Page 3 of The Groupie

Rylee

Ilimp into a bar in Boston by myself to see what my hometown has to offer a woman wanting to forget her mortality for a change. For tonight.

The place is old. It’s dim enough to hide and small enough to be seen. Perfect. When I notice a group of women in a corner having a ball with a group of guys who are as hot as sin and out for trouble, I head straight for them.

I want a part of that trouble.

I introduce myself by sitting on the lap of the biggest, hottest guy here. And I mean big.

He’s sitting next to one of the women, and she gives me a surprised look. Before she can bitch at me, I smile.

“I’m Rylee.” I put out my hand to shake hers. The hot guy I’m sitting on clears his throat and shifts. I turn to him, and my tummy does acrobatics like I swallowed a circus performer. He was hot from a distance, but up close—and I mean, within a dart of my tongue—he’s stunning. Dark, playful eyes that shout take me home to my pussy stare back at me. If I try to speak, I might stutter.

“I’m Zak.” His gravelly voice does things to my head, disconnecting my heretofore perfectly ample speech center, and all I can do is communicate with my eyes as sparks shoot through me.

Meanwhile, I hope to hell his dick lives up to the promise I’m sitting on.

“Well, you’re a ballsy one. I’m Sheila,” the woman says, smirking more than smiling as she finally shakes my hand. I have a pang of conscience about intruding on her, even with the prize of this extraordinary treasure I’m sitting on. Once I zeroed in on him, I hadn’t noticed her. “You’re not a hockey fan, are you, honey?” she says.

“No, why?” I look between Zak of the big boner and the slightly tipsy, slightly older Sheila. “I hope I’m not intruding.” I know it’s a futile wish. She’d have to be insane not to be interested in taking Zak home to play, and I’ve interfered.

“Not if you’re interested in a threesome,” she says.

If I had a drink, I’d be spitting it out. As it is, my mouth opens, and I’m once again speechless. My man Zak rumbles underneath me like an active volcano and chuckles. Is he the distraction I was looking for?

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he says, and I look between them. Sheila gives a sassy smile, and I regain my speech. Are they serious about a threesome? Oh, no. Apparently, I have lines I don’t cross. Who knew?

“Hold on there.” I attempt to hop off Zak’s lap before there’s any misunderstanding, and I suddenly feel like a chicken. Like one of those people I kid who aren’t as adventurous as I am.

So what if I like to confine my adventures to non-orgy activities?

But Zak holds onto my shoulders, a light hold, and his smile softens to reassuring as if I’m a skittish pet. Maybe I am.

“No need to run,” he says. “We’re joking about the threesome. Been there, done that. Not worth repeating.”

“Why not?” Sheila says. “Something go wrong?”

“What could go wrong when two ladies want one guy’s attention?” He exaggerates a shudder and takes a sip of his beer.

She laughs, and I get the idea that these two know each other well. Very well.

But I’m not going to be put off because I like the feel of his big hands heating me, caressing my shoulders and arms. It feels…good. More than sexy good…good.

“What went wrong, cowboy?” I say, picturing myself riding him.

“I had trouble, I kid you not, breaking up the fight. Those women had skills, and they were determined to draw blood. I was damn lucky it wasn’t my blood they were after and vowed never again.”

“Good call.” I don’t bother squelching my grin because I’m picturing him naked, trying to break up a catfight between two naked women, and immediately realize how difficult it must have been. Shit.

He whispers in my ear, “You’re picturing that scenario, aren’t you?”

“Hard not to.”

“I’ll give you something hard,” he whispers.

“I’m getting that feeling.”

Sheila rolls her eyes. “I’m outta here.”