Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (23 page)

“Yes! Get out of here! You’ll see my vajayjay!”

“Dear God,” Brock mumbled.

“She’s fine right now,” Tristan reported.

“I’m sure you wanted to see the proof, right?”

Tristan laughed. “You’d better believe it.”

“Keep her safe for us. I’ll be around. Rory and Trixie are leaving in the morning. I have to protect my family.”

“And what about Ansley?”

“She obviously has you, and several others, to safeguard her, but I won’t abandon you. Truth is, with Mitch in prison, I may be the only one who can stop Jordie Anne.”

“As long as you don’t try to save her, man,” Tristan said.

“And what do you mean by that, exactly?”

“If you were in love with her, at any given time, you need to leave with your family. Don’t stay here and stand in my way, Brock, because if Jordie Anne, or anyone else for that matter, tries to harm one hair on Ansley’s head? I’ll kill them to stop them, and I don’t have a problem doing just that.”

* * * *

Tristan was at a crossroads. The path he chose may have been one he’d later regret, but he couldn’t help himself.

As he strolled into the bathroom and took a seat on the vanity, he questioned his motives. Was he there to observe the woman he wanted in his bed, or was he there to guard her, make sure no one entered the small bathroom window and snuffed out a life just beginning?

Behind the foggy glass shower wall, Ansley hummed, using the bar of soap to lather her full breasts. He could only see a cloudy silhouette, but it was more than enough to make him long for her, crave her.

And it was all he could do not to approach her.

Placing his palms on either side of his hips, he stared at her form, watching her as those small hands caressed the breasts he wanted to fondle, longed to touch. It was then when he realized what he was watching, an act of pleasure so great he was forced to practice full restraint.

Ansley’s fingers raked over her nipples. She dropped her head over her shoulders and rubbed the points, back and forth, agonizingly slow and careful. Arousal was evident as the tiny beads became longer, harder, and surprisingly noticeable through the misty divider separating them.

She reached up and grabbed the mobile showerhead. After jerking the hose free, she went right to work. Tristan stilled as he observed, remembering the strength behind the nozzle, realizing the invigorating massage awaiting her was bound to stimulate all the right places, touch just the right feminine spot.

As the water spewed from the gadget, performing a function too erotic to imagine, she moaned, gripping the soap dish as her body began to move. “Fuck!” she cried out, pulling the hose away from her body then nervously fiddling with the rounded head, returning to the intimate task at hand.

A buzzing noise filled the room. The vibrating speed of pulsing water pushed through the rounded water dispenser, spewing against her pussy as she instantaneously rode out a violent orgasm. Her body wobbled one way and then another. Her legs closed around the hose. “Tristan! Fuck me, Tristan. Oh dear God, yes. Right there! Oh, Tristan! Please don’t stop. Don’t you quit on me!”

Tristan gulped. The gal had quite the imagination.

Her small form jerked. Her hips shot forward, rolled back. She kept the water spray between her legs while using the shower bar to move all over the place.

He should’ve gone to her then. He should’ve stepped inside the shower stall fully dressed. Then, he could’ve attacked her lips with a smothering kiss and listened to her whimper as he inspired the next orgasm by parting her folds with his fingers, by fucking her with his long tongue as soon as he dropped to his knees.

Sliding his hand inside his jeans, he adjusted his cock. He rubbed the thick head as he watched her.

She’d cried out his name. His. Name.

Taking a deep breath, he was lost in the most mesmerizing moment of his life. This was second to none, too much for him to take. As he started to unzip his pants, she cupped her breast and shoved the device under her body again, making the shower nozzle her own personalized toy. She latched on to another apparent climax, swinging her hips from side to side as the heightened moment gradually released her.

“Ah God, this is too good,” she sang, bowing her head.

Shit
. Maybe he should’ve stopped her, gone to her, and carried her away before she had time to expend her energy. Now, he’d have to work harder at teasing her. Then again, loving Ansley would be quite effortless. He’d waited as long as a man could wait, and he knew what he needed to do.

As she affixed the hose to the wall and turned off the water, Tristan froze. She was finished and he was caught.

Sliding away from the counter, he tiptoed to the door, eased it open, and crept to the other side without a word. As he joined the others in the living room, he snickered to himself. He’d left her phone where he’d been seated.

He was busted. And he really didn’t give a damn.

* * * *

“If you don’t look like a man in heat,” Elliott said, most likely crossing the line when he made the mention to a fellow who was still pretty much a stranger.

Tristan chuckled, apparently able to take a quick jab all in stride. “You guys are lucky I didn’t slip into that shower with one hell of a fine-looking woman.”

Ansley appeared in the doorway at the same time. “Forget something, Tristan?” She waved a cell phone in his direction.

“I think that’s yours, doll.”

Elliott scratched the skin right under his brow. He wondered if these two Northerners knew what this Southern gal held in store. Did they know about her past? Did they understand that Ansley was raised in a culture where it was acceptable for women to align themselves with several lovers at one time?

