4. Verona
4
VERONA
“W ell, what do you want?” I asked, licking my lips.
He dropped his focus to the movement, bringing his cigarette to his mouth for a deep inhale before letting the smoke out on a sigh. Then, he stood and walked to the door separating this room from the main clubhouse area. It was three thirty in the morning, and even though the music still blared from out there, most of the brothers had either headed home already or passed out in the back rooms. Despite this, Hollywood leaned out and glanced around before kicking the door closed and sealing the lock.
The sound of the metal deadbolt sliding into place bounced off the walls, increasing my heart rate as I realized I was trapped ... alone ... in a room with Hollywood ... after agreeing to do whatever he wanted.
Any of those hang-arounds out there would have died for this opportunity, and yet, my hands trembled and my palms grew sweaty. I sat still, my attention glued to the way his hips moved as he stalked back to his seat like a predator, lithe powerful muscles rolling under his skin. The silence hung between us, and for half a heartbeat, I considered that this too might be a game. I’d been preparing for something sexual, and he’d force me to do something stupid and ridiculous to embarrass myself.
“I want you,” he started, lowering his body back into his seat, “to talk to me like you do to your submissives.”
What?
I trained my features, doing my best to keep a cool expression as my brain came to a halt. Of all the things I’d thought he’d say, that had not even ranked in the top ten. He wanted me to dominate him ? Verbally?
Jesus fucking Christ, sign me up. Wait ... What?
“Why?” I asked, narrowing my gaze in suspicion. Is this a trick?
“I already told you”—he leaned in, lowering his voice even further—“because it turns me on.”
I inhaled on slow measured breaths, telling myself we’d both had a lot to drink, so this was as much about him being uninhibited as me. We would regret this in the morning, but at that moment, I couldn’t find any reason to stop.
“Why me?” I held his gaze, his dark irises now almost turned completely black by his pupils. “You could have your choice of any of those hang-arounds?—”
“I’ve never seen any of them so skilled with a whip.” He punctuated the P on the end of the last word, making it seem more erotic than it had any right being.
“I should have known.” I raised an eyebrow, wishing my heart would stop beating so damned hard. I had no idea Hollywood would ever think about me in this way, but now that he’d implanted the image in my mind, I couldn’t deny the effect it had on me. I’d love nothing more than to make him kiss my boots and thank me for it. He had such a beautiful face, exquisitely built for riding. “No.” I cut off that line of thought off. “No, pick something else.”
“Why?” He furrowed his brows, actually seeming hurt.
“Because you’re you ... and I’m me.”
“Oh, c’mon,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Like you said, I won’t touch you and you won’t touch me. It’s nothing I can’t go online and get anytime I wanted.”
That got my attention. “You’ve watched my videos?”
“Guess you’ll have to play me again to find out.” He shrugged, tilting his head back so he stared down at me with rebellion flickering behind his gaze. “Now, we had a bet and you need to pay up.”
“What exactly did you have in mind?”
He blew a breath out through his nose while he leaned back in his seat and ran his eyes over me again.
“I want you to take off your underwear and stuff it in my mouth,” he said, shifting his hips while he pulled on his cigarette. “Then, I want you to spread your legs and show me your pretty pussy while you finger yourself and tell me how much you love hating me.”
Fucking hell. My cunt twisted with excitement, my thighs shivering as I clenched them to alleviate the ache. Every bit of logical restraint I had screamed at me to stop this. Sober Verona would not like it, but Drunk Verona told that sober buzzkill to take a fucking hike. She figured I might as well put my money where my mouth was.
Reaching for my water, I took a few steadying sips and closed my eyes, trying to summon the headspace despite being tipsy. When I lowered the cup and opened them again, Hollywood had stabbed his cigarette out and now waited for my reaction, his beautiful brown stare hungry.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Hudson?” I raised my eyebrow and looked at him like he was a despicable cockroach, like he deserved to be crushed under my heel. “Do you think I waste my time on cum dumpsters like you?”
“Fucking ... fuck,” he murmured, his eyes widening.
“Silence,” I commanded, pleased when he snapped his jaw shut. “You will speak when I ask you to.”
He grinned and bit his bottom lip, seemingly anticipating whatever I’d make him do next.
“Well?” I gestured to the space between my legs. “You wanted to watch, right? Get your ass over here.”
He hopped out of his seat so fast, it nearly fell over, and he dropped to his knees, crawling to the spot between mine before sitting back on his haunches. My thighs shook as I raised a boot to put it on his shoulder, giving him quite the view in between my legs. He gasped, his gaze dropping to my cunt before he remembered his place and glanced back up at me.
“Do you see something you want?” I teased.
He nodded and swallowed, looking all too eager to get his greedy fingers up my skirt.
“Well, go ahead. Take them off.”
Hollywood started to raise his hands, but I smacked them away. “Don’t you remember the rules? No touching.”
He looked up at me with big, confused eyes, and I almost caved to do it myself. Almost.
“You have a mouth, don’t you?” I tsked through my teeth as he opened his lips, realization dawning behind that gorgeous dark stare. Then, he froze, seemingly unsure now that he was here and had to participate. “If you want to stop this, say red.”
