Fair Game (31 page)

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, his eyes smoking hot.

She felt gorgeous. No man had ever called her that before, not because she wasn’t reasonably attractive, but because gorgeous applied to someone more feminine. Someone who cared what she wore and how her makeup looked.

All she cared about was the way Kyle saw her. All she wanted was to show these nameless, faceless people how she affected him, that he belonged to her as much as she belonged to him. The need was as frightening as it was exhilarating.

“Turn around,” he urged.

She did, and he pulled her against him, her ass to his cock. Then he tipped her head back by her hair like a caveman. “Do you want this, Josie?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“You have to be sure. I don’t want you throwing it back in my face later.”

She didn’t know exactly what he planned to do, nor did she care. Her breasts were bared, his cock hard against her, and she was hyperaware of the hushed crowd beyond the spotlight, their silence tense and avaricious. She rested her head on Kyle’s shoulder, her eyes slitted against the lights above her. His scent filled her to the brim. “Yes, I want it.”

Would he push her to her hands and knees and fuck her from behind? God. It didn’t matter. She wanted every last damn person in that crowd to know he was hers in any way he chose to show them.

Kyle cupped both breasts and pinched her nipples simultaneously.

She moaned, closed her eyes, and rolled her head on his shoulder, the electric shock shooting down to her clitoris.

He slid both hands down her abdomen, his skin warm, the ridges of his fingers slightly rough. Over her hips, down her thighs, to the bottom of her skirt. Dipping his knees, he bent to grasp the hem, then finally he was beneath the material, his hot touch at the top of her thigh highs.

“I want them to see how hard you come for me,” he whispered in her ear.

“I wanted to get
you
off,” she murmured.

“You owe me this.”

She couldn’t remember why. Because he’d let her take him with the dildo? Because she’d forced him to wear her panties? A host of reasons. The crowd waited and wanted, their collective breaths held. She turned her head, her lips brushing his throat as she said, “Do it.”

He never exposed her pussy, simply slid a finger between her lips, slipping in her dampness. He swirled over her clit, rubbing lightly, caressing slowly. She held on to his biceps to keep her legs from buckling beneath her. God, it was good. Her hips rolled to his rhythm.

“Let us see,” someone called out.

Kyle didn’t lift her skirt high enough for the full view. Instead he tormented them.

“Let me taste her.” The voice was closer. Josie opened her eyes. A big bald head, two earrings in each lobe.

“Only I taste her.” The growl in Kyle’s voice was prehistoric. He put his hand to his mouth and sucked her juice from his fingers to prove his words. “Only I fuck her. Only I make her come.” Then he was back beneath her skirt.

Oh God, his words shot her higher, the possessive grip of his hand at her waist, the play of his fingers, and his low, menacing growl.

“Come on, dude, share a little of the wealth.” The bald guy waved his arms at the throng around him. “There aren’t enough women.” Then he lowered his voice. “And she’s so fucking hot. She loves exposing it, man. Give her to me.”

Kyle tensed against her back, but his touch never left her, his fingers never stopped making her crazy, driving her higher, closer to the edge. Then he plunged inside her with two fingers. “You want this fucker, Josie?”

“God no.” She closed her eyes, rode his hand, lost herself in his touch, his scent, the gravelly pitch of his voice.

“Fuck off, man”—violence shredded his voice—“before I break your face.”

She climaxed so hard, she screamed out his name. Every nerve, every cell was merely an extension of her clitoris as she flew apart. There were no lights, no crowd, no bald guy, only Kyle’s hand on her body, his voice in her ear saying, “She’s mine, she’s mine, fucker.”

When she came back to herself, she was wrapped in his arms, her face buried at his throat, her breasts smashed to his chest and his cock hard against her belly. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to. God, he smelled good, hot, primeval.

“Would you really have broken his face if he touched me?” she said against his skin.

“Fuck yes.”

That word. So hot. So harsh. He pulled her head by her hair again—God, she loved that as much as she loved the hint of violence—and took her mouth. His lips devoured her. Then finally he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

Whether in reality he would have hit the guy or not didn’t matter. She’d known Kyle such a short time, yet he’d gotten her to love committing naughty acts she thought she’d hate. Like tying her up. Getting her to masturbate for him on the way back from a business meeting. Making her come undone in the middle of a crowd. Threatening violence to a man who wanted her.

