Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (16 page)

She grinned up at the ceiling. “At least we know one thing that’ll get you talking. Girl on girl and getting them on film.”

He bit her neck. Fast. Hard enough that her soft squeal melted into another bubbling laugh.

She straightened and pushed his head away. “Stop that. You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

He forced a cough to fake a little dignity—not that he had any when it came to Trish. He mimicked her upright posture. The taste of her remained temptation on his tongue.

“Excuse me,” she said as she tugged at his hidden wrist. “Forget something?”

Enough anticipation and teasing. He touched her heated pussy and traced figure eights over her lips, which were soft, open and plump. “I didn’t forget anything.”

Under the table, no one could see his motions. He was seated at the outside of the bench and shielded her with his substantially bigger body. But the
idea
. The thought of being seen, or some stranger spotting their wicked activities wouldn’t go away.

He could see it arrow right through Trish. Her eyes went heavy. That classically crafted mouth parted on a silent gasp. She eased lower in the booth. Her ass slicked against the leather seat. “You’re bad, you know that?”

“You like it. You
want
it.” Damn, she hadn’t been teasing. She was bare. No panties. That made it all the easier to ease two fingers in her sheath. Not far, not at that angle, but enough that she took a quick, deep breath. “If the waitress came back… To check on us…”

Her fingers latched on to his upper thigh. “And she saw your big fingers in me, so close to making me come, me so gone over what you can do. She’d be envious. She’d want a piece of that action.”

“But I only want you.” The words popped out of his mouth without thought. Christ, it was true. He was throbbing all the way down his spine. The night was crunching into one idea. Fuck
now
.

Her knees spread a little wider.

Eyes closed, her voice remained a low whisper. “Or maybe she’d want to play with me instead. She’d lick my pussy while your fingers were in me.”

Jesus.

Despite his fierce arousal, Eric kept every movement deliberate. His arm was practically motionless as he rubbed her clit in a slow, sensual grind. Trish pressed her mouth against his shoulder. Her nails sank into his wrist as individual brands. He was hit with a fierce rush of pride at being the cause of her undoing. Harder, faster, until she was panting softly with her mouth flush to his arm.

“Eric…”

His name was muffled, and so was her low, quiet moan. She bit him until a shivering orgasm melted into hapless giggles.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, drawing every word out. “I can’t believe I let you do that.”

Eric sat back against the cool leather bench and crossed his legs to hold back the ache of his hard cock. He made sure to catch her eye before he stuck sweetly salty fingers in his mouth and sucked.

Smug. He definitely felt smug.

Trish sat up again, tugging her skirt down and wiggling in the booth. She shook her head. A wry smile widened her mouth. “You go right to my head. If I was the smart girl my mama raised, I wouldn’t let you do half this stuff.”

“Then maybe…” He grinned. “Maybe I shouldn’t mention the video camera in my car.”

Chapter Fifteen

They could’ve ditched the bar and headed straight for the nearest reception desk. Only, Trish was learning how much of Eric’s turn-on was purely mental and how hers complemented it perfectly. She’d always thought herself a girl who needed a big, hard fuck to get off. Rough play was, frankly, what she got, whether she wanted it or not. Men played mean with Barbies.

Not that she generally minded. It required so little imagination. She was their turn-on, but so few had ever tried to discover hers—not beyond a big cock and solid rhythm.

Eric did.

Which was probably why he led her down to the parking garage, and she let him.

Neither spoke. Neither looked at the other. They held hands like teenagers. The tension radiating out of his blunt, powerful fingers—fingers he’d used as fists to knock a man out cold, fingers he’d used to make her come in a Vegas bar—was a shimmering counterpoint to her anticipation.

A video camera. Oh Christ.

Whether consciously, or as an offshoot of what he desired, he’d gotten her off with a few flicks of his thumb and a dive into her deepest fantasies. She wanted to be watched while being sexy. While
having
sex. While coming.

Such a slut. No better than a stripper. If that was what her body and her trashy mind wanted, she might as well grind on a pole and get paid for what made her sweat. Hell, girls in porn made tons. But this was hers, it was Eric’s and it was personal.

She glanced up at him. His neck nearly diminished a jawline that would’ve been sharp as a razor on a thinner man. She loved his brutish strength. He was a walking, occasionally talking, brick wall, and so handsome too. The right side of his profile was unblemished by his scars. Tough. Angular, with a defined brow. And those lush lips. His tension wasn’t contained within his boxer’s hands but was visible in the tight way his lips compressed. He licked the bottom one. He swallowed.

Nervous.

She was too, but she wouldn’t have thought such a built, brutal man was capable of that reaction. A fighter pilot, no less. Good God, he was practically a superhero.

This wasn’t porn or stripping or anything to do with her professional aims. This was Eric and how she felt when she was with him. How he gave her wickedest desires a safe haven.

They reached his Camaro, which gave her a happy jolt every time she saw it. Such a
man
’s machine. Gloriously powerful and classic. Yet she needed a few questions answered. Not the personal kind that had opened him to her in new ways. More like…practical.

He keyed open the trunk. Inside, the only items were a camera bag and a collapsed tripod.

“You planned this?”

He shook his head. “No plans. Hopes.”

Trish turned so that she sat on the open lip of the trunk, arms crossed. Looking up at him made her feel petite in the best possible sense—like when he’d hauled her across his kitchen. A goddamn caveman.

“And this…” She waved her hand at the trunk’s panty-wetting contents. “This won’t end up on some website somewhere? Because it would ruin me, Eric. You have to know that. No casting agent would take me seriously. And… Jesus, try to imagine me trusting any guy again.”

He stared down at her. Some of his sexual intensity faded as he touched her cheek. “It’ll be mine. Every frame. I’ll memorize it, you know. All of it.”

