Chapter 10 #2
I have to give this place credit, even if the owner is an asshole – they work fast. Barely five minutes pass from the time that my ass hits the couch to the time that two beautiful, lingerie-clad women approach me with menus in hand.
It’s like the best of both worlds; one of them is a little thicker with shoulder length hair, pitch black with curls in it, and the other is more slender with long, bleached blonde hair that she wears straightened.
I can barely make out the shape of a tattoo at her hip, most of the design cut off by her bodysuit.
The one with black hair doesn’t have any visible tattoos, but she has a small silver ring hooked through the septum of her nose.
As I browse the menu, I make a display of touching the dark haired woman on my left; trailing my hand from the back of her knee up to the curve of her ass, repeating the process until I finally settle on a few bottles of overpriced champagne, and I slap her on the ass as she walks away.
If my dad could see this, he would straight up disown me.
I spend the next hour sipping directly from the bottle, sharing it with the girls working my booth, and just overall putting on a real asshole act.
By the time we down the second bottle, I think the only parts of their bodies that I haven’t touched are the parts which are covered by thin strips of lacy, navy blue fabric.
The blonde one sits next to me and she trails her finger across my chest. I lightly rub a hand over her outer thigh, moving from her knee to her ass and back again.
She’s giving me an obvious in, and I could take it.
I should take it. I could screw her on this couch, right in front of that little camera and really put on a show for the creep sitting behind it.
But I can’t.
Instead, I give her thigh a pat and excuse myself, heading for the bathroom. If I want to mess with Nash, fine, but I’m not going to use some girl just trying to do a job that, if rumor serves, she doesn’t even want to be doing. I draw the line there. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.
I run my hands under the faucet and splash water on my face, trying to clear my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, but Christ, he’s such a prick, I’d love to get one over on him.
He wants fire, I’ll bring him fire.
Part of me hopes that he tries to swing on me if he sees me here, just to give me an excuse. I’m not a violent guy, but…I could really use an outlet right now.
Splashing my face one more time, I straighten and look in the mirror to see Nash’s large frame standing at the door, locking it behind him to seal the two of us inside.
“I warned you,” he tells me as he turns and strides toward me, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and looking at his arms as if he’s admiring them. “Didn’t I? You don’t like to be told no, do you?”
His gaze meets mine in the mirror and I clench my fists over the edge of the sink with one side of my mouth turned up in a grin as he gets closer.
Hit me, asshole. I dare you.
I hardly have a second to react before he’s on me, pinning me between his body and the counter. His cologne envelops me in a warm blanket of wood and citrus that makes my breath catch in my throat, and my chest tightens.
“What the fu—”
“What did I tell you would happen if you came into one of my clubs again? Hmm?” He asks, his breath hot against my ear. His left hand reaches for my jaw, forcing me to look over my shoulder at him. Hazel eyes bore into me as he growls, “I told you that I would own you.”
“What are you—”
His mouth meets mine in a sudden kiss, his tongue sliding past my lips to take me by surprise, and I jerk my head back as his right hand works quickly to open my belt and unbutton my jeans.
It slides under the band of my boxer briefs to wrap around my cock, and I grunt at his touch as he pulls it out.
“I’m not gay,” I breathe in protest, trying to pull my mouth from his, but my cock swells as his fist tightens around it, ignoring my protests. My heart slams against the wall of my chest and his left arm moves to snake around my waist, his fingers grazing over the plane of my stomach.
“I didn’t say that you were,” he teases, running a finger across the slick head of my dick to earn a whine from me.
His mouth meets mine again with lips like silk as his hand pumps the rigid length of my shaft.
I want to hate it. I want to headbutt him, to break his nose like Davis taught me to and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing touching me.
But the way that he’s touching me feels so goddamn good that I can’t seem to do it.
I break away from the kiss, my hands gripping the edge of the sink with white knuckles, and I fight back a moan. I can’t be enjoying this as much as I am.
I love women. I fuck women.
I am straight.
It would be so easy to walk away right now. All that I would have to do is slide over a few inches and leave. It’s not like he can easily overpower me; I could get away from him if I wanted to.
The only problem is that I can’t bring myself to want to.
The rhythm of his hand changes and my body buckles, my mouth falling open as pleasure courses through my every nerve in an electric assault, and I catch a glimpse of him in the mirror as I gasp for air, proudly watching my reflection. It’s as if he’s just won a game; and I’ve just lost.
He’s gotten the upper hand against me tonight and he knows it.
“I wonder what your daddy would think if he knew how much you like my hand wrapped around your pretty cock,” he taunts, watching me in the mirror.
“Get…off of me,” I pant as I move one of my hands, grabbing onto his wrist to stop him, because god damnit, I will not cum in Nash Montgomery’s hand.
“Hands on the counter,” he orders, and god help me, I listen to him. I slam my hands back into place with a vise grip, this time not holding back the moan that escapes me. “All I had to do was give you an opportunity,” he continues, taunting, “and you couldn’t resist it, could you?”
As his body presses against mine, I can feel his cock hard against my ass, and it sends a familiar heat through me that it shouldn’t; a heat that I don’t want.
“You’re…such a…prick,” I whimper, glaring at him in the mirror, trying to fight off the orgasm violently clawing at me and begging to be released.
“Don’t talk back to me, pretty boy,” he warns, stilling his hand, “or you won’t get to come.”
At his threat, my hips thrust into his hand on their own with a whine, trying to force the friction I so desperately need. If he stops now, I don’t think I’ll make it. I’m so close that it would be painful if he stopped. I need him to keep going.
I need him to make me come.
Nash laughs – actually laughs - and he picks up his movement again, firming his grip in perfect, even beats as he strokes my dick. His mouth makes contact with the skin below my earlobe and he flicks his tongue a few times before gently sucking at my flesh.
Electric pressure builds in my spine while he works my shaft, breathing heavily behind me, and my grip tightens on the sink in front of me.
“Shit,” I gasp. “I’m— fuck!” My head falls forward and my mouth drops open as I come, my chest heaving while my hips give a few small thrusts and I do exactly what I didn’t want to do: I cum all over Nash Montgomery’s goddamn hand.