Chapter 11 #3
Carter isn’t helping. He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like we’re together. Like this is a normal thing to do.
I try to ignore the intense shiver that travels down my spine.
But then I realize that I don’t want to try and ignore it. It’s easier to sink into someone’s touch, especially when it feels so familiar.
Everything is backward. I don’t know Carter Trescott.
All I know is that he used to wear designer suits and now he doesn’t. I don’t know his life story, what he’s thinking, and I certainly don’t know his intentions.
But his hand in mine feels so right.
I don’t get the urge to move away like I often do when I’m out on the Strip.
I let contentment take over…
Until it transitions into something more heart-throbbing.
More urgent.
I pull away, but it seems like Carter was prepared for me to react like this. He tightens his hold on me and brings me closer, using his other hand to curl another piece of hair behind my ear.
“Let us take care of you,” he says.
Two other bodies appear behind me, hands reaching out to snake around my waist and hips.
The guilty feelings are overshadowed by another feeling hundreds of times more powerful. Sighing into the bikers’ touch, I let their strong hands roam my body.
I let go. Maybe a little too much. I collapse into the bar and let them catch me.
Don’t get it twisted, I’m no damsel in distress, but I’m happy to fulfill that role in the bedroom. Because it feels good to be controlled for a change.
I let go before with them, but this time it feels different. Everything is slower.
“When was the last time you properly let go, darling?” Skipper murmurs in my ear.
The answer to that question is last night.
But I think I can let go even more.
They lift me up and carry me out of the main room to a quieter place that’s less crowded. As soon as I feel my back hit a mattress, I’m already making a start on shedding my clothes. Fuck the designer outfit that cost more than three months of rent—I want it off.
Retail shopping is fun, but it doesn’t even scratch the surface of my satisfaction.
Carter helps remove my shirt and slides my unclasped bra out from under me. He pins me to the bed and runs his palms up and down my chest.
The soft way he takes my breast into his mouth surprises me. He’s taking his time, in no rush whatsoever to get inside, despite the hard bulge I feel digging into my thigh.
Make that two.
I open my eyes and find the third already displayed directly in front of me. Skipper is naked from the waist down and already doing something about his erection, massaging himself while staring at me.
“Come here,” I order.
“Not yet, sweetheart. I’m happy admiring the view.”
“It’s a splendid view,” Vex chips in, removing my pants. “Very splendid indeed.”
Before I can take my next breath, he’s plunging a finger deep into my hole. I moan, arching my hips to get the finger even deeper inside.
I’m not surprised to see that his finger is soaking wet when he withdraws it.
I can deny it all I want, but the wet finger is concrete evidence that I have feelings for Carter and his two friends.
Not emotional ones.
I’m talking about intense feelings. Ones that are out of my control.
But is that a good enough excuse as to why I’m getting naked for three outlaw bikers instead of picking up my son from preschool? Mom wasn’t exactly in control when she was letting the vodka and the Vegas Strip rule her life.
As a seventeen-year-old girl with only her SATs to worry about, I thought that in life, everybody had a choice.
For the past three years, I’ve been choosing Otis, but that’s only because there were no other distractions in my life.
The real fun starts now.
Because as I lie back and let three dirty mouths plant kisses all over my body, I find myself growing out of that seventeen-year-old belief system.
Am I choosing this lifestyle, or am I letting it consume me, the same way Mom let male attention take over her life until she was too weak to change?
“I want you to scream my name this time when I fuck you,” Vex says.
Their voices are like music to my ears.
As the spiritual gurus say, there’s no time quite like the present.
I shove the spiraling thoughts away and bring myself back to the present moment. How am I supposed to walk away from this when all three of them are hot, naked, and desperate to get inside of me?
How am I supposed to walk away when the fantasies I’ve shared with my vibrator are suddenly real?
I don’t have to look up to know which one of them is inside of me. The girth speaks all for itself.
“Vex!” I gasp, already holding on to consciousness by a thread.
I’m between minds of begging him to go faster or telling him to slow it down so we can draw this out for as long as possible.
In here, reality doesn’t exist. I’m living in a bubble of dopamine that I don’t want to burst, even though I subconsciously know I need to, in order to get back to Otis.
But the annoying thing about human pleasure is that it makes you do selfish things.
I lie back and let him take me, his thrusts quickening. Carter and Skipper keep me pinned down so I don’t go flying. Vex ventures so deep that it’d hurt if I wasn’t so fucking turned on.
I’ll probably walk out of here with a bruised cervix and another child on the way, but all I can think about is how it’d be worth it.
Because once again—when a human is pursuing pleasure, it comes from a place of selfishness.
Vex finishes deep inside of me and tags the next one in.
I happen to catch Carter’s eyes the moment he dives deep inside of me, and I regret to admit that my stomach does a mini somersault. The last time I felt something shift inside of me like this was…never.
