McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys (7 page)

W
hen I get
off the phone, I notice JoJo curled up on the couch, her eyes closed. She looks worn out—and fuck, after her workout today I’m not surprised. Combine that with the shit that went down tonight, and no wonder this girl is asleep on my couch.

I drop my phone on the counter and walk to the front door of my house.

When I spoke with Ace he was more than a little concerned. The moment I said JoJo’s last name, he didn’t hesitate.

“This girl is trouble, McQueen. The O’Malleys are as bad as Grotto and his guys. I don’t know how connected she is, her role in that family … but if you know what’s good for you, stay away.”

“It could be a coincidence,” I told him. “She could be a distant cousin. Or just happen to have the same name.”

“Could be. But don’t get blinded by her body. If she’s a part of the Irish Mob, her family doesn’t mess around. The family that runs those gambling rings, they’re some crazy motherfuckers. The guys—Peter, John, and … I forget the other one—those guys are worse than fucking Grotto. They’re sketchy as hell. I won’t let them on my property. I don’t trust them at all.”

“JoJo isn’t like that. She’s innocent. Sweet.”

“Fuck, you’re already got your head up your ass for her.”

“It’s not like that. We aren’t anything.”

Which is true. Isn’t it? She insisted on no-strings, and fuck, that’s all I ever want, too. But another part of me wants to make sure JoJo is safe. Taken care of. Part of me wants to find whoever took the picture that freaked her out so bad, and fucking beat the daylights out of them.

“Whatever, McQueen.” Ace laughs into the phone. “Listen, I’ll send a crew over, because if someone wants this girl it won’t take long for them to get what they’re after.”

I look out the window, scanning the street for any movement. I see a black SUV making its way into the neighborhood. They park in front of my place and flash their lights twice, signaling to me it’s the guys Ace sent over.

Good. JoJo can sleep soundly tonight. Tomorrow, I’ve gotta get these guys over to Kit’s Gym to check out the place. Who knows what sort of surveillance the sick fuck who took this photo has rigged up?

“McQueen?” JoJo calls for me. There’s fear in her voice, and I rush back into the living room to make sure she’s okay.

“What is it?” I ask, kneeling next to the couch.

“Sorry. I just woke up and didn’t see you. I’m an idiot and got scared.”

I’m not gonna force this girl to talk, but shit, she is all spun up. “You aren’t an idiot.”

She sits up, and sighs. “My dad thinks I am. He just chewed me out.”

“Fuck. Sorry. Did you talk to Lucy, too?”

“Yeah. I told Lucy I was with you, and told my dad I was with her. It’s like I’m in high school and sneaking out.”

“More like middle school,” I say, smiling.

“You were always a rebel, then?” she asks, smirking.

I shrug. “Nights always seem to find trouble. No matter how old you are.”

“I don’t want any more trouble tonight,” she says. “I want to sleep.”

“Then let’s get you to bed. The security team is here; we’re safe.”

I take her hand and pull her up. She nods, and follows my lead.

“I have a guest room across from mine,” I tell her as we take the stairs. “You can sleep there.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I swear there’s a hint of disappointment in her voice. I’ll fucking take an in wherever I can find one with this girl.

“You want to sleep with me? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask, both of us stopping in the doorway to the guest room.

“I know you said there are security guys out front … but I’d still feel better if I weren’t alone.” She pauses, looking at her toes. “Maybe that sounds forward. I don’t know. I just—I don’t want to be by myself.” She rushes forward with her words. “We don’t have to do anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I step toward her, pushing her gently to the other side of the hall. To my room.

“Oh, I’m not worried at all.” I grin, pulling my tee-shirt over my head. “I’m gonna sleep next to you, and you’re gonna dream of me all night long—and when you wake up, all nice and rested, I’m gonna teach you how to suck my cock, just like you asked.”

JoJo lets out a soft moan, as if remembering her words back at the gym earlier tonight. Or maybe she’s just enjoying my ripped abs, the way my shorts hang low on my waist, narrowing into my massive cock—the one she doesn’t get until tomorrow. Because tonight this girl needs to sleep.

* * *

McQueen and I stand in his barren bedroom. A king-sized mattress is situated in the middle, on the floor, covered with blankets. A pile of folded laundry is in a corner, and an open closet reveals a walk-in closet, mostly empty.

“The bathroom is there,” he says pointing to the other door in the master suite. “Do you need something to sleep in?”

“Thanks. A tee-shirt, I guess?”

He walks to the folded laundry and pulls out a cotton tee. I take it from him, feeling so awkward all of a sudden. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago we were naked in one another’s arms? And now I feel weird slipping off my clothes and getting in bed with him.

