Tied (22 page)

“If you have to ask, I’m obviously out of practice.” I up my game. “Take your panties off. Right here, right now. Then give them to me.”

How’s that for flirting?

Her hand stops its exploration. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She doesn’t sound shy or shocked. So I know her refusal isn’t because she doesn’t want to.

The lewd lightbulb goes on above my head. “You’re not wearing any, are you?”

Kate looks into my eyes. And sexily pops the
p
as she says, “Nope.”

Instantly my finger rises toward the waiter. “Check, please.”

The waiter quickly brings the check, and I throw a handful of bills down on the table. In a rush, I stand up.

Kate giggles. “They’re going to think you’re unhappy about the food, Drew.”

I help her out of her seat and lower my mouth to her ear. “I don’t give a shit what they think. If I don’t get you out of here right now, I’m going to lay you down on this table and give the other customers a show they’ll never forget.”

She looks up at my face daringly. “And I’d let you.”

Oblivious of the stares of the patrons and staff, Kate wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. When her demanding tongue strokes mine, the sensation goes straight to my balls. With my arm
around her lower back, I say, “You got all dolled up—I thought you wanted a night out.”

“Drew, I haven’t come in six weeks. The only thing I want is your cock so deep inside me, I can taste it.”

I don’t actually remember leaving the restaurant after that. Kate’s awesomely dirty revelation must have fried my brain.

The next thing I know, we’re on the sidewalk and I’m dragging her to the side of the building—to the narrow alley just wide enough to fit a Dumpster that faces the street. I have enough awareness to bring Kate to the far side of it—so we’re shielded from the view of cars and pedestrians. My eyes scan the path for intruders. Finding none, I devote all of my attention to Kate—to making up for all the screwless days she’s endured.

My hand buries itself in her hair, gripping the soft strands, holding her head captive as I plunder her mouth with my tongue. She writhes and rubs against me, pulling my shirt free of my pants and working on my belt.

It’s times like this I wish God had made people more like octopuses—six extra hands would be convenient right about now. We’re ravenous for each other—tearing and pulling at annoying clothes, wanting to touch every erogenous zone at the same time.

It reminds me of the first time we kissed, that night in my office years ago. It feels the same as that night—I’d wanted Kate, fantasized about her for weeks then too. The difference now is, I know precisely what I’ve been fucking missing. So I’m even hungrier for her, bordering on totally out of control.

My hand slides down the front of her dress, into her bra, straining the fabric. I palm and knead her full breast, and a welcome moan reverberates in Kate’s throat. My fingers rub and pinch her nipple, making it harden to a perfect peak. Kate tears her mouth from mine and moves to my neck—sucking and licking—nipping
the sensitive skin with her teeth. Making me weak in the fucking knees.

I switch gears and slide my hands up her thighs, bunching her dress above her waist. Then I kneel down and pause for just a moment to appreciate the sight of her exquisitely smooth snatch.

Panting hard, Kate tries to cover her stomach with her hands. “I know I’m not—”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence.” I grab her wrists, holding them away from her body.

Pregnancy is a strange experience for women. So many fast-paced changes—mentally, emotionally, physically. And, no, Kate doesn’t look exactly as she did before. But only a total asshole would expect her to.

Only the eminent ruler of all assholes would care.

“You made a person, Kate. A perfectly amazing person.” Then I look up into her eyes and tell her honestly, “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now.”

A smile tugs at her flushed lips. I release her wrists, lean forward, and press my mouth against the soft flesh of her pussy.

Hello, old friend. I’ve missed you.

I spread her with my fingers and delve in deep. She’s hot on my tongue—already wet—and sweeter than chocolate frigging cake. I cup her ass in my hands, pressing her forward, and revel in the taste of her. My eyes roll back in my head as Kate moans and gasps above me. Her fingernails cut into my shoulder blades, and after only a minute she’s begging.

“Please, Drew . . . I need you inside me. I need to feel you now.”

Unwilling to deny her and incapable of it, I lap at her one last time and stand. I cover her lips with mine and back us up to the wall of the building. As I caress her tits, Kate slips my pants and boxers down my hips.

She takes my straining cock in her hands, pumping it firmly and slowly.

I groan into her mouth.

Then I lift her, cushioning the back of her head with one hand, so it doesn’t smack against the bricks. My other arm is under her ass, holding her up. Kate locks her ankles together at my lower back, then guides my dick home.

I don’t wait. Waiting is just not possible. I plunge into her roughly, deeply.

“Drew . . . ,” she sighs.

Kate’s wet inner walls stretch around me, still blissfully fucking snug. Buried fully, I savor the sensation of being inside her again. Being surrounded and held by intense, hot perfection.

I whisper the only word that matters. “Kate . . .”

Her legs pull me closer, knees squeezing tighter. I do what we’re both craving.

I move.

Slowly, my hips pull back. Kate’s cunt grips my cock spectacularly as it slides from her.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” I moan.

Then I thrust forward hard, rubbing her clit with my pelvis, making sure she’s feeling the same blinding pleasure I am. I keep that pace—slow, rough strokes that make Kate purr every time our bodies collide.

