Moxie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 3)

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Moxie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 3) Page 11

by C. M. Stunich


  We make slow, languorous motions with our lips, kissing until my nipples have pebbled to fine points, until I'm wet between the thighs. Cope's fingers stroke up and down my back, soothing me with his musician's hands, giving me goose bumps across the surface of my skin.

  Unfortunately, our make out session is stopped just short of third base by Paxton's hard knock at the door. Michael must've been smart enough to lock it behind him. I think the last thing any of us wants is Mr. and Mrs. Paxton walking in on us in the middle of an orgy.

  “I'll get it,” I say with a sigh, sliding off of Cope and pausing to give him one last kiss on the lips. I make my way over to the door, unlock it, and pull it wide, not even bothering to confirm that it really is Paxton on the other side of the elaborately carved wood. There's something about the way he knocks … it couldn't possibly be anyone else.

  “Locked out of my own bloody bedroom,” he says, pushing his way inside and slamming the door closed behind him. I notice he doesn't hesitate to reengage the lock.

  “How'd it go?” I ask, but I can see by the sweat on his neck, the way his back rises and falls with deep, angry breaths that it went well probably isn't going to be his answer. Pax leans over and puts his palms flat against the wood.

  “Smashing,” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm. Pax glances over at his bed, piled high with his band members and sighs. “Just about as well as I expected, yeah? As in fucking awful.” He stands up straight, still wearing his swim shorts, raking his fingers through his hair. “Amelia seems content to sit back and wait for me to sink my own ship. She's not about to reveal her bloke until I reveal you.”

  Pax shakes his head and moves over to the black suitcase sitting on one of the room's many dressers. Somehow, the bastard knows exactly how to fold a suit without wrinkling it. As soon as he pulls it out and removes it from its plastic covering, I can see that the sleek navy blue fabric is none the worse for wear for being packed inside the small space.

  “There's an art to it,” Paxton says with a smirk when he notices me staring. “Lay the jacket flat, fold the left shoulder back, right shoulder goes inside out, left shoulder gets tucked into the right. Fold it in half lengthwise, then horizontally. Jacket goes in the center of the trousers, and then both ends get folded over the jacket. Voilà.”

  His smirk turns a little wicked and he disappears into the bathroom for a moment, leaving me with a shirtless Cope. We exchange a brief glance before I follow in after Pax, finding him standing in the cold water of the shower still dressed in his swimsuit. When I open the glass door to get a closer look at his face, I can see that this time, the cocky attitude really is all part of the mask.

  “Fuck,” he says as I lean against the wall outside the shower and look at him, waiting for him to speak, wondering if he even wants to. “They're toxic, fucking toxic. I feel like I can't breathe when I'm around them.” Paxton stays hunched over, even as the water starts to steam. The skin on his back turns pink from the heat, but still, he doesn't move. I do, however, see the corner of his lips twitch in bemusement. “They hate that Ransom is here. Hate it. They saw the video, of course, the one of us snogging onstage.”

  “Is that what you were talking about down there?” I ask and he shakes his wet, blonde head. Paxton reaches up and turns the water off, slicking loose strands off his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  “Mostly, no. My dad did ask if I was a fucking faggot, but I assured him that I was only half. Then, of course, we buried that conversation like any proper blue-blooded family would and politely talked around all of our issues.”

  I step back as Paxton moves out of the shower and pushes his shorts down his hips, letting them fall into a soggy pile at his feet. It takes a lot of effort on my part to keep my attention on his face.

  “I guess they sent the jet as a reminder, a little taste of home, something to show me all the things I'd be missing if I didn't come to heel.” Paxton takes a step toward me, reaching up to play with the buttons between my breasts. “But really, I think they wanted me here to remind me that Harper's death rests on my shoulders. That was the primary topic of conversation downstairs.”

  “Your sister's death has as little to do with you as it does Ransom,” I say, but Pax just purses his lips, raising his hands to my face and kissing me on the mouth. “What time is dinner?” I ask as he steps away and grabs a towel, drying the moisture off his body as Ran appears in the doorway and leans against the jamb.

