Page 29 of Brushed and Buried
I bark a laugh. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
Vince breathes out, unimpressed. “This is stupid.” But he doesn’t back off. After a beat, he shifts until his body angles toward mine. His lips meet my neck, right where my pulse hammers against skin.
One…two…three…
Nothing. He stays still, not chasing a reaction, not giving me one either.
Eight…nine…ten…
My pulse is wrecked, and he’s past the count now.
Fifteen.
That’s when he finally pulls back, maddeningly composed, like it cost him nothing.
“Aaand no point for me.” Lance throws up his hands, then squints at me like I’m the one to blame. “Damn, thought I was bringing out the big guns picking him.”
The game carries on. The bottle makes another lazy turn and lands on Lance. Again. He grins like the game’s rigged in his favor.
“Touch,” he declares. And then he’s on me, leaning in close, warm breath hitting my chest before his tongue flicks quickly over my nipple through the thin cotton shirt. As if it’s not enough, he opens his jaw wide and tries his best to cover as muchof my pec as he can, before sucking hard on the nipple. My breath stutters, hips jerking before I can catch myself.
The room explodes with howls, whistles, and pounding fists on the floor. Lance’s hand doesn’t move. He pinches the other nipple, then, because he’s a sadistic bastard, drops back to bite and suck at the first.
This time I break. “Ugh, fuck. Shit.” The words tear out of me before I can choke them down.
Across the circle, Vince is watching. His mouth quirks and eyes grow darker. He looks amused. Aroused?
Heat spikes up my neck, too much to sit with, so I rip my shirt over my head and toss it aside like that’ll even the playing field.
Lance leans back, looking pleased with himself.
Scores: Lance – 1. George – 0. Trevor – 0. Vince – 0.
The bottle gets spun again and clinks to a stop in front of George.
“Dare,” he says, and Lance perks up like a referee who already knows it will be another dirty one.
George doesn’t make us wait. “Ride my thigh for ten seconds.”
The circle hums with low sounds of satisfaction and excitement, and my throat dries out. Still, I swing a leg over and settle onto his lap, palms braced on his shoulders like I’m steadying myself for impact. His thigh is solid under me, toosolid, and the second my half-hard cock brushes his bulge, my brain betrays me. I glance at Vince like a reflex.
He’s already watching too closely, fiercely, almost daring me not to crack. And when his eyes flick down, right at the outline straining through my pants, my hips betray me too. I do a tiny shift, a little stutter. A grind.
George takes his chance. Hands cupping my ass, pulling me harder against him. Heat floods through me, sharp and humiliating. “Fuck, oh, god.” I bite them back, but it’s too late.
Lance claps once, sharp and satisfied. “One point to George, baby. Pants off first, then the socks. Bet you look better in just your underwear and those slutty little socks.”
Scores: Lance – 1. George – 1. Trevor – 0. Vince – 0.
“Yeah, yeah, the stripper strips,” I laugh at my own joke, climbing off George. I yank my pants down, kicking them aside. Now it’s just me in navy boxers and purple socks, every inch of skin buzzing under their stares.
Lance does not waste any time and spins the bottle, again landing on Trevor.
“Touch.”
I am sitting on the floor, my knees up and slightly apart. He slides closer, lowers himself, and stretches a leg between my open thighs. My cock is fully erect at this point, obscenely standing. His toes brush the tip, dragging it down slowly and teasing, then letting go. Everyone watches it spring back up, straining against my loose boxers that barely contain it.
I can’t help it. I gasp in pain and pleasure, and my thighs spread a little more on instinct. I have a feeling that if I actually glance down, I will see the tip of my cock peeking out at the waistband.
