Jazz’s eyes were closed, her head tipped back; she bit her lip, and her hips worked in short little movements, shifting into the touch that worked between her legs. Enjoying herself, basking in the attention.
She was someone who loved giving and receiving pleasure, in all its forms, always up for anything, never shy, never ashamed of feeling good. It was what had drawn Carter to her from the first, when the club was still this overwhelming spectacle, rather than his daily life. It was what drew him to her now, and every other time he was feeling lost, and hollow, and in need of feeling good himself.
He must have made some sort of sound, though he wasn’t aware of it. Her eyes opened, and her hazy gaze landed on him. Her smile widened, dazzling, already half-drunk with pleasure, and only looked at him a moment, letting him get an eyeful.
“Girls,” she said, voice throaty. “The guest of honor’s here.”
Both turned to him, Chanel with one last flick of her tongue across Jazz’s nipple. Both of them looked eager, hungry, predatory; both raked him over with their eyes, flagrant scrutiny.
“Hey, baby,” Jazz purred. “You wanna join us?”
He stepped into the room already reaching for his belt buckle.
~*~
There was a wide mirror mounted on the wall of the bedroom, and Carter stared at it, the view it offered him of Chanel’s heavy breasts swaying in time to the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucked into her steadily, but not frantically enough to bring either of them off yet. He gripped her hips tight, pulling her back onto his cock again and again, relishing the tight, hot grip of her sex, and the sounds she made: little cut-off moans and whimpers that might have been real, might have been for show. He didn’t care. Liked the way her eyes were shut, and her mouth was open, and the way she clutched the edge of the mattress, trying to keep her knees under her. He could see the play of light on the sweat that sheened his chest; the flex of his abs as he worked his hips.
Every few seconds, he would glance over to the side, to where Jazz lay back against the headboard, propped on a stack of pillows. She held her breasts in her hands, offering them up; the other blonde – Stephanie – knelt between her spread legs, fingering her and sucking at her nipples in turn, back and forth.
“Oh yeah,” Jazz panted, head thunking back against the wood. She arched up off the pillows, chest lifting. “Like that. Oh yeah. Harder. Right there.”
Carter watched Stephanie’s fingers plunge deep; watched her cheeks hollow as she suckled hard at a peaked nipple, and his rhythm stuttered.
Chanel pressed back into him, and he fucked into her hard, harder, his grip on her hips so tight it had to hurt.
“I’m – I’m–” Jazz gasped, and came on a deep, throaty moan.
Stephanie sat back grinning, triumphant, and worked her through it, stroking Jazz’s quivering stomach with her other hand.
Carter closed his eyes a moment, thrusting into Chanel, listening to Jazz come down and catch her breath. He felt like he was on fire, flushed, and breathless, the sweat pouring off him. But he wasn’t ready to come yet, not even close.
“Need a hand?” Stephanie’s voice asked, right in his ear; her hair tickled his shoulder.
When he opened his eyes, she was right there, grinning at him, and a moment later he felt her fingers at the base of his cock. Circling, teasing at where he was joined with Chanel. Then she shifted upward, and he knew she was stroking Chanel’s clit when Chanel let out a quick, breathless cry.
A few more thrusts and she was coming, clenching around him, screaming quietly into the mattress.
He gritted his teeth and kept working his hips until she collapsed; then he slid out, and sat back, seeking her red face in the mirror, seeing its dreamy, blissful expression.
Stephanie stroked the other girl’s back and her gaze went to Carter’s cock, still hard and wet. “Jazz, you weren’t kidding,” she said. “He’s got stamina.”
Jazz chuckled, sheets rustling as she sat up. “You wanna hop on and go for a ride?”
He ended up on his back, Stephanie sitting astride him. She peeled off the used condom, rolled on another, and sat down on his shaft without preamble. “Ooh,” she said with a breathless little laugh. “God, I love this club.” She tossed her hair back and lifted up onto her knees, settling into a hard, fast rhythm right away.
Jazz stretched out beside him, with Chanel sitting behind her, watching.
Jazz raked her nails across his chest, and leaned in to kiss his cheek, his jaw. “You like my surprise, baby boy?” she murmured, tongue tracing the shell of his ear. “Is it cheering you up?”
Stephanie was clenching around him every time she sank down on him, and speech was beyond him at this point. He lifted an unsteady hand, got it tangled in Jazz’s hair, and pulled her in for a kiss.
It was more like panting into each other’s mouths, uncoordinated and sloppy. She bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting wine, and cigarettes, and himself.
Stephanie upped her pace, little, breathy “ah-ah-ah” sounds leaving her mouth on every drop.
Jazz’s nails dug into his pec, he kissed her desperately, and he heard and felt Stephanie come.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Oh my God, yes, fucking Lean Dogs, holy shit.”
She slumped forward, hands braced on his heaving stomach, and he was still hard, still inside her, and he couldn’t take a deep breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t –
“Here, honey,” Jazz said as she pulled back from him, voice all business now. “Here, hold on.”
He closed his eyes, panting, struggling. Stephanie slid off of him, and then he felt Jazz’s familiar hands stroking up his thighs, over the trembling muscles in his belly. Back down in long, sure sweeps, petting him. “It’s alright, baby,” she murmured. “Look at me.”
He managed to turn his head, and open his eyes. All he could see was Jasmine, poised above him, honeyed waves of hair falling around her shoulders. She looked like a washed-up mermaid, beautiful, mystical – and so much softer than she’d been only minutes ago, when she was chasing her pleasure. There was a sweet sort of concern on her face now – one that left him wanting to shrink away from her. She wanted to get off; to fuck and be fucked. She didn’t want to baby him; to take care of him. He was supposed to take care of her, and he–
“No,” she said, gently, and stripped the condom off his cock. She stroked him a few moments, until he was fully hard again; he’d been holding off an orgasm so long that it hurt to be hard at this point. He bit his lip to keep from cursing, his pulse a loud drumbeat in his ears.
“Here, baby,” she said, “I know what you need.” She mounted him, lined him up with her already-wet entrance, and sank down on him slowly.
It was different than it had been with the other girls, and not just because he was bare this time.
She braced her hands on his chest and leaned low, working her hips in slow rolls, barely pulling off. She leaned in to kiss him: his mouth, his forehead, his eyelids, when they fluttered closed.
“You with me, baby?” A low voice, just for the two of them. “You feeling good?”
He slid his hands up her thighs, smooth and flexing, and found her hips; cupped her breasts, briefly, squeezed hard like he knew she liked until she hummed against his mouth. Then he latched onto her waist, gathered himself, and rolled them.