Suck and Blow: Party Games, Book 1 Read online

  Of course, telling himself to find some control was like telling the sun to stop setting. This was Francesca Winchester grinding herself against him. Their history dictated he had zero control over his actions when it came to The Gun.

  He pulled open the drawer to the left of Frankie’s butt cheek, the sound of its contents rattling around doing nothing to dampen the urgent need mounting in his body. He peered inside its shallow depths, finding only an assortment of combs, clips and other hair accessories.

  “Shit,” he heard Frankie mutter, disgust in her voice before she twisted to the right. The sound of wood sliding over metal tracks filled the room, louder than realistically possible, followed by Frankie gasping, “yes.”

  She squirmed further to the right, her legs gripping his hips, her sex grinding to his cock in pleasurable torture as she leant over and snatched something from the open drawer.

  Alec sucked in a sharp breath, the feel of her damp heat against his dick like a charge of live electricity. Christ, how was he to survive this? He must have been a bloody idiot to think he could handle Francesca Win—

  Without warning, she shoved him backward.

  He stumbled away, his stare locking with hers as she slid from the vanity counter. Her boots hit the tiled floor with a solid crack, her lips parting, her eyes dilating. She tossed him a small foil square and her hands moving to her zippered fly as he snatched the condom out of the air.

  His cock jerked. His balls ached.

  Wordlessly, Frankie lowered her fly.

  He caught a glimpse of red lace and smooth, creamy flesh, of a pussy mound devoid of hair and a small tattoo of a handgun behind the lace of her undies, and then the door behind him swung inward, slamming into his back.

  “What the—?” a male voice muttered on the other side.

  With a low growl, Alec spun on his heel, pressed his palm flat to the door and pushed it shut.

  Another shout came from the hallway, an indignant curse followed by a solid thump on the door. “Oi!” The bloke shouted. “I wanna take a piss.”

  Before he could move his hand to the doorknob, Frankie’s arm slid past his waist, her fingers flicking the latch to the locked position. “Too bad,” she whispered, the warmth of her body radiating into his.

  His dick was so hard he felt sure his skin was about to split open. He turned back to her, his heart slamming faster as his hands found her hips naked.

  “You got out of those leather trousers quickly,” he noted, his voice hoarse.

  She gave him a small smile. “You know me. I never do things half-arsed.”

  Alec couldn’t help himself. He laughed and slid his hands over her bare backside, the lace of her G-string an exquisite friction against his thumbs as he pulled her close to his body. “You don’t have to tell me that,” he chuckled, right before capturing her lips with his. He kissed her, not even remotely interested in reigning in his hunger. He was about five heartbeats away from shooting his load and the second he rolled the condom down over his dick he’d be just two. He reckoned if he were lucky, he’d get one good thrust into Frankie’s heat before he’d erupt. The best thing he could do now was show her just how bloody much he wanted her, show her just how goddamn wild she made him before he embarrassed himself beyond all salvation.

  He fucked her mouth with his tongue, toeing off his boots as he did so. Frankie’s hands moved to his jeans and she shoved them down over his hips before plucking the condom from his fingers resting on her arse.

  Alec’s pulse kicked up a notch.

  And another when he heard the unmistakable sound of foil being ripped.

  Jesus Christ, this is really going to…

  Steady fingers found his cock.

  He tore away from the kiss, fighting to control his breath. Hell, he was fighting to control his bloody release. His stare found Frankie’s half-shuttered gaze as she slowly, slowly, slowly, slid the latex sheath down over the throbbing length of his cock.

  Ah, fuck me.

  For an agonizing moment, neither of them moved. They stayed motionless, Frankie’s fingers resting at the root of Alec’s erection, his hands resting on the sublime curve of her backside, their gazes locked on each other’s as their hearts seemed to beat in unison.

  And then he moved. His control—what little he had left—deserting him.

  He hauled her off the floor, driving her back to the vanity counter, one arm wrapping around her tiny waist while he grabbed at the skimpy crotch of her G-string and pulled it aside. He shoved her thighs apart, the action spreading her pussy wide and, with one deep thrust, he plunged into her tight, sweet heat.