But I want to be in bed with him. I want him to wrap his arms around me and hold me tight. He’s like a big bear—so solid, so firm. And I want him to protect me, even if it is asking way too much.

Still, as he walks toward me, helping me ease my shirt over my head, helping pull down my gym shorts, as I kick off my tennis shoes, I think that maybe he wants to protect me, too.

And I know this is all going to end the moment we wake up and face reality, but right now I can let him be the bear I need.

“It’s gonna be okay, JoJo,” he tells me, slipping his clean shirt over my head. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

We get in bed silently, and he pulls me into his arms, just like I wanted. The idea of sleeping in a man’s bed for the first time should terrify me … but McQueen doesn’t scare me.

My face is nuzzled against his chest and he smells like safety, like freshly-cut grass and fresh air and honey. Which is a weird thought, because I know he’s been going hard all day … and we live in the freaking desert—there’s no grass anywhere. Yet he smells like a childhood I never had. And even if he is a stripper who’s rumored to sleep with a different woman everyday, right now, he feels pure. And all I want is to stay wrapped in his arms and be held by him.

“Goodnight, JoJo,” he whispers in the dark bedroom.

“Goodnight, McQueen,” I whisper back, realizing I don’t even know his first name—but also realizing that, right now, it doesn’t matter.

* * *

I
n the early morning hours
, I wake. McQueen is curled up behind me, spooning me with his hands over my shirt—not under, which I find pretty damn attractive. If he was going to try to get away with something, this was the night to do it.

I keep my eyes closed, wanting to fall asleep again, but the heaviness of my fucked-up situation keeps me from any sort of REM. I’ve never in my life felt so helpless, so lost. I’ve never faced a problem I couldn’t overcome with the help of my family.

When Mom died five years ago, my siblings, my dad, and I became closer than ever. We all relocated here to Vegas—even Mary and Connor and their baby, Hardy, who was only one at the time.

This situation isn’t like Mom’s passing away. We knew she was sick for a long time, and when she finally passed we were all heartbroken, but grateful she was no longer in pain.

This is different than death. I’m not trying to hyperbolize the photograph and the impact it might have, but it has to be tied to something with my family. With this marriage. And that
is
a big deal. Especially if Dad believes Grotto and I are the key to merging the families. My family’s future hinges on me, and I just callously tossed it aside.

I’m horrible. To do that to Hardy and Justice and Bailey. They’re just a few of the kids in the family; there are more cousins and half-cousins and fourth cousins, both here in Vegas and back in Boston. All those kids are impacted by the way I respond to my father’s wishes for me.

The last thing I want to do is fuck over my family and screw the men out of work, the wives out of food for their kids, the kids out of their homes.

It isn’t something I should take lightly … but I did. In a moment of lust, of desire, I forgot what I’m supposed to stand for. My family may be fucked up, but we also stick together.

Which is a hell of a lot better than other families I see. Even McQueen says he hasn’t been home in over a year. How is that a family?

I don’t know how I’ll show my face to my brothers and father later today. I need to come clean, just tell them what happened and ask for their help. The God’s honest truth is that the moment I heard about my wedding, I fell into McQueen’s arms, and then the picture was taken.

And then instead of going straight to them … I went back to McQueen.

What does that say about me?

I don’t want to know.

Beside me, McQueen stirs. His breath is warm against my skin, and I instantly curl closer to him. When I do, I feel his cock hard against my ass.

The right thing to do is to crawl out of the bed, to go to the bathroom, shower. Get in my car. Drive home.

But the idea of the confession makes me want to vomit.

I can’t do that yet. It’s only four in the morning, anyway. I can stay here awhile longer, in this make-believe cocoon.

I roll over and face McQueen. Feeling his hardness against my core, I realize something I’m ashamed to admit. Even if I could have a do-over, if I could have avoided McQueen yesterday, not given him my virginity … I wouldn’t want to change a thing.

Even though it’s dangerous, and I know every second that I stay in his arms could hurt him even more, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to move.

Does that make me selfish? A monster? A whore?

I don’t know.

I just know instead of walking out of his house at first dawn, I nestle deeper in his arms.

F
uck
. My cock is hard as rock.

I can’t think of the last time I woke up with a woman in my bed. I always call an Uber post-sex and get them gone before daybreak. Yeah, we’ll have had our fair share of fun, but it always has an expiration date.

But with JoJo’s little body, so taut and creamy, wrapped up in my arms when I wake, I realize I’ve been missing out on a whole lot of fun. Because damn, my cock is never this hard when I wake up all by my lonesome.

“Morning,” JoJo says, her voice tired, her eyes meeting mine.

“Sleep okay?” I ask, my hands running over her back, landing on her tight ass.

