No Quarter (NOLA's Own #2) (58 page)

He was such a manhandler. I liked the manhandling, especially when he bent me over the edge of the bed and dropped once more to his knees, pushing the skirt of my dress up over my ass.

“Ohhh fuuuck,” he moaned. Grabbing an ass cheek in each hand and squeezing, he pressed his hot open mouth over my black lace–covered core. His tongue dragged over the fabric, and then he sucked gently, drawing my juices through it.

“Damn it, Phil!” I snapped, pressing back against him. “Quit teasing me!”

“You’ve been fuckin’ teasin’ me all fuckin’ night in your fuckin’ black dress and your fuckin’ vanilla-wearin’ ass.”

Yanking my underwear down, he lifted my left foot, so I could step out of them halfway.

“Spread your legs more,” he commanded.

Complying, he rewarded me with his lips and tongue attacking my swollen wet center. I moaned and pushed back, his tongue, lips, and teeth driving me out of my skull, until my thighs started to shake, and I came not nearly hard enough. My knees dropped gracelessly to the mattress, and I heard him get to his feet behind me.

Clink, clink
went the belt buckle, and my still pulsating cunt convulsed in joyous anticipation. The hot, fat swollen head of him rubbed along my soaking wet slit, making me whimper.

“You want it, Sugar Tits?”

“Yes!”

“How should I give it to you?”

“I don’t care!” I cried out.

That earned me a hard slap on the ass. “How should I give it to you?”

“Long and slow,” I replied. “I want to feel all of it.”

“There’s people waitin’ for us,” he reminded me. “They might be missin’ us right now.”

“I don’t give a shit!” I hissed.

He gave me another slap. “Fuck yeah, there’s my Baby Girl.”

Long and slow, he pushed that monster into me, stretching me deliciously. He slipped and slid to the very end of me in one sweet glide.

“Oh, fuck
me,
” he groaned. Grasping my hips, he pulled out just as slow and then pushed back in. “I fuckin’ love watchin’ all of me disappear up inside you. You have no fuckin’ idea how much.”

“You feel so good, babe,” I told him. “Nothing can compare.”

“Too fuckin’ right,” he bit out, keeping an achingly sweet pace.

In…out…in…out.

“I wanted to torture your sweet cunt for drivin’ me apeshit, lookin’ and smellin’ all perfect…but I can’t. I want you too much.”

“Fuck me harder,” I begged.

He was lovingly caressing the sweet spot in me, and I needed more. I knew I’d come either way, but the orgasm he had given me from eating me out only teased me. I wanted the power inside him to be unleashed.

Phil picked up the pace, fingers digging into my flesh, making me moan deep from my chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted. “Come, Baby…I can’t hold on much longer. Your cunt is too good.”

“Harder!” I begged.

He’d send me over the edge if there was a twinge of pain to sharpen the sweetness.

“Don’t hold back, Phil!
Fuck me
!”

The pace quickened, our bodies coming together in hard, wet staccato
slap, slap, slap, slaps
.

“
Now
, Kenna!” he snarled.

Stars exploded. Colors burst in sparkling showers, more brilliant than the rock squatting on my finger. Sound dimmed as a glorious ringing hollowed out my auditory sense. Phil pushed, shoved, and finally catapulted me into the space beyond heaven, fast on my heels, chasing me with the most wonderfully unholy of roars.

Hand in hand, we lay back and sparked a spliff, our naughty bits dripping and airing out, still in our fancy getups.

“You think they heard?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, babe. Your voice kind of carries.”

“Yeah. I doubt we’re in trouble though. No one’s come to check on us.”

“They might be giving me time to hide the body. You never know.”

Phil gave off a bark of joyous laughter.

Bringing my hand to his lips, he held it out to inspect the ridiculously large diamond. “I made sure it was ethically mined. I got a certificate and everythin’.”

I glanced at it, and suddenly, I loved the sparkling mass. I hadn’t even thought of that although I knew I would have eventually. It made me happy to think that he knew me so well, that he’d known I would’ve expected nothing less.

“It really is beautiful,” I told him.

“I wanted to get a bigger one, but I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

“I would’ve loved anything you gave me,” I replied.

“You can’t fuckin’ take it off. Ever.”

I laughed. “You know I have to for work, babe. I’d end up surgically slicing someone with this. But I promise to keep it on me at all times.”

“I guess I can live with that,” he conceded as he passed the spliff. “I’ll never take mine off though.”

“I’m actually surprised you weren’t prancing around, showing everyone your engagement ring.”

“I told X, Jason, and Flipper,” he admitted. “I had to. Oh, and Lewis. And Connor.”

I coughed. “Gods above, you guys are like a gang of preteen girls!”

“I know. I told Sheri, too.”

“Shit! You told me not to tell
anyone
! I
knew
when you told me, you’d never be able to keep your own mouth shut!”

“Ha-ha, yeah. But I did want Alys and Lili to be surprised. I wanted them to see just how much you mean to me and that I’ll always take care of you and treat you like the goddess you are.”

