by Rie Warren
Fuck, I hope Leelee’s a groper.
We lagged back and I said, “She’s the woman from check-in.”
“Oh yeah.” He smiled absentmindedly.
Oh yeah? As if Leelee was anything less than spectacular. “You said you didn’t know her.”
“She just joined our Facebook group a couple months ago, doesn’t have a selfie up. I didn’t recognize her.” He shrugged, again with the nonchalance.
I watched her ass move ahead of me, the loose skirt settling against those round cheeks with every step. I adjusted myself as discreetly as possible.
Leelee came part and parcel with the Henpeckers. This didn’t bode well at all.
****
A couple hours later, I was squished into a booth with Nicky on my right side and Leelee on the left of me against the wall. Against a wall was right where I really wanted to fuck her as soon as possible. I let loose a low groan, trying to figure out how to hide my ever-ready erection.
We’d spent an hour and a half in the bar of the barbecue joint waiting for our table. The bartender had flirted shamelessly with Leelee, and I’d wanted to pound his head with my fist until he got a case of cauliflower ear. I’d flirted shamelessly with Nicky, hoping to cement our relationship. I’d totally failed at keeping my eyes off Leelee. But I hadn’t put my hands on her yet.
I decided that was a victory.
In the booth, Nicky scooted closer, if that was possible, and laid his hand on my thigh. “Okay, lover?”
Giggles rose from the gaggle of geese on the other side of the table.
I dropped my chin and lifted an eyebrow. “Peachy, babe.” I glared at Missy Peachtree.
“Ready to order?” Our waitress tapped a pen against her order pad.
I hadn’t even looked at the menu because Leelee sat stacked and ready beside me. Her shorter stature made it real damn easy to take a gander at all the creamy skin that was strictly off-limits.
“The fish is supposed to be good.” Her soft voice scattered across my skin in slivers of heat that spread to my groin.
Jesus. “Can’t. Allergic to shellfish.” And then I decided to break out my Will Smith impersonation from Hitch, contorting my face and saying, “It is not that serious!”
My face suddenly scorching, I hid behind a long drink of goddamn fruity something or other while Leelee Songchild giggled beside me. “That’s one of my favorite romcoms. I can’t believe you can pull off Will Smith. My ex hated watchin’ stuff like that with me.”
I dove after that nugget of info, desperate to have her relationship status confirmed. “Your ex?”
She laid a hand on my wrist. “Long story, not a happy ending.”
I got my Glee on for that, until Nicky narrowed his eyes at me.
Orders were placed, food was eaten, and I kept my damn mouth shut after that. Doing impressions for the kid was one thing, but Christ.
Nosy Missy leaned forward over dessert. “So, Stone, the hat . . . is that your signature?”
I twirled it off my head to the tips of my fingers and back again. “Just one of my things, ma’am.” Damn, she probably liked it when I called her that. I’d have to knock that shit off. “Y’all should see my cowboy hat,” I drawled. “’Cept I only wear it when I ride Nicky hard and put him up wet.”
Jacqueline slammed a palm to the table. “Booyah! I knew it! You’re the top.” She waggled her fingers. “Pay up, bitches.”
“So butch.” Janice practically eye-fucked me across the tabletop after she handed her cash over.
I fought a grin. Butch sort of worked as a compliment in the macho column. I’d take it, especially when Leelee suddenly jerked away from the heat of my thigh pressed against hers. Her skin turned rosy, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes even when I placed an elbow on the table, bracketing her in.
“Okay?” I asked.
“Mm hmm. Just parched, I don’t think the A/C’s high enough in here.” She drank from her glass of ice water.
If she was overheating, I was on fire. My body tingled from my fingertips to my toes, and I wanted to get closer to her sun. Nicky bumping against me broke the spell of attraction enough to make me slide an arm across his shoulders.
We spent another hour at the restaurant, filling up on coffee and convention gossip I listened to with half an ear. I was too distracted by Leelee next to me as she sent zingers in reply to Jacqueline’s fast-fire questions. Basically working myself up to a long cold shower or a quick, quiet jerk-off session later.