  She cried out, her inner muscles enveloping his cock, gripping it with greedy force as he slowly withdrew and slammed into her again.

  “Oh, God!” Her cry bounced off the tiled walls. “Yes!” Her fingers clung to his shoulders. “Yes!”

  He withdrew once more, back to the point where her folds circled the ridge of his cockhead, and thrust in faster, deeper, pulling her into his penetration. Her legs wrapped around his hips, hugged the back of his thighs and she held onto him, wordless moans slipping from her lips.

  He speared into her again, again, his balls so swollen with his impending release every time her arse cheeks kissed them he wanted to cry out himself. Instead, he grazed her bowed throat with his lips, tasting her sweat with his tongue, drinking in her pleasure on the air with every breath he pulled.

  How he kept going, he didn’t know. She was all around him, squeezing him beyond his limit, her pussy a slick sheath moving up and down his cock. The condom did nothing to diminish the feeling. And still he kept pumping into her, her whimpers and moans propelling him closer to a precipice he swore he would have already fallen over.

  Her very heat squeezed his length, sucking at it every time he stroked in and out of her. Her hands found his shoulders, his hair. She rode him harder, her legs locking their hips together. “Fuck that feels so good,” she moaned. “So good.”

  His head swam, swirls of bright fog rimming his vision. Christ, he was on the edge. The condom wasn’t doing jack shit to stop the concentrated pleasure rolling through him, the tight walls of Frankie’s pussy tormenting him beyond comprehension.

  He growled, closing his eyes and thrusting harder, deeper into her. It was dangerous feeling like this. Dangerous. Had to be. How could anything else compare to this? How could living compare to the absolute rapture of their joining? How could such a base, physical act rock him to the very—

  “Oh, God, Alec.” The muscles in Frankie’s leg coiled, pulling her deeper onto his driving thrust. “I’m going to come.”

  The declaration, uttered on a breathless pant, made his balls rise up. He held onto her tighter, his fingers digging into her magnificent body, his rhythm increasing. Growing erratic.

  Frankie’s sex constricted, her nails raking at his shoulders through the material of his shirt. “I’m going to fucking come.”

  She fisted her hands in his hair, jerking his head back to gaze into his face, her pussy sucking at his thrusting dick with gripping need. Her eyes were half-closed, her eyebrows dipped, her lips parted. She pulled in shallow, hitching breaths, each one becoming louder until a keening moan vibrated up her throat. A shudder rocked through her, she threw back her head and cried out, “Yes, yes, oh fuck me, yes.”

  Her sex squeezed his cock, again and again and again, his name—Alec, not Alley Cat, Alec—falling from her lips in a whimper with every powerful pulse, and it was too much. Too much.

  Alec came. Hard and explosive. He ground his teeth, his seed erupting from him in thick wads, filling the condom with spurt after spurt, Frankie’s pussy milking it with demanding pressure as it did so. He pumped into her, reveling in the raw pleasure surging through him as much as he drowned in the sound of Frankie’s pleasured groans and cries and whimpers.

  And then he was done. Spent. His body drained, his heart thumping, his balls depleted. And it was only as he dropped his head to Frankie’s neck and
drew in a trembling breath that he realized she too was limp, clinging to him like a marathon runner after the race has ended, her breath coming from her in weak chuckles that fanned his temple in little puffs of warm air.

  “I think,” she said, her voice husky, “that we can declare the kissing thing a tie, yes?”

  He laughed, raising his head to grin at her. “Care to try for two out of three?”

  Chapter Four

  Frankie opened her mouth, the words “God yes” forming at the back of her throat before her brain could register the thought. Her pussy fluttered, the fading echoes of her orgasm squeezing and pulsing with renewed anticipation and want. Fuck, she wanted to make love to him again. Like now. Right now. Screaming, wild, oh-my-God, now. She’d never wanted something as much. Never. Ever.

  She snapped her jaw shut and stared up at him.

