Cherry Bomb: Forbidden Bad Boys

by Clara Leigh

  “Don’t think they’re supposed to be in here.”

  “We’re not supposed to be speaking.”

  “Yeah.” I sit down beside her and recline with my hands tucked behind my head. “I’ll just sit here in silence then and soak up a few rays.”

  She’s not good with quiet. I close my eyes, but I can still feel her gaze on me. I wonder if she’s recalling exactly how much of me she’s seen.

  “What are we going to do?” she says.

  She expects me to be the one with a plan, but really she’s the one with the answers. What comes next is ultimately her decision. I’m not the one with a contract on my head.

  “What is it you want to happen?”

  A smile breaks across her tired face. There’s a dark smudge of black powder across the left hand side of her temple that I itch to rub off with my thumb, but touching isn’t allowed, and we’re already breaking the communication rule. “My sister to stop sending me stuff that could get me hung.”

  “Like what?”

  She glances at the phone still clutched in her hand, then wakens the screen. “Here, see for yourself.”

  I’m expecting to see a string of text messages; instead she shows me another video, this one not remotely blurred. It’s of Florence Caine waving a set of cheerleading pompoms and performing a couple of acrobatics. The relevant part isn’t what she’s doing, it’s what she’s wearing—a cropped babydoll T-shirt with the words #TeamWilde in block lettering across the front. A line has been scored through the word Team, and pink graffiti added so that it reads #fuckWilde.

  I totally approve. “I think you should listen to her advice.”

  “You would.”

  She watches me as I view the footage again before handing her the phone back.

  Unexpectedly, she stretches out and her little finger brushes against the back of my hand where it lies against the bench. We link fingers, neither of us looking at our hands. If anyone were to observe us from a distance, we’d appear to be two strangers simply resting on the same bench. Only someone who knows us both very well would divine the connection.

  Flicka lifts her phone to her ear and speaks into it, but it’s not turned on.

  “I’m totally missing you,” she says, as if she’s speaking to her sister. “I really want to talk to you face to face.”

  I snort because talking is not what this is about. She shoots a sharp glance at me, then turns her back, still faking the phone call.

  Beauford and Trisha from make-up walk past. They rest on the wall that borders the fountain. Beauford scowls at me, then his gaze settles on Flicka and his expression softens. They boy has it bad, but so have I, so I can hardly criticise.

  “No, I haven’t managed to walk up to the grotto yet. We’ve been too busy,” Flicka says.

  Damn, she’s good at this. She’d make a good spy.

  I squeeze her little finger, which is still linked with mine, letting her know I understand.

  “Yes, I’ll call you later. Once we’re done for the day. It’ll probably be late. One-ish! I hope I’ll be blissfully cuddled up by then.”

  Yet more of the cast arrive. The thread of sunlight and the walled protection from the wind has brought them out here. Our illustrious director himself appears too. He sees us sitting on the same bench, but seemingly a million miles apart and contentment tweaks up the edges of his lips. Distance between us is what he relishes – fire on screen, iciness when the camera is off. It makes his job a whole lot simpler. The truth is that he’s as wilfully blind and deaf as the rest of them.

  Flicka releases her grip on my finger and walks over to the group by the fountain without looking back at me. 1A.M. in the grotto. Hell yeah!

  The fact that technical issues continue to plague the shoot for the rest of the day fails to bother me at all.

  -16-

  Dare Wilde

  Getting away from our trailer park without numerous pairs of eyes on my back proves more difficult than you might imagine. At 1A.M. you’d think people would be flaked out in their beds considering Jace is following a schedule that maximises daylight. The sun currently rises around twenty past four. I have to slip over the drystone wall and crawl along the other side of it to avoid detection. Once I’m away from the vicinity of the paddock and the Abbey, undetected movement is easier. I take the path over the bridge and work my way up to the grotto the long way around, entering the maze from the direction of the arboretum by way of the caves. Flicka, I assume, will take the direct route around the side of the Abbey.

