Taunting Lips (A Teasing Hands Accompaniment) (2 page)

2

I hate that I love you...

Hate that she made me feel for her what Olivia never achieved in all the years we were together. What she failed at with every smile or bitchy command. This wasn’t in my plans. All I wanted from my
gatita
was a good time, accompanied by my devouring of her sweet pussy.

To take until there was no more for her to give, and then walk away.

Bullshit.
I knew this too, but fuck me if I was ready to admit my defeat. Because that is what this was, my waving of that proverbial white flag while I begged her to spare me this all-consuming pain.

Amanda Brooks was a beauty. Naturally gorgeous with her long, flowing blonde hair and clear blue eyes. She was a knockout. Simple and unassuming, there was no overdone makeup or uncomfortably tight clothes.

Just her soft demeanor and tight body…curves that molded against my harsher lines seamlessly. If there was ever a moment in my life where I believed that there was such a thing as fate, this would be it. I never had control in that game we played. She pulled the strings that made me move, hunger…covet her.

Once inside my car, I rested my head back against the headrest and let my mind wander. If I’d never gone to Rage that night we met, I wouldn’t be here. Everything in my quiet world would be the same.

My eyes closed, and my mind wandered down memory lane. It was that day all over again.

“You heading out, Camden?” Cynthia called out as I walked past her. I have no idea what gave her that impression. Was it the fact that I was walking toward the door, keys in hand, or the fact that we closed almost an hour ago?

“What are you still doing here?” I countered while turning to face her. She had changed clothing and freshened up her already heavy makeup. My eyes wandered down and toward her cleavage. Large breasts encased in an all-too-tight top; it did nothing for me.

Cynthia giggled then, and my eyes snapped back up to her face. “Waiting on you, silly.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took in a deep inhale and tried to calm the sudden annoyance that bloomed within me. Would she ever get it? Not my fucking type.

“Go home.” My words were abrupt. Dry. There would never be anything between us, and the sooner she learned this, the better we’d both be.

“I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat.” She came around the counter then, and I groaned. Not because I found what I saw arousing; it was quite the opposite. If there was one thing I hated, it was an easy woman.

Yes, I liked eager pussy, but there was a huge difference between easy and eager. Eager meant aroused. The kind of woman that played hard to get, but once pinned beneath me, she ignited. Rode me harder than I fucked her.

Easy is just all too willing. Makes it obvious that she would suck my cock in a crowded room, if I so much as asked. There was no work in getting her naked. That wasn’t something I enjoyed.

Let me chase you. Corner you as a hunter does its prey and ravage you into submission.

“No.”  My response didn’t sit well with her. Cynthia was too accustomed to receiving attention from the opposite sex. The men that came in here lusted over her, gave her gifts. With me, she had neither. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Have a nice night.” I walked out without another word. It was true that I needed to find a sweet pair of long legs to wrap around my waist tonight, but they would never be hers.

Rushing home, I thought about my situation with Cynthia a little more. There was no way things could continue as they had been. She needed to back off before someone believed her crap.

“Fuck,” I muttered after glancing at the clock on my dashboard. It was thirty past eight, and I was meeting Oliver at Rage at ten.

Oliver had come into my office tonight before he and his wife clocked out. Stacy was heading off to have dinner with her friends, and he didn’t feel like spending the night watching syndicated reruns of some popular TV show. Therefore, I offered him to join me for drinks.

He could drink while I hunted.

Once inside my condominium, I rushed toward the shower and in my haste, left a trail of clothing throughout my living room. The water was cold when I entered, and I nearly moaned at the sensation. Very few people would ever understand just how good a cold shower on a hot summer day felt.

Quickly, I grabbed my shampoo and washed my hair before stepping under to rinse. My cock was hard as the suds from my hair fell down my body. It’d been a while since I enjoyed the company of the opposite sex, and I was in desperate need of experiencing a release that didn’t come from my own hands.

Fisting myself, I pumped twice in short, firm strokes. “Jesus,” I groaned and closed my eyes, enjoying the abuse I gave myself. So close. Goddammit, I could feel my balls tightening with each breath I took. One more harsh tug, and I would find another empty explosion of pleasure.

No. Not this time.

The next time I came, it would be inside something tight and wet. Pink and soft. I wanted to be able to stand back and see my come slowly drip out of her pussy as she trembled beneath me.

Letting out a growl of frustration, I rushed through the rest of my shower. Once done, I got dressed in a pair of low-slung, white dress pants, a plain white cotton fitted T-shirt, and on my feet a pair of all-white, classic Adidas. This was Miami, for crying aloud, and the thinner the material, the better.

A splash of cologne and quick ruffle of my hair, and I was out the door.

Rage was packed as I pulled up to the valet parking area. The lines were long, and the college crowd was out in full force. As my eyes traveled down the line, the hemlines of each tiny outfit receded, much to my enjoyment.

