Dare (The Dare Trilogy) (2 page)

“When that man touches you, he won’t maul and grapple you like your some piece of fucking machinery, and he won’t bow down at your feet and place you on a pedestal, too scared to touch you.”

“What... what will he do?” The words caught in her throat.

“He’s got to be strong
—not to dominate you, not to crush you. He’s got to be strong because otherwise you’ll eat him alive and spit him out. He’s got to be powerful not to destroy you, but to be your pillar. When he kisses you, his lips moving down your breasts, tasting the sweet perspiration that forms there as you fuck him -” At this, the stranger’s head moved slightly downwards in the direction of her cleavage, and her breasts lifted slightly in the direction of his mouth. “Your nipples stiff as his tongue flicks over them, his fingers squeezing the flesh softly, one hand moving down between your thighs, pushing them apart—you might resist him at first, but he has to be firm.”

At this, Dianne’s own thighs moved apart slightly, unconsciously, and she felt a wetness between her legs as well as the heat of the stranger’s breath on her bare neck. She almost grabbed him then, pushing him backwards and sinking her mouth onto his as she dry-humped his thigh, a prelude to fucking. But she held herself. That would be giving in, and this bastard would win.

“And when this strong, powerful, gentle man enters you, it’s going to be nothing like you’ve ever felt. You’re going to be stretched and taken and you’ll give yourself up to him willingly, because he’ll see everything that you need and he’ll give it to you with all his heart and soul.”

“So,” Dianne hissed, trying to cover her lust with sarcasm. “This perfect guy has a big cock as well, does he?”

The stranger pulled away from her slightly and looked directly into her eyes now, those bright, blue orbs fixing her gaze. One hand of his was pressed down next to her, a finger just brushing the side of her buttock, while another lingered near her knee, his arm crossed against her lap. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

“That’s right,” Dianne swallowed. “I... I wouldn’t.” Fuck! Fuck me! she wanted to scream.

The stranger smiled at this and, to Dianne’s shock, pulled back. She could not look away from his eyes and she was aware of how her breathing was laboured.

“Is that it?” she sneered, trying to cover her sense of desperation and disappointment.

He nodded. “And did I make you cum?”

She shook her head, her lips curling in despite.

“Not even a little wet in that perfect pussy I bet you’ve got?”

“Not even close,” she lied.

Janey gasped at this. “Well, I couldn’t hear most of it, but you’ve got me ready for a damn good seeing to!” Her expression at that moment was like one of those neon signs above a motel, telling the whole world she was open and ready for business.

The stranger laughed at this and stood up. He was huge and, despite herself, Dianne’s pussy did indeed become a little wetter at the sight of him standing there, so tall and broad. He smiled at Janey and then looked back at Dianne, his blue eyes half hooded as he stared down at her.

“Well, maybe next time,” he said.

“Who says there’s going to be a next time?”

“You can’t go now!” Janey pleaded. “If this silly bitch is too stupid to see when she’s onto a good thing, I’ll more than make up for it!”

That caused a couple of the stranger’s friends to laugh but blue eyes simply shook his head. “Like I said, maybe next time. We’ve got to be going now, haven’t we.”

Although some of his companions looked as though they were preparing to stay and take their chances, there was something about his tone of voice that suggested he wouldn’t brook disagreement. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.” He looked back at Dianne, smiling slightly. “Maybe I’ll come back later, check how I did with my bet.”

“Don’t hurry back,” Dianne mumbled and, as she did so, her eyes fell away from his face, travelling down his body. Christ! she thought as she saw the package that was swelling in his jeans. Oh bloody Jesus Christ!

Laughing, the four men walked away across the dance floor and immediately Janey turned on her friend. “You stupid bloody bitch!” she hissed. “What the hell do you think you’re up to? He was gorgeous! And his mates weren’t half bad looking either.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“I realise. For all you were doing that queen bitch routine, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. What the hell is wrong with you, Di? I’d have killed to let any one of them take me outside right now and give me a damn good knee trembler!”

