Lush in Lace (2 page)

If Scott was actually ogling me, then I was
doing a good job returning the favor.

Damn, he looked good.

As he struggled in the cuffs, the bulging,
hard muscles of his arms flexed beneath the black T-shirt he wore.
His long, thick legs were spread wide, affording me a perfect view
of the bulge beneath his faded denim jeans. Scott’s sandy-blond
hair rested against his forehead in a typical messy-chic style. The
cut made me think of how he’d look rolling out of bed the morning
after a good fucking. However, it was his lips that were the most
distracting. Even turned down in that angry scowl, his ripe, pink
lips beckoned to me.

“I’ve got him, boys,” I announced to the men
who’d helped secure Scott to the chair. My gaze searched the room
for Jamie, finding him still seated at the poker table. It was
important that he condone any punishment I had planned for his
spying soon-to-be family member. As my brother, Jamie understood my
silent inquiry from across the room and shook his head slowly in
warning. His meaning was clear. I could rattle Scott, but not push
him too far. I gave Jamie a knowing nod before turning my attention
back to the restrained straight boy.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” I
mocked, walking around Scott’s chair while running my index finger
seductively along his tense shoulder blades.

He jerked away from my touch. “Let me go,”
Scott hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Lush. I warned you not
to come here tonight, and you purposely disobeyed me. Now I have to
figure out what I’m going to do with you.”

Bending down, I placed my lips next to his
ear and whispered, “I know what I’d like to do to you, but sadly, I
don’t think you’d enjoy it.” I felt him shiver at my words then
shift away again.

“You have no idea what I’d enjoy, Squeaker,”
he replied, surprising me with his answer.

The nickname Squeaker had been with me since
high school, though Scott was the only one who continued to use it.
He’d chosen the name for me in the ninth grade. Back then, I still
hadn’t quite mastered the adult timbre of my voice, especially
around tenth-grader Scott Lush. Truth be told, I was lucky he only
noticed my squeaking voice and not my ever-present hard-on whenever
he was around. If he had, my nickname could have been something
entirely different—like Woodey or Rocket Rylan or worse.

Thankfully, over the years, I’d figured out
the best defense against Scott Lush’s teasing was shameless gay
flirting. Nothing riled the sexy man more than when I flirted with
him. Not that we interacted often. It was only on rare occasions,
when we tagged along with our older brothers outside of school,
that we actually talked. It was during those times that I got to
see a side of Scott I never knew existed: the shy, intelligent
side. Still, I wouldn’t say we were ever really friends.

“It’s Rylan, not Squeaker,” I corrected at
his ear. “And I’d be nice if I were you, Lush. You have no idea
what we do to enemy spies up in here. Isn’t that right, men?” I
asked loudly enough for the small crowd who’d gathered around
Scott’s chair to hear.

Most of the guests at the stag knew Scott as
BJ’s stepbrother. Even in their various states of intoxication, the
partygoers had easily figured out Scott’s intention for the
evening. However, these men were loyal to Jamie and therefore eager
to follow along with any punishment I had in mind for the enemy
spy.

“Make him walk the plank,” one of Jamie’s
friends, dressed as a pirate, called out.

“Don’t you mean suck the plank, Maronie?”
another teased.

“Oh yeah, that’s so much better,” Maronie
agreed.

“I’ve got a plank ready to suck right here,”
another man yelled. “It’s made from the finest wood. Real
hard
wood.”

A chorus of loud laughter and catcalls
sounded from the drunken men nearby.

Surprisingly, Scott didn’t look too concerned
with their teasing.

“Still want me to let you go?” I asked him,
smugly.

“I’ll get you for this, Squeaker.”

My hearty laugh caused his scowl to deepen.
“I’m looking forward to it, Lush.”

Before I could say anything further, the
crowd on the dance floor parted, and the familiar beat of Christina
Aguilera’s “Lady Marmalade” filtered through the small room’s sound
system. The entire place erupted in excitement as a man, who I
could only describe as Latin sex on heels, sauntered onto the dance
floor.

I leaned down, placing my hands on Scott’s
shoulders in an added effort to keep him in his chair. “Looks like
you picked the perfect time to arrive. Oh, this is gonna be soooo
good,” I rasped excitedly while he struggled against my hold.