“Holy shit!” a soft feminine voice squeaked by the club’s entrance, and my body hummed at the sound. It sparked my curiosity, and I walked closer. There was a pull. An ache that began to take a hold of me the closer to her I got.

She was the closest to me out of her group, and it was something I was thankful for. No one between her and me to witness the effect she had on me.

A warm breeze passed through us, causing her scent to swirl around me. It was sweet and fresh. Nothing overpowering like the stuff most girls her age used. I took in a deep inhale and groaned out a low, “fuck.”

My pants grew tight, and my cock strained against the zipper. The pressure made me both excited and apprehensive. I’ve never reacted so strongly to a woman’s voice or smell. Women flocked to me, not the other way around.

Her back was turned to me as she walked through the club’s doors. What a spectacular fucking view. Ass high and round—tight, encased in distressed denim that molded around her curves
.

There’s nothing sexier to me than when a woman is proud of her body. Tiny or plus sized. A woman, like the one a few feet away from me, was a sinful delight. You could tell by the way she walked—her sway—that she felt desirable.

I followed close behind, barely throwing a glance at the bouncer as I passed them by. They knew me well enough and gave me a quick head nod in greeting. Being a regular had its benefits.

The girls stopped once within the club’s main floor, right between the dance area and bar. She was facing away from me. My fingers twitched beside me. Something within me needed to touch her. See her face. Feel her skin.

“What’re you drinking?”
the girl beside her yelled over the music. “I’m in a vodka kind of mood.”

“With OJ?” my girl added; her hips moved to the heavy Jamaican beat pulsing through the speakers. Her voice carried over to me, and I shivered. Its tone captivated me—caressed my cock with its husky timbre.

I wanted to hear her moan my name.

    “Is there any other way?” the first girl answered, and then turned to listen to the other two standing beside her. They spoke, but I didn’t hear a word. Most men in my position would be enjoying the view of what stood before me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

My body was in tune with hers. My cock throbbed for her pussy.

Standing off to the side, I watched while they made their way toward the VIP section of the club. Her hips swayed deliciously from side to side, the plumpness of her ass calling my name with each tiny step she took.  She sauntered toward the empty table with a reserved sign and sat down.

“Gatita,” I whispered low, and took a step closer.

“Who are you calling a little pussy cat?” Oliver stood beside me now with an amused expression on his face. When the fuck did he get here? “A few minutes ago.”

Was I speaking aloud?

“No,” he answered, “the look on your face said it all.”

I ignored him and took a step closer, but his hand on my arm made me pause. “What?” My tone held annoyance; he was standing in the way of my latest craving. Turning back to look at him, I raised a brow and signaled toward his hand over my forearm.

Oliver released me and held his hands up. “Where are you going?”

Good question. What was I doing?

“No clue.” And it was the truth. There was a lure I felt—a fascination I needed to fuck out of my system, preferably with her.

It was as the last syllable passed through my lips that the unthinkable happened. She turned—my gatita faced me and smiled toward the bar. That innocent move fucked up every preconceived notion of what I thought my life should be.

Was it love? Fuck and no. I don’t believe in that at first sight crap. There was something there, though, lust being the predominant emotion. It enticed me into seeking her out.

A low growl escaped my lips as she pulled her face away and turned to listen to her friend. My eyes devoured every inch and curve it could, from the poutiness of her lips to the swell of her perfect breasts.

“Stop being a pussy and go talk to her,” Oliver deadpanned, and for a second, I snapped out of whatever trance she had me under. He looked beyond excited over whatever was happening to me. Fucker.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Evasion was the key in this matter. He’d seen enough.

Oliver let out a deep belly laugh, loud enough to draw attention our way. “Bullshit.”

“Wait a minute,” my gatita hissed and slammed her hand on the tabletop. “Is that what…fuck! Did you see Hunter?”

Her angry voice pulled my attention her way once again. Who the fuck was Hunter? Why did she look so upset at the mere mention of his name?

Why did I care?

The group spoke in heated whispers. They were trying to calm her down by the way they each smiled or patted her back. She didn’t care for any of it and stood up to leave. “You’re right. Fuck him. Hunter will not ruin my night.”

Her irate disposition only made her hotter in my eyes.

Angry sex was the best kind of sex.

They applauded, following behind her to the dance floor. Her body moved to the beat, a slow, sensual roll of her hips that caught the eyes of a few men. Irritation bloomed within me at the sight of so many lusting over what I’d claimed as mine.

Is that what I did? Fuck, yes. If anyone was leaving with that beauty tonight, it would be me.

Then I saw her sad face, and my plans changed.

I stood up, not caring one bit for what Oliver would witness. Something within me screamed to go to her. Make whatever he did a distant memory. My chair scraped against the club’s floor, and the people around us turned to look. Not one fuck was given over the spectacle I was creating.