Perfectly Bad: a bad boy romance (18 page)

Down to where the tips of his fingers traced the crease of her cheeks, the tops of her thighs and his thumb grazed the top of her pubic bone. His hand flattened against her.

Her legs clamped shut as her hips tipped up and her pelvis rocked. She could barely feel his hand on her lips, and her clit buzzed and ached to be touched. She moaned deep and long.

Then, with his grin wider and more evil still, Agostini moved between her quivering thighs, dragging her legs apart. The cool of the air and the heat of his gaze made her swollen pussy lips throb.

Waiting was agony as he looked into her eyes and bent his face to blow air between her thighs. Roughly, he dragged Princess’ ass to the edge of the couch. She pulled her fingers through her hair and down her neck.

The throbbing ache in her clit was unbearable. Her lips trembled. But whatever movements she made, however she tilted her hips, whatever she did to pull him nearer, only drew that dark chuckle from him, only made him make her wait longer.

Princess jolted as the hot, wet point of his tongue flicked the base of her clit. Then Agostini’s mouth took her. Her body surged as his lips closed over her mound. His breath ignited her and his tongue traced, too softly around the base, and then hood, of her buzzing stem.

He lifted his head to tell her in a low rasp, “You taste wonderful.”

He fluttered his tongue along the outsides of her folds, then rammed its length into her. The tip dragged up at the front of her opening, to pop out and tease her clit again. At the same time, his bottom lip pressed and parted her wings.

Again he slipped his tongue into her. Wide, wet, hot, and impossibly long, he plunged it between her lips, into her walls and snaked it up, up so far it found the folds that covered her trigger spot.

She bucked and her back arced as he barely penetrated the folds. Then she felt the rumble of his chuckle as he shot back to press at the base of her screaming clitoris. His hot hands cupped her ass. His thumbs pressed a rhythm at the tops of her thighs. As he licked. And sucked.

Princess’ hands flew between her legs and her fingers clasped at his head. That just made him take away his hands to brush hers out of the way. And he lifted his head. She felt the cold without him.

He looked up at her from between her open thighs and growled as he said, “I know what I’m doing.” Her pelvis thrust at him. He said, “You. Just. Wait.”

And he made her wait—two, perhaps even three agonizing seconds—as he licked his lips and held her firm with his smoldering eyes. Then he chuckled again as he lifted her ass, pulling her pussy back to his greedy mouth.

The thought that she shouldn’t be allowing him—demanding him—into her in this way, or any other way, drifted around in her head like a vapor trail, like a wreath of smoke. She felt and heard his chuckle, like he was reading her mind.

She needed his tongue. His breath. His face. His hands. Inside, slow currents swelled and gathered, mounting in steps, rising in waves. His tongue flew inside her. His fingers held her thighs and her ass, and gently parted and turned them in rhythm.

He read her rise and fall so perfectly, his tongue always a beat ahead, his hands a step behind. Her thighs and buttocks clenched. The fearsome, snaking drive of his muscular tongue stirred her, drew her, pushed her on.

Sparkling nerves and sinews all through her lit and flashed. Sporadic at first—at the urge of his licking, blowing, sucking—the pace inside her rose and gathered. All of her spine stretched and her hands clasped as the swelling tides heaved from one plateau to the next.

She clawed in her hair. She squeezed her throat, dragged her fingers down to her convulsing chest, pulled on her nipple.

The merciless lash of his tongue strengthened and slowed and his fingers slipped in the cheeks of her ass. Her stomach rolled, and as he sucked, she felt a tiny light within her rising fast in the midst of the storm.

Small, silent, like a distress flare in a massive, swirling ocean storm, she knew that as it slowed and reached its height, it would burst and set off the chain reaction that brewed and boiled below.

As his thumb touched the very back of her opening and his tongue drilled like a tattoo needle on her G-spot, the waves inside her paused at the brim, too big to contain, too heavy to bear, too pregnant to hold back.

And burst.

Princess gushed into his mouth, moaning and shouting. Her legs and arms thrashed. Toes curled and fingers clawed. At what, she didn’t know or care.

Her eyes jammed shut and her thighs clamped his head as she bit her arm to seal her mouth, moaning with all her might.