Truthfully, I’d almost forgotten about the
stripper. Jamie’s friend, Rimmer, had been charged with finding the
entertainment for this evening. Who else would have been better
qualified for the task than a man named Rimmer? Okay, so his real
name was actually James Anthony Rimmel, but he’d been “Rimmer” for
as long as I could remember. The nickname suited him or so I’d been
told.

Now watching the exotic dancer slowly wiggle
his hips across the dance floor, it didn’t surprise me that Rimmer
chose a lithe, feminine-looking Latino man for the job. Latin men
were his weakness. Thankfully, the sultry man had been informed of
the theme. He fit right in, wearing nothing but a skimpy,
electric-blue thong with a florescent, yellow horn protruding from
the front. A bright yellow feather boa wound seductively around his
neck, complementing the thong and horn perfectly. Heavy makeup
accentuated the stripper’s exotic eyes, and on his feet were the
highest pair of yellow fuck-me heels I’d ever seen.

As the man continued along the dance floor,
it was clear that although he had a body designed for stripping, he
lacked the soul.

To say the man was uncoordinated would have
been high praise. He needed another two—or maybe ten—years of
dancing lessons to be considered amateur. I’d give him an A for
effort, but overall, his movements were too stiff to keep up with
the beat of the music. To make matters worse, the stripper didn’t
seem to know what to do with his arms. He kept them bent and close
to his body, flapping them to the beat like a very large chicken.
Unfortunately, the addition of the yellow feather boa wasn’t
helping to rid the poultry-inspired image from my mind.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the man
removed his thong, after which all his fumbling and lack of
coordination no longer mattered to the party goers. The men were
too interested in watching the stripper’s sizable cock swing around
to notice his lack of rhythm.

I had to admit his cock was
mesmerizing—clean-shaven, uncut, and the size of a small child’s
forearm. I could only imagine how much bigger he’d be with an
erection.

Fuck. I need to get laid if the sight of an
uncoordinated stripper’s cock is making me horny.

Who was I kidding? It wasn’t the stripper,
causing my dick to stir, it was the feel of Scott’s muscled
shoulders beneath my hands, and his unique, masculine scent filling
my nose.

After a few uncoordinated struts around the
dance floor and a lot of gyrating in front of the groom-to-be,
el pollo loco
turned and began making his way over to where
Scott was restrained.

“Ready for an up close and personal
performance?” I teased, my lips once again at Scott’s ear.

“Not from him!” Scott’s shoulders tensed
beneath my hands as he shook his head vigorously. “Jesus, Rylan. Is
this your idea of a good time?” he bit out when the stripper began
to do his best bump and grind less than a foot in front of
Scott.

I was the only one who could hear his
complaint over the noise of the cheering crowd. I’ll admit I felt a
little bad for the straight boy who had to watch another man wave
his junk in his face, but not bad enough to put a stop to the
show.

All too soon, the upbeat song slowed and the
stripper took his cock in hand, stroking it sensuously to the
relaxed rhythm. Thankfully, the Latino man was much better at
keeping time with the slower beat and looked quite erotic, rocking
his dick into his open hand.

“Wanna taste, big boy?” he asked Scott in his
heavy Latin accent.

Cheers from the crowd erupted, and the
drunken men began to chant, “Taste it! Taste it! Taste it!”

I noticed that tiny beads of sweat now
appeared along Scott’s brow. “Hell no!” he shouted back to the
crowd, only causing them to laugh and increase their cheers.

“Awww, looks like we has ourselfs a virgin
here tonight. How adorables,” the heavily accented stripper
addressed the already excited crowd. “Maybe he needs to see what
he’s been missing? No?”

Another loud cheer erupted.

“Squeaker,” Scott growled at me in
warning.

However, I pretended not to hear him. It was
wrong, I knew, but I was having too much fun watching the great and
powerful Scott Lush squirm for once.

The stripper turned to face the throng of men
gathered on the dance floor and pumped his dick while attempting to
twerk to the slow song. At least, that’s what I think he was doing,
though it looked more like dry heaving in my opinion.