Catching the shuttle back to the hotel, I felt a little lazy, a little drunk. I hauled Nicky closer for an affectionate skull rub. He gave me a loving elbow jab to the ribs. It was a war between feeling warm-hearted and welcomed by his crew, pretending I couldn’t wait to grab Nicky and fuck his brains out against a wall, and pretending I didn’t want to grab Leelee . . . and fuck her brains out against a wall.
The possibility of wall-fucking came a lot sooner than expected when we returned to the hotel and the hens prodded me to escort the little miss to her room.
“Leelee’s new to all this.” Missy the Mistress explained with a twist of her pearls.
“Uh, so am I.” I really didn’t need an excuse to be alone with Leelee, in a hotel. Alone. Where there were beds behind every door.
Janice’s bangles jangled in my face. “Yes, but you’re a man.”
“Double standard much?” I groused. “What happened to feminism?”
Nicky covered his mouth with his hand, no doubt smothering the ha-ha chuckles.
Jacqueline’s head swung back and forth like a snake charmer’s. “Please, second-wave feminism is so passé. A woman likes to be walked to her door. Besides, Stone, you look rough—”
“And ready,” Janice chimed in.
“Like a bouncer. Have you ever thought about wearing leather?” Missy colluded.
“She’s just a babe in the woods, only twenty-seven and getting her first taste of fame. Leelee has people after her, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would we?” Jacqueline crossed her arms.
“People? After her?” I turned to Leelee—innocent, sexual, extremely fuckable Leelee—in disbelief.
“She’s being courted—” Missy whispered.
“By agents and editors.” Janice shivered and her jewelry shimmied too.
I glanced at Leelee. She stood with one leg braced against the wall, drawing my gaze to the long slit up the thigh of her dress I’d missed earlier.
Holy shit, that’s hot.
Jacqueline stamped her foot to drag my attention back. “She just happens to be the latest self-pub whiz kid, her first book went viral. Now everyone wants a piece of her pie.”
Leelee’s pie? Count me in.
“Fine.” I jabbed the elevator button. “I’ll take her.”
I prayed the elevator would be bursting with people.
It was empty. Of course it was.
I thought about attempting small talk, but it took all my damn concentration to keep from staring at Leelee in the mirrored surrounds. I held my hands loosely cupped in front of my crotch and tried not to fidget. My cock ached, my jeans were too tight, and the only thing working to my advantage was my hat, which hid my lust-hungry eyes from sight.
On Leelee’s floor, I followed a staggered step behind, because I wasn’t dumb enough to pass up the chance to eyeball her ass one more time.
When we reached her door, she took out her key and smiled. “So . . .”
“Yeah.”
Her green eyes flickered up. “My knight in shinin’ armor again?”
Scam artist, maybe. All my natural tendencies urged me to kiss the hell out of her. I really wished I could follow her into the room. I’d give my left nut to find out what kind of whimpers she made when my head was buried between her thighs, my hands pulling down the straps of her dress to get to her tits. The fact my hands—and tongue—were tied made me ornery as hell.
“I’m nobody’s knight, lady, least of all yours.” My voice came out flat and
hard.
A veil dropped over her eyes, making them brittle as green glass. “My mistake. And here I thought chivalry wasn’t dead,” she said with all the haughtiness of a true southern woman before slipping into her room.
The door slammed in my face.
Pissing Leelee off might not have been the best idea because that spark of hot temper was even more attractive than her angel-vixen looks.
Babe in the woods? Bullshit. This woman was hell in high heels, and I had designs to fuck her against the hood of my ’69 Camaro.
Chapter Three
Wednesday: Y Chromosome and Testosterone Overload
I SKIPPED THE COLD shower, the quiet jag-off session, kicking myself in the ass instead for putting that you’re a dick look in Leelee’s eyes. After stripping down, I shoved Nicky aside in the bed and started worrying. About the garage, the kid, the sudden wanna-fuck-Leelee-outta-my-system fantasies. Nicky tossed a handful of pillows at my head, and we ended up fighting over blankets until we finally passed out.
I woke up in the night, sweating my balls off from all the blankets I’d stolen from him. His breath tickled my ear, his arm slung across my torso. Fucking cuddler. I pushed him to the knife’s edge of the bed, only slightly tempted to nudge him that extra inch until he fell off. He snorted-snored and smacked my hands away. I sprawled on my back, enjoying all the room, and fell back asleep.
