Suck and Blow: Party Games, Book 1 (5 page)

“Depends? Do you need a Ten of Hearts to hide behind?”

One dark, straight eyebrow lifted. “I don’t hide from anything.”

“And yet, I’m noticing a distinct lack of kissing going on here.”

“Maybe you’re not as clever with that tongue of yours as you thought?”

He chuckled. “To quote someone very close to me, ‘I don’t think we can be certain based on one kiss, do you?’.”

Frankie’s chin tilted. “In that case, you better kiss me again.”

Alec lowered his head closer still to her upturned face. “If you insist, Fran—”

She didn’t let him finish. Her lips found his and there was nothing chaste or hesitant about her kiss. She dipped her tongue into his mouth, swirling it around his. Her hands slid up his chest, her fingers resting lightly on his collarbone before, with a low groan, she pressed her body to his. Her breasts crushed against his chest, sending dizzying waves of pleasure through him. Her thighs moved against his legs, their smooth, leather-encased length playing with his senses. Ten years ago those legs had been the stuff of his unbidden fantasies—legs both soft and toned he’d imagined wrapped around his waist. Now, it wasn’t just his waist he wanted them wrapped around. Now, he wanted them wrapped around his head as his tongue explored the sweet, damp slit of her pussy.

Now, he wanted…

She rose up onto her tiptoes, stroking the stiffening pole of his cock with the soft mound of her groin, sucking his tongue into her mouth as she did so and it was his turn to groan.

Jesus, she was driving him wild.

His hands raked her back. He wanted to touch her. All of her. He dragged his fingers down to her arse and cupped her cheeks, each one a tight, sculpted curve of flesh against his palm. His head spun some more. It was a perfect arse. She’d been fit as a teenager—years playing soccer and studying taekwondo would have assured that—but he’d never ever touched her back then. The closest they ever came to physical contact was the day she punched his arm a minute after he’d taken the state junior open archery championship from her, beating her by two points.

If he’d known then what it was like to have her body pressed to his he would have snagged her in his arms and kissed her there and then.

He squeezed her backside again, tugging her harder to his groin. He was hard, very hard, and she was all soft and warm and firmly toned muscle in all the right places.

Frankie nipped at his lips, the pressure both painful and exquisite, her hands tightening in his hair to pull his head back a little. He hauled her closer, plunging his tongue back into her mouth, taking possession of it. She tasted of toothpaste and tequila. The combination was intoxicating and so right for The Gun—dangerous and clinical. That was her to a T.

He swirled his tongue over her teeth, her lips, enjoying the taste of her, plundering the wet well of her mouth even as he stole one hand from her arse to her breast.

Her heavy flesh filled his palm with perfection and he groaned. God, his fantasies hadn’t even come close.

Pulse pounding, balls growing heavy and full, he massaged her breast with gentle want, reveling in the way her nipple strained against the cotton of her shirt, poking between his spread fingers. He pinched it with his knuckles and she whimpered in response, rolling her hips upward to grind the hood of her sex to his erection. A wave of searing pleasure washed through him, the sounds of the party lost to the moan of his own rapture. She couldn’t miss how fucking horny he was, his dick was a bloody telegraph pole in his jeans, for Pete sake, and still she pressed her body to his. The Gun to the Alley Cat.

Christ, he wanted her. Now.

And it seemed
she
wanted him in return.

Her left hand slipped from his hair, finding its way over his shoulder, down his ribcage to the waistline of his jeans. Her nimble fingers tugged at his shirt, fighting with it until its hem pulled free of his jeans. A chuckling groan rumbled low in Frankie’s chest as she slipped her fingers between his waistline and his stomach, a groan that turned into a whimper as her fingertips brushed the distended head of his cock.

He tore his lips from hers, his blood on fire, his ears ringing. “Jesus, Frankie,” he gasped, staring into her half-shuttered eyes. “If you go there now…”

He left the threat dangling in the air.

She gazed up at him, her blue-grey eyes all but hidden behind the thick blackness of her long lashes, her breath passing her full lips in shallow pants. “That’s exactly where I want to go.”