  It’s dark and cool amidst the foliage, pleasantly so after the Stygian gloom of the caves. Many of the plants are overgrown, and the pond that sits before the gingerbread-like cottage is awash with decaying blossoms and fallen leaves. I peep carefully through the inky windows of the ornamental building before trying the door. It opens on surprisingly silent hinges. There are barely any furnishing within, only some old wicker chairs and a rustic table with cast iron legs. Flicka rises from the shadows to greet me.

  “I thought you’d be here ahead of me. I saw you leave your trailer.”

  She smells as fragrant as the night blooms outside as she slips into my arms.

  “Tyler insisted I share a drink with him and some of the guys from the electrical team he’s befriended.”

  “I bet he insisted on walking you back too.”

  “Right to the door.”

  “Did you disappoint him?”

  “I think I always do.” I like the light in her eyes that suggests she doesn’t mind that fact. Still, I’ve half a mind to ask if she’s going to disappoint me too. It feels like half a lifetime ago since I last tasted her lips. And that kiss, it was never as much as it could have been. “Why are we here, Flicka?” I need to get this absolutely straight before we go any further.

  “You know why.”

  “Spell it out for me.”

  She raises her hands and her fingers curl into fists. “You’re driving me insane. All right, maybe I was always a little obsessed, but…” She sighs heavily, but it’s not a sorry sound, more an indication of growing impatience. “Okay, do we need to talk? I mean actually, because we both know why we’re here and what we want. Can we not just do?”

  “What is it you think we should do?”

  She’s so blindingly pretty as she levels her stare at me. The blue of her eyes sparkles where the moonlight hits her face through the mullioned glass. “You know,” she claims, echoing the words I spoke to her earlier. “Everything you’ve been promising me for the last week when you’ve stood outside my window.”

  I wonder if she has any real concept of what exactly it is I’ve been offering. Does she even know the first thing about me? I don’t mean all the trite phrases the world’s press use to describe me, or the collective consensus of who Dare Wilde might be. I mean the man behind the mask. Does she even realise he exists, let alone what it is he wants?

  Yet I can’t help but draw closer. We don’t touch, not yet, but I can smell her desire, her need. I lean in and graze the soft skin of her cheek with a kiss. The contact sets her pulse thumping. I feel it where my fingers curl around her wrist.

  “Tonight is purely a taster session. It’s not about going all the way.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “This isn’t the right place.”

  She blinks. “Because there’s no bed?”

  “Because I still don’t know why you want me. Tell me I’m not just the prize for kicking Chinchilla in the teeth.”

  “Can we not talk about the sword hanging over my head? Dare…” Her hand presses against my chest. “I’m already half-crazy with lust for you, don’t draw this out any more. If you want me, then show me. If it’s all just a tease, or some sort of repayment for me trying to use you…” She falls silent, but her hand remains over my heart. “There’s so much at stake. I wish I could stay away from you.”

  “Yet you arranged this.”

  “Yeah.” A slow smile crinkles the corners of her eyes.


  “Why?”

  “I always want what I can’t have. Don’t you?”

  “Totally.” It’s my turn to grin, as I edge backwards towards the wall.

  “We’ll keep it quiet though, be discreet about it.” There’s a quaver in her voice as she speaks.

  “Absolutely,” I agree. It’s in my interests to do so, regardless of how much I’d enjoy sticking two fingers up at the moralistic dictates of her corporate slavers. “But if it does come out, we’ll stand strong together.”

  Her breath quickens a fraction over the assertion. I get it; she doesn’t want to dwell on that possibility. Me, I realise there’s no hiding things forever. Dirty secrets have a way of revealing themselves. They might last a month, a year, or fifty, but eventually the truth has a way of wriggling its way into the sun.

  “Together.”

  Her whisper seems to formalize the notion. We become an official thing in that moment.

  “Tell me again why we can’t do everything.”