“If you wanted a free show, why didn’t you just say so?” Ansley asked.

Elliott quickly shot Graham a look he was sure his brother would read as practical concern. Did Ansley know these two intimately? From what he’d gathered, or maybe unjustly assumed, she hadn’t been to bed with either of them. So she’d shared a kiss with Tristan, but how much did she really understand about him?

Remaining in the open area between the master bedroom and living area, she struck a pose, her right arm sliding up the doorframe as she tossed the phone to a nearby chair. The plush white towel she wore was bound to drop at any moment.

He knew Ansley well and appreciated her charades. But he’d never experienced her quite like this. She appeared anxious, ready to drag all four of them off to the bedroom. Only, Elliott feared she’d have far more than she bargained for if she lured them all to the mattress.

He hurriedly scanned all the male faces in the room. Damn, he was misguided. Ansley wouldn’t need to lift a finger to motion for them. Each man present was practically panting, himself included.

“I’m saying so now.” Tristan suddenly spoke, rubbing his jaw. “If you want an audience, I’m happy to take a front-row seat.”

A pretty smile claimed her lips, and her fingertips grazed the top of the towel. Seconds would pass and that towel would be on the floor wadded around her small feet.

“Wait,” Bailey said, stopping her at a most inconvenient time. Graham’s head jerked. He glared at Tristan as if he could kill him.

“Yes?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

She ran her fingers through wet strands of hair. “Shouldn’t you be asking
them
that question?”

Bailey rubbed his jaw. “I just think we should talk about this.”

“We’ve had months of talking, Bailey,” she said, strutting over to a nearby table. Using the back of one of the chairs, she hoisted herself onto the oval tabletop. Once there, she stood erect and proud. Flashing a smile to the room, she removed the towel, raised it above her head, and gave the white cotton a whirl, twirling around as each man whistled. “Now, men, I’m ready to play.”

Chapter Eleven

This would be the greatest day of her life. While she’d showered, she’d enjoyed self-pleasure, aware of the fact that Tristan had joined her. She knew when he walked in, felt him there staring at her, longing for her. Watching.

He should’ve known she was playing with him, toying with a potential lover. She owned a lifestyle club. She liked exhibitionism, enjoyed teasing men who could easily be taunted.

Ansley had focused on Tristan while climbing to the table, but once she lost her towel, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him again, at least not yet. If she glanced at him and discovered his eyes half-lidded, heavy with lust, the game would end. She’d beg him to take her to bed, and that’s when and where she’d lose all control.

Yes, she knew what awaited her, what kind of beast she’d unleash. Tristan was a Dom, and while their first physical connection had been sweet and pleasurable, the next few times together would be torturous pleasure. Ansley knew Doms like Tristan. She understood how they functioned, how they worked, and what kind of training to expect.

Instead of looking forward to the new, she went with the familiar. Studying Graham’s easy smile, she noticed how he watched her with true approval, obvious appreciation.

Graham was gentle on the eyes. With high cheekbones, dark-brown eyes, and long, dark hair, Graham, at first glance, looked like a Native American, particularly with his dark complexion. He was, in fact, one hundred percent born-and-bred all-American Caucasian cowboy. He possessed great skin, a terrific body, and natural locks some women would envy.

Like Bailey and Tristan, Graham and Elliott didn’t look anything alike. Elliott wore an unkempt hairstyle. His brown mop hung right above his shoulders. He generally kept a two-day-old beard, just enough rugged appeal to drive her completely wild when he rubbed that stubble across her bare mound. Months had passed since she’d enjoyed oral satisfaction, but she sure remembered the better pleasures in life.

After she’d taken her perched position, she sort of wondered why. There wasn’t that much room atop the dinette, and foolishly, she hadn’t anticipated her next move.

“Now what?” Tristan asked, slowly dragging his tongue over his upper lip. He’d been standing at the far end of the room when she’d entered, but he’d inched closer, taking casual steps as he walked toward her. Soon, he stood mere inches from her, and avoiding him was out of the question. “You wanted to show off. We’re watching. Give us something to sing about.”

“Like I was humming in the shower?” she asked, moistening her lips as her eyes met his.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “You can hit the high notes. That’s for damned sure.”

“I bet you can, too,” she said, thinking she could hardly wait to see him at his best. She longed to witness a change in his expression, see his O-face in the heightened state of pure bliss.

“You have no idea what you’ve just started,” Bailey said, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table and staring right at her pussy. Under his scrutiny, Ansley felt the moisture pool at her folds, and the blistering heat between her legs became too hot to bear.

Cupping her breasts, she rolled her nipples with the pads of her thumbs, watching as the lust burned brighter in the eyes of those watching her. Foreplay wouldn’t take long now.

She spread her legs, and Graham took a one-toke snicker, tilting his head but lifting his gaze. “Easy, baby. The hands in this room are burning to touch you. I don’t think you need to pleasure yourself.”

“I hope not,” she said, still rolling the hard beads between her fingers.

“Come here, sub,” Tristan said, motioning for her.