She curled into a ball and sobbed, grabbing him by the hair to pull him to her. Again, he fended her hand away. He undid the rest of her dress. Gently, he stroked her stomach, caressed and squeezed her breasts.

He massaged her neck and shoulders as he rolled her over easily and removed her bra.

His voice was a hard whisper. “You have the most fabulous ass.”

Looking over her shoulder, her own voice was dreamy, like it floated. “Don’t bullshit me. You have dancers and supermodels all the fucking time, Mr. Agostini.” She had the energy to lift herself onto her elbows, but only just.

“I do,” he said. “Their bodies are like dolls. Like toys. You have the body of a real woman.”

“Mm,” she said, turning her head back and allowing it to drop forward as he massaged her back. “Not many people fly to Switzerland to get themselves made over into one of those.”

“You’re right.” He slid his hands down her sides and she jolted as they reached the front of her hips, gripping as he pulled them down her thighs. “Shows what idiots people can be.”

As he ran his hands up the insides of Princess’ thighs, her hips convulsed. He stopped at the top. She trembled. His fingers reached down. Then up to her mound.

“Oh,” she breathed as he massaged above her hood, around the outside of it, along her wet opening and up to her ass. Then, slowly, back again. He held her cheek and squeezed as his fingers slipped in to press on the back of her pussy, then to press up and spread her lips.

She wanted to move her thighs. He stopped her. “I’ll say when you can do that.” A warm river of sensation sprang up and rushed through her. His fingers pressed downwards, either side of her lips, massaged at the sides of her hood. Pulled to spread it.

Her little clit was pushed out, then in. Then out and in again. His fingers circled the wetting throb and darted, from the back to the front, inside and out. Then in, and in, and in. Her back arched, pushing her ass up.

Her ass cheek smarted as he smacked her, hard. With her head hanging, she said, “Can’t I stick my ass up?”

She heard the grin in his voice. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind me spanking it.” She decided she didn’t mind. His fingers dove deeper as she moaned and stuck her ass up higher. She shook as he spanked her again in exactly the same spot.

“That hurt,” she groaned.

“You like it?”

“No,” she said. But she stuck it higher for him to spank again.

Her breasts dragged against the couch, bouncing as she rocked, scraping her sore nipples against the leather. The couch seemed to be wet almost all over, and that made it sticky.

He let her part her thighs, but only a little, as he plunged two fingers into her. She tensed and moaned and she quickly drenched herself and his hand as he moved faster and deeper.

“Oh!” Tremors shook her stomach and her breasts prickled and swelled. Her head fell forward onto her folded arms as her shoulders dropped. Only her ass was up and the tingles that ran up and down her thighs spread from her stomach to her nipples and her hot chest.

Relentlessly, her walls were shoved apart by his invading fingers, refusing to let up however much she whimpered and moaned. Soon it would be unbearable, soon she would have to beg him to take his hand away. Soon. Soon. But not now.

“Now!” She heard herself and then she couldn’t stop. “God, yes. Yes!” His fingers burst wider. She thought it was all of them, but she couldn’t tell.

And she couldn’t care, either. He drove on and on to what she thought was the brink as she felt the floodgates swing open, but it was only the rushing, gushing river that led to the dam.

And when the dam burst, it was only the huge, glacial lake that flowed to the waterfall. She shouted and writhed and clenched and released going over, only to splash and crash on the impossibly fast ocean current.

She fell, and still he wouldn’t give up. Her legs and arms twitched and her wide-eyed wet face begged, but he pummeled her pussy until she cried out again and the whole of her shook from deep within.

After a short lull in her core, there was a retreating, a pause, and then it was like she was split wide by a volcanic pump of molten magma. Her juices gushed freely and she gave up as the universe imploded.

Agostini said, “Perfect.” And finally, he let her rest, exhausted and unsatisfied.

He sat on the couch by her. Stroked her hair and her back.
 

“You really are beautiful. I’m sure that you know that.”

With one partly opened eye, she looked to see if she could spot sarcasm on his face. Still, it was a nice thing to say.
 

She said quietly, “You do a fair impression of a human being, you know.”

He met her gaze. “For a thug with no culture, you mean?”