Once again, the men didn’t seem to mind as
long as the dancer’s ass was out, and he kept stroking his enormous
cock. I glanced over at Jamie to ensure he was enjoying the show.
It was his night, after all. To my relief, Jamie looked pleased. He
was smiling and laughing, and he even gave me the thumbs-up from
across the room while wiping at his tears of joy. My brother may
not have been turned on by Rimmer’s choice of stripper, but he was
definitely enjoying the show.

When the song slowed even further, the
fumbling stripper backed up toward the edge of the dance floor
where Scott was seated. He bent semiseductively at the waist,
ensuring both Scott and I had a clear view of his ass crack. It
wasn’t until he reached around to grab each cheek that I guessed
his intention and knew the time had come for me to intervene.

“Aw, shit!” I shuffled out from behind
Scott’s chair, quickly stepping in between him and his view of the
man’s ass. Sure, I wanted to give Scott a little payback for
spying, but I didn’t actually want to scar the man for life.

My sudden movement toward the stripper
surprised the Latino man, who subsequently lost his balance on
those too high heels. Before I could reach out to stop him, the
stripper fell forward gracelessly, landing face-first on the hard
parquet dance floor.

Unfortunately, there was no way I could keep
it together after that. I burst out laughing, along with the rest
of the men in the party room. It’s not that I didn’t care about the
man’s well-being, but it was just too much. With the exception of
his cock, the man’s performance was truly the total opposite of
sexy. Thankfully, he was already close to the ground when he fell,
so all he really hurt was his pride.

Rimmer emerged from the crowd and instantly
offered the entertainer his assistance.

“Come on, darling, I’ll help you up,” Rimmer
cooed soothingly as the man accepted his help. “Don’t mind these
juvenile assholes, you did a great job, sweet thing,” he
encouraged, glaring over his shoulder at me. Then he shifted his
gaze to Scott who was doing a much better job at holding in his
laughter. “I’m sure Lush has learned his lesson on spyin’. Right?”
Rimmer asked him pointedly.

Scott nodded and so did I—through my tears of
laughter of course.

“See? They don’t need you out here anymore,
doll. How ’bout you follow me? I’ll check if anything’s broken, and
then I can show you why they call me Rimmer. What do you say,
baby?”

At Rimmer’s offer, the man instantly
brightened. He eagerly took Rimmer’s outstretched hand, following
him off the dance floor. I could only imagine how inventively
Rimmer would soothe the man’s wounded pride.

Once the pair had left, the DJ began a steady
stream of music and just like that, the party was back in full
swing.

“Have you learned your lesson, Lush?” I asked
before releasing Scott’s handcuffs.

He rubbed his thick wrists and stood facing
me.

“Is that the best you got, Squeaker?” he
asked with a smirk. “An uncoordinated stripper with a tiny cock and
a hairy ass?”

I was so shocked by his response, it took me
a second to realize he’d already begun heading off toward the exit.
“What the…? His cock was huge!” I called out, following him off the
dance floor while eliciting a few raised eyebrows at my loud
declaration. “His cock was huge,” I repeated, this time closer to
Scott and several decibels quieter.

“That depends on your perspective.” Scott
winked back at me deviously.

If possible, my jaw dropped even farther. I
couldn’t stop myself from looking down toward his crotch. Too bad
he turned away before I could get a good look, not that it
mattered. I knew from years of sneaking peeks at his package during
school that Scott was gifted with more than his fair share in the
dick department.

“You still with me, Squeaker?” Scott asked,
chuckling, when I remained frozen in place.

His pleasure at my discomfort was enough to
clear my brain of thoughts of his supersized dick.

“You’re so full of shit, Lush,” I shot back.
“I watched you turn fifty shades of green when that stripper waved
his cock in your face”

Scott rolled his eyes at me. “You’re
forgetting I’ve had my fair share of cocks in my face.”

“Excuse me!”

With a hard clap on the shoulder, Scott
steered me in the direction of the coatroom. “I’ve spent the last
ten years in locker rooms full of cocks and ass, Squeaker. I’ve
seen it all. Believe me there’s not much you can do that would
shock me,” he stated cockily.

“Are you trying to tell me you enjoyed the
show?”