She nods, ever so slightly, but it’s obvious she didn’t. No fucking surprise. She was beyond worked up last night.

“Look, I wish I knew what was going on. But I understand if you don’t feel like you can trust me,” I tell her. “And since you don’t want to talk, maybe you wanna play?”

My cock twitches at the idea of her soft lips covering my rod. Damn, I’m imagining it a little too clearly. I feel like I could explode before we’ve even begun.

JoJo looks up at me; the mischievous glint I saw yesterday at the gym has returned.

“I’ve never heard of playing when you wake up in the morning. I tend to shower, get dressed, make a pot of coffee.”

“Oh, girl, you’ve been missing out, then. So many years without any games.”

I pull her on top of me and a tiny laugh escapes her mouth.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” Her eyes tell me she’s holding way too many things back, but her tight nipples and damp panties tell me a thing or two as well. She’s a beautiful contradiction, and I want to make every part of her agree, until she can’t remember why she ever thought to hesitate.

“Sweetheart, if we’re gonna start the day talking about shouldn’ts, we’re never gonna get out of this bed.”

She doesn’t answer me with words, just nods ever so slightly and leans in for a kiss.

Her mouth is as sweet as I remembered, and as lush as I dreamed. She’s fucking hot as hell and she’s in my bed, in my old tee-shirt, and my cock is hard. Who the hell is this girl and what has she done to me in less than twenty-four hours?

I sit up, holding her in my lap. Her legs wrap around me, and her arms circle my neck. I take her shirt off and her little tits are right there begging to be sucked.

I run my tongue over her hard nipple, thinking about running my tongue across her soft folds, too. Her body seems to melt into mine, and my fingers tug at the waistband of her panties, wanting them off so I can see her pussy again, so I can begin exploring her with my fingers—because yesterday I hesitated, for fear of hurting her.

“I want to touch you,” she whispers in my ear.

“How badly?”

“So bad. So very bad. Let me see you, McQueen.”

I get out of bed, and hitch my thumbs in the waistband of my boxer briefs.

“I thought we were playing games?” I smirk, seeing her brow raised in question.

“What’s the game?” she asks, lying buck naked on my bed, her chin resting in her hand.

“Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” she says without hesitating.

“Oh … a girl scared of telling the truth.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay.” I shrug. “I was hoping to learn your deep, dark secrets, but I’ll settle for a dare that will make us both happy.”

“And what is that?”

“You can give me a lap dance.”

“No way,” she says, laughing, covering her face with a pillow. “No way, McQueen. Never.”

“Never? Girl, you’re such a fucking cock tease.”

She huffs indignantly, kneeling on the bed. “Not fair.” She points a finger at me, her tits bouncing as she moves, so unselfconscious in this stolen moment filled with smiles and teasing. “You’re a professional dancer. I can’t dance for you. I’d be way too embarrassed.”

I know when a girl needs to be prodded, and when someone needs a reprieve. JoJo needs a break, but I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one to push her until she cracks.

“Okay, no games.” I bite my bottom lip and walk to the bed, my cock still erect under my briefs, still dying to be sucked by this woman before me. “Let’s just stick to our original plans. I’m pretty sure you and my cock had a date this morning.”

She nods her head. “We certainly did.” Her hands reach to pull down my briefs, but she looks up at me first. “I know I didn’t play fair. But I can’t resist asking you the same question. Truth or dare?”

I run my hands through her hair, tilt her face to mine. Her chin’s at my waist, and her mouth is inches from my straining cock.

“With you? Truth.”

“What is your first name?” Her question surprises me.

“Ryan. My name’s Ryan McQueen.”

“Why are you smiling?” she asks.

“No one ever asks my first name. Never.”

“You’ve just been talking with the wrong girls, I think.” She pulls down my briefs, and my cock springs out, easy for her to take hold of.

“I think you’re right about that.” I take her hand and guide her to me. “Stroke me with one hand.”

“And with my mouth, Ryan?” she asks, pretending not to know. “Where do you want that?”

“Oh, girl.” I close my eyes, exhaling as she parts her pouty lips and wraps them around me. My cock throbs with the warmth her willing mouth offers. “I think you know plenty of games. And as far as this round is concerned, you fucking win.”

* * *

I open my mouth wider. The thickness of McQueen’s cock turns me on in a way I never expected. I’ve heard Lucy talk about going down on guys … but I always thought the idea sounded mildly disgusting.

But McQueen’s cock makes me wet and hot at the same time. I run a hand over his bare ass, and my other hand holds his long shaft. It’s so big and throbbing that as I sink him deeper into my mouth I moan, overwhelmed with desire.