  Her heart slammed into her throat and she stumbled back a step, the notion of wanting Alec more than anything else hitting her like a sledgehammer. This…this…whatever this was…it couldn’t…

  He looked at her with a steady gaze, his eyes revealing nothing. If he’d noticed her frazzled state, he didn’t let on. But then again, he never had, had he? All those times he’d defeated her…

  Oh, for fuck sake, Francesca, that was ten years ago. Drop it!

  But she couldn’t. All those times he’d beaten her…they’d helped define her. Every time she’d come in second to his first, she’d walked away with a willful need to defy every other challenge, every other confrontation presented to her. Alec Harris had essentially fed her hellion’s need to rebel. Her need to win. Every time she lost to him she felt out of control. She won everything she had anything to do with—except when he was in the picture. He always took the reins of control from her any time they faced off and here she was now, wanting to lose herself in him again? Wanting to lose?

  She took another step back, this one less a stumble and more a deliberate action. Drawing in a steady breath, she met his gaze with unblinking conviction. “I have to check on Miki.”

  Alec studied her, his body still.

  The pit of her belly twisting, she scooped her clothes up from the tiled floor, shoving her legs into the snug leather of her trousers with—as fate would have it—little difficulty. Without looking at him, she yanked her bra on and pulled her T-shirt over her head, the soft friction of its cotton on her lace-covered nipples almost making her whimper. Or was it the heavy caress of Alec’s gaze that rendered her so…so…woefully tragic?

  The sudden sound of rustling material told her he was dressing too, and she scrunched her eyes closed at the just as sudden sense of disappointment welling through her chest.

  What? You wanted him to pin you to the wall and fuck you senseless? Again?

  Her belly twisted some more and she bit back a growl. That’s exactly what she wanted, fuck it.

  “If it helps—” Alec’s smooth voice stroked over her nerve endings and she jumped, her nipples pebbling, “—I saw her with two guys earlier near the Truth or Dare area.”

  She opened her eyes and turned to him, doing her damndest to not notice that he was dressed again and so goddamn sexy to look at it was like visual Viagra, or whatever the hell the chick’s version of Viagra was.

  Oh, Francesca, you are in so much trouble.

  “Grant Rogers and Dayne Pearce,” she said, dismayed at how croaky the words were in her throat. She snatched up her right boot and shoved her foot into it, uncaring she’d left off her knee-high sock before donning her trousers. Her socks could wait. She had to get away from him. Now.

  Alex narrowed his eyes a second before he clicked his fingers. “I thought I knew them from somewhere. You all went to school together, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Frankie stuffed her left foot into her boot and zipped it up with a savage jerk. “You beat them often enough on the soccer field and cricket pitch if I remember correctly.”

  An ambiguous stillness settled over his face, his eyes becoming unreadable. “You do.”

  Frankie swallowed at the lump filling her throat. Something about the tension in his body made the twisting in her stomach turn into a full-on bloody knot. “They live next door,” she blurted out for no reason she could fathom. “I’m going over there now.”

  The unsettling tension didn’t leave him. “Will you come back?”

  She licked her lips, her mouth dry. “I don’t know.”

  The answer was truthful. She didn’t. It was all getting too intense. Too…surreal. Alley Cat, the guy from the poor end of town with the uncanny knack of making her feel worthless was now making her feel…what? Whole? Substantial? Like she actually had worth? None of it made any sense and it scared the beejezus out of her. Big time. Was she really ready to let this go where she feared it was going? And if she did, didn’t that just mean she was wrong about him all along? Another trumping via Alec Harris? Could she deal with that? Could she?

  He studied her, nothing about his expression giving away his thoughts. “Okay.” He nodded. Once. “I’ll be here at the bar if you do.”

  “Waiting for me?”

  His stare held hers. “Waiting for you.”

  The simplicity in his statement gripped Frankie’s chest in a tight clamp. Without another word, she stepped past him and pulled open the door. The blaring cacophony of the party slammed into her, far too loud for her confused state of mind. A ripple of frustrated anger shot up her spine as she pushed into the crowd. When the hell was a party too…too much of a party for her?