  “Did I hear my name?” he asks groggily, looking like he's having an even more difficult time than usual keeping his eyes open.

  “My dad says he always knew you were a bloody poof, so he's having a hard time understanding why the two of us were fighting over a girl the night that Harper died.”

  “Mmm,” Ransom murmurs, the heavy, sleepy sound of his voice making me bite my lip with a rush of desire. Those wordless noises he makes just fucking get me. “Am I allowed at the dinner table then? Or should I pop into the kennel and eat with the dogs?”

  “My parents would never allow a hoodlum like you to get near their prized hounds,” Paxton says with a pair of sharply raised brows. He's smiling again, but the expression is as fragile as glass, like all it wants to do is shatter into pieces and cut us all to bloody ribbons. They'd much rather have you at the table where they can throw subtle barbs and insults your way.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” Ransom says on the tail end of a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. I notice that his gaze is almost as attached to Paxton's naked form as mine is. I do my best not to smile, but it happens anyway. Ran catches the expression and raises a dark brow in my direction.

  “You never answered my question,” I say, drawing Paxton's attention over to me. “What time is dinner?”

  He gives me a long look before curving up his mouth in a smile. Since he's still nude, drying his blonde hair off with the damp towel, I can see that that's not the only part of Paxton Blackwell that's just curved up.

  “I suppose we have some time before the guests arrive,” he drawls, tossing his towel aside and following me as I back my way up into the bedroom.

  “Guests?” I ask as my thighs bump up against the edge of the bed.

  “Oh, yes,” Paxton says, his eyes darkening slightly. “Several of my parents friends have made the treacherous trek into the country to dine with us tonight.”

  He lifts his hands up, skimming his palms up and along the length of my arms.

  Damn.

  And I just got dressed and fixed my makeup again.

  Oh well.

  “When they meet you,” he says, leaning in to press his mouth against my lips. “I want them to see you with your lips swollen and your pupils dilated, your skin flushed. I want them all to get the vague sense that you've just been fucked.”

  “Why's that?” I ask, my eyes widening slightly in surprise as I feel fingers sliding up the inside of my thigh. Glancing back, I can see that it's Michael, still lying on his side at the end of the bed. He's taking advantage of his position to tease the satiny crotch of my panties with his fingertips.

  My breath comes out in a hiccupy gasp, making Paxton grin.

  “Because it'll scare them shitless, that's why. A beautiful goddess like you? Your power is overwhelming. I want them to see how little chance they have of swaying me from my course.”

  “And I'm that course?” I ask, but my words come out in a rough whisper, obscured by the gentle bite of Paxton's teeth as he takes hold of my lower lip. He nibbles and sucks it for a moment before releasing me, still skimming his fingers down my arms, teasing my skin with the distant promise of his.

  Ransom moves up beside me, drawing my chin over to his face so we can kiss next, the flirty floral tease of his mother's perfume clinging to his clothing, his lips. I swear he tastes like the edible sweet violets I once had on a salad in New York, during a dinner out with my dad. Or maybe I'm just relating old memories to new ones? Either way, Ran's kiss is scrumptious.

  We kiss for several long mo
ments, Michael's fingers working their way beneath my panties to tease the wetness that's already bloomed there, as sensual and slippery as the slick of Ran's tongue along mine. Mikey lifts my skirt with his other hand, exposing my lower back and pressing a kiss there that sends a warm shiver up my spine.

  I start to move back, intending to encourage Paxton and Ransom to kiss like I did in the BDSM club, but it turns out they don't need my encouragement. As soon as my mouth breaks with his, Ran takes Pax's mouth in a much more forceful way than he did mine, clashing their lips together like there's something urgent about the meeting.

  Michael wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back onto the bed, continuing to tease the burning ember between my thighs, but refusing to fan it into a raging flame.

  “Are you teasing me?” I ask, but he just laughs softly against my ear, using his other hand to cup my breast, dragging the fabric at my neckline down so he can access the lacy blackness of my bra. I realize then that I better get out of this dress or I definitely won't be wearing it to dinner. “Unzip me,” I manage to gasp as Michael's thumb teases my nipple through the lace, swirling in slow, lazy circles around my areola.