“Or even a thug with a little culture.” His eyebrow lifted and she said, “Okay,
some
culture.” She stretched. “Now. How about a proper fuck?”

“You sure?”

She opened the other eye. “You mean, ‘do I think I can stand it’?” She rolled to face him on her side. Even then, she drew her arm up to cover her breasts.
“
I’ll take the chance, gangster.”

“No.” He stroked her shoulder. “I mean are you ready for this to be your time?”

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Wut?”

“You only get the one time. Everybody does.”

As he’d said it, he was hesitant. This had been different in some way. Something had changed, and he hadn’t quite caught up with it.

When she glowered at him and gathered up her clothes, he didn’t feel the usual sense of relief. He sympathized with her. As the words came out of his mouth, he’d thought it was a dick move.

But that was his rule. Always had been, always would be. Everyone knew it. Well, everyone but Princess. She knew it now, though.

Seeing her crouch, picking up her shoes, he’d forgotten the party going on downstairs, the fact that there were another half dozen people in the apartment. He saw in her face that she’d realized the same thing at the same moment.

So, she was trapped. She had to dress in front of him, most likely in a hurry, so probably quite badly, or she had to run bare-assed with her dress bunched in front of her and her shoes in her hand, downstairs to the dungeon.

He stepped around her, went to the back study, and closed the door. He gave her at least ten minutes. In that time, he wished she’d wait.

With her clothes on or off, it didn’t matter, but he wanted her to stay. Let him talk to her. Maybe make her understand. Maybe something else.

When he opened the door and peered around it, she was gone. He felt an emptiness. And, damn, the taste of her. The memory lingered on his tongue.

~ ~ ~

Next morning when Agostini made breakfast, he noticed Callaghan and Calhoun carefully not giving him looks. Both of them strenuously avoided eye contact.
 

He had to restrain himself from saying, “Okay, I fucked the hostage. Kind of. But not really, all right? And, anyways, what’s it to ya?”

Thinking that only told him that it was his own discomfort he was worried about, not theirs. He sliced up some red and green bell peppers for the omelets and boiled up some water for poached eggs.

No sign of Dino yet. “How many of those dancers are still here?” he asked Callaghan and Calhoun. “Either of you know?”

Calhoun’s eyes flicked to the floor and back up at him. “Mona, Toni, and Kat went with Dino into the guest room.”

Good going, even for Dino. Calhoun looked down again, then he said, “Julz and Shawna I left in my room.”

Callaghan said, “Yeah, Dawn and the other one are still sleeping.” Agostini looked at him. Callaghan spread his palms, “Okay, I can’t remember. In fact, I don’t really know. They’ve all got nicknames for each other.”

Agostini kept still and raised his eyebrows. Nothing took the sting out of a little discomfort like seeing someone else being awkward. “These two, they kept on calling each other ‘Sausage.’ ”

Calhoun’s eyes widened, too. Callaghan said, “I know, right?”

When Princess emerged, she looked defiantly into Callaghan’s eyes and he dipped his head. Then Calhoun. He did the same. When she looked straight at Agostini, he nearly lost the balance of the omelet pan.

“Ready to give me back my club now, Agostini?”

Somehow, the world seemed to slowly spin as they both froze for a moment. Then they both broke off. She went to perch at the end of the counter and started to grab juice, coffee and an omelet.

She knew it wasn’t going to be as simple as that and something would have to be worked out around her father’s idiotic debts. But she wanted to know that he made the agreement in good faith. And he was sure that he had.

Agostini sat himself halfway along the counter with just a coffee. At least there were a whole list of high-five, whoop-worthy successes to count. Some of his mood of the conquering hero, generous in victory, returned to him.
 

He lifted the phone. A quick round-up of the winning bidders would restore some more of the shine to the day. First, he called Clemson. “Jay. Good morning. Not calling too early, I hope? I was so glad you could make it last night.”
 

Clemson sounded old. “Mr. Agostini. This isn’t the best time.”

Taking a tug on his coffee. Pierce said, “No problem, Jay, tell me when’s better for you. I can call you back.”

There was a pause.

“Agostini, I may have a problem completing.”

Agostini listened. The room was still. The look in his eyes must have quieted everybody down. “You do remember that you signed a contract, Jay?”