He let out a choppy groan. “Don’t play with me, woman. If this is some twisted form of revenge…”

She shook her head, her eyes clear and direct. “Alec, I want to fuck you senseless. Now.” Her fingers brushed the head of his cock again. “And it has
nothing
to do with revenge.”

He stared hard at her. “In that case…”

Her lips stretched into a smile, her breath shallow. “I know where Lil’s bedroom is.”

The unambiguous statement sent a shard of charged tension into Alec’s groin. He shook his head, his own breath as ragged at Frankie’s. “Not close enough,” he said. And pushed her backward with two long strides until her arse swung open the door to the powder room under the stairs and they were inside.

Chapter Three

Frankie stumbled backward into the small room, her fingers hooked into Alec’s waistband, her other arm wrapped around his neck. Overhead, a soft light flickered to life, an automatic function registering their presence. Had to be automatic. Alec’s hands hadn’t left her body, one hand cupping her breast as the other squeezed her arse. Her pussy throbbed with barely controlled anticipation, growing wetter with each step Alec drove her backward.

Oh God, this has to be the tequila’s fault.

The disconnected thought hiccupped through her spinning head, its implication ominous and foreboding and logical.

And completely false.

She wasn’t drunk. Not even close. She only had one shot during the game of Truth or Dare, and it took more than that to take away control of her faculties. She’d grown up drinking, thanks to her mum and dad’s
free-range
parenting philosophy. Which meant everything she was doing with Alec now, she was doing of her own conscience will.

What she was doing with Alec…

A whimper vibrated up her chest, part terror, part rapture.

She shouldn’t be doing anything with Alec. She hated Alec. She despised Alec. He showed her over and over again she couldn’t have everything she wanted, win everything she wanted to win. He turned her into a loser time and again.

So why is your leg hooked around his hip, hmm? Why is your hand doing its best to open his fly and release his cock from his jeans? Why is your tongue mating with his? Why? Why?

Because he taught her she didn’t
need
to win everything she wanted to win? Didn’t
need
to get everything she wanted?

Because he made her try harder to be better?

She didn’t know which was the answer. Didn’t care either. Not right now. Not when the man in question was driving her crazy with his mouth, a mouth that’d destroyed all her well-executed arguments in every debate they’d had against each other.

Alec’s mouth scored a line down her throat, nipping at her collarbone, and Frankie forgot all about ten years ago. Holy crap, the guy knew how to kiss.

His lips journeyed her throat, back up to her chin and jaw. He explored her body with his hands, coming back again and again to her breasts. Each time he stroked his fingers over her nipples they pinched tighter, turning into twin tips of agonizing flesh stabbing at the material of her shirt.

She moaned, letting her head loll backward, her own fingers still struggling with his fly.

“Let me,” he growled against her temple, and suddenly, with just a flick of his wrist, his button was popped and the head of his cock pushed against her fingers. Insistent and hot and velvet smooth.

Frankie’s breath caught. She pulled away from him a little, enough to let her see the bulbous dome he’d released. Her mouth went dry. Jesus, if that was only the tip of the head…

He’ll be fucking huge.

There was nothing disconnected about
that
thought. Nor foreboding.

Her pussy fluttered and, her hands trembling—trembling, for Pete’s sake—she snared the tiny silver zipper tag and undid his fly altogether.

“Fuck.”

The expletive left her in a shaky moan. His cock wasn’t just huge. It was massive. It jutted upward from his gaping fly, long and thick and demanding, its head distended and purple, a hint of light-brown curls kissing its root.

“Fuck,” she moaned again. Her mouth grew drier. “Who’da thought…”

She didn’t let herself finish. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around that impressive organ and gave a tight squeeze.

It jerked in her grip, just as Alec hissed in a swift, harsh breath. “Christ, Frankie.”

She tore her stare from his cock and looked at up him, the need to say something flippant, something sarcastic dying on her lips.

His eyes didn’t just smolder with desire, they were ablaze. An inferno of desire so molten she lost all train of thought.

Her sex contracted, her anus too. She pulled in a shallow breath, her head still spinning, and she realized she
was
drunk. Drunk on the man she’d known for almost twenty years and loathed until an hour ago.

