.
“Ah… what?” I tried to turn to look at him, but he held me where I was, pinned to the table.
He snickered against my neck. “It’s a joke. From The Simpsons.”
“Oh.” Huh? I was kinda lost, forgetting what the hell we were talking about, or not caring, as his fingers worked me into a hot panic. Shit, why was this so hot? Ashley’s fingers are up inside me.
So. Hot.
He shoved me forward, bending me over the table, and pulled my dress up over my ass as he kept fucking me with his fingers. I heard him undoing his belt and my core clenched with need. My pussy squeezed on his invading fingers.
Oh fuck, yes.
Was I about to get fucked on Ashley Player’s dining room table?
God, I hoped so.
But then he knelt down…
He licked me, his tongue circling lazily around his fingers, teasing me while he held my panties aside, his fingers working inside me, and I bit my lip. Hard. He was kissing my clit… Then he was sucking on me and kinda growling in the back of his throat, in a way that left no shred of doubt in my mind that the man liked pussy.
This man, apparently, fucking loved the pussy.
Maybe a gay man would flirt with you and even make out with you a bit, for shits and giggles… but he definitely wasn’t gonna suck on your clit and lap up your juices, all the while growling like he was hungry for more… all the while he finger-fucked you, digging into your front wall in relentless pursuit of your inner happy spot…
Then suddenly, his fingers withdrew, and I mewled in protest like a starving kitten denied a saucer of milk. He laughed. But he pressed me down to the table, his hand warm on the small of my back, as if to say, Stay right the fuck there.
I stayed.
I heard him fumbling around below as he kept eating me out, his pierced tongue thrusting deep into me and undulating around. I writhed on the table, gasping. I would’ve purred if I knew how. I heard the rip of a condom packet, and a moment later Ashley rose to his feet, towering over me where I lay, melted onto the table, quivering.
After being tongue-screwed like that, I wasn’t going anywhere—like even if the house caught fire. I was just gonna have to hope that if that happened, he’d be decent enough to carry me out; otherwise, I was going down in flames.
He rubbed his cock against me and it felt so so sooooo good. Warm and smooth, hard and slippery. Big. Enough to fill me up and then some.
Yes, please…
“You want this cock, Amber?” he asked, his voice rough with lust as I squirmed at his touch, trying to push myself onto him.
“Yes…” I breathed. I felt something hard but smooth nudge against me as he slicked his dick over me again. One of his rings? Or… shit.
Was his cock pierced??
In my lust haze, as I wriggled against him and tried to figure out the answer to that intriguing question, I dimly realized that I’d almost forgotten about Dylan.
And the fact that this was a bad move.
Because what if Dylan, like Ashley, also enjoyed the pussy?
What if they were both into women, and I was ruining my chance at ever—
Ashley thrust into me and my mind blanked out.
As he held me down
with one hand on my back and the other gripping my hip, he said, “That’s good… don’t move,” his voice tight and rough. Then he fucked me in a quick, forceful rhythm that had his definitely-pierced dick stimulating the amazing spot in the front wall of my pussy.
The spot that had me quivering from the inside-out… shuddering and shaking on the quickly-mounting verge of an all-over orgasm…
My panties hadn’t even come off.
And I didn’t move. I just took what he gave, moaning beneath him as he fucked me against the table. Clearly, the man knew what he was doing. He already had me on the edge, about to fall…
I didn’t move… but I did look up. I looked at Dylan.
That beautiful photo I’d taken of him was still there on the laptop screen. I could hardly ignore it. It was inches from my face, lit up in the near-darkness.
His sculpted body slick and wet, his nipples pricked against the cold… and there was definitely a thick bulge in the front of the towel where his cock pressed against it.
Ashley rode me, ramming into me, his piercing doing some fucking crazy shit inside me as his balls slapped against my clit… until I suddenly couldn’t take it anymore and I came with a gasping, shuddering scream.
The entire time, I was staring at that photo.
And when Ashley came with a grunt and a groan, ramming into me and shuddering against me, his dick jerking inside me… I couldn’t help wondering: Was he looking at it, too?
“Let’s do that again,” I said, in the dark of Ashley’s dining room, as we both righted our clothes, shakily. I already wanted him to fuck me again. The split second I came back to Earth from planet Orgasm, I wanted him inside me again.
When you hadn’t been laid in as long as I hadn’t been—like almost a year—one fuck was just a tease.
I needed more.
And Ashley didn’t exactly object.
This time, though, I ended up on my knees in front of him. And while I was there, I was no longer thinking about Dylan.
But I only realized that afterward.
On my knees at Ashley’s feet, all I wanted was his big, hard dick in my mouth. He was long and yes, he was pierced. I’d never been with a guy who was pierced there before, but how different could it be? I tongued the smooth steel balls of the barbell that ran through the underside of his glans and sucked on his head a lot, which made him crazy. He could barely stand still and he was breathing heavy, groaning.
And he was hard as rock.
All good signs…
I took my time, because I loved giving head. But I was hungry, too, and zealous as hell.
I deep-throated him a bit, which took him by surprise. He swore and stumbled, before widening his stance and digging his hands into my hair. The squeeze of my throat around his swollen head, his piercing rubbing the back of my tongue… it was crazy-erotic, but I was pretty good at not gagging. I’d just always loved sucking cock… experiencing a man’s arousal and pleasure in that intimate way. The feel and the taste and the smell of him…
Since we’d already had sex, he tasted like his own come. The latex taste didn’t even bother me, once I got going.
And once I got going… all I wanted was Ashley Player coming in my face. It wasn’t even that I needed to come again. What I needed was to see him come, up close.
