Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (17 page)

“Yes, sugar.” She petted her fingers deep into his hair then caught his lower lip between her teeth. “Now shut up and ride that thought. Ride
me
.”

He was sweaty now. So was she. Slick bodies. Boots thumping. Her heels slipped against the walls. She kicked them off and locked her ankles around his ass. Every gyration was hers—from above and below. Eric angled his hand to grab one tit. He squeezed, dipped his head, took her nipple in his mouth.

One sharp sip was all the glorious torture she could take. Trish’s neck snapped backward, arching hard, as her body exploded with sensation. Ripples and shudders and a cry that sounded as if it had come from some other woman—some wanton creature who had lost control.

She had.

Eric kept her nipple in his mouth, sucking, grasping with his big palm. She dragged his chin up. She wanted to see it in his eyes when he burst apart.

“Trish,” was all he said.

With one powerful drive, his body stiffened. He groaned and shook, then ground his pelvis against hers. Shudders of satisfaction rippled from his shoulders to his thighs.

“Holy shit,” she breathed against his neck.

“Uh-huh.”

Laughter wiggled out of her, unexpected and beautiful. She took his head in her hands and shook him. Back and forth. Simply laughing. A broad smile made his stunned, satisfied expression more accessible. He was there with her, equally amazed.

She kissed that lovely mouth. Kissed his rare smile. And feeling close, daring, she kissed his scar, feathering kisses from his temple down to his jaw. Her heart seized when he didn’t stiffen or pull away.

“We seem to need this,” she whispered, still out of breath. “Sex as foreplay.”

“You get me so wound up.”

“It’s mutual, sugar.”

“Good.”

Slowly, as if he might break her—now, after he’d pounded her into the tile—Eric untangled their limbs. He petted over where he’d grabbed and held her down. “Fuck, Trish. Too hard.”

“Nope. Just right.”

Tenderness softened his mouth. It made her feel like a million dollars knowing she’d made that happen. “You deserve better.”

“I deserve getting what I want. There’s a difference. You had us both so amped up, we wouldn’t have been able to do what we want.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, a dirty smile pulled at his mouth. Underneath, however, was that quiet amazement she was learning to recognize—as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “We?”

“Yes. We.”

His smile deepened. “And what is that?”

Trish inhaled softly, gathering her courage. This was what she wanted, but old habits were hard to break. Her clothes were a shredded mess. Her short, natural hair was spiked in tangles. Her makeup had been smeared, and her body was damp with sweat. Yet she couldn’t remember ever feeling more genuinely sexy.

“Get your camera, sugar. You have a priceless moment to capture.”

Chapter Sixteen

Eric’s knees were shaky as he made it to his feet. He hitched his jeans over his hips and ignored the fine tremble. He’d do anything to ensure Trish kept looking at him that way. Her lips were glossy and plump, eyes heavy lidded. The curves of her body and the sleek plane of her stomach arrowed to her wet pussy. Raunchy, yes. He’d done that to her. He’d fucked her to hell and gone and she hadn’t merely liked it, she wanted more. She wanted him to photograph her.

No chance he would deny her, not when it would also mean denying himself. Not when he knew he was saving up the experience. Eric didn’t do long term, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize a good thing when he saw one.

Trish was one helluva good thing.

She shifted, covering the thin swatch of light brown hair over her lower lips.

“Don’t move,” he said. Probably grunted. Christ, he became a beast when she was involved.

“Or what?” Her fingers spread over silky skin. “You’re not into punishing me.”

“No.” He snagged the camera bag by one strap and pulled out the better of his two expensive instruments, able to capture both photos and video. “Not into smacking.” He flashed a tight grin, as if something live and mean crawled down his spine, urging him to grab this chance. Fistfuls of memories.

“On your elbows,” he said.

She made a show of obeying. Her pretty pink-tipped breasts were luscious. She was depraved and smudged and smeared, with a smile that hinted at being let in on a secret.

He watched her through the lens. Her fingers trailed over her stomach and touched her breasts. Eric worked the camera without thought from his brain, aiming closeups of the abraded red lines over her ribs. “Put your hand on your pussy. Open.”

She laughed then, low and dirty. Not snarky. More like she was having such a marvelous time she didn’t know how else to let it loose. “You’re practically gonna pop, aren’t you? It’s okay. I can hardly bear the way you look at me, like you could eat me at any second.”

He chuckled as he lined up a shot of her entire body—curves into angles into lean lines and surprising strength. “I could. In fact…I will.”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually.” He snapped a dozen more pictures before flipping the setting to record. “On your knees.”

She rose to hands and knees with feline grace. Her smoldering blue eyes appraised him. With deliberation, she licked across her bottom lip. “You make me feel like a superstar.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“See? You can’t deny it. Am I your star, Eric? The best?”

“Fuck yes.”

She went over and above everything he asked of her, as well as how she lit up with every snap of the lens. The camera loved her. Luminous, creamy skin. The sinuous line of her curves. He panned over her body, letting himself revel, recording every inch of her for posterity.

He ought to have at least some shame. The things he wanted to do to her… Filthy, depraved things. But he wouldn’t dare. Why pass on something so amazing, so fleeting?

“To the bed.”

She swept to her feet, again revealing that she liked following her partner’s cues. Eric made it a priority that she’d have it
her
way by the end of the night.

He trained the camera on her ass as she sashayed away. That was for later. Now was all about distance. Looking in. Scratching beneath the surface of her perfect façade—not that she was so perfect now. Only her attitude remained flawlessly coy. Soon he’d have even that as artless and tousled as her body.

“To the bed? You didn’t specify how.”

He held back a chuckle. Then another. Who the hell was he around her? Someone lighter, someone without the heavy weights of his past and family around his neck. “I didn’t.”

