Devlin's Dare (8 page)

“Was it?” She regretted her flippant tone immediately as pain flashed over his features.

“It was for me.”

“Oh
, all right,” she grumbled. “It was pretty fucking phenomenal.”

“I wanted to do it again.”

So had she. Not that she’d admit it to him. She shrugged. “It was fun. I guess.”

Though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel the heat of his gaze. “You still owe me, you know.”

She froze. “What?”

“Peanut butter. Remember?”

She swallowed. Of course she remembered.

“But I’
ll settle for your name.”

She flicked one of her ears. “Call me Thumper.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m serious. I can find it out myself, but I’d like for you to tell me.”

They stood there, amid a sea of revelers, staring at each other. Tension thrummed between them.

She opened her mouth—surely not to tell him her name—when a loud hum, then a screech, rocked the room.

“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”
A scratchy voice reverberated off the windows—only several hundred decibels too loud for human tolerance.

“
Shit,” a bumble bee muttered. “Someone gave Avery a mic.”

“Hello everyone! And we
lcome to my fifth annual twenty-first birthday party!” A cheer rounded the room. “Has everyone found your partner?” A chorus of yeses, mingling with a couple nos, rose. “Right then. Everyone who’s found your partner, head on down to the dungeon. And you poor un-partnered souls…” She chuckled evilly. “You remain here to get suited up.”

“
Holy crap,” Tara breathed, shooting a horrified glance at Devlin. “Suited up for what?”

He shrugged and guided her to the stairs. “It’s probably better not to ask.”

An exhilarating relief—that she’d found her partner before the game ended—rocketed through her.

She was sure that’s what it was.

What else could it be?

Avery, being the bossy boots she was, made all the “Losers”—dressed as ponies—stand at the back of the room—the room being her dungeon, buried deep in the basement of her mansion. She directed the “Winners” of the game to stand in a line at the front by the fireplace.

The lights were dim. Music thrummed in a low and heady beat. It was a large open space, punctuated with all the toys of her beloved lifestyle.

Tara had seen them all before. A St. Andrew’s Cross, a swing, wall manacles…but she’d never seen them festooned with party streamers and condom balloons. It did not make them less intimidating.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that even Avery would not force one of her
partygoers to slip into the diabolical leather straitjacket hanging from a hook on the wall.

Then again…

“Okay everyone!” Avery crowed, clearly in her element. “It’s time for prizes. These clever pairs all found their partners first…” She waved at the ten of them standing in a row. “Each one of you win a prize. We’ll start with the gentlemen.” She carried a velvet bag down the line, urging the men to reach in and pull out a ball.

Christoff was the first to draw. He pulled out a red ball, read it and chuckled. “Spanking,” he announced.

Avery winked. “Well, it is my birthday. You knew there would be some spankings in there.” She affected a pout. “I deserve my presents too. Okay Christoff. You may select the partygoer of your choice and administer five spanks. If you choose one of the Losers you can double the spanks.”

A groan rose from the stable.

Christoff grinned. He fixated on Thomas, one of the ponies, who blushed crimson. Christoff sat on the big wooden throne—which was actually a bondage chair, judging from the leather straps on the arms—and patted his knee. The assemblage laughed as Thomas made his way over, trotting when Avery so commanded, and draped himself over Christoff’s lap. Christoff gleefully administered ten swats, accompanied by the chanted counts from the crowd.

When he stood, Thomas’
cheeks were red, but the look he sent Christoff was more scorching yet.

“Next!” Avery bellowed, holding up the bag for Jonathan—the cowboy. He pulled out a green ball which, he read, entitled him to a foot rub from the guest of his choice. His gaze rounded the room. When it settled on Tara, her belly lurched. Not that she didn’t like cowboys, but the thought of giving any guy a foot rub grossed her out. Because, in her experience, men could be very casual about changing their socks.

But when Devlin bristled and sent a fulminating frown down the line, Jonathan’s attention moved on and settled on Mel. “You,” he said.

Mel sputtered for a moment, but after a
nudge from Avery she met Jonathan by the throne. She set her hands on her hips and barked, “Okay. Sit down.”