“Oh, lay off, Janey! Hell, if that’s how you feel, you can pick up someone later if that’ll make your evening better.” Dianne’s voice was more bitter than she’d intended. She was feeling distinctly uncomfortable for a number of reasons, not least of which was that her
knickers were already starting to feel very sticky inside her jeans. She’d probably need to make a visit to the ladies before the night was over and remove them. “That’s not why we’re here, remember?”

“That’s not why
you’re
here!”

“I thought you liked Optima!”

“Yes, I do
like
Optima, but I don’t know every guitar chord from their back catalogue and every inspiration for every single bloody lyric!” Janey lifted a hand and slapped it against her forehead, her blonde hair flicking backwards. “I’m here for a good time, and you just went and spoiled our best chance all night.”

“You can find somebody else, if it’s that important.”

Janey sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But there’s no-one here as good looking as him.”

Dianne was feeling more and more disgruntled with every passing moment. Fishing her phone from her bag, she glanced at the time. “Come on,” she muttered. “The support band’ll be on in a moment. Let’s try and remember why we’re here.”

“Why
you’re
here,” Janey reminded her. “Who are they?”

“I dunno. Black Ark or something. Never heard of them before.”

“Great. We could have been having the fuck of our lives and instead we’ve got to stand like bimbos and watch some crap support act no-one’s ever heard of.”

Knots of people were moving onto the dance floor in front of the stage now, staring up in bored expectation at the speaker stacks and instruments on stage. If any of them were here to see Black Ark, they gave no sign of it on their faces and most of the audience was still at the bar, drinking the night away before Optima came on stage.

After fifteen minutes or so, there was a rustling motion among some members of the crowd down at the front and a few seconds later four men walked onto the stage.

“Fuck me,” whispered Janey and Dianne felt her own stomach churn as though she was going to be sick.

He looked even taller on stage, clearly standing out against the other three men who formed Black Ark. Unlike Optima, who adopted something close to an emo—even glam-goth—asethetic, blue eyes and his companions were unassuming in their dress. And yet, despite lacking the theatrical trappings of the main act of the night, there was undoubtedly a presence to the lead man. Around her, Dianne could hear a number of women muttering appreciatively.

“Thank you. We’re Black Ark!” Blue eyes evidently didn’t believe in prolonged introductions, which somewhat surprised Dianne considering the verbal display he had treated her to previously. Picking up a Fender Stratocaster, his tattoos clearly visible down his arms now, he slung the strap across his broad shoulders and deftly turned the volume and tone knobs before plugging in the jack and kicking some of the amp switches at his feet.

Behind him, the bass player, the surliest looking out of the group, took up position in front of the keyboard player, a slender blond youth whose hair fell across his face in a kind of Sonic Youth, geek-punk fashion. The drummer, sitting down at his kit at the back of the stage, was shorter than the lead man but stockier, with powerful arms clearly able to pound skin all night long.

Without much warning, Black Ark launched into their first number
—a wave of sound that flooded the audience and took most of them by surprise. It was a harder, rawer sound than Dianne had been expecting—or indeed anyone else around them for that matter. Compared to the polished production values of Optima, this was closer to a garage band, but they were tight enough.

As blue eyes moved his fingers up and down the frets, his other hand chopping his guitar as though it was an instrument of war, his body all coiled tension and his face fixed in concentration, Dianne allowed herself a reluctant nod. If he’d been implying he was better than Johnny Korpus, then he was an arrogant prick. He was good though. Her ears and her body didn’t allow her to deny that.

She could hear plenty of influences. Here was a band that liked the Vines and the Raconteurs, but she could also hear the grungey pull of Nirvana and Soundgarden, as well as the earthier physical noise of the Stooges. Despite herself, her body began to move unconsciously, swaying slightly, and with a scowl she stopped herself. One thing she couldn’t stop was the sensation of opening up inside, her loins hungry for action.