“What do you mean, all of it?”

“The other night? We took 482 pictures. I have thirty-six on my phone. Number eighteen—it’s the first time you smile. Number forty, your lips are parted. A closeup. But I know you had two fingers in your cunt.”

Trish had stopped breathing. Then the air gasped into her lungs on a quick rush. “All of it,” she said softly.

The touch against her cheek became a caress. “Does that bother you? This won’t be any different.”

She was shaky when she stood, but not out of some suspicion he’d throw her sexual gyrations up on YouTube. His intensity when he described his fetish was simply boggling.

Flattering.

Sexy.

“God, you turn me on.” Hooking her arms around his thick, sturdy neck, Trish kissed him without fear. “I want it too. You filming me while I pose and tease you. While you fuck me. Christ, Eric, while you watch the playback later and I ride your cock. You’d be so hard.”

His response was subhuman. He was there…then
gone
. He mauled her mouth, palmed her ass. All power and need. With a throaty growl, he tucked her under one arm and grabbed the camera equipment with the other. Their walk to the reception desk wasn’t nearly so controlled. Either Eric wouldn’t talk or he couldn’t. He only handed Trish his credit card and clamped his molars together, looking away with an expression that was nearly pained.

Five minutes later they were in an elevator—not the kind that led to the Stratosphere’s breathtaking thrill rides, but the mirrored kind that led to another kind of thrill. Alone in the elevator, Eric posed Trish so that she looked away from him, toward the left bank of mirrors. He turned too, back to back. Reflection followed reflection followed reflection in an unending pattern.

“Turn a little,” he growled.

Trish complied as if her feet were separate entities.

“Ass out.”

Oh fuck. This was gonna be amazing.

“Smile, showgirl. Smile like you mean it, because I’m not waiting to set up the camera when we get in the room.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Slinky. Needy. Oh so ready. The adrenaline of the evening had built and built until even that quiet, private orgasm was another step as they climbed. “More,” she whispered.

Speaking into his mirror, watching her reflection, he closed his eyes briefly. A man on the brink. Trish shivered.

“There are cameras in here.” His darkened eyes flicked to a black half circle nestled against the ceiling. “Can’t go overboard.”

“Something quick then. Innocent. For us.”

“Adjust your bra.”

Trish’s smile grew. She locked gazes with him in the mirror. Without looking away, she pinched her underwire and shifted it to a more comfortable position. She gave her girls a fluff. She lingered there, tweaked her nipples through the lace and the glossy lamé top. Then she smoothed her hands down her sides and shook her ass. A little shimmy.

“Tell me how your body feels.” His voice was so low, so aroused.

She glanced down to where his jeans hugged a noticeable erection. “I’m tight. Too hot for my own skin. Want to claw at it, get free of this pressure. I want that big cock banging my pussy. Can you do that for me, Eric?”

The elevator door opened. Their floor.

He grabbed her wrist. Two seconds later they were in the hallway, and she was draped in his arms. Being carried. So dizzy from what they were doing, from what she wanted, she tucked her face against his chest. A rock-hard pectoral was her refuge. The strap of the camera bag was cold against her cheek.

“Key.” He was positively monosyllabic. She was beginning to associate that descent with the best sex of her life. “Now.”

Cradled by his tree-trunk arms, she twisted at the waist and managed to slot the key. Door open. Door slammed.

Eric was behaving like a Neanderthal, but he was conscious in there somewhere. He set the camera equipment gently on the floor, then lowered Trish with equal care. Not onto the bed. Or the couch. Or even the carpeting.

The tile of the entryway. Cold and hard. Only the back of her head was padded by a lush Turkish runner.

He stood over her while she lay on the foyer floor. She relished the view. The largest man she’d ever been with, as he unbuckled his belt, as he unzipped his fly, as he pulled out that fabulous prick.

Oh yes.

“Shirt off,” she managed to say.

“You too.”

Eric yanked his T-shirt off. The sight of all that muscle and that beautiful ink washed over her as a visual wave of straight arousal. His scars had become part of what she expected from the sight of his naked torso. Primal and gorgeous and so damn strong.

His beautiful lips parted as she arched her back. The bra was easy to unfasten, and the lamé top untied with a few fumbles of her unsteady fingers. He rolled on a condom. Gasped when she bared her breasts. And he knelt.

Those big, ruthless hands were no longer gentle. He spread her legs wide. The heels of her pumps scraped the walls on either side of the entryway. He levered over her. His arms pinned her in place with one pressed elbow to wrist, above her breasts. The other hooked around her waist. His hand gripped her ass. Almost too much pain.

A single rough thrust dragged a cry from her throat. He groaned so long and low, but then it was all his rough grunts. Each powerful thrust. Without strong arms pinning her in place, she would’ve been fucked right across the floor. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do, except cling to his implacable shoulders. Her pussy was his. Her mouth was his.

She managed to open her eyes because part of the fun was watching how he reacted. His expression was masculine need, teeth bared, brow clenched down in fierce concentration. She heard a knock on the door, but it wasn’t from the outside. The heels of his boots thumped against the wood, seeking purchase, finding the power to give her more.

“Eric—oh my God! So…
good
.”

“Better,” he rasped against her neck.

Even in the middle of such a fierce fuck, she laughed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so free when Eric hadn’t been involved. “Yes, better than good. Like there’s never been another cock in me. Like you could break me in half if you tried hard enough. But you won’t, my vicious stud. You’ll give me all you’ve got. Give it to me.”

Another grunt, another thrust. “You’re gonna pose for me. Lie here on the floor. Sweaty. Fucked. Your pussy soaked and dripping. You’ll
pose for me
.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“You will. Fuck, Trish, you will.”