But Jonathan didn’t sit down. He took Mel by the shoulders, angled her onto the throne and knelt at her feet. “The prize is a foot rub,” he said with a wink. “It doesn’t say I have to receive one.”

Mel’s mood shifted immediately. A grin wreathed her face and she kicked off her bejeweled sandals. “Well, in that case,” she murmured, burying her foot in his lap.

The foot
rub went on for far too long—who knew Jonathan had a foot fetish? And while Mel didn’t complain, Avery did.

When Jonathan proved loath to relinquish his prize, Avery moved on to the next man in line. Andy pulled a blue ball. Everyone in the room groaned—every guy. They knew what a blue ball meant.

“Lap dance!” Avery chanted, and everyone joined in.

Andy chose Bella for his lap dance, which wasn’t very bright, because Holt stood over them as Bella performed,
sending teasing looks over her shoulder at her man as she gyrated on Andy.

Needless to say, the lap dance didn’t last too long.

Probably on account of Holt’s snarling.

And then Avery sidled up to Devlin, the last man in the lineup.

Horror suffused Tara as Devlin reached into the velvet bag and pulled out a red ball. She knew, she just knew, what it said. Spanking. And she knew who he’d pick.

His lips quirked.
He surveyed the room as though he were weighing the options. He stalled on Bella but, Tara suspected, only to get a rise out of Holt. It worked. Devlin chuckled and continued his leisurely perusal.

Her heart shouldn’t have been thudding like that. There was no reason to be so excited…
Then it stopped altogether for a brief, painful moment. His gaze pierced her, goring her to her core. And he quirked his finger.

Damn.

She shouldn’t have come. She knew she shouldn’t have come. At the same time, the thought of being draped over those tree-like thighs, the thought of his broad palm on her ass, made her go hot then cold then hot again. The little hairs at her nape prickled. Her body liquefied.

She hardly even noticed the cheer going up around the room. Hardly noticed Avery’s chortle.

In a fog, she crossed the room and met him at the throne. He sat.

Yeah. It was too much to ask that
he
might want to receive the spanking.

“Five swats,
” Avery instructed.

Tara
glowered at her and started to arrange herself over Devlin’s lap. “Hold on,” he whispered. “I think you need to pull down your jeans.”

She gaped at him. “What?” In front of everyone?

He shrugged. “It’s
my
prize.”

“I get a prize too,” she
snapped. “Don’t forget that.”

Her threat did not seem to
faze him. “Bring it on, baby,” he said.

Oooh, would she.

Rather than let her mortification show, she decided to play it up, shimmying her jeans over her hips in a sexy little dance. Devlin’s nostrils flared as he watched. When she draped herself over his lap, she made it a point to nudge his cock. It was hard. Hard as a rock.

Excellent. She was going to tease him silly tonight—

The first smack surprised her.

She hadn
’t expected it to be so sharp. She cried out in protest, but the sound was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. “One!” they bellowed through laughs and catcalls.

The second fell and a heat
consumed her. A heat separate from the burning imprint of his hand on her ass. That he slowly stroked and soothed the spot afterwards didn’t help.

At the third, arousal bubbled
in her belly. The sheer roiling power of it stunned her. She’d been spanked before, by boys playing a similar game. But her reaction had never been so feral. Again his palm skidded slowly over her stinging skin.

With the fourth came a hunger. A raging fever of desire. She wiggled against Devlin, pressing into the firm bulge by her hip. He hissed in a breath. His fingers tightened on her ass. She thought she heard a
whimper.

S
he could have been mistaken, but she was sure she wasn’t.

She glanced over her shoulder and their eyes met, just as the fifth smack fell. And something happened between them. It was like an electric wire, live and humming and charged with lust. She wanted him. In her. And she wanted him now.

She started to lever off his lap, but he pressed her back down and quickly landed two more swats. “Hey!” she cried, but Devlin only chuckled as he helped her stand and pull up her jeans. She wrenched away and fastened them herself, hiding the unholy flush on her face.

Damn.

How could he do this to her? Seven simple swats on her ass and she was ready to drag him into a back bedroom and fuck him silly.

She made it a point to take her place in line…far away from him.