Sure, I had my days on the Strip before Otis—staying out all night, going home with a new man each time and never speaking to them again, but it was never fun like this.
The sex was okay, but I only engaged in it because it gave me something to do when I was bored. It put a bandage over my problems temporarily. To an extent, the drink allowed me to relax and let go, and the men were an escape—one which never lasted more than a few minutes.
But it was an escape nevertheless, one that took my mind away from Mom…
Until I drank too much and remembered why she was stuck in the hospital, withering away in the first place.
This, on the other hand, feels different. Each time Carter thrusts inside, my stomach does a little flip. It feels like we’re bonding.
Like strings are attaching.
Especially when he finds my eyes.
Fuck, this would be so much easier if he was bad in bed.
“You’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Skipper says in my ear. He folds a piece of hair behind my ear and watches my face. “You’re ours.”
I have time to freak out about that comment later. Right now, I’m using it as fuel to edge me closer to climax.
Unable to keep my hands to myself, I drop a hand and blindly search for Skipper’s dick. He passes his length over to me, but it’s not enough to hold it in my hand.
“I want you in my mouth.”
“If the princess insists.” Skipper repositions himself, perching on the side of the bed as I take his impressive cock into my mouth.
I didn’t realize how out of practice I was.
An embarrassing choke ripples out of me when I take him too deep. The worst part is that I don’t even have half of his length inside.
“I love to hear you choke on my cock.”
It’s not your average comment from a hookup, but I roll with the punches and ease more in. Sucking dick is so much more enjoyable when you’re physically attracted to the man, not just doing it in an attempt to feel something.
I lick a long stripe up his length and find the tip.
That’s when Skipper takes back his dick and forces me to lie back down.
“I was just getting started.”
“You were about to make me come.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”
He doesn’t reply, just tenses his jaw and turns away.
Carter dives into me faster, hands locked at my hips. He takes control of my body like it belongs to him—something I’d happily let him do forever if I get to feel this good each time.
“God, Carmen…”
Staring at his face, I’m suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia.
I find myself back at my apartment on the outskirts of the city, in this exact position. Carter doesn’t look me in the eye. He doesn’t even say my name. He chases his own climax without trying to give me mine.
Because Carter Trescott doesn’t need to try.
He’s different this time around. He’s still Carter Trescott, but an emotionally intelligent version who knows how to make good eye contact and stimulate the clit during sex.
“I want you to finish for me,” he says.
Where is Carter Trescott and what has this man done to him?
Skipper walks to the foot of the bed and grabs my legs, pulling them up to the ceiling. All three of them are watching in awe where Carter and I are joined. It’s like we’re putting on a private porno for them.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Skipper says.
Vex groans. “Her pussy is taking him so well.”
That’s because I’m wetter than monsoon season.
Fire builds in my stomach where an epicenter of pleasure gets ready to explode. I’m moments away from complete, utter bliss when Carter finishes inside and withdraws from me.
A new warmth fills me. Skipper.
His rhythm is different to Carter’s, but equally satisfying.
I arch my back as far as it can go, my body in a sort of glute bridge position. Carter and Vex place their hands under my back to keep me in place.
And Skipper finishes me off.
He starts thrusting in circular motions, and I gasp, every cell in my body preparing for orgasm. When he locates my sweet spot, he deliberately tries to avoid it.
Fucking ass.
“Please, I can’t hold on much longer.”
“Neither can I,” he grunts. “But I don’t want this to be over yet.”
My heart is drumming a thousand miles an hour in my throat, my pussy so hot that it’s gonna burn up in a minute if it doesn’t get what it wants.
I twist my body until his length is catching my sweet spot again.
And that’s when I see the holy spirit.
“Oh my fuck!” I scream.
This is the first time I’m being possessed by my own orgasm. My body shakes uncontrollably. I probably look like I belong in a mental asylum, but that’s only because the climax is so great that it feels like I’m losing my mind…
In the best way possible.
Skipper withdraws and spills his seed all over my body, finishing up with the most poignant word of the night. “Ours.”
What does that mean?
After the orgasm leaves my body, I let the mattress take my weight.
Everything that happens after that is hazy.
A series of opening and closing doors. Carter, Skipper, and Vex cleaning me up.
With blurred vision, I watch them part my legs slightly to mop up any excess wetness.
They then towel my body with a hot cloth and use a second one to pat me dry.
Anyone would think I’m incapable of cleaning myself.
“We’ll let you have some peace and quiet,” Skipper says. “If you need us, we’ll be in the main room.”
Only when the door closes do I spring up and realize how dark it is in the room. Panic taking over, I swing around and tear open the curtain, hoping they’re blackouts. Instead, I find myself staring at a crescent moon.
Blood rushes to my face.
I’m supposed to be back home by now.