Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(5)

He understands, then strokes his cock with one hand while he f*cks me with the other, and I take care of my clit myself.

It’s wild and wicked and crazy and it feels so right and perfect to be in his arms. Even like this. Even hidden. Even watching other people f*ck from this place in the shadows and—

“Come for me, baby,” he says, thrusting hard and deep inside me. “Christ, sweetheart, come with me now.” He is pressed up against me, and I feel his body tremble as he explodes, and that sensation pushes me over the cliff as well.

“Oh, god.” The cry is ripped from me as I shatter, riding his fingers hard as my body buckles and breaks.

“Is someone there?” The girl lifts her head from where she’d been sucking her partner’s cock, our roommates having shifted into a sixty-nine.

“Just a noise,” the guy says, his back to us. “Forget about it.”

But she’s staring right at us. I know she can’t possibly recognize us from the shadows, but I duck my head anyway and start to smooth my skirt, tugging it down from where it’s hiked up in my waistband. I’m not about to say anything of course. On the contrary. I’m going to get my clothes straight and follow Dallas through the door before either of them decides to investigate.

“Who is that?” she asks. “Who’s there?”

I motion to Dallas that we should go.

Dallas, however, has a different idea. “It’s just me,” he says, and I immediately want to sink into the floor. First in embarrassment, then in horror. What if this girl asks who he’s with? What if she gets a good look at me?

I glare at him, but he just shakes it off, as if I’m the one being insane and unreasonable.

“Dallas?”

“Sorry to intrude, Christine. My friend’s a little shy, but she likes to watch.”

“Oh, really?” I can hear the lilt of excitement rising in her voice. “Billy likes to watch, too. Don’t you, sugar?”

“Absolutely.” Billy lifts his head long enough to bite Christine’s hip, then dives back down to her *.

I just stand there, not sure if I’m turned on or scared or confused or what.

“Well, since they both like to watch,” Christine purrs, “why don’t you come join me?” She pats the daybed mattress.

“Tempting,” Dallas says, and my gut twists a little because I honestly can’t tell if he means it. “But maybe some other time.”

“Suit yourself. Stay and watch some more if you want.” She strokes Billy’s hip as she aims a smile toward us. “I promise it’ll be quite the show.”

“We’ll catch the rest of the act some other time. But stay in here as long as you like. I’ll have someone bring you champagne.”

“Thanks, man,” Billy says, his voice muffled.

Dallas starts to turn, and I feel his hand at my back, ready to guide me out.

I’m breathing hard, shaking a little. And I don’t wait for him to take the lead. Instead, I walk past him, slide open the door, and escape into the night.





The Man with the Golden Cock

The party is still going strong as I scurry from the cabana, my mind in a jumble. I know I should stop and talk to Dallas—but the truth is that I don’t know what to say. What just happened in there was, well, absolutely f*cking incredible. I can’t deny that I liked it. Hell, I loved it.

Or at least I did until the fantasy ended and Dallas talked to Christine. Christine. He knew her name. Why? Because he’d slept with her, of course.

Well, f*ck.

This is hardly a revelation, and yet I can’t deny that it bothered me the same way that watching him touch the blond bitch or the tattooed brunette bothered me. Even though there’s something so incredibly hot about that game of ours—even though I know he was thinking about me and only me—the whole thing just felt wrong tonight. And now that wrongness is sitting in my gut. Raw and sour and festering.

And I can’t talk to Dallas about it, because the most wrong thing of all is that it didn’t bother him. To Dallas, it was playtime as usual.

To Dallas, nothing has changed over these last four days. But to me, the entire world is different.

Ergo, the running.

I keep my head down as I slide through the crowd, skirting the cabana and heading to the lush, manicured lawn. This section of the property isn’t well-lit in order to keep most of the guests on the pool deck, in the house, or on the temporary dance floor that’s been set up on the lawn closer to the residence.

Despite the dim lighting—or perhaps because of it—there are still a few people mingling about, but I soon leave them behind. By the time I reach the hedge maze that blocks this area from the more private family garden, I’m the only one around.

When Dallas and Liam and I were children, this maze was exceptionally easy to navigate, primarily because the hedge was only a foot high. Now, more than twenty years later, it’s eight feet tall, but I still remember my way through, and I’m clear in under five minutes and heading toward the garden shed.

As soon as I reach it, I collapse onto the small wooden bench that sits flush against the stone wall. I breathe deeply, grateful to be hidden from view. Away from the party. From Dallas. From everything.

Except I’m not. He’s followed me, of course.