Plugging It In Page 3

  Something he couldn’t decipher flickered in her eyes and then she drew in a soft breath.

  “Please?”

  The uncertain request undid him.

  He was a slave to her. Had been since the moment they’d first met. As much as he was to his desire for Bran.

  Balling his fist in her hair, he yanked her to his body and took possession of her mouth.

  *

  RG disconnected her heart from the moment and surrendered control of her body.

  The second his tongue swept over hers, she surrendered to the pleasure he wrought on her as well.

  She worked his cock as he tore at her clothes and fucked her mouth with his. The button fly of her jeans resisted his efforts to release it and, with a snarl, he bunched his hands at the top of her waistband and yanked it apart, never relinquishing possession of her mouth as he did so.

  She heard denim tearing. She heard metal buttons pinging against the tiled floor, and then she heard their mutual groans fill the room as he shoved his hand into her open jeans and buried a long finger into her sex.

  The rough invasion flooded her with concentrated lust and she rolled her hips.

  He knew what she ached for—his finger stroking against her G-spot. He always knew what she ached for—and delivered. She tore her mouth from his, needing to cry out in pleasure.

  The raw sound reverberated around the bathroom, filling the air with an honest carnality.

  RG scraped her nails over his shoulders, riding his thrusting finger and whimpering as he captured the side of her throat with his mouth.

  She came, the force and abrupt speed of her orgasm ripping a choked groan from her. No. She didn’t want it to be over yet. She wanted his cock pounding hard into her. She wanted—

  Ruckus dropped to his knees and shoved her jeans down over her hips.

  She wore no underpants; she rarely did. The second he exposed the smooth curve of her pussy to the room, he uncovered her clit with his thumbs and ran his tongue over the tiny nub.

  “Holy crap.” She grabbed the edge of the sink behind her as a fresh wave of pleasure made her knees tremble. “That’s good.”

  He did it again, a low chuckle sending vibrations through her sex, adding to the wicked sensation pulsing through her already sensitive clit.

  She gripped the sink harder, parting her thighs as much as her jeans—bunched around her knees—would allow.

  Ruckus continued to lap at her clit, his tongue growing faster.

  “Fuck, that’s good.” She shoved her hips forward. “That’s so good.”

  He pulled away, grinning up at her. “Of course it is. Are you surprised?”

  She shook her head, her breath ragged. “No.”

  He chuckled. “Question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “If I were to cut these jeans off you, would you be pissed?”

  RG’s stomach fluttered. Her pussy throbbed with a base hunger. He kept a big-arse knife in the bathroom, one of the things that made him sexy as all hell and yet unnervingly mysterious. “Impatient, much?”

  His grin turned predatory. “Hell, yeah.”

  Without breaking her stare, her whole body thrumming with an urgency that stole her breath, she raised an eyebrow. “Unlace me.”

  His nostrils flared. Something dark flickered in his eyes. And then, he lowered his attention to her knee-high Docs and undid them, sliding them from her feet when finished.

  “Thank you.” Grinning back at him, she slid her palms down the length of her thighs and inched her jeans free of her legs.

  “Welcome,” he answered, lips twitching. His cock, RG noticed with a tightening of her belly, was doing the same. On its tip sat a glistening bead of pre-come she desperately wanted to lick from his flesh.

  Stepping out of her jeans, she wriggled her toes—still encased in her knee-high Doctor Who socks—against the cold tiled floor. “Want the socks to go? I’m partial to them as well, so I’d rather you not slice them from my legs.”

  He chuckled, slowly smoothing his hands up her legs as he straightened to his feet. “Oh no. The socks are staying. Everything else though…”

  He grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it up over her head, leaving her naked, bar her socks.

  She let out a laugh that was part surprise, part delight, her breasts growing round and heavy with anticipation. Her nipples pebbled, not from the bathroom’s cool air, but from the desire in his eyes as he took in her newly revealed body.

  “Better?” Tracing her fingertips over her left nipple, she gave him a questioning smile. Christ, she was horny.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the small distance between them, positioned himself between her thighs, and nudged her pussy with the tip of his erection.