“No,” he blurted out. “No, I just ...” Gulping, he met my gaze, looking so much like a younger version of himself, like a lucky little boy that had gotten to play with a new toy before his friends. “I want to take my time.”
Part of me melted because he was so fucking cute. But the other part of me remembered the role-play, the one that he wanted from me. I leaned in toward him, trying to be intimidating when I hissed, “I don’t have all fucking night. Get to it.”
His features gleaming, he ducked his head under my skirt and latched on to the black undies with his front teeth, pausing for a few moments to breathe me in. I had to pretend that hearing his deep drawling inhale didn’t make me drip with disgusting lust.
What a filthy man. I love it.
“Uh, uh, uh,” I said, pushing his head away from me. “No one said you could linger. Take them off.”
He retreated, holding the fabric with his mouth while I slid them down my thighs. Even though I was hammered, I took a moment to admire the sight in front of me—the most beautiful man in Madison County on his knees, my underwear hanging out of his mouth, his eyes sparkling up at me while he waited for my next command.
“You’re such a good little slut, aren’t you?” I gathered the fabric and stuffed it in between his lips, careful not to touch his skin.
Hollywood nodded, and my pulse pounded through my body, electrifying me in ways I hadn’t experienced in a long time ... maybe ever. This was one of the tamer scenes I’d done, and I was practically trembling. I couldn’t contain my nerves, and truth be told, I prayed I remembered this in the morning because I would likely masturbate to it for years to come—once I got over the fact it was Hollywood.
“Now, I want you to stay there and watch while I get off,” I said. “Then, if you’re good enough, maybe I’ll let you touch yourself.” The mental images alone were enough to have me biting back a whimper. “Would you like that?”
His quick nod made me smile, and when I sat back in the seat, I waved two fingers at him, gesturing him closer. If I planned to give him a show, I might as well make it a good one. When he got face level with my knees, I grabbed the hemline of my skirt and slowly dragged it up my thighs, watching as his features tightened with each agonizing inch. Once it was high enough, I spread my legs open, giving him a floor-seat view of my vulva.
The throaty little moan he made etched itself in my molecules, amping up my own arousal, and when I spread my fingers through my sensitive skin, I rolled my head back on my shoulders at how wet I already was. Having him watch me up close like this had brought a new level of intimacy I’d never experienced before, if only because I knew him better than my clients and longer than any boyfriend I’d ever had. I rubbed my clit, gathering moisture from lower down and using it to lubricate my ministrations.
Sparks flew over my skin and I pushed onto the balls of my feet to increase my muscle tension, watching as his eyes trailed over every inch of me. He focused on my cunt before going to my breasts and face and returning to the main event. He didn’t know what to do with himself, and perhaps I was a selfish bitch because I relished in being able to drag the mighty heartthrob down so low.
“Look at you,” I went on, remembering this show was supposed to be about hating him. “Squirming like a pathetic waste of space. Aren’t you the great Casanova? The Lothario of the SRMC? And you want to watch me?” I let out a harsh laugh, shaking my head at the ironic beauty of it all. Chelsea and Amber likely wanted him to hold them down and be the dominant asshole they’d heard so much about. But Hollywood didn’t want that. He wanted the opposite. He wanted someone to be the asshole to him. As I rubbed myself with one hand, I brought the other to my entrance, stuffing a finger inside.
He gulped, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed, and I wanted to sink my teeth into that magnificent expanse to leave marks—to see how bright pink they’d appear on his skin after I made them. Fuck, every part of him was beautiful and sculpted by pure divinity, and I wanted to destroy it, use it as a landscape for my violent kinks.
“How desperate you must be after all these months with no one in your bed,” I went on. “Tell me, pretty boy, are you desperate? You can speak.”
“Yes,” he mumbled around my undies. “So desperate.”
“Hmm, I bet. You poor thing.” I grinned at his displeasure. “Go on, you can stroke your miserable cock if you want. Show me how hard I make you.”
He scrambled to get his zipper undone, pushing up on his knees so he could free the enormous length, his fingers slipping on the metal as they shook. I’d heard rumors about Hollywood’s infamous dick, and they certainly existed for a reason. It was long and girthy, and honestly, one of the prettiest penises I’d ever laid eyes on.
Is nothing about him ugly?
“I hate you,” I said, remembering what prompted this whole thing to begin with. I rubbed myself harder, faster, watching as he spit in his hand and circled the tip, squeezing while his eyes stayed glued to my pussy. Curling my fingers in deeper, I tossed my head back, loving how my moans grew breathy and pronounced. “You’re so fucking smug and arrogant ... and fuck ... I hate you so much, so fucking much.”
This wasn’t supposed to be about me; this was his scene, his winnings, but I couldn’t help myself. Having his eyes on me as I masturbated and degraded him was more tantalizing than anything I’d ever done. And just when my orgasm claimed me, my hand swiping over my clit agonizingly hard, I pinched my nipple to access the parts of my brain that loved the pain, tipping things over the edge.
Euphoria sky rocketed into my legs and up my spine, clenching my eyes shut, forcing a groan over my lips. It ached and throbbed, and I couldn’t stop myself from loving it, perhaps growing addicted to the feeling after only one round.
When I opened my eyes, Hollywood had stopped stroking himself, a bright, reverent expression on his face, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.