49. Dirty Diana #2
If the Boy asks or initiates, and the girl wants to? Have at it. They’ll just never be welcome back in this penthouse.
Gia's fingers skim his jaw,
and Andrew grabs her wrist.
“Yeah?” he says, guiding her closer.
Until she's leaning over him,
gripping the back of the couch.
Her tits are inches from his face,
and with only an inch between them,
Andrew’s mouth follows the line of her throat. “And you sayin’ you got me, huh?”
In that moment,
for a fleeting second,
I’m staring right at him,
with no idea who he is.
I tell myself that he’s playing, that it’s all reverse psychology. That he’s doing what it takes to make me break first.
But he’s good.
I’m starting to question
which Andrew is true.
Mine or theirs.
Cold stones crawl up from the pit of my stomach, piling high into my chest.
Andrew’s ravenous eyes flare to mine as she pulls away, his fingers drumming the edge of the couch, as if he’s considering how far is too far.
“What do you think, man?” He leans forward, head swinging to Honor. “I take one, you take the other?” He pops a brow. “Give Baby a show. I mean, Benchwarmer’s right. “We deserve a little fun too before we lock in, don’t we?”
Honor shifts, adjusting his gym shorts. “This is fuckin’ crazy…” he says, searching my face again.
I don’t know what he sees.
My expression feels strained, loaded,
seconds from bursting at the seams.
“Which one you thinkin’?” Andrew asks him. “‘Cause I’m into this lil freak right here.”
As the chorus returns,
Gia spins in the middle of the room,
then her knees hit the floor.
She crawls forward, arching her spine,
nipples scraping cold marble,
thighs sliding open
as she grinds forward.
Every drumbeat seduces her movements, every light’s strobing across her skin, craving to touch her.
Andrew’s eyes haven’t left her either—gaze dragging heavy as she rolls onto her back,
as her heels face the ceiling,
as they both slap the floor,
his fingers tracing his lip
as if he can taste her in his mouth.
He cocks his head with a flick of his two fingers. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
As if I’m not here anymore.
In my peripheral,
Sasha turns between Honor’s thighs,
and she spreads her ass over his lap.
Her blonde hair fans across his chest
as she lays back.
Honor bites his lip, eyes hooded as he gazes down at her tits, fingers digging into the cushions.
The electric guitar grinds across the penthouse, sleek, sultry, catwalk-slow.
Sasha looks over her shoulder at him—
And Honor takes her mouth,
kissing her deep, dirty.
You pathetic weakass.
“Shit…” he groans when her mouth breaks away.
Ben’s eyes fly to me to assess the damage it’s done.
There’s none.
None at all.
I’m stone, feeling myself go colder by the millisecond.
Ben persuaded, as he always does.
Honor popped, as expected.
And instead of Andrew not playing, he’s flashing a lazy, cocky grin at Gia as she approaches him.
Nausea's crawling into my stomach.
My heart's lashing out loud in my ears.
I can’t fake my face any longer.
I’m gripping my pen in my fist
so fiercely, it might snap.
Andrew’s head tilts back,
gaze trailing up Gia.
The moment stretches to torture me,
though my blood’s thrashing
at double speed.
My heartbeat thud-thud-thuds
to the beat of the song,
Michael Jackson’s throat-grit,
electric staccato gasps.
“Dirr-dee-die-AN-uh-oH”
Movements blur.
My breath cuts as it leaves like glass.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Andrew murmurs, standing to his feet, towering over Gia. “So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Knees or tease—your call.”
Ben’s brows pop up,
eyes darting to mine. “Damn.”
My heart’s pacing from wall to wall in my ribcage, looking for a way out.
“Knees or tease?” Gia says, smirking.
Andrew steps closer, crowding her.
My throat tightens,
strains,
clawing to scream.
I’m mannequin-still,
posed by fear, rage, disgust,
unable to un-pose myself.
“C’mon, you gettin’ on your fuckin’ knees for me, or keep playin’?”
A surprised laugh buckles out of Gia.
“Here?”
“Right the fuck now,” he says, dropping a couch pillow to their feet for her, like some gentleman.
He’s asking her for head?
After telling me he hasn’t had it in ten years. That no one’s seen his dick except me in ten years.
As if he’s saved himself for me.
And now he’s just… giving her his cock?
If he’s expecting me to stop him,
I won’t. Fuck that.
He’s out of his fucking mind.
Unless he’s not playing.
Unless he’s taking it while he can to prove a point, and in seconds, she really is about to taste his dick.
With me sitting right here.
No. He wouldn’t.
Would he?
…Would he?
Then Gia’s lowering, licking her lips,
her knees hitting the pillow,
head lined up with his cock.
Ben shoots me another glance.
Andrew’s thumbs hook his waistband—
his sweatpants drag down his hips—
following the lines of his V—
the hard lines of his abs—
his happy trail—
my chest rises and falls,
heartbeat twisting,
my stomach churning,
then sinking,
sinking,
sweat’s sliding.
I’m hot, and I want out.
Out of these clothes,
out of this penthouse.
His waistband reaches the dark patch of hair framing his cock,
then slips slow down the shaft—
And I snap.
Stumble to my feet,
my chair screeching under me—
Andrew stops,
waistband halfway down his cock.
And his eyes lift
until they’re crashing into mine.
The corner of his mouth lifts next.
“Took you long enough.”
His waistband snaps back around his hips, and he steps around Gia, erasing the distance between us fast, coming at me like a heavy metal song.
My chest’s heaving faster.
I step back, needing to leave the room.
My pencil clatters to the table.
Then he’s standing over me.
I turn my head away from him.
I need more time to hide all these feelings, to stop this rage shaking in my hands.
It’s the withdrawal. It has to be.
“Yo—” He dips down, grabbing my gaze, his mouth an inch away. Gingerly, I lift my chin, and his menacing eyes narrow when they catch mine. “You don’t wanna play that game with me. Trust me, I been doin’ it a lot longer than you.”
He tilts his mouth closer to my ear, his ruthless whisper brushing hot across my cheek, “And it ain’t only you who’ll lose, Allison.
“We both lose. Every goddamn time.”
His stare jumps across my face as he realizes how close he is to me. How it’s the closest he’s been in days.
I feel his heart pounding from outside of him.
A lump slides down his throat.
I clench my teeth so I don’t move—
whether it be closer or away,
there’s no telling what my body’ll do,
so I stay entirely still,
breathless and still.
Finally he tears himself away,
stepping back,
thumb swiping his bottom lip.
He looks down at me through his lashes.
“Sorry ‘bout your boy, Honor,” he says,
glancing over his shoulder at Honor,
who’s playing with a nipple.
“Real shame.”