  She hissed in a breath, the slight penetration of his flesh into hers without a condom separating them sending a bolt of liquid electricity to her core.

  Her pulse leapt into frantic life. Her belly tightened. Her breath grew shallow. They never fucked without a condom. Including it had become part of their foreplay. RG used an IUD and she trusted him implicitly, but a condom always made an appearance when they fucked.

  Except this time. He was so close to penetrating her without it. So close…

  His stare found hers. His warm breath fanned her lips. “Tell me to go get a rubber, RG, and I will.” One hand smoothed up her side, over the swell of her breast, as his other hand roamed her hip, her butt, the back of her thigh. “Tell me to sink into your sweet pussy without one and I’ll do that as well.”

  Throat thick, pulse pounding, RG curled her lips in a slow smile. “Sink into my sweet pussy without—”

  He buried himself in her sex in one fluid stroke.

  “Holy fuck,” RG cried, throwing back her head.

  He yanked her leg off the floor, withdrew a little, and slammed back into her, tugging her bent knee up to his side as he did so.

  Concentrated pleasure consumed her, radiating from the deep stretching of her pussy by his shaft, through her body, up to her breasts. Her nipples turned to aching points, and she arched her spine, craving Ruckus’s mouth or fingers on them.

  As if hearing her thoughts, he dragged his hand from her rib cage and cupped her breast, kneading it in perfect harmony with his thrusts.

  “Oh yeah…” She scraped her nails over his scalp, down the back of his neck and over his shoulder, rolling into his deepening penetrations. “That’s so good.”

  “Let’s make it better,” he rasped, before dipping his head to her breast and replacing his hand on her nipple with his mouth.

  Pleasure crashed through RG again, hotter, more intense. Her head swam, each pounding stroke, every swipe of his tongue on her nipple, every pulsing suck on its point propelling her faster towards another climax.

  It built in the very center of her core, a tight tingle of heat and pressure.

  She closed her eyes and gave herself to it, a willing prisoner of her body and his mastery of its senses, its wants.

  He feasted on her breast and drove deeper into her, his hands exploring her thighs, her hips, her breasts.

  “Ruckus…” she whimpered when he moved a hand to where their bodies joined to finger her clit. “Ruckus, I’m going to…I’m going to come.”

  He lifted his head from her breast and nipped at her lips with his own. “I want you to, gorgeous. I want you to fucking explode all around me.”

  She did. She didn’t even try to control it. He had a way of scraping away all the pretentions and barriers she had, and showing her the truth of who she was, what she wanted.

  Bucking into his thrusts, her toes curling, her eyes scrunched shut, she came over and over.

  And as she did, as her inner muscles squeezed his cock, she felt his body stiffen, felt his fingers on her body grow wild, and then he was groaning her name, his thrusts erratic, his seed pumping into her.

  And it was the single most incredible thing ever.

  Who knows how long later, both spent
and shallow of breath, he slowly withdrew from her sex.

  She didn’t hold back her soft moan of dismay at the loss of their connection, letting it caress them both before she gave him a lazy smile. “Not too bad.”

  He chuckled, leaning back into the shower to snag the washcloth hanging from the tap. “Thank you, kind ma’am.”

  She watched his face as he cleaned her pussy with gentle swipes, her heart tripping a little as he then cleaned his softening length. “Free tonight?”

  He froze for a split second, a barely visible stiffening of his body, and then shook his head as he tossed the washcloth into the sink behind her. “No.”

  A heavy tension wrapped RG’s chest. “Date?”

  He regarded her with an expression unseen by her on his face before: uncertainty. “Not sure.”

  Bending at the waist, she scooped up her jeans, flapped them out and then slipped them on. “K. See you later then?”

  He nodded, expression unchanging. “Sure.”

  The tension didn’t leave her chest even when she dressed—torn jeans and all—and exited his home.

  She had two hours to get ready for tonight. Two hours until the game she’d put into play a few days ago, when she’d realized whom the West Wind was outside of Hell’s Harbour, truly began.