His hands squeezed in my hair and he growled, low in his throat, right before he let go. I gripped the base of his cock with my hand and sucked him deep as he came. I swallowed most of it. Then I pulled away and finished him off with my hands. He shuddered at my touch, gasping, his cock flexing in my grip as his orgasm finished.
I licked up the stray come and generally worshipped his dick, because shit, if I was having sex with a guy this hot, I was gonna milk it—literally—for all it was worth.
… Even if I was already starting to realize how much I might regret this tomorrow.
In the moment, all caught up in my horny bliss, I told myself I didn’t even care if Ashley was looking at that sexy photo of Dylan the entire time.
And once, when I looked up at him… he definitely was.
Chapter Fourteen
Amber
The next morning was awkward, to put it ultra-mildly.
I woke up—in Ashley’s bed—to find him singing in the shower. After a few lines, I recognized the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Suck My Kiss.” He was really giving it his all with his sexy, slightly-raspy morning voice. Damn. The man had pipes. I giggled a little, sleepily.
Then I really woke up.
I leapt out of his bed like it was on fire.
The bathroom door was open a crack, but the shower was around the corner; he couldn’t see me or hear me, I was sure. But giggling in Ashley Player’s bed was so not happening.
I grabbed my clothes—or at least, my gray cotton panties, which had ended up on his floor—and scrambled the hell out of there.
I found my dress in the hallway, and his jeans in the dining room with my laptop. I didn’t look for his underwear; his undies were his problem. Was he wearing any last night? I didn’t even know. His clothes were off before I could really process such details.
I hurried into the bathroom in the hall, sped-showered, dressed, stuffed all my things into my backpack and got the hell out of there. Ashley’s shower was still running, he was still singing his way through the Chili Peppers’ catalog, and I felt like a grade-A asshole as I ran out the door; as I hurried down his driveway and out to the road, my hair still wet, the Grim Reaper in his gate giving me the finger.
It was the slowest getaway in history.
It wasn’t even eleven in the morning; I had over seven hours to wait until the ferry departed.
I went for a walk, pulling out my camera and photographing the shit out of the island, again. By one o’clock I was running out of things to shoot, as I stealthily avoided the section of road where both Ashley’s and Dylan’s houses were. By two o’clock, it was getting ridiculous.
Around three, he found me at the marina.
“You know,” he said, sitting down beside me at the end of one of the long wooden docks, “you really didn’t have to jet. I could’ve given you a ride to the city.”
“In Dylan’s boat?” I said neutrally.
“Yeah.” Ashley looked me in the eye, squinting a little in the midday sun. “His is better than mine. Story of my life.” He didn’t say it with an ounce of animosity. Envy, maybe.
Were we still talking about boats?
“Ashley—”
“You feel weird about what happened.” It wasn’t a question. “I get that.”
“Don’t you?”
A slight smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and he looked out over the water. “Honestly, no. I know you’re hot for Dylan. You’re not the first girl who ever was.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He looked at me again, his expression growing serious. “So. You like Dylan. It turns me on. Now you’re gonna run away?”
“I’m not running,” I said, kicking my legs in the air a little where they dangled off the dock. “Obviously.”
So that was it, then? He’d gotten off on me getting off on Dylan?
Except I hadn’t just been getting off on Dylan.
“I’m kind of stuck here,” I admitted. “But, yes. I’m going to the city to see my sister.” I ad-libbed that last part; until just now, I hadn’t committed myself to where I was going. But Liv’s place was the only place I really could go.
Ashley was staring at me and he wasn’t smiling. He was searching my face. His blue eyes lingered on my lips, then skipped back up to my eyes. “So you want a ride or what? I’ve got a shitty, uncomfortable boat that might break down on us, or a comfortable-as-fuck boat. Take your pick.”
“I’ll take the ferry,” I said.
“And she’s stubborn to boot,” he mused, half under his breath.
“Like a mule.”
He sat there for an incredibly long minute, watching me as I pretended to be fascinated wi
th the seagull nosing around on the deck of a nearby yacht. I felt him get to his feet while I was taking photos of it.
He stood there, maybe waiting for me to look up.
I didn’t.
Then he walked away without another word.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing, exactly, except what I always did.
Looking forward.
Moving on.
There was always something else, somewhere else, someone else out there, just beyond the horizon, anyway, to distract you from whatever you’d left behind.
Admittedly, self-reflection was not my strongest suit.
I’d discovered that once, while trying to self-reflect.
Kind of hard to move on when you still had over two hours to kill before a ferry pulled up to the dock to collect you, and in the meantime, a pimped-out speedboat with a couple of gorgeous rock stars motored up with a cold drink and a warm seat for you.
“You didn’t,” my sister said, as soon as Dylan and Ashley had dropped me off at her house—and I’d filled her in, briefly, on the sexual hurricane of last night. The one where my sex parts had unexpectedly collided with Ashley Player’s.
Several times.
“Yup. I really did.”
Liv was still holding the front door of her house open while I kicked off my shoes; I’d basically gotten the dirty details out before I crossed the threshold.
“Son-of-a...” Liv looked out the door and up the street, as if she could still see Dylan’s SUV departing and will it to burst into flame, but the guys were long gone. She slammed the door. “So let me get this straight—”
“No pun intended,” I muttered.
“You’re telling me you fucked Ashley Player. Willingly.” She headed into the house without waiting for my answer, and I followed.
“As opposed to what?” I could hear Lady Gaga’s “Lovegame” thumping from downstairs, loud, which meant Laura was working out; Liv wouldn’t be caught dead willingly blaring a dance song about cock.
Dirty Like Dylan: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 4) Page 16