  “This is all Alley Cat’s fault,” she muttered, driving her nails into her palms. “Damn it.”

  Threading her way through the house, she hurried for the front door. She needed to talk to Miki.

  However, at the sight of Mr. Porsche smirking at some pretty young thing he’d no doubt cornered in the foyer, she stopped. The young woman looked trapped and by her shell-shocked expression, was too nice to tell the jerk to go to hell.

  Frankie crossed to the corner, tapping the pretentious wanker on his weedy shoulder. “There’s a Porsche being towed away out the front,” she said, affecting an overly concerned tone. “Might it be—?”

  With a yelped, “Fuck,” Mr. Porsche took off, leaving Frankie and the pretty young thing in his frantic wake.

  “Oh, God,” the young woman exclaimed on a cry. “Thank you so much. I thought he’d never get the hint.”

  “No worries at all.” Frankie gave her a smile, welcoming the familiar wave of cynical satisfaction rolling over her.

  See? The same old Frankie. Dealing with dickheads and morons with casual aplomb. Nothing changed here at all.

  “I was worried I’d get stuck with him all night,” the woman stated with a snort. “Which would have made it difficult to track down the tall hunk of blond yumminess I saw earlier in a pair of faded jeans and…”

  A dull heat prickled over Frankie, pounding with unnerving force at her temples and eyes. Tall. Blond. Yumminess. Faded jeans… Rationality told her the chances the woman was talking about Alec were slim, but jealousy told rationality to go take a flying leap.

  She let out a sharp sigh, giving the damsel not-so-much-in-distress a nod and mumbled, “Have fun,” before almost stumbling out of the foyer. Jealous? Jealous? Just what the hell was wrong with her?

  Summer hung heavy on the night air, heating her face and bare arms as she hurried for Grant and Dayne’s house next door. That the two class clowns lived in Avalon didn’t surprise her at all. They may have spent most of their class time getting lectured by one teacher or the other for being distracting, but when it came to something they felt passionate about…well, then Grant and Dayne positively soared.

  And it seemed both of them felt pretty passionate about Miki.

  Which should have made Frankie grin. Instead, all she could think about was Alec bloody Harris.

  “Fuck,” she snarled, wrapping her knuckles on the solid front door of her old school friends’ rather impressive home.

  The
door swung inward. Grant stood in the opening wearing a cautious smile, a pair of black boxer shorts and little else. “Frankie.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You better quickly be telling me you’re dressed like that ’cause I just caught you going to bed alone, otherwise…”

  Grant raised his hand, the same good-natured chortle she remembered from school rumbling up his chest. “Miki’s safe from my lecherous lust, Frankie.” He grinned. “She passed out about a second after we entered the house.”

  Frankie fixed him a sideward glare. “Where’s Dayne?”

  Grant’s eyebrows raised up his forehead. “In the shower. Damn, woman, I know it’s been ten years and all since we saw each other, but don’t you trust us?”

  Letting out a ragged breath, Frankie swiped her hand over her face. “Sorry, Grant.” She shook her head. “Just having one of those nights.” She lifted her gaze to his face, wishing she couldn’t see his surprised concern. It made her feel…weak. “Can I see Miki, please?”

  Grant’s eyebrows rose higher. “Did you just say please?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she growled, rolling her eyes. “Point taken. I’m a pushy cow. Now shut up and tell me where my best friend is.”

  With another chuckle—and a lopsided smile—Grant stepped away from the door and held his arm out to the side. “Down the hallway, second door on the right.”

  Before she could even register the need to do so, Frankie reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Rogers.”

  She all but ran to the room, her footfalls on the polished floorboards echoing around the long hallway like claps of thunder, her heart beating just as loudly. The door wasn’t closed when she got there and the sight of her best friend stretched out on a massive bed—still fully dressed and snoring softly—brought a relieved smile to Frankie’s lips.

  Trotting over to the side of the bed, she perched herself on the edge and gave Miki a gentle prod in the ribs. “Wake up, Miks,” she muttered, part whisper, part desperate hiss.