  God, she hoped she really did know what she was doing.

  Chapter 3

  Bran arrived at the restaurant before RG. That surprised him. All the information he had on her made it clear she never ran late. Ever. Of course, he was early. Fifteen minutes early. He wanted to make sure he had time to select the most appropriate bottle of wine for dinner. He also wanted to be sure the nerves gnawing into his gut had time to settle.

  Settle. Huh. That was a joke.

  There was no chance his nerves would go away anytime soon. Not at all. Just when he thought he was coolly in control of them, the person RG requested he bring to dinner would move or speak to him, and the knotting tension in his stomach would twist over itself again.

  He could handle the nerves, could roll with them, if only every time he looked at Rick—sitting beside him right now—his balls and cock didn’t throb.

  How the hell was he going to conduct a business meeting with the man he ached for more than any other so close?

  “You look nervous.”

  He started at Rick’s low chuckle, his pulse kicking up a notch.

  Rick laughed again, reaching for the glass of water on the table in front of him. “Damn, Brannum. You’re a mess. Tell me again why you called me? Why we’re here?”

  Drawing in a slow breath, Bran ran a slower gaze over Rick’s face. The eyes were the same piercing blue, still filled with an intensity Bran had become addicted to almost immediately.

  “When did you shave your head again?” Ignoring Rick’s question, he reached for his own water.

  Rick cocked an eyebrow, took a sip from his glass, smacked his lips together loudly and then let out a comical “ahhh.”

  Other diners around them cast him glances. What kind of person came to Wockpool and acted in such a showy way, their faces said. It was bad enough said person was covered in tattoos, and now he was drawing more attention to himself? Bran wanted to tell them to stick their preconceived notions up their arses.

  Rick grinned, all too aware of what was going on, not only around him but—Bran suspected—in Bran’s head as well. Adjusting the cuff of his cherry-red suit jacket, he settled farther back in his seat. “Couple of days ago.”

  Bran tried not to let his stare drop to where Rick’s black silk shirt gaped open at the base of his throat, revealing a wickedly teasing expanse of brown chest. He also tried not to remember how good that chest felt beneath his tongue, but failed on both accounts.

  Christ, it had been too long without the man in his life. Four short months, but still too long, and now here he was, about to pretend he had no effect on him at the most important business dinner of his life. Was he crazy?

  “Played any good games lately?”

  Bran jerked his gaze up to Rick’s face.

  “Apart from whatever this,” he indicated them both with a wave of his hand, the ice chinking together in his glass as he did so, “game is we’re playing?”

  Bran shook his head.

  Rick shifted in his seat, stretching his long legs beneath the table. His knee brushed Bran’s, the contact making Bran hiss in a sharp breath.

  Their stares locked.

  Bran swallowed. “I’ve missed you, Rick.”

  Something flickered over Rick’s face at the confession, an emotion Bran couldn’t decipher.

  Jesus, why had he said that? He never planned to. What the hell was going on with him? He needed to get a grip before RG arrived or—

  “Brannum.”

  The familiar husky female voice uttering his name detonated a wild pulse in Bran’s throat. And in his groin.

  Fuck.

  Swinging his stare from Rick’s face, he smiled up at RG.

  Just as RG turned to Rick and said, “And Ruckus. You look good. Like the suit.”

  Bran frowned, returning his attention to Rick.

  Rick, for his part, was regarding RG with an enigmatic grin. “I should have known.”

  RG cocked an eyebrow, lips curling. “Yes. You should have.”

  Bran’s gut knotted tighter. He looked at Rick, then RG, then back to Rick again. “Ruckus?”

  Rick drew in a deep breath, and then took another sip of water.

  Standing beside the table, RG slipped her arms free of her jacket—a leather bomber jacket of the most brilliant yellow—and placed it on the back of her chair.

  Bran hissed in another breath, his head roaring, his body thrumming like a live wire.

  She looked incredible. As hot as Rick.