The only challenge she’d hated was Little Miss Fucking Snowflake. And that one had been her own.

Hated that one, but loved everything else.

God.
Love
was such a terrifying word. She wasn’t in love, had learned long ago that it was just an emotional drug. Yet Kyle made her love all the things he did to her. She could become addicted.

Addicted to her boss.

“I need to get dressed.” She suddenly felt naked, as if he could see all her thoughts and feelings written in her gaze.

His hand still on her arm, he reached to the edge of the dais for her top. Getting dressed was so much more embarrassing than tossing off your clothes. You had the heat of the moment going for you when you started, but afterward, you were down off the high.

She didn’t regret what she’d done. She merely felt vulnerable. The center of attention. She wondered how much she’d revealed in the moment of orgasm, Kyle’s name on her lips.

He helped her ease the top down her midriff, then held out his hand for her. In the midst of a sex club, taking a man’s hand in hers seemed terribly intimate. She faced the crowd again. It wasn’t as large as she’d thought but just as greedy, watching them with fervent eyes. Kyle led her down the steps, and a path parted for them. The bald guy with the two earrings—and a chipped tooth she hadn’t noticed—started clapping. Then it seemed everyone did.

“I need to use the restroom,” she whispered to Kyle’s shoulder. She needed to get hold of herself. Most things didn’t ruffle her feathers, yet she felt completely ruffled. It had been too good. She’d liked it too much. What did Kyle think of her reaction up there? Did he believe it was more than another challenge, another game?

“I saw a sign,” Kyle pointed off to the right.

He tucked Josie beneath his arm, folding her to his side as if she were something precious, and led her from the room. A short way down, the ladies’ room sign blazed: A woman with a devil’s forked tail snaking from beneath her skirt.

Very apt, Kyle thought.

Josie’s fingers slipped from his grip. He didn’t want to let her go, as if once she disappeared he’d never find her again.

The door closed in his face, and the crowd ebbed and flowed in the hallway around him. He was aware of voices, faces, the scent of sex, but the only real thing for him was the taste of Josie on his tongue.

Fuck. The sex on stage had been cataclysmically hot. He thought he’d get her here, she’d watch, ooh and aah, then freak. But not Josie. The woman constantly surprised him. He hadn’t intended to do anything. He’d wanted to get her so hot and bothered with watching that she’d let him drag her back to his place so he could fuck the hell out of her. But something had happened to him when she’d looked up and said she’d rather suck him in front of everyone.
Him
, above anyone else. To her, it was probably some throw-away line, but he’d stopped thinking in that moment. Instead, he’d needed to see how far he could push her, how much she’d do for
him
.

He knew why he’d done it, but why had
she
climbed up on that stage for him? She was so quick to fight him, yet she’d stripped off her shirt in front of a room full of strangers after only one
No
.

It was too easy and too good.

Would she claim later that he’d forced her? Or deny how much she’d wanted it? Just as she’d denied being jealous of Kisa when he knew damn well she was.

One thing for sure, she’d loved riding the violent edge with him. She’d come when he’d threatened the beefy bald dude. She liked being claimed. She liked knowing that he’d actually beat the guy if he so much as touched her little toe. He just didn’t think she was ever going to admit having feelings for him. She’d write off everything she did tonight as part of the game.

Jesus. How damn long was she going to be in that fucking bathroom? Every second without her grated along his nerves.

He tamped down his unreasonable ire. Across the hall, hooting and hollering rose. People crowded into another of the playrooms. The noise drew more, like locusts. Out of curiosity, Kyle sidled over and slipped in, just to the left, so that he could keep an eye on the ladies’ room door as well.

A black spread draped across a tall bed, one of the old-fashioned kind you had to climb a small set of steps to get into. A man, on hands and knees, corset strapped tight around his middle, bared his ass to a woman in a tight, black leather cat-woman suit. With the head of the bed against the wall, she positioned him at an angle, his ass taking the brunt of the overhead lighting, his face slightly in shadow. Holding a dildo aloft, she displayed it for the throng. Thick, long, black, with a bulbous head, lube dripping down onto her hand.