Her eyes close and her mouth finds mine.

We’re gasping and moaning, gripping and pulsing—drowning in fantastic friction. With her cheek pressed against mine, Kate pants, “Oh, God . . . oh, God, Drew, I’m going to come.”

My hips quicken, needing to feel her contracting around me more than I need air to breathe. “Fuck yes, come, baby. Let me feel you come hard.”

Then she is. Her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, constrict and tighten. Kate’s pussy squeezes my cock in a primal, uncontrollable rhythm that pulls me deeper inside her. I push and surge forward one last time, until I rise into the stratosphere with her. It’s so fucking good, so intense, for several long, exquisite moments the only sound I can hear is the rush of our ecstasy pounding in my ears.

Minutes later, I’m still breathing deep against Kate’s neck, and she continues to tremble with aftershocks. Still inside her, I lift my head and brush her hair from her face.

“That was awesome.”

She smiles wide. “Mind-blowing.”

Carefully, I set her feet back on solid ground. Then I help smooth her dress back into place and tuck myself in and zip up. “And we still have a whole suite waiting for us.”

“Take me to my suite.” Kate holds out her hand.

I take it. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

Literally.

Back out on the sidewalk, the fog of lust clears and Kate puts the hand I’m not holding over her eyes. “I can’t believe we had sex in an alley.”

I snort. “I can’t believe we waited so long to have sex in an alley. What was I thinking?”

That’s an activity that’s definitely going on my repeat list.

Is alley-screwing respectful? Generally . . . no. But in this case, it was just what the doctor ordered.

Now, back to our card game.

Jack turns to Steven. “What do you say, Reinhart—you and me and two of the most flexible ladies in the club?”

“Alexandra would rip my head off if I got a lap dance—private or otherwise,” Steven laments.

Matthew grins. “Delores would be into it—but only if she got to watch.”

Steven shakes his head. “I don’t want to give her another reason to be pissed at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “But that’s the way it works, man. Dee-Dee’s happier when I’m messing up—gives her an excuse to yell at me. She feels needed, and it makes me appreciate how lucky I am to have her. For men and women—that’s the circle of life.”

Steven considers the idea but still tells Jack, “I don’t think married men belong in a private booth. If I want a strip show, I’ll buy my wife pole-dancing lessons.” His face brightens. “In fact—that’s gonna be her Mother’s Day gift. Boom—scratch that off the list.”

At first I frown at the visual imagery . . . but then get over it and smile. Because I know exactly what to get Kate for
my
birthday.

After Warren emerged from the private booth looking dazed and satisfied—and walking stiffly because he most likely jizzed in his pants—we all sat down front row at the main stage to enjoy another show. This time without my participation. It was a girl-power-themed production, meaning three girls and a variety of battery-powered toys. A show like that is guaranteed to make any man hope for an encore.

I gave it a standing ovation.

Then, the five of us went back to the game room for a dart tournament. See us there? Jack’s taking his turn, Steven’s watching another member of the Stripper Lollipop Guild play peekaboo with the Blow Pop across the room, while Matthew, Warren, and I lean against the wall nursing our drinks.

Warren’s phone pings with an incoming message. He looks down at it for a few seconds and laughs.

For no particular reason, I ask, “What’s funny?”

His reaction piques my interest. He drops the hand holding his phone to his side and wipes the grin off his face. “Nothing.”

I push off the wall and stand in front of him. “Let me see your phone.”

He puts it behind his back. “It’s stupid. Nothing you want to see.”

“Well, now I fucking do.”

Looking like a cornered rat, he calls to Steven, “Reinhart—think fast.” And tosses the phone in the air. Steven catches it, but because he always did love a good game of Monkey in the Middle, when I get close to him, he throws it to Matthew. Matthew gets Jack into the game. I take three steps back to Warren, so I’m right in front of him when he catches his phone.

Then I end the game—with a not-too-hard punch to Warren’s gut.

Ooomph.

He doubles over, holding his midsection. The phone falls from his hands and clatters to the floor. I pick it up and access the main screen. Warren rasps out, “Evans—I’m telling you as a friend—you shouldn’t look at the pictures.”

I ignore him.

With the push of a button, the images pop up in all their
disgustingly vivid, high-resolution, multi-megapixel splendor. This is a historic day—mark it on your fucking calendar. For once in his life, Warren was right.

I shouldn’t have looked.

The guys peer over my shoulder as I scroll through the pictures—clearly from tonight. The first is of Kate on the shoulders of some nameless, bare-chested bastard, surrounded by the outstretched hands of several other dickheads who all bear a strong resemblance to Tarzan. I don’t like it, but I can live with it.

The next one shows Kate cradled in the muscular arms of a different thong-wearing prick. Her hands rest on his shoulders, and her skirt has risen up high on her thighs. High enough that, if you look closely, you can spot the pink-and-black-lace panties that caused me so much concern earlier.

I now plan to burn them like toxic waste as soon as we get back to the hotel.