  Cope appears on my right a second later, shirtless and gorgeous, his lower lip still shiny from our kissing session. He does the honor of pulling my zipper down, helping Michael drag the fabric up and over my head. I notice that he gets up to lay it gently across the back of the chair with his dress shirt and jacket. Aww.

  “You're so fucking thoughtful,” I whisper as he comes back and kneels next to me on the bed, leaning in to tease my mouth with his breath, kiss me as slowly and softly as if we were alone together getting ready to make love. My lids slide closed in ecstasy.

  “I try,” is all he says, taking my mouth next, giving me that delicious comparison between him and Ran. I like that—feeling, tasting, smelling the difference between the guys. Each time they trade out, switch places, take turns, that's a thrill for me.

  Michael's fingers finally dip inside of me, making me gasp sharply against Cope's mouth, causing my eyes to snap open. As soon as I do, I realize that Muse is up and standing next to Pax and Ran, watching them with a curious expression on his face. I'm not sure what to make of it when he steps in, catches my eye and smiles.

  Muse touches a hand to Ransom's shoulder, drawing his attention. As soon as he glances his friend's way, Muse is leaning forward and giving him a slow, easy sort of kiss on the mouth.

  Whoa.

  Did not expect that.

  “What in the bleeding hell …?” Paxton starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish that sentence as Muse turns from one of my guys to the other. Me, all I can do is sit there dumbfounded and wonder where the hell this came from. I don't know in that moment that Derek is taking a painful step toward his own healing, challenging a fear he's had in his mind for a long time, a fear that's paralyzed him so thoroughly that he's almost forgotten how to feel his own emotions. Instead, he feels everything for everyone else. It makes him a good listener, a brilliant mentor, but it doesn't help his own pain.

  This, it's the first big step toward getting there.

  Just like Ran and Pax's first kiss was a milestone … so is this.

  Luckily my boys know how to take things in stride, noticing my keen interest, my flushed cheeks. I feel like that queen again, sitting atop the throne of Michael's lap, him and Cope pleasuring me while I watch a show designed especially to arouse.

  And all before dinner.

  Talk about impressive.

  My knees spread wide as Michael teases me with his fingers, Copeland undoing the clasp of my bra and letting my breasts spill into his hands.

  “You're into this, too?” Paxton asks suspiciously as Muse's black painted fingernails curl against the back of his neck. Watching them kiss is … almost surreal, but unbelievably sexy. Derek looks like a punk rocker with his silver-black hair and his combed back mohawk while Paxton, even nude, is clearly this wicked slice of asshole, his body dripping with ink and cruelty. There's nothing cruel at all about Derek Muser.

  “I have no idea,” Muse admits, shrugging his shoulders loosely, glancing over at me with a secretive little smile. “But I am afraid of men. I think it's time to face my fear, don't you?”

  “Afraid of men?” Paxton asks with a small scoff, but then he pauses, like something's just occurred to him. Lilith, I was raped. Muse's words … I guess I never really thought about the specifics of that. Fuck, I didn't want to. But … a man. Goddamn it. “You wouldn't know considering all the time we spent in the Bat Cave together.”

  “I guess not,” Muse says, kissing Paxton again, getting the other man to relax with that easy, casual manner of his. Ransom watches the two of them like he's not sure what to make of the whole situation and then lets out a deep breath.

  His eyes are as dark as the night when he glances over at me, not even a twinkle of starlight in there. A little jealous maybe? I'm not sure. Doesn't matter either way. In a relationship like this, a little jealousy is natural, healthy even. It's what we do with it that matters. Ransom chooses to use his to walk over to the three of us that are on the bed, pausing in front of me with a dark slash of a smile.

  “Do you ever feel like the sun when you're around us?” he asks, his voice a Lucullan feast for the ears.

  “How so?” I ask on the edge of a gasp, my head and belly swirling with pleasure. It's like Michael's fingers are the keys, unlocking all these feelings inside of me.

  “Like we're in orbit around you,” he whispers roughly, watching as Copeland drops his own hand between my legs and cups it around Michael's. His fingers slide into me, too, making my head fall back with a violent sounding sort of groan.