Avery moved on to her next victim, Angela, who scored a slave collar to bestow on the attendee of her choice. She chose the Martian, which made Tara laugh. Because he looked mighty amusing in his Dom leathers wearing a collar and, apparently,
glow-in-the-dark
antennae.

A few more spankings were bestowed as Avery made her way down the line, joking that she fully intended to get all her licks in. Tara hoped to hell she pulled a red ball, so she could give Devlin his just desserts. She was bound for disappointment.

She pulled a blue one.

“
Another lap dance,” Avery announced. “Who’s it going to be?” she asked with a wink. Although her expression made clear she knew the answer.

Tara tried to bite back a
naughty grin as she turned to Devlin. Although she didn’t try very hard. “You,” she said, pointing straight at him.

His
enthusiasm was comical. But not as comical as the way his jaw dropped when
she
sat on the throne. “I want you to give me a lap dance.”

“What?” A squeak.

“And…” she waggled her fingers at his chest. “Take off that shirt.”

He glowered at her as he complied, but she could see the flame in his eyes. As he peeled off his shirt, all the women in the room, and some of the men, hooted and whistled. He leaned in close. “You know I’m going to get you back for this,” he
muttered.

She
winked. “I’m counting on it.”

But what she wasn’t counting on was how damn good he was at lap dances.

He started off slowly swaying his hips from side to side, gyrating in a motion that left nothing to the imagination. The bulge in his tight jeans snagged her attention. Made her mouth water. Made her imagination wander.

As he undulated, the tight muscles of his chest rippled.

God, he was hot. He could be a stripper…if he wanted to.

Then he reached out one arm toward her.

And the other.

Touched his neck with one
hand.

And the other.

When he crossed his arms over his hips she laughed out loud, realizing exactly what dance he was doing.

“A real lap dance,” she insisted.

“This is a real lap dance.” He continued doing the Macarena until he reached the hip swizzle. Then he got serious. He moved closer, hovering over her, brushing his chest over hers and breathing into her hair.

Setting his hands on her knees, he spread her legs. She tried to resist, really she did, but she couldn’t.

Heat scorched her as he plastered against her and slithered down her body. He was hot and transferred that heat to her in that long slow slide. He moved against her, easing downward, until he buried his face in her lap.

She didn
’t imagine the little nip he gave her on the inside of her thigh, but if she had, the naughty grin he sent her would have convinced her.

He made his way back up again,
dragging his torso against hers, until his mouth found her neck.

She leaped a little when he nibbled her there, and sucked.

Lust skewered her. Oh, how she wished they were not in a room full of people. This wouldn’t be a playful lap dance. It would be a bacchanal.

She couldn’t help raking her fingers through his hair and holding him in place until Avery tapped her toe and sighed loudly.

“Okay, okay. We have lots more games, people,” she muttered.

Still, Devlin didn’t budge. “I like it here,” he murmured into Tara’s ear, and she laughed. Her laughter stalled when he rubbed his cock against her belly in a suggestive way.

And she was very susceptible to suggestion.

Especially this kind of suggestion.

“I need you,” he said.

“Later,” she whispered, very aware that
everyone, including Holt and Bella, were gaping at them. Some of them drooling.

Devlin pulled back to meet her eye. “Promise?”

“Get off.” She pushed at his hard, immovable chest.

“Promise first.”

“Okay,” she grumbled, although it wasn’t a difficult promise to make. It would not be a difficult promise to keep. Another night, another fuck at least, with Devlin Fox was hardly a hardship. “I prom—“

He sealed the word with his lips. Kissing her, consuming her, seducing her with a long, leisurely exploration. He probably would have kept kissing her if Avery hadn’t grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Enough of that you two,” she said. And then she added, under her breath, “
Get a room.”

Devlin and Tara’s gazes met at the suggestion.

Avery’s mansion had a plethora of rooms. Surely one of them would be empty.

Warm wet arousal bubbled. A sizzle of anticipation
scorched her nerve endings.

But then she caught Holt’s glower and she decided it might be a good idea to wait to scamper away…until he wasn’t watching her like the proverbial hawk.

Not that Holt was her keeper. But he did fancy himself the protector of all women in his aegis—whether she wanted to be protected or not. Even though he was here with Bella, he
had
accompanied Tara to the party. He would consider himself her escort.