She preened for the camera, lifting her hands to the back of her head so that her tits rose and her stomach flattened. “Should I use my imagination? Would you like that?
I
get to pick what I present to you. To the camera. To whoever’s watching.”

“
Yes
.”

Christ, he was losing the ability to speak in full sentences. That was even after taking off the edge with a mind-blowing orgasm. If he hadn’t fucked her on the floor, he’d be lucky to form words. Maybe he wouldn’t have to—not often. It seemed he wasn’t going to have to pry what she wanted out of her. That she was beginning to trust him with her genuine desires was humbling.

She made a soft humming noise before smoothing her palms down the center of her torso. “I’m a lucky girl. I do like my breasts. They feel amazing when they’re touched.” She matched gestures to words, cupping herself and sliding her thumbs over the tight peaks. “But I think I like my ass better. I’ve
worked
for this ass.”

She turned slowly toward the bed to place her hands on the mattress and spread her feet apart. The tiny twist of her rumpled skirt accented her bottom. From Barbie to tramp with one quick fuck. That contrast tightened his balls and reminded him that although he was capturing the moment like a pro, he was losing control of his body.

She reached back to rub her ass and trace her fingertips over the cleft. Peeking over her shoulder, she said, “I think you like it too.”

Of course he did. He trained the camera on her. Couldn’t miss a second. Didn’t fucking want to. His only pause was to open a small tripod on the hotel dresser and mount the camcorder. Then he sank into the chair kept against the window.

The room they’d rented was standard issue. An off-season special for locals. He hadn’t wanted to bitch about spending too much. Otherwise the whole fighting-for-cash idea was totally negated. Trish was on a tight budget too, he knew, so intimate it was. He liked the effect. The closeness. The dark fabrics of the window hangings held back the lights of the Strip, closing this moment into a private paradise.

“Touch yourself.”

She lowered her shoulders to the mattress, dipping her fingers between lovely thighs, over her lips. Eric liked that he knew what she’d do next—pinch her clit between two fingers.

“It’s better when you touch me. But all this is for later. You’ll wrap your hand around your cock. Later. When you watch the playback.” She found a sweet spot and shuddered against the bed. Her knees dipped.

“Hold your ass apart.”

“Do I have to?” Her voice was hoarse. “Feels too good. I only need a minute…”

“Now,” he snapped.

She grabbed both cheeks and pulled them apart. Eric fetched a different camera from his bag then zoomed in where her face pressed against the dark burgundy comforter. He wanted the soft split of her plumped lips and the haze in her eyes. Gone. She was wholly gone.

He was getting this on film from two different vantages. Keeping it. His own private glimpse.

She watched him in return, making him the object of admiration. That was new. He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Possessed,” she hummed. “You practically hold me by looking at me. Even with the two of us here, you’re completely in charge of my body.”

Such simple words, but he stored them up. Kept them for when he’d need to unpack them in quiet moments to fill the empty space that always returned.

“On your back.”

She turned over, edging up the bed, pointing her toes. Her hands returned to the temptation between her thighs. Two fingers in her pussy, then three. Smokey, smeared eye makeup. Clothes ripped away.

“Did I tell you to touch yourself?” His voice was gritty and low.

“No. But you didn’t tell me not to.”

“Stop.” Something fierce and powerful burned through him when she did.

“Wanna taste?”

He had to ignore that or he might laugh. The cameras would pick it up, and he didn’t like to intrude on his future fantasies any more than necessary. “Arms over your head. Long. Pretty.”

“You’re awfully sweet for a bruiser.”

“You’re not in the ring with me.”

“No?” She owned him when she posed. “We’re going rounds, aren’t we? Around and around. This one’s your turn. Tell me what you want, Eric.”

He wanted a lot, more than he’d ever found outlet for. But here was Trish asking what he wanted. “You.”

She spread her knees. “Me? That leaves so many choices. Do you want my cunt?” Then she dipped toward the tiny pink bud between her ass cheeks. “Or here? Would you like to fuck my ass, Eric?”

He held down a hard shudder. “Not now.”

“Because you’re too wound up, aren’t you?” She pushed to a seated position while her legs remained splayed. “You’d be afraid of hurting me. Too hard. Too mean.”

She eased to her knees and moved toward him. His mouth went dry. He licked across his bottom lip, but it didn’t make a difference. His bones rattled from the force of holding himself back. She crawled right up between his legs—a lithe beauty on the prowl. Her touch began at his knees, though he couldn’t feel it through his jeans. Her palms worked slowly up the inside of his thighs before she started on his fly.

Cool fingers dipped to pull out his cock. “How about my mouth? Would you like to take my mouth? Until I can swallow everything you give me?”

Her head tipped down in promise. The shortness of her hair showed off a delicate dip at the top of her neck. He circled that divot with his thumb.

She ringed his cock head with her tongue, unhinging his mind. He sprawled his fingers across her nape and squeezed. Greedy and wicked. He made himself back off, because she was right—he didn’t want to hurt her. Instead he framed the edge of her jaw with a softer touch.

Trish pulled back and offered a sultry expression. “Don’t hold back.”

She lowered her head and swallowed his hard cock in one swooping suck. Wet, searing heat went right to his head. Eric’s world spun. He set aside his handheld and snagged the better camcorder from the tripod, needing the perfect shot. Aiming it right at her face—
that
was the perfect shot. The way her lips folded around his cock. The hollows of her cheek. The flashes of knowing depravity.

Saved. Forever.

Chapter Seventeen

Giving blowjobs had never been Trish’s favorite sexual act, but it was part of the business of getting men off. On her knees. Their hands in her hair. It was so…powerless. She preferred being on top where she could show off her assets, where she could set the pace. Men could grope and gape all they wanted, but she’d at least get off.