  “Gorging yourself is bad for you.” I slide my hands around her, tug her closer. My back hits the wall, so that I’m sandwiched between its solidity and her softness. Her lips are moist and red. The scent of cherries is already firing up my pleasure scents. I can’t deny the temptation to give in to her and grant her every desire is there beating its fists against the door I’ve deliberately locked.

  “But I want to go Wilde.” She throws the slogan at me with her tongue firmly embedded in her cheek.

  I need to get her focussed on something other than my cock filling her virgin pussy. This isn’t the right time or place. When it happens, I don’t want to be in a rush, and I’d prefer we were in a location with a few more home comforts.

  “Have you forgotten you promised certain things?” Her breath tickles as it buffets my mouth. She’s straining on tiptoes to reach me.

  “No.” I don’t forget things, nor do I renege on them. “You want my fingers inside your panties?”

  She nods.

  “My mouth on your nipples?”

  Another nod.

  “And your cock in my hands, and your mouth on my mouth. I want the full Wilde experience.”

  “That should keep us plenty busy for quite some time.”

  I stop holding her back. I let myself sink a little against the support of the wall so that there’s no longer any need for her to strain to reach me. We’re on a more even level. Her hands fist around my clothing as her mouth crushes mine. This kiss is like neither of the previous two we’ve shared. It’s frantic, hungry, and hard. Our teeth clash, our tongues stroke, and electricity dances between us creating additional sparks. “Do you want to touch me?”

  She nods.

  “Do it, then. Unzip me. I only bite a little.”

  A dimple I’ve never noticed before flashes in her cheek as she grins at my joke. Still, her hands tremble as she draws the top button through the hole and carefully lowers my zipper. Her fingertips feather over the top of my underwear.

  “I’m not a flower. I won’t break if you squeeze me. Why don’t you touch me bare?”

  Thank God, she doesn’t need telling twice. She peels the elastic top of my shorts away from my abs and pushes her slender hand inside. I rise and overfill her hand.

  “It’s different to how I imagined you’d feel. Softer, less inanimate.”

  “Got yourself a nice vibrating rabbit, have you?”

  “It’s all out of juice right now.” She circles the shaft, then draws her hand upwards so that the head presses against the centre of her palm. “Am I doing this right?”

  “Can you hear me complaining?”

  “I think you’re too polite to complain, even if I was getting everything wrong.”

  “You’re not getting anything wrong, Flicka.” I’m not sure she could ever get anything wrong. I kiss her again, long and slow. The urge to crank things up a notch is strong. It drums in my chest and through each and every vein, but I metaphorically grit my teeth and rein myself in. Next time… Next time… or the time after that. I will have her in exactly the way I need her. In the meantime, it’s enough to know that I finally have her in my arms.

  -17-

  Felicity Caine

  I work my hand up and down, making his breathing uneven and raspy. I’ve lusted so hard about holding him like this, but imagination doesn’t quite match up with reality. This is so much better, and a thousand times more nerve wracking. Dare allows me to explore, grants me this control over him, but he’s not passive. He’s very much in charge of this, which is good because I really haven’t much of a clue what I’m doing. All I know is that I want him, and that having him fill my hand isn’t enough.

  “Enough,” is what he eventually insists, pushing my hands way from his cock. He leaves his shaft exposed, allowing me to continue to gobble up the sight of it, along with the art that graces his torso and biceps. I don’t recall him taking his shirt off, but it’s balled up on one of the wicker chairs and his chest is exposed.

  “My turn. Take a seat, Flicka.”

  I flop into a big basket-like chair, my knees too wobbly to orchestrate anything more graceful. He leans over and kisses me, then slides himself between my legs, pulls my panties down, and pushes my skirt up.

  All at once I’m overheated. That’s not to say I wasn’t roasting previously, but he’s looking at a part of me that hasn’t endured such scrutiny before. His fingers tickle as he traces them over my inner thigh. I gasp when he reaches the apex. I might be nervous as hell, achy from the straining of my muscles, but I’m stupidly wet for him. Stupidly, stupidly wet for him.

  “Breathe, Flicka.” He smiles. “I need to taste you.”