Intro out of the way, blue eyes began to sing. “Every day I’m searching for the one, the one I know who’s never gonna come.” His voice matched the music: the softness of his Scottish accent was more gravelly now, rougher, and though the lyrics were dumb Dianne found herself responding to them: that was the power of rock music
—the less you had to think, the more your body acted.

His voice was powerful, that was sure, the notes pretty clean despite the power Black Ark were pumping out. “Every day and every night, she’s the one who’s hiding from the light.” As he sang, blue eyes lifted his gaze, across the floor. Almost instinctively it was Dianne he looked at, and she felt her chest go tight with emotion as his eyes locked onto her.

“I need her scent, I want her lust. I hear her voice, but life’s unjust. I see her standing—no feelings spared—I would take her if I dared!” His voice was rolling upwards, louder now, a bellow that still held the rhythm and harmony of the song as he raked down on the guitars, sawing it into a spiky crescendo as the drums crashed down like thunder behind him.

That was the moment when Dianne had her orgasm.

This was completely bloody stupid. Dianne had been waiting weeks—no, months!—to see Optima perform and now she was missing the first few songs of their performance. She heard the crowd roar out as Darius Optimus and the rest of the band had walked out on stage, but she was not there screaming her head off with the rest of them.

Instead she was locked in a toilet cubicle, desperately trying to bring herself to a proper orgasm so that she’d have some chance of getting her head together for the rest of the night. Her jeans were half way down her legs, her knickers pushed down against them, and her hand was thrust between her legs. She was glad of the noise coming from the nightclub which covered her own grunting as she rubbed herself frantically, trying to make herself cum.

This was a self-inflicted punishment fuck: it wasn’t normally the way she pleasured herself, but today she was annoyed and had no-one else to blame but herself for that annoyance. She realised that she had met the most amazing guy—not perfect, not her ideal, not even the kind of man she had been consciously looking for—but amazing nonetheless and she’d fucked it up. By putting on her usual sarcastic, queen bitch routine, she’d probably driven away one of the best prospects she’d encountered in years.

She pressed down on her pubic bone with the heel of her palm, almost jabbing her fingers into her pussy. This was not the way she masturbated normally at all. She would have liked to have claimed that she didn’t need to bring herself off this way, but the truth was that Dianne had become all too familiar with her hand and other toys as the most convenient route to self pleasure.

It wasn’t working. She was too angry with herself. She tried to stretch her legs further apart—her pussy was wet enough, but her jeans formed a bond across her calves and, in any case, the cubicle was too small. With her other hand, she yanked down the zip at the front of her top, reaching into her bra and scooping out one of her generous breasts. She’d been a stupid bitch, so now she was going to torture herself into an orgasm if it was the last thing she did.

Squeezing her nipple, pulling and pinching it, she rubbed her clit and focussed not on her own failings but that face, those blue eyes watching her
—just her, she knew it!—and the wall of music crashing about him.

“Oh yes, oh yes!” That was doing it. “Oh fuck!”

She clamped her thighs about her hand. Christ, her pussy was
so
wet. If she could have stretched her legs apart, she could have forced half her hand up there easily. She grunted, her eyes screwed shut and her lip hurting as she bit down on it. Flashes of light passed before the closed lids of her eyes and she bit down even harder on herself, trying not to cry out as she began to climax. It was no good though, and as she pumped her fingers into herself, pressing down on her clitoris with her thumb as her other hand punished her nipple, her lips opened.

“Oh Christ! Oh, fuck! Oh fucking hell!” she groaned, her hips bucking and her legs completely compressed around her hand now.

She didn’t know how long she sat on the loo after that, her legs skewed, jeans around her ankles, one breast hanging from her bra. She felt extremely light-headed, but that feeling of drunkenness soon passed and she was able to clean between her legs with some toilet paper from the holder. She could remember the days when the last thing she would have wanted to do was touch anything in the loos of NightWorld, but at least they employed an attendant these days to make sure things were not so squalid...