Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (30 page)

Eric dropped his hips and sank into Trish’s tight channel.
So
tight, as if she was already seconds from coming. He hoped that was true. He wasn’t going to last long, not while they continued kissing in front of him. Not while Trish’s hands cupped and played with the curvy brunette’s breasts.

She dropped her head back onto Mallory’s arm. “That’s so good. The way he fucks me. You don’t know.”

Mallory laughed and petted the arc of his girl’s jaw. Kissed her. Red fingernails trailed down Trish’s collarbones, across the top swells of her tits. “Keep your man all to yourself.”

Her fingers traveled down Trish’s stomach to the dip in her navel. She didn’t stop until her index finger found Trish’s clit. Trish jumped. Her hips flexing toward Eric. Her inner muscles wrenched hard over his dick.

He fisted his hand in the sheet by Trish’s head. Every stroke of his hips, every throb of his blood—a rush of pleasure.

“What I want,” Mallory continued, “is right here. This pretty pussy? I want another shot at licking it clean. You’ll let me, my slutty baby doll. Or he’ll make me. Not anything a man can
make
me do other than convince me to eat you out.”

Eric slammed his dick home, until he forced another shrieking orgasm out of Trish. Her hand grasped at Mallory’s. Eric’s body popped with the bright and wicked shards of
gone
.

He came. Came until he forgot to breathe. His chest clenched and wheezed. Colors burst across his eyes from lack of oxygen. Who the fuck needed oxygen?

Somehow he lost a few minutes. He wouldn’t call it blacking out, but definitely skipping time. When he pulled pieces of himself back together, his face was pressed against Trish’s stomach. But even an orgasm that devastating hadn’t knocked him out.

Nor had it stopped the women. They’d resumed kissing, hands roaming over beautiful bodies.

“All fours, showgirl.” The order fell out of his mouth without thought. “And keep your ass up.”

Trish obeyed. Damn, he loved that.

She tilted her pussy out toward him. “Will you lick me, sugar?”

“No.” He shook his head. He was probably pinching her hips too hard, but she only moaned. “I want your ass. Objections?”

She shuddered, and her eyes turned heavy lidded. Absolutely smoldering. “No. None. Wish we had some toys, though.”

Mallory lifted one hand in a mock wave. “My bag. Inside pocket.”

Trish laughed. “You’re shameless!”

“You know me.” The woman had the most innately raunchy grin. She eased her hips under Trish’s head. “There’s no such thing as a bad time for a fuck.”

Eric was off the bed and back in an instant. The toy was slender and elegant, made of purple metal. He laid it along Trish’s pussy first.

She jumped as she hissed in a breath. “Cold.”

“Give it a second to warm up,” Mallory cooed. “Then it’ll be your favorite thing ever.”

“Too much chatter,” Eric managed to say. His gaze was pinned on Trish’s ass, on the tiny pink pucker between her globes. He trailed the toy over her, along her sensitive skin, then followed with his fingers. “Suck that cunt, showgirl. While I play.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Trish wasn’t the biggest fan of anal play, mostly because it could go too far. Maybe once or twice, that was it, all she’d ever tried. Men got so damn turned on and forgot they were fucking a real woman.

But with Eric? He wouldn’t hurt her. Plus Mal was there, a constant comfort in the storm. Mal would just as soon kick Eric in the balls than let him get too rough.

Not that “too rough” seemed to be a problem. Trish’s skin was practically numb, so keyed up, so overwhelmed. Stopping now would be plain wasteful.

She lowered her lips. There between Mal’s thighs, she teased and explored, as Eric did along the cleft of her ass. She remembered those months when she and Mallory had lived together as fresh lovers, how she couldn’t get enough of that intensely female sex act. It was different now. A novelty. Something to be enjoyed for the evening, like reminiscing.

Had she and Eric been alone, Trish would’ve already tasted his cock—his salty flavor and the hard slash of his release across the back of her throat.

Not that she was complaining. She smiled against Mal’s inner thigh.

“Amused, you pretty bitch?”

“Very,” she said. “You need to talk to me.”