A mash-up of nightmares chased my dreams. Boobs, broads, faceless chicks, and nameless conquests caught up with me.
At one point I groaned awake with Nicky hanging over me, his jaw clenching. “Stop fuckin’ snoring, dude, before I duct tape your mouth shut.”
Washy lines of sun slanted into the room from behind the blackout curtains when I came to from a restless sleep. Nicky dressed in the weak light of what had to be barely half-past the crack-of, a time I was all too familiar with from the kid’s early morning wake-up routine. It usually included JJ pouncing on my head, pulling on my toes and—the joy—pretending to be a big, slobbering dog called Viper. I rolled over, burying my head under a pillow. I was gonna milk this gay-cation for all it was worth.
“I’ve got a roundtable to chair at . . .”
Bla bla bla.
The bed dipped when Nicky sat beside me. “Then a panel at nine, a meeting with my editor at ten-thirty.” I heard him flicking through his notes about what he had to do, who he had to meet, and where he had to be every fucking second of the next four point five days. “A meeting with Warlocks and Witches at eleven-thirty, another panel at noon, and then a pitch session to work after that. So, you’re on your own this morning.”
Jesus, and I think my days are busy? “Yeah, yeah.” I dove farther under the blankets until I was in a tight cocoon and his voice sounded muffled by cotton.
“Lunch . . . 1:30 . . . text . . .”
“Fuck off already,” I grumbled.
“Love you too, darlin’.”
I reached out a hand and swatted his ass. “Get lost, shithead.”
When I finally heard the door close, I yanked the covers off and thought about jerking off too. But would that count as cheating on Nicky? I tugged at my hair, glaring at the morning wood pushing up the waistband of my briefs. I decided to snag a couple more hours of shuteye. I could be faithful to my man for at least one day, right?
Roused by my alarm at eight o’clock, I stood and stretched then dropped for five reps of good old-fashioned sit-ups followed by four sets of one-armed push-ups. After I finished, I kicked off my briefs and considered leaving them under Nicky’s pillow just for shits and giggles. Strolling into the bathroom, I scowled at my rejuvenated erection. Cold shower? Screw that. If I had to fuck my fist to make the bastard go down, I’d do it.
One palm on the wall, my head bent under the hot spray, I wrapped a hand around my cock. I was so hard and sensitive the first few strokes hurt like a bitch, but the water and a few squirts of shower gel took care of the shock of touch. Pumping in and out of my fist, I braced my legs wide and groaned. It sure as hell wasn’t Nicky that came out of my mouth.
I ran the flat of my palm over the swollen head, closing my eyes as I imagined Leelee’s mouth sucking slowly over my cock until she couldn’t swallow any more. Muscles from my chest to my thighs to my ass shook. My forehead fell against the shower wall. I dragged my fingertips up, coasting them across the crown, lightly fingering just beneath until my thighs quivered. I’d never wanted a woman more than I did Leelee at that moment. Naked, wet, glistening. Nice tits, big hips, soft ass. Hungry and begging for my cock.
I knocked my fist against the tiles. Throwing my head back, I chased after the come filling up my balls until they felt like they’d burst and blow the top off my dick too.
I heard another knock, and that time it wasn’t me.
Then another as I stroked faster, swearing, so close . . . Jesus fuckin’ . . . “Aahhhlmost!”
Then full-on banging. At the door.
I pulled my hands off myself and flipped my head up with a loud, “Fuck. I’m comin’!” Or I would’ve been. I nearly was.
“Maid service better not expect a tip at the end of the week.” I cut off the water. I tied a towel around my hips. I swore some more. “Knock knock knock, my cock was about to go off.” I flung open the door and almost dropped the towel.
“Hi, Stone. Nicky was worried about leavin’ you to your own devices. He thought you might be lonely.” Leelee’s pretty eyes wavered for a second, lowering to my chest where drops of water clung.
Nicky was a dipshit and a dipstick for sending her to check on me. As for lonely? I was horny. I was the very last thing from lonely especially with the walking, talking, blushing visual of Leelee right in front of me and my cock ready to explode. She was soft to look at, but I reckoned there was hot fire just beneath the surface. Once unlocked, she’d be a wildcat the likes I’d never tangled with. She could easily win my heart, cut it out, crush it beneath her unreal high heels, and be on her merry way.