Bullshit, Francesca. You
never
hated him. He was the only person who ever challenged—

It was Alec who killed the unsettling thought this time. Alec with his crushing kiss and amazing tongue and wicked hands. He pulled her harder to his body, pushing her backward as he did so until her backside pressed to the edge of something cool and smooth. The vanity counter, Frankie’s befuddled brain told her, a mere heartbeat before Alec hoisted her off her feet and perched her on its surface.

He raked his hands over the back of her thighs, hooking her legs around his hips. She locked her ankles behind his arse, her fingers still holding his thick cock, her tongue dancing with his.

She dragged her thumb over the tip of his erection, a shiver rippling up her spine as her skin encountered slick moisture.

Pre-come.

The word whispered through her head and her pussy throbbed in response.

Throbbed? Who was she kidding? It bloody well was close to having some kind of convulsion. It was squeezing and constricting and pulsing like never before. She’d never been so freaking horny and they weren’t even fucking yet.

Alec’s mouth slid from her lips, over her jaw and up to her ear. His teeth and lips nipped at the sensitive dip beneath it. “Keep gripping my dick like that and I’m going to embarrass myself.”

His cock jerked in her hand, growing stiffer and longer as if to prove his point. Liquid heat pooled in Frankie’s core, her pulse quickening at the idea of Alec’s come spurting from his body, splashing onto her fingers. Over her breasts and lips.

Her mouth watered and she let out a shaky little laugh, closing her eyes when he nipped at her earlobe. “Can I call it revenge?”

“Call it what you want, sweetheart,” he rumbled, dipping his tongue into her ear, “but it’s not changing the fact I’m about to blow.”

His confession made her laugh again and she tightened her legs around his hips, stroking the tip of his cock with her thumb again, smearing the beads of his pleasure oozing from its tiny slit over his taut skin. “Isn’t the sucking meant to come first?”

He chuckled, thrusting his hips upward, pumping his erection in her hand. “You put that mouth of yours anywhere near my dick and we’re both in trouble.”

Frankie laughed again, enjoying Alec’s self-deprecating humour as much as the feel of his steely length in her hand. Almost as much as the thought of that length slipping between her lips.

Nowhere
near
as much as the thought of it buried in her sodden sex.

Trouble? Yes, sir. Trouble with a big fucking capital T.

“So what do you suggest, Alec?” She lifted an eyebrow, slowly working her hand up and down his erection. Her breath came from her in shallow pants. God knows, it seemed she was as close to losing control as he was.

That molten desire flared in his eyes again, hotter this time, if that was humanly possible. “I suggest a different kind of sucking.”

And with that, he pulled back from her, his cock slipping from her grip as he yanked her T-shirt over her head, pulled her bra aside and captured one nipple with his lips, drawing its pebbled form into his mouth with hungry pressure. Just like that.

“Oh, yes,” Frankie cried, bowing her back and tangling her fingers in his hair.

His tongue rolled over her nipple, flicking it inside his warm, wet mouth. He suckled a little, enough to make her whimper and squirm on the edge of the vanity counter, before nipping her nipple with his teeth and then laving it with his tongue again.

Exquisite ribbons of tension twisted through the pit of Frankie’s belly, down into her womb. No, change that, her very soul. She ground her teeth, hissing out her breath as Alec’s mouth and tongue and teeth worked on her nipple. Holy crap, she’d had her breasts sucked on before—what sexually active woman hadn’t?—but it never had felt like this. Damn it, what was Alec doing that felt so…so…

Perfect?

No. That couldn’t be the answer. If it was, that meant he was the perfect lover, and he couldn’t be. Could he?

The answer didn’t come. What did was another shard of delicious sensations. Building, gripping, pulsing sensations that made her shallow pants turn to ragged gasps. Lord, he was going to make her come just by sucking her breasts.

Frankie’s head spun. Colours began to swirl in her vision. Her toes curled in her boots.
Curled
. She closed her eyes, holding Alec’s head to her breast even as she felt the base of her spine tingle. Oh, God, she was so fucking close. How did he do this? What was he, some kind of sexual maestro? Why did she not know this before now? How many years had she wasted?

The questions rushed through her pleasure-fogged brain, fast and defying answers. There was no way she could conjure rational thought. Not when she felt so goddamn good. So goddamn freaking—