Kyle thought of the day at the hot tubs when he’d allowed Josie to use the dildo on him. It had been hot, orgasmic, but it wasn’t something he’d share with strangers.

So why did he make Josie orgasm in front of a crowd? How was it different? Fuck. It had to be the fact that in the one instance
he
was baring his soul (as well as his ass), and in the other she was exposed, even if he hadn’t pulled her skirt to her waist. At any rate, it was shitty to say that what she’d done to him was any more intimate than the things he’d made her do.

Yet the feeling persisted that they’d shared something damn fucking amazing that day at the hot tubs, something that would be lost if witnessed by an audience of even one.

On the bed, the woman spread her partner’s cheeks and took him with one hard thrust. Throwing his head back, he cried out, then grunted and pushed back hard.

Not the way Josie had done it, and Kyle far preferred her gentler touch, but this was about the show, not the intimacy.

He glanced at the women’s room. Josie still hadn’t come out. Had he traumatized her?

No way. She was a fighter. If she truly didn’t want something, she’d slam him down.

A second man stepped up to the bed. Unzipping, he took out his cock, grabbed the other guy by the hair on his head, and made him take his dick deep into his mouth.

Okay.
Really
not Kyle’s cup of tea, but it sure as hell was for the guy on the bed. He bucked and sucked, moaned and groaned. Tossing his short blond hair, writhing for his audience, he gave them the performance of a lifetime. In a short matter of time, less than a minute, he had the guy shooting in his mouth. Stepping back at the last moment, the man’s finishing touches cascaded down his very willing victim’s face.

Je-sus.
Come dribbled over his lips. He licked it off. Kyle found it a bit horrifying, not that he considered himself homophobic. Even as he watched, the woman grabbed the guy’s hair, pulled his head back like a horse rearing, and displayed his come-soaked cheeks to their audience. There was something almost familiar in the man’s expression.

Something frighteningly familiar.

Holy hell.

The man was Andrew Ronson.

 

 

KYLE shoved through the gawkers for a better look. It couldn’t be. Impossible. The odds against it were staggering. Yet on closer inspection, the man getting reamed up the ass was indeed Andrew Ronson.

Andrew put out his tongue and lapped up more dribbles of come from his lips. Then he opened his eyes, smiling for his audience.

And looked straight into Kyle’s face.

He stared, as if he were placing Kyle. Like when you see the girl from the coffee shop in a bookstore miles away. You know the face, but you can’t remember the place.

Then Andrew put it together, and his eyes flared with panic. If he’d been close to orgasm, he lost it. He tried wriggling away from his partner’s relentless pounding. The woman grabbed his hip, forced him down.

“Take it, you little worm,” Kyle clearly heard her say, then she looked right at him, a naughty smile growing on her lips. “You want him to blow you next, honey?”

“Thanks,” Kyle told the generous woman, “but it’s not my thing.” Then he smiled so Andrew could see it, feel it, fear it. “I really appreciate the show, though. It’s not something I’m going to easily forget Monday morning when I return to work.”

Andrew whimpered, closed his eyes, then snapped them open again, perhaps hoping he’d only imagined Kyle standing there. Kyle was willing to bet a lawsuit the man’s wife wouldn’t approve of what he was doing.

Drifting back through the small enclave, Kyle never let his gaze waver. He sensed the open doorway and with one last pointed look at the tableau on the bed, he turned and exited.

Holy shit. He had to get Josie out of here before Andrew got his wits about him. His heart beat triple time. He’d been a total fucking idiot taking her up on that stage. Where the hell was his head? If the roles had been reversed, and Andrew had seen
them
? Fuck. He couldn’t even think about the damage the man would have caused. She’d asked him if they’d be recognized, and he’d so glibly told her no way. He had his head up his ass. Okay, he hadn’t expected Ronson, or the position the man was in, but he’d taken a huge risk without considering the possibilities. Scanning the hallway, he didn’t see Josie. He hoped to hell she hadn’t gone looking for him.