  A black satin boned corset turned her breasts to glorious mounds of creamy flesh and emphasized just how narrow her waist was, how curved her hips. Around her neck wrapped a black leather choker with a polished steel ring in the center. Her hair cascaded over her right shoulder. In her left ear hung what looked like a diamond-encrusted sword with two rubies as drops of blood on its tip. Around her left upper arm was a gold slave band, its position highlighting the subtle strength of her shoulder.

  Completing the outfit was a miniskirt made from what looked like a Union Jack flag, lace-topped fishnet stockings that revealed a slash of creamy leg beneath the skirt’s hem, and stilettoes a dominatrix would be proud to own.

  She was every female fantasy Bran had ever had. And about to sit next to the man he craved on every level imaginable.

  Shit, he was in trouble.

  Sucking in another breath, his cock throbbing, his balls doing the same, he fixed his stare on Rick.

  “Care to explain, Rick? Or do I call you Ruckus?”

  Movement in his peripheral vision told him RG had lowered herself into her seat.

  Lowering his glass of water to the table, Rick met his gaze. “Ruckus. I was born Rick—well, Richard. I became Ruckus a long time ago.”

  Bran blinked.

  Rick—no, make that Ruckus—offered him a wry smile. “If it helps at all, you’re the only person I’ve ever let call me that. And it’s because I loved the way it sounded tearing from the back of your throat when I made you come.”

  RG made a sound, a raw, carnal sound that flayed Bran’s senses. He ground his teeth, fighting with an unexpected dark hunger.

  How long had it been since he’d allowed that side of him free? The side of him that was ruled by base lust and the need to submit.

  Not since Rick—Ruckus—had been in his bedroom. He’d lived that life with him. Had been the sub to the man’s Dom. When Rick ended their relationship, Bran had suppressed that need and locked it away.

  And now Rick was before him again, and Bran wanted nothing more than to capitulate to his lust and Rick’s mastery, even as he wanted to see RG undone by pleasure. RG, who had played him to perfection…

  Was RG the reason Rick had left
him?

  Or was RG the reason he was now back in his life?

  He studied his ex-lover’s eyes, searching for the answers.

  “And if the name Ruckus tears from the back of my throat while you make me come?” He leant towards him, so close he could feel his breath fan his lips.

  Hunger flared in Ruckus’s eyes.

  Bran’s groin tightened. He turned his head, fixing RG in an unwavering stare. She met it, her own gaze as steady as his. “Is this what you’d expected?”

  She surprised him by chuckling. “This is so much hotter.”

  His cock pulsed.

  She reached forward, plucked the glass of ice water in front of her from the table and raised it to her lips. “And way more…stimulating than I’d expected.”

  “How so?”

  She took a sip, holding his gaze, her expression unreadable. “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

  And with that, she swung her attention to the waiter standing at their table and smiled. “Let’s start with the Moet, shall we?”

  *

  Ruckus ordered steak. Rare.

  He watched Bran’s jaw bunch at the word. During their time together, red meat only found its way onto Ruckus’s plate when he was going to bind Bran to the St Andrew’s cross later.

  There was no St Andrew’s cross in their immediate future. He knew that. His body, however, didn’t. Nor did his appetite.

  RG ordered the forty-dollar burger, her delight at such an indulgent item on the menu evident in her grin and the way she wriggled in her seat when she ordered it.

  She didn’t touch her Moet. He knew she wouldn’t. RG never touched alcohol. But she enjoyed the ceremony of opening a bottle of champagne. It was one of her childlike quirks he loved so much.

  Love.

  He didn’t want to think about that problematic word. Not tonight. Not until he got his head around the very complicated suggestions his subconscious and body were making.

  Bran ordered the salmon. He moved it around the plate with his fork, rarely eating it, watching RG and Ruckus with an enigmatic scrutiny Ruckus felt all the way to his balls.

  For the first half of the meal, RG focused on the marketing plan of Virt.Real Distributors. Bran answered all her questions.

  Ruckus sat between them, silent, cutting into his bloody steak, chewing it, swallowing it, listening to the words coming out of their mouths and hearing the unspoken conversation actually taking place.