“Nah. Your big stud shut me up.”

Trish threw a look over her shoulder, where Eric watched them, his fingers idly stroking her most sensitive skin. The cold metal toy followed his touch. “I
like
her dirty talk, sugar. You know how much I babble when I need to come. I’ve heard the same from you.”

Eric grunted something noncommittal. He parted her folds with thumb and forefinger then slid the sleek, curved metal into her pussy. Trish pushed her mouth against Mal’s pubic bone and moaned.

“From this hunk of silent?” Mal asked. She bent her knees, heels digging into the mattress, and threaded her fingers together at the back of Trish’s head. “I doubt it.”

The rhythm he kept with the metal wand was nearly…soothing. Hypnotic. As if he didn’t actually intend for her to come. As if he only wanted more footage for his collection. She hadn’t ever performed for him, or taken him deep inside, with so few clues as to what he was thinking.

She would draw him out. Needed to.

Trish lifted her gaze to meet Mal’s dark eyes. “He gets downright chatty when he’s close. When he’s got all he wants right in front of him. Like he can’t hardly believe it.”

Eric fucked the toy deeper now. His breath was a rasping, grating sound—a machine that wasn’t working properly. “Shut up, showgirl.”

“No.”

He scooped his forearm around her neck and bowed her back to his chest. “I said, shut up and eat cunt.”

With any other man, she would’ve been terrified. She’d have done exactly as she was told, in the hopes of escaping a bad situation. But Eric was shaking. His arms. His chest. His thighs as they shivered against the backs of hers.

“And I said no,” she whispered, giving his scarred face a long, luxuriant and open-mouthed kiss. “Now, I thought I heard something about fucking my ass.” She slanted a look back down, where his forearm continued to work her pussy with that hard, unforgiving toy. “Get to it, stud.”

Eric pushed her down. She and Mallory locked eyes and shared matching grins. But her grin faded into a long moan as he tilted the toy up and in. The perfect spot.

“There,” she gasped. “Oh shit.”

Another ten seconds of that and she’d have screamed again. Eric gave her maybe…eight. He pulled it out with a quick jerk. Trish groaned her disappointment. Mal grabbed her head, angling Trish back to what the other woman craved. If given the opportunity, Mallory would spend the rest of her life on her back with an eager woman’s mouth on her pussy.

“Don’t move,” Eric said. His voice was too loud in that quiet space. Proof that he was more than way past gone. “Now.”

She fixed her lips on Mal’s clit, her body motionless as her tongue continued to flick and tease. That stillness became harder to maintain when Eric slid his fingers in her pussy and trailed her wetness up, around, over her asshole.

“You love his tattoos, don’t you, baby?”

Trish could only moan against Mal’s swollen skin. The woman’s hands clenched and released in a rhythm that nearly matched Eric’s stokes. They were both preparing her, in tandem, readying her for the orgasm that would shred her soul-deep.

“Quite impressive,” Mal continued. “I don’t dig cock, but I can appreciate a finely built man. You should see his expression, baby doll. Seconds shy of drooling over you.”

One of his thick fingers pushed inside her anus. Trish stiffened. Mal petted gentle fingers over Trish’s brow and temples, and offered a quiet shushing noise. “Take a breath, baby. Relax. It’s only us. Me and this man who wants you so bad.”

Mal’s quiet reassurances and Eric’s patient pulsing soothed the last of her tension. Trish sank into two extreme sensations: giving a woman pleasure and preparing for a man’s most potent aggression.

He traded his finger for the thick, rounded end of the toy. Oh, it was warm now. Trish faltered in her attentions, her head falling sideways against Mal’s thigh.

“Toldja,” Mal said with a laugh. “Your new best friend.”

“Don’t forget for my next birthday, okay?”

“Fuck,” Eric growled.

Mal giggled. “He’s getting pissed at us.”

“Maybe.” Trish looked back at the hulking, taut muscles that rippled across Eric’s shoulders and upper chest. “But he should be used to it—watching the show as it unfolds.”

The toy plunged. Trish arched her back, ass out, tits out.