“Madman.” I snorted.

He rolled on top of me, crushing me into the bed. “For you, fuck yeah. Always.”

Somewhere along the way, the gods sped time up, most likely because I was enjoying every second of it. For so long, it had seemed to drag its ass. It used to drive me crazy, passing me by at the raging pace of an angry snail.

Phil had brought me to life, and I felt as though I was finally
living
. Filled with laughter, secret glances, passing touches, inside jokes, I wondered how I had ever existed without them.

New Year’s had zipped by us. We’d celebrated at Bougainvillea with live bands, our loved ones, and large quantities of booze and weed. The weekend following had proven to be our recovery time. It had been the longest Phil and I had ever gone without shagging while being in the same house.

Work had slapped us all around the first week back after the holidays. I’d had a hell of a time wanting to even show up, but once more, I had slipped into my comfortable routine, and balance had restored itself.

On the extremely bright side, Rita’s IT stalker genius had been apprehended. We were all breathing easier for that. The guy, Kyle Whitestone, had been found to be a complete head case and placed in a mental facility while awaiting trial.

“He even has a douche-bag name,” sneered my fiancé. “Who the fuck names their kid Kyle?”

I didn’t think Kyle was a douche-bag name, and I was pretty sure Phil only now hated it because of the situation. “What would
you
name our kid?”

“Angus,” he promptly replied. “And his twin brother would be Seamus.”

“Seamus and Angus,” I repeated, stunned. “You do realize that their friends would call them ‘Shameless’ and ‘Anus’, right?”

He just shrugged.

“Kind of deviating from the Frenchy names, eh?”

He grinned. “I like the names of your kind better. They don’t sound like pansies.”

“No, just like raunchy porn titles,” I grumbled under my breath.
My kind.

NOLA’s Junk, their contract with Rattlesnake Records up, had started recording their new album, for which they predicted would be released sometime in early June, just in time for the Twisted Festivus tour.

In addition to recording and producing their own album, they were recording and producing Devil’s Advocate and Space Monkeys. Of the two, Space Monkeys were making the most headway, coming up with some real awesome sounds and practicing their asses off at the studio. Those guys were pushing the boundaries of their music, and Our Boys loved working with them on it.

Devil’s Advocate seemed to be enjoying the lifestyle a little too much, but the guys weren’t overly concerned. They were usually sober and ready for work on time.

Siggie, on the other hand, had proven her worth to Our Boys and had been offered a job working alongside Sheri in the studio. She was a bit of a computer genius herself and had set up their entire system. She still managed the Devil’s, contracted with NOLA Records as such, but she did so much more than that. Happily, she had quit her home-nursing job.

January melted into February, and excitement for my impending romantic Italian vacation lay on the horizon. Our first flight to Newark left on Friday in the morning, making the tenth my last day at work.

I started packing on the eighth.

“Don’t bother packin’ a lot of shit. I plan on buyin’ you all sorts of new, fancy expensive Italian clothes, so Lili can have a seizure pawin’ through ’em when we get back,” Phil told me.

“She would, too,” I stated.

He grinned. “I know.”

February 10
th
.

Fuck. Yes.

I woke up for my last day of work with an insane smile on my face. I would even finish early today, having no patients after lunch. I didn’t ask, but I suspected Phil had had something to do with that, too.

Stretching, filled with too much happiness, I went to get out of bed when Phil wrapped his arm around my waist and dragged me back into the warmth of his body.

“Don’t go,” he murmured.

Laughing, I replied, “I
have
to, babe! Last day!”

“No. Call in sick.”

“Pfft.”

“I’m serious.”

I turned to give him a stern look, but what I saw in his eyes sparked apprehension in me.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. Somethin’ doesn’t feel right.”

“What?”

He blinked, and the hazy weirdness left his eyes. “I just…I think I had a funky dream or somethin’. Still don’t want you to go though.”

“I can’t bail the day before we leave, Phil.”

But the strange mood he was in infected me, and I felt all discombobulated while I did my morning yoga.

He joined me in the shower but made love to me as though I were made of spun glass, his touches lingering, his kisses soft. It was as though he were silently begging me,
Please don’t go. Stay with me. Don’t leave.

When I stopped at my favorite coffee shop for my morning usual on the way to work, I kept glancing around, worried for gods knew what.

A crazy robber? A mugger in desperate need of a double espresso? A freight truck barreling through the front windows?

None of that happened.

By the time I pulled into my spot at work, I was pissy that Phil had made my brain twist up for nothing. Well, I was happy it was for nothing, but still. The caffeine helped to burn away my anxiety over my man’s bizarre ways, and I hurried inside.

“Morning, Lucy!”

“Good morning, Dr. MacGregor!”

The docile noise of Jason Mraz floated low through the speakers as I headed back to my office. Pulling out my state-of-the-art phone, which had taken me a month just to figure out how to use, I sent Phil a text.

Me: Made it to work. No crazies. I’ll come to the studio when I’m finished?