My skin floods with heat; I’m totally turned on. I kneel on the soft mattress, McQueen before me, and the position—me before him—makes my opening wet with desire. I like being below him like his. I like the way his hands run through my hair, the way he thrusts his cock into my mouth.

And I like the way he hits the back of my throat, the way I am completely filled with him.

“JoJo, that is so good.”

His affirmation encourages me, because honestly I have no idea what I’m doing besides just responding as intuitively as possible to his straining cock. My hand reaches below his shaft and I run my palm over his balls, somehow turned on even by these specimens. I pull his cock from my mouth, suddenly desperate to lick him lower, to fondle his sack, and I roll my tongue over them. As he moans, I let one drop in my mouth, sucking soft, but steady. My tongue glides over his other ball, too, and I inhale his sexy, manly scent, full of heat. I lick him faster, my eyes closed, my pussy dripping now.

“Oh yeah,” he says, as I fill my mouth with both balls, my tongue swirling faster. Then my tongue licks the length of his shaft, while my hand stays on his heated package. His cock is now veiny, nearly translucent with the hardness. It makes me feel so beautiful, so desired, to know I made him grow like this, be filled like this.

I put his length back in my mouth, sucking harder, no longer worried, just completely wanting to give him the release he seeks.

“Pull out, baby—I’m gonna come.”

But I don’t listen. I grab his ass cheeks, nearly choking on his throbbing rod but not caring. I press my lips against his cock, wanting to taste his come, wanting to be filled with him even more.

Lucy and other girls at college joked about whether to spit or swallow, and I never understood it, never got the appeal one way or the other.

But now I do. Now I completely understand. As McQueen comes in my mouth, I moan at the rush of his salty release, the way it coats my throat as I swallow his creamy seed. I swallow as he grunts, thrusting into me again as he finishes.

He pulls out, a look on his face that for a moment I mistake as anger. But the moment he speaks, I know he isn’t mad. Not in the slightest.

“Fuck, JoJo. I just—” He shakes his head, finding his breath. “I fucking need all of you.”

He drops to his knees, and joins me on the bed. He strips my panties from me without stopping to ask if it’s okay, because he knows by my soaked panties that all I want is more of him. We’d be wasting time if we talked about it, because all we want is one another, and no words are required for that.

His cock is still massive and hard, and he kneels behind me, his cock right up against my ass. I bend forward, on all fours, and he cups my breasts with his solid, sure hands. He runs his fingers across my opening, light as a feather, but even that slight sweep causes me to collapse to the bed. There is a swell of desire he raises within me.

“Get back up, baby,” he says, his voice firm. “I want to touch you more. And then I’m gonna come in your tight pussy, and you’re gonna come so hard.”

I do as I’m told, because I know McQueen knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows exactly how to make me writhe with heat and I want to be consumed by his fire.

I straighten my arms, my ass right in his face, and I know he loves the view because his face is right up against my opening, licking me again like he did yesterday.

But this isn’t soft and slow. This time it’s as if he’s been overcome with a desire to devour me. His tongue licks the length of my slit up and down, then he reaches a hand between my legs, past my pussy, and runs it from my tits to my entrance, back and forth.

I’m moaning, because I need him to either stop or give me more. My core is ignited, and I want him to fan the flame. I want all of him.

“I need you,” I tell him, my face buried in the pillows and the blankets. My hands tighten around the sheets, steadying me, because McQueen does as I ask.

I hear the rip of a condom package, and then he is leading his cock into my entrance. I gasp; the intensity of this position causes me to squeak sounds I’ve never heard from my mouth before. One of his hands is at the small of my back, his other hand guiding his cock deeper inside of me.

Oh, God, it’s good. Deep and fulfilling, the tip of his cock finding my center, and tipping in me in a way that causes me to release a guttural growl as he inches deeper in me.

“Oh, God, you’re too big, McQueen. Too big—I can’t….”

And then I stop saying what I can’t do, and start telling him what he can do.

Because damn, what he can do feels so right. “Yes, yes, please. Oh, yeah. Keep going, harder. Yes.” My hands grip the sheets; the space between my legs tightens. Inside it feels like shattering glass and being pieced together, all at the same time. My flesh prickles from the rush of heat and then the drench of sweat.

It’s the same feeling I get after an insane workout, when my face is flushed but my skin is soaked—only better, because as the orgasm washes through me, as McQueen holds my waist with both hands, I don’t feel like my ass has been kicked. I feel like a champion.

“JoJo, you’re so good, you have no idea,” he tells me. And I believe him, because I want to. I want to be good for him.

He thrusts again, his release warm even through the latex of the condom. I have a flash of an insane desire: I wish that there were no barriers between us.

But I catch myself, catch those thoughts. They are dangerous. I’m getting married in a month.

And that thought alone snaps me out of my fantasy.