Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (8 page)

All real. All for him.

The camera flashed.

Chapter Seven

Eric must’ve set the camera to repeat at intervals. The flash flared as he kissed her and leaned her back against the mattress. The camera would record their bodies in profile.

Being covered by his big, imposing body was so different than riding him. Then, she’d felt like a goddamn superstar. Queen of his mountain. She’d used him and basked under the burning zap of his dedicated attention. Being beneath him sharpened the sense of vulnerability. He could do anything he wanted. Throw her against a wall, fuck her up the ass—his power was complete.

Flash.

She shuddered as he pulled a condom out of the pocket of his robe then slipped it on. She welcomed him inside. So
full
. Relaxation twined with excitement because now she knew she was safe. His kink wasn’t non-consent or humiliation. He liked rough sex, exactly how she wanted, and he wanted pictures every ten seconds to commemorate the event.

It
felt
like an event. He surged into her, with nothing done by half-measures. No truncated thrusts, but full, consuming, deliberate strokes. Her joke about whether he could go all night wasn’t a laughing matter. His steady fuck and the concentration on his rugged, scarred face said he could do this until she exploded and exploded.

Greedy whore.
As if two weren’t enough.

Not nearly. She was climbing aboard another ride. Clock ticking.

She reached around and grabbed his ass. Hesitant at first, she only scratched those pumping globes of solid muscles. Some men didn’t like even a hint of pain, but he flashed that blink of a smile. “As rough as you like, showgirl. Do it.”

He forced his tongue into her mouth as she dug deep. Squeezing and pinching his rock-hard flesh dragged a moan from them both. They drank each other in. His cock had no limits. Now, stretching her wide, challenging her body to take more and more, he was swelling. Lengthening. Every new sensation and every click of the camera’s bright lights jacked his erection another notch.

Yet Trish hit a high, frustrating plateau. Her orgasm was so close, but her body wasn’t cooperating. She’d used up too much sensation earlier.

The noise she made must’ve signaled him that something was wrong. He slowed, stopped, with his cock buried to the hilt. “Tell me.”

“Stuck,” she said, turning her head unconsciously toward the camera. Another flash made her cringe. Great. He’d have
frustrated
among his array of unappealing poses. What the hell kind of picture was that? “My clit’s a little numb. I…” She swallowed. “I don’t think I’m gonna come this way.”

He stroked her cheek. Intent, yes, and with tenderness she hadn’t expected. “How often have you admitted that?”

“You make it sound weird.”

“Don’t mean to.”

Why was she blushing? She wasn’t doing anything wrong, but those times she’d faked it…she’d
felt
like it was wrong. The coward’s way out. She hadn’t demanded pleasure for herself, although she’d certainly accepted the gifts and trinkets that came from a satisfying performance. Now it turned her stomach.

“Never,” she said softly. “Guys don’t want to know that shit.”

“Then why tell me?”

She caressed up his back. A brief flinch marked the moment she passed her palms over his scars. Only then did she realize he’d positioned them so the damaged side of his face pointed away from the camera.

“I don’t think you’d take kindly to me faking my way through.”

“No.” Another undeniable negative. He was good at those. She liked knowing when she guessed him right.

“And damn it, I
want
to come.”

The camera kept up its pace, recording their conversation. She wondered once more, what was the point? Maybe he’d been putting on a hard-ass front when he said he would keep all of them. That couldn’t possibly be the case.

Eric trailed his fingers down her throat, along the side of her breast. “Thank you for telling me. Now we can do something to fix it.”

His withdrawal was a reminder of his amazing size. Potent. Cock gone, body gone, she was bereft of that sheltered thrill—consumed and guarded at once.

“Up. Back on your knees.”

Although wobbly after holding all those poses, Trish complied. Quickly he left the bed and made a few adjustments to the camera. What, she couldn’t know, but his expression was especially intent when he returned to her.

“You look like a man on a mission.”

“Your pleasure.”

“Oh God.”

His smile quirked at her reflexive response. The flash was clicking away, faster now. As Eric climbed behind her on the bed, she counted each at three seconds. Practically an old-fashioned flipbook.

He grasped her around the waist, with one hand strong at her hip. Such a bruiser. He squeezed and groped her. He tossed her forward onto her hands and knees then fucked into her with no warning. Trish squealed. His grip on her hips was implacable. Every driving thrust threatened to shove her off the bed, but he held her firmly in place, ready to receive each pulse of his amazing cock.

She thought maybe she’d try her clit again. He was so
good
. All rhythm and power. But he slipped his arm through both her elbows and pulled them back, imprisoning them between sweat-slicked bodies. The move arched her back against his chest and thrust out her breasts. His other arm wrapped low around her hips. Supporting her completely. He fucked her with the precision and timing of a piston.

Now she couldn’t touch herself. She didn’t know if she had the guts to tell him a second time that it wasn’t working. A heavy sense of frustration and disappointment threatened to kill her buzz.

Until those unforgettable lips nestled close to her ear.

“They’re watching us, Trish.”

“What?”

He gripped her tighter. His speed had picked up—as concentrated, as deliberate, but with an edge of desperation. “The paparazzi. Those cameras. All aimed at you.”

She gasped. That image hit deep, deep in her mind. Secret places. She’d almost forgotten the steady flash of the camera. Now it was all she could think of. “More. Please, Eric.”

“They’ve come to see the hottest piece of ass in Vegas get nailed. Get fucking
pounded
.” He punctuated the word with a stroke that made her cry out. “They barely remember to click the shutter. They’re too busy staring at your tits. Nipples like jewels. They’re hard for you, showgirl. One of them is out in that crowd with his fingers inside his fly.”

Shit. Shit.
Shit.
His voice was such a turn-on, but his words… All the while knowing it was the most he’d spoken the whole night. For her. To get her off.