She stood in my doorway. With a bed behind us and my gay-mance cockblocking cover story between us. I tried not to crowd against her when all I wanted to do was take her in my arms and kiss her for all she was worth.
That was when I noticed her outfit.
Leelee. Holy. Jesus. Christ.
“What the hell are you wearin’?” I asked before my mouth caught up with my brain.
“Oh! I don’t usually dress like this. It’s for the convention.” She smoothed one hand along her hip and angled an ankle behind her.
She continued talking, but I was done listening because every ounce of my attention was aimed at the disarming display—disarming display? I need to stop readin’ Nicky’s shit—of hotness in front of me. This dress was going into the Handjob Hall of Fame. V-neck, off the shoulder, rose-colored. Leelee’s hair was twisty and perfect for grabbing while I rode her hard from behind. And the shoes on her feet should be outlawed in all fifty states for being unlawful very-fucking-hot violations. They were spiky and showed sexy toe cleavage.
I brushed up on this Queer Eye shit, fat lotta good it did me.
“Besides, what are you wearin’?” I watched her cherry-red lips move, thinking I better act like I had half a brain in my head rather than a full quart of come ready to rocket from my other head.
“A towel?” A hard-on and a smirk. No hat. Stone. Rock hard stone.
Leelee took in the ink on my chest. “This is gorgeous, the rendering’s exquisite.” Her fingertips brushed against my tat and the heart—my heart—pounded double-time. It felt like she’d taken jumper cables to my nervous system.
I was supposed to be unavailable, and I most definitely shouldn’t be alone with Leelee. So of course I did the stupid thing. Stepping back, I invited her inside.
“I brought you coffee, black.” She thrust a cup in my hand. “You don’t seem like the type of man who takes sweetener.”
If only she knew how much I liked sweet things like her. “Thank you, Leelee.”
“Um, I’ll j
ust wait and you can finish what you were . . .” She trailed off, her gaze skimming down my body. My towel was quickly becoming the most unseemly mode of dress as it reached the danger zone of my pelvic V cut. She swallowed and looked away. “ . . . doing in the shower?”
Yeah, I didn’t think I was gonna whack-it with her present. What I’d been doing in the shower was her. And if I kept at it, I was gonna be real goddamn loud, especially with the living masturbation-material sitting in the next room.
Returning to the bathroom, I gulped down the coffee and slammed the cup into the trashcan. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the base of my cock, squeezing hard. My eyes teared up, but I managed to go from full to semi, at least until I got dressed and walked out of the bathroom and decided a hard cup jockstrap might be in order whenever I was near Leelee.
****
We made it to the lobby to hang with Jacqueline without any further suggestive comments. I averted my eyes from Leelee’s legs, her breasts, her dress, and most definitely her stilettos. Jacqueline waved at us from a clutch of couches at the far end of the room. I almost ran to her. I needed a goddamn safety net or back-up plan, anything but a wingman, if I was going to make it out of this conference without dragging Leelee to a bed—any bed would do, hell, the elevator was beginning to look mighty tempting—and keeping my ruse intact.
The overlarge room held a party atmosphere like Mardi Gras—or Savannah on St. Patty’s day. People greeted each other with air-kisses and almost-hugs, wearing the lanyards that listed them as writer/aspiring/agent/editor/gawker. And then there were the Coverdales Nicky had mentioned. They were unmistakable as they strutted around looking big and beefy and romance-cover worthy. Now I got it. These dudes were a cross between Chippendales, cover models, and, holy shit, Clydesdales, because some of them were as big as horses.
The lobby definitely wasn’t Stone’s staff room.
But there were pastries.
I loaded a plate. Leelee served herself beside me, and I saw her to a seat before I pulled up a chair next to her and across from Jacqueline.
Jackée’s fingernails were long, sharp and sparkly. Peering closer, I saw they were decorated with tiny book covers. Inventive marketing—writers had it going on. She tapped them like knifepoints on the table, a wicked glint in her shrewd brown eyes. “Damn. How is it you look hotter this morning than you did last night, Stone?”