  I watch him bow his head, but there’s a disconnect. It’s as if this is one of his movies I’m watching, and the camera is close up and following his movement. Until his tongue touches me and then I’m instantly grounded. Still, it takes a moment for me to comprehend that not all the rumbling noises of approval are coming from me. Some of them are Dare’s. It seems he’s as excited by this as I am.

  His tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips and makes contact with my clit. Hot and cold prickles dance all over my skin in response. Fire burns under my skin. The concentration of his attention is almost too intense, but then he cools it, shifts his focus and the tip of his tongue dips inside of me.

  Oh, man… Why is this the first time I’ve let a man this close? It’s… Honestly, I don’t know what it is. I only know that I want more. I grip tight the wings of the chair, and lift my hips up to meet him.

  He tongue fucks me and I long for something thicker, until he pushes a couple of fingers inside. They feel impossibly huge. There’s no way he’d fit his actual cock, and yet I still want it. I miss the blunt pressure of his digits each time he withdraws them. I crave the way that when he slides them in it causes me to jerk upright and squeak. When he combines that beautiful slide with the repetitive flick of his tongue across my clit, that’s when I lose control of the sounds I make. They’re very definitely not squeaks anymore. I get brave too. I fist my hands within his hair.

  “You holding on because you’re frightened I’m going to run away?”

  “Don’t talk,” I hiss.

  The vibrations of his laughter run through his body and into mine. “Eager for it, aren’t you? Tell me what you want dirty girl. Go on, instruct me.”

  As if he needs instructions.

  “Come on,” he coaxes. “Let me hear all the bad words you’re not supposed to say.”

  “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” I say, only adding, “With your fingers” as an afterthought in my own head, because even though he’s stretching me and it’s all too much, it’s simultaneously not enough. I won’t ever be enough until Dare Wilde is buried to the hilt inside of me, banging me as if the world is about to end.

  “Soon, sweetheart. Soon, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to get so far inside you. I’m going to make you ache so good.”

  That promise is
enough to tip me over. I rock hard against his face, covering his chin in shiny wetness as my orgasm rips through me, leaving my skin aglow and my hair standing on end.

  His fingers stay right inside me until the last trace of my climax fades. Then I reach for him and muss my lips across his face. We kiss and hold one another for a long time, as I seek reassurances, while I taste myself on his skin.

  “We’re all good, Flicka.”

  “We’re not all good. You’re still…” He’s still fully erect, the tip of him plum-coloured from the blood pumping beneath the skin. “I ought to do something for you.”

  “We’re out of time. We both have an early start.”

  I don’t care if I don’t get a single wink of sleep, and I yawn through every scene tomorrow. It’s been too long a wait to reach this moment. I’m not letting him leave unsatisfied. “I want to give you what you’ve given me.”

  “Next time.”

  “Not next time, now.” When I wrap my palm around his shaft it doesn’t take much cajoling to convince him my way is best.

  “It’ll be messy,” he warns. I’ve seen him come several times over. I know how it goes. I’m also a keen observer. I know how he likes to be touched, how he likes to squeeze a certain point on his shaft, and drag the pad of his thumb over a particular bit of the head. Swish, swish, swish, back and forth like a little windscreen wiper spreading out the pearlescent fluid leaking from him. It feels fantastic having him thrusting against my hands, and gives me extra shivers thinking about how it’s going to feel when our bodies are synchronised.

  I know he’s almost there when he grabs my hand and starts dictating the sweep of my fist. I let him have his way—mostly. Right when his jaw is beginning to harden, and his lips peel back, I drop onto my knees and take him in my mouth. He’s too big, and too desperate. I almost muck everything up and choke, but I breathe through my nose and ignore the sting in my eyes. He’s almost there. Just a few precious strokes. Hell, as it turns out having the warm cave of my mouth embracing him is too alluring. He comes in hard jets. The taste of him floods my senses. Swallowing isn’t a conscious thought. It’s automatic. Licking every bit of him clean on the other hand is my way of holding on to him for ever precious moment I can.