He caught her earlobe in his teeth. “I’ve graduated to director.”

The forearm he slid around her low belly felt like a hug, a sweet caress, until he clamped down with all his strength. Trish couldn’t have moved her hips if her next breath depended on it. His left arm held her in place. His right hand worked that glorious toy in a more forceful rhythm.

“And the scars,” Mal said wistfully. “I bet you were a sucker for them, Trish. What’s he do?”

Trish gasped. “You could ask him.”

“Nah, I don’t think I’m here anymore. He’s watching you, baby, and so am I.”

“Fighter pilot,” Trish managed to say.

“No shit? That’s fucking hot.”

Mal had started in on herself, apparently because Trish couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. Eric claimed too much of her focus. That metal was hot now, nearly as hot as the breath choking in her throat. He pumped her asshole, each plunge filling her with sparkling pleasure. She was parched and couldn’t stop moaning.

“Not so chatty now, showgirl.” Eric’s voice was animalistic now. “Not when you have this hard metal fucktoy rammed up your ass. You’re a wreck. Sweaty. Your hair a mess. Your makeup smeared after shoving your face against her snatch. I’ve never seen wetter lips. Nose to chin, covered in her come. Christ, Trish.” He inhaled raggedly. “You should see yourself.”

“Well, well. I lie here corrected.” Mal’s fingers looped over her clit, swirling in a way that caught Trish’s attention. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as the woman fucked herself with one hand and stroked faster, faster with the other.

“Beautiful, Mal,” she said through a haze of pleasure. “Come for me, please?”

Trish wasn’t the kind to order others around. Never had been. But she wanted to see it happen. Mal’s wicked smile tightened into a near grimace. Their gazes locked.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

The last word was a gasp that edged up and up to a long string of curses.

Eric slid the toy free on a curse of his own. “Damn you both. God, Trish—”

She heard another condom unwrapped. A shiver worked through each limb, down, then back to her core. Pussy. Asshole. Both were trembling. Waiting. She didn’t know where he’d go next.

He pressed against her back, both on their knees, with his cock tucked between her ass cheeks and his mouth on her throat. “Let me?”

Trish laced her fingers at the base of his skull, where cropped hair scored her palms. “Yes. But…take care of me, Eric.”

He shuddered. With a slight change to the angle of his supporting arm, he cupped her mound. “I
can
promise that.”

“Oh, this I gotta see,” Mal said.

Trish’s world exploded.

Eric Donaghue was not some sex toy, no matter how great that metal had felt. His cock was real and thick and pulsing. He pushed the head in, then deeper, that whole long shaft—so slowly that Trish felt turned inside out.

“Breathe, baby. Remember?” Mal knelt in front of Trish. Their nipples brushed, adding a distant tingle of pleasure to the hot ache of Eric’s prick buried ass-deep. She lifted Trish’s face with both palms. “Breathe. He’s got you. He’s got you so well. Here, look at the camera, Trish. Later he’ll get to see how hazed your eyes are, how your lips are slack, your brow shining with sweat. You know that’s what he wants. Even now.”

“She’s right, showgirl.”

With his free hand he cupped her jaw. Both of them held her face in place. Trish could only stare at the distant lens of the camcorder, trapped by the web of sensation they’d woven. Eric lifted his arms, crossing them around her breasts and hips. Mal took the opportunity to slide her hand up the inside of Trish’s leg. Fingers. Clit. It was nearly too much.

His voice was as rough as a buzz saw. “I can’t wait to watch this again. I’m right here fucking you, but you have my head in two places. So scattered.”

“No,” she whispered. Her chest ached. But through that cloudy filter of passion, she knew what she wanted. She wanted
him
. “Not two places. Eric, stay with me.
Here.
Now. Not the camera. Not for later. You and me.”

“Right now?” He shuddered. His hips faltered. Then he tucked his forehead against her nape. “Yes, my showgirl. Right fucking now.”

Eric bucked into her. Rougher. Each stroke dragged another pleasured gasp from Trish. She was floating on it, that feeling of deep, deep fullness. His hips met her ass every time, with every sharpening slap of body into body.