He slipped the hand at her hip down toward her pussy. Slowly, so slowly, he started on her clit. The pace of his thrusts never eased. His breath was as ragged as hers. He was close, while she was building up to an orgasm she’d never experienced before—something she wouldn’t be able to control.

It scared the hell out of her.

He didn’t relent. “His hand’s wrapped around his cock, showgirl. He’s a professional man. He’s got deadlines and pictures to present to his editors. A paycheck to earn. Hell, a reputation. He’s experienced and proud of it. But the camera’s hanging off his shoulder. He’s too busy jerking off. Watching me fuck you. Watching how you move and the sweat on your stomach. You’ve got him mesmerized. He’ll bang the shit out of his girlfriend when he gets home. He’ll take her up the ass for the first time. She won’t know what hit her.”

“Jesus.”

Her whole body was shaking. She couldn’t stop a moan that built in her gut, pulsing, pushing out of her throat. It got stronger, louder. She couldn’t hold it back. Eric’s fingers were as quick as his hips.

“Eyes open now. Look at them all here for you. Every flash is another man who wants a piece of you. That guy with his hand down his pants? He’s fucking his hand. He doesn’t care who sees. He’s gonna come, Trish. He’s gonna blow his wad for my showgirl. He’s waiting for you to look. For you to come.”

A scream ripped her open. She shrieked as her climax erased her mind, wiped her memory. All pretense gone. White-hot pleasure made her convulse, doubling over, squeezing his hand between her thighs. The waves kept coming and coming as the lights flared behind her closed eyes.

“And I’ll watch you too,” he growled.

It was the last thing he said as a solid stream of sexy-as-fuck grunts accentuated his desperation. His body seized. Every muscle locked, but he vibrated with a pulsing energy that poured into her. One more devastating wave of release left her sprawled on the bed in a used-up heap. Eric crashed beside her, an arm wrapped low around her waist.

“So good,” she gasped.

“
Just
good?” Laughter shaded his voice. “Again?”

“Holy-damn good?”

“Better.”

A minute later, his breathing beginning to steady, Eric disengaged. Trish turned to see what he was doing. He’d returned to his camera and shut everything down. All the light that remained was a soft blue-tinted glow from a bulb way up on the high ceiling, like twilight brought indoors.

Struggling onto her hands and knees wasn’t going to work. She was exhausted in the wake of the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. He’d played her so well that it was still scary. But whoa, the payoff.

Eric helped her. Tender hands now—strong, but with another glimpse of that out-of-place gentleness. “C’mon, Trish. Up you go.”

Ice layered over her skin. “Does that mean I should call for a taxi?”

He stilled too. “Do you want to?”

“One-night stand, right?”

She knelt on the bed, facing where he’d become a human wall. That tattoo was so damn beautiful. Finding her courage, she looked up to meet his gaze. But she didn’t quite make it—focused instead on his lovely mouth. She shrugged, trying to make it no big deal.

He chuckled softly as he led her to the head of the bed, tucked her into the sheets, curled her around his barrel chest and solid legs. She couldn’t help stealing a taste with a flick of her tongue.

“Stay. We can fuck before breakfast. And after.”

She grinned against his hot skin. “You’re back to you.”

“Hm?”

“After blowing my mind with all those words, you’re back to a couple syllables at a time.”

He kissed the top of her head. Thick arms held her close in the near darkness. “Now you know. I save them up.”

Trish woke up alone, but she heard Eric rattling around the kitchen. For a moment she stared at the ceiling. Sunlight from industrial second-story windows filled the open space. She wondered how she’d managed to sleep so long with that brightness streaming in.

Oh, maybe cuz I got nailed like whoa and how?

She was sore all over. After cheese fries, Jack Daniels and rigorous exercise of multiple varieties, she was seriously dehydrated. Her head spun in a nauseating fog. She hadn’t consumed that much sodium in one sitting in years. Turning to check the official time—something more specific than “the morning after”—she found an unexpected surprise on the bedside table.

A twenty-four-ounce bottle of water. A bottle of aspirin. And a spare toothbrush. A neatly folded midnight-blue terrycloth robe lay at the end of the bed.

She smiled and smushed her face into the pillow he’d slept on, inhaling deeply. A laugh wiggled out of her body.

Best night she’d had in forever.

We can fuck before breakfast.

His words had been so matter-of-fact. With most guys she’d have left at three in the morning. Safer. Easier than hanging around after they’d both gotten all they wanted. This was more like a work in progress.

She sure as shit didn’t want to look and smell like she did when the next round began.

She downed some aspirin with half of the bottled water. Toothbrush and robe in hand, she headed into the bathroom, which was tucked behind his makeshift photography studio. A shiver of memory worked up her calves.

Damn.
So
good.

After a thorough scrubbing of both mouth and body, she gave up on putting her wig back on. It was a wretched mess, and she didn’t have any replacement pins or glue. She’d need to spend time getting the snarls out.

Trish swiped away the condensation on the mirror. Her short, almost tomboy hair was damp. Barely more blonde than brown.

This was huge. The only people who saw her without her wig were Mama and other women in Trish’s same line of work.

With a deep breath, she reminded herself of how much Eric seemed to like the truth. Genuine things. Maybe…

She cinched the bathrobe’s tie and opened the door before she could change her mind.

A cup of steaming coffee waited for her on the same bedside table. She smiled. Gruff, yes. Inconsiderate, apparently not.

Was he in the kitchen? Listening more closely, she heard…grunts? Steady. Rhythmic. Like when he’d slammed into her before coming.

What the hell?

Apprehensive, she walked toward the open space on the other side of the bedroom’s brick half-partition. And froze dead. Had she grabbed the coffee first, she would’ve dropped the mug.