  Ransom unbuttons his holey jeans, revealing his cock with slow, sure motions, slicking his tongue along the length of his palm for lube before grabbing hold of it. He strokes himself as Cope and Michael stroke me, one of them kissing my neck, the other my breasts. Meanwhile, I can see it all.

  Muse is still kissing Paxton, their tongues visible as they move their mouths together, still slightly stiff, still slightly unsure. But Pax is already hard, so when Muse reaches down, he just teases a single finger along Paxton's shaft and gets a nice, throaty moan out of him.

  My eyes blur and water with an orgasm, my body still hyped up and thrilling from my little romp in the pool. It's easy enough to trick my aching flesh into a throbbing, shattering burn, one that tears me to pieces and leaves me trembling. As I reel from the aftershocks, Copeland's gentle hands pull my wet underwear down my legs and toss them aside.

  “Come with me, Lil,” Michael says, lifting me up by the hips so that I'm standing shakily on my feet. He takes his shirt off, scooting back on the bed and inviting me to him. I follow, but I keep my attention on Muse and Paxton and Ransom, wondering what the three of them are going to do for me—for each other. I can see them glance at me every now and again, testing me, trying to find out if I like what I'm seeing.

  And I do. I like it a lot.

  I grab Copeland's hand and pull him along, leading him back to where Michael's lounging in the pillows. In that domineering alpha male way of his, he drags me onto his lap to straddle the bulge in his jeans. I shiver and bite my lip as his palms trace their way up my bare back, worshipping me, caressing every inch of bare skin that he can get a hold of. Michael leaves no stone unturned as he memorizes my body with his hands.

  I reach down to unbutton his jeans with a very specific plan in mind.

  “Kiss Copeland for me,” I whisper and Michael makes a slight face.

  “I don't know …” he says, but I give him a pleading look and he sighs, shaking his head and pushing dark hair away from his face. “Fuck, you're adorable.” He glances at Copeland whose own brows are raised in surprise. “I hope you realize this doesn't mean shit for us as a couple,” he tells his friend and Cope laughs, shaking his head. “As in, we're not one. This is just for Lilith.”

  “I absolutely agree,” Cope says with another
chuckle, looking at me with his turquoise eyes. “The only person I'm interested in is you.”

  I smile, but a sharp, hot thrill shoots through me as Cope leans down, the necklaces at his throat swinging with the motion, bumping against Michael's chest just before they start kissing. It's an interesting sight, the gentle nature of Cope's mouth against the angry slash of Michael's. Still, it looks like a pretty even match as they lock lips, one of Copeland's hands resting on the side of Mikey's throat. The boy next door leans over the bad boy rocker, the fresh tattoo on the back of his neck clearly visible as they touch mouths.

  My hands undo Michael's jeans and free the thick, hard length of his shaft. The texture is velvety, almost soft when I put my own mouth to the throbbing heat of his body, kissing my way from his balls all the way to the head. My tongue slicks up and over the tip, swirling back around to the underside and finding this spot that makes Michael buck his hips.

  Without meaning to, he curls his hands around Copeland's impressive biceps, fingertips digging into the muscles as I suck and lick and kiss him toward release. I get so into it that I almost forget about the others, the jostling sensation of the bed enough to remind me that there's something epically momentous taking place behind me.

  “I got you, gorgeous,” Ransom says, his fingers teasing along my hips, the pressure of his cock a sharp surprise at my opening. He moves his pelvis and pushes inside of me, thrusting forward and filling me with so much need that I can't help but take it out on Michael's cock. It's like each one of Ransom's frenzied movements transfers his energy into me.

  There's something about that that I really like, something … beyond the physical. It's like these guys—my guys—put their feelings and their emotions inside of me along with their cocks, like their release is more than just an exchange of fluids. They give me their pain, push it inside of me, but then they also give me these wild storming orgasms. I might have to take five times as much grief, anger, and sadness inside of me, but I also get five times as many climaxes. Lucky me for being born a girl; I don't have a refractory period.

 

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