Blackmail (Skeleton Key Book 1) Page 2

  “Look,” I sigh, “I don’t have any reason to blackmail you, okay. And I’m…I don’t have secret affairs or whatever else to hide, I don’t do drugs, I don’t do anything. I’m really boring. So I can’t really trade blackmail with you.”

  “You could blackmail me into giving you a good grade,” Julian points out.

  “I don’t need to,” I instantly retort, spinning around to face him, offended that he’d even suggest such a thing. “I’ve gotten an A on every paper!”

  “We could get a video of her doing drugs,” Tristan suggests, looking over my shoulder at Julian, “do you have any weed on you?”

  “Not right now.” Julian sighs.

  His eyes shift back to me, wandering up and down my torso in a way that is entirely inappropriate. “You know,” he smirks seductively, “despite your absences, you do have the highest grade in my class. What ideas does a smart girl like you have for how we resolve this situation?”

  “You both take me at my word that I won’t tell anyone about you two, let me out of this room, and we all pretend this never happened,” I immediately reply.

  Tristan sniggers a nasty little snigger.

  I spin back around glaring hard at him, ready to give him a piece of my mind but instead my mouth ends up hanging open in shock—he still holds my phone with one hand but the other expertly runs up and down the length of his still-hard, very impressive cock.

  “Are you on Viagra or something?” I blurt out. I don’t have much experience with penises, but I’m pretty sure maintaining an erection through all of this has got to be unnatural.

  “No.” Tristan smirks. Where there had been anger in his ice-colored eyes there is now mischief. “Apparently, voyeurism isn’t a turnoff for me. I think I have a solution.” His smirk widens. “You’d never risk people thinking you slept your way into good grades, would you, Winters?”

  Well that’s not what I expected, but I think I know where he’s going with this, and relief washes through me. “No, I wouldn’t. So don’t worry, I won’t put you through the stress of having anyone think you slept your way into a C average.”

  This time Tristan full-on laughs. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant I’ll take a video of you two”—he motions to me and to Julian—“having sex.”

  My brain instantly compiles a million jumbled rejections, but my body responds differently. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest, the tingling in my legs returns, far more intense than it was before, and more than one of my orifices becomes moist. Despite all of this, I manage to shake my head and say, baffled and flustered, “But, but you’re gay.”

  Julian and Tristan meet eyes again, Julian lets out an amused little chortle. “How very vanilla of you,” he says, looking at me like I’m something cute and innocent.

  “We’re bi,” Tristan corrects me, rolling his eyes.

  “Speak for yourself,” Julian says, giving me a spark of hope—he won’t want to have sex with me anyway. The aching and throbbing between my legs let me know that not all of me is as thrilled about this as my good rational mind seems to be.

  “Fine.” Tristan rolls his eyes again. “Julian prefers the term pan-sexual.”

  “Thank you.” Julian nods. Then turns his gaze back to me. His pretty copper eyes glitter under thick black lashes. His lips part and he bites the very edge of the bottom one. “What do you say, Mia?”

  “I—I—I—” My groin says one thing, my head says another, but most of my body seems to be voting for the groin to win. “I—I say that is coercion, which is—that is—”

  Behind me I feel an arm wrap around my waist and quickly pull me back into flat, hard abs, among other hard things. “Let go of me, Masters!” I squeal, but he doesn’t listen.

  He lowers his face into my neck. His lips touch the lobes of my ears as he says, “You’re turned on. Your pupils are dilated, you’re sweating everywhere, and you can’t stop rubbing your thighs together.”

  “I am not,” I protest, grabbing his arm to pull it away, but his other hand falls onto my stomach and it barely moves south before my back instinctually arches and my ass is pressed against his erect cock.

  His lips trace down my neck. He latches on at the nape and sucks, too hard to be gentle but just soft enough for it to bring pleasure instead of pain. His hand slips down, down, down, down, until his fingers slide into my jeans, into my underwear, and the throbbing in my clit is met by his warm confident palm. Before I can stop myself, a guttural, primal yop of arousal escapes my throat.

  “You were saying?” Tristan mutters, before drawing his hand out and bringing his fingers, now covered in my juices, to his mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him lick them clean while his other hand takes their place.

  “I was saying—that this is—that I am—ahh—am not turned on.” I half-heartedly try to pull away, but unfortunately my joints have turned to jelly and, and—“ooowwwaahh,” I accidentally moan, as his palm begins to rub with exactly the right pressure in exactly the right circular motion.

  Julian’s eyes grow dark as they deepen with desire. He slowly slinks toward us, his hands unbuttoning his shirt. All I can hear is the pounding in my ears as my heart threatens to explode. What am I doing?

  Julian is only a few steps away now. Tristan’s grip around my middle relaxes. “I—I—I—” I huff, no longer aware of exactly how to convince both them and myself that every part of my body from the neck down has voted to let whatever this is continue.

  But it’s Tristan Masters doing it to you! A very shrewd internal voice pipes up. And that fact is a hard one for most of me to ignore. No matter how good his hands might feel on my body, he is an egotistical, arrogant asshole who I’ve never seen be anything that even vaguely resembles kind to anyone.

  I lunge forward, this time successfully breaking free of Tristan, only to be caught by Julian. His arms wrap around my waist, locking behind me. He pulls me close, so close that when I look up at him, I can feel his breath on my lips.

  “You know, Mia,” he whispers, “they say when you’re old and nearing death you regret more the things you didn’t try than the things you did. Besides”—his eyes flick to my lips—“you learn much more from the experiences you have in college than from the books you’re assigned to read.” His face gets closer and closer to mine as he talks. He whispers in my ear, “The truth is, we won’t actually force you to do anything you don’t want to. You can leave if you want. But I want you to stay. There is so much I can teach you if you let me.”

  My eyes are half closed. My lips part. It seems that even if I can leave, I don’t want to nearly as much as I thought I did.

  Whatever I may think about Tristan, Julian is…something else. Julian is very, very smart, funny, passionate. I can’t pretend that I haven’t noticed the musky earthy scent that surrounds him, or felt the unexplainable urge to run my fingers through his beautiful black curls, or temporarily gotten lost in the way his eyelashes brush the edges of his cheekbones when he scribbles a note.

  I sink into him, just a little, just a fraction of an inch, but that’s enough. His lips are on mine and after a very feeble resistance I melt into them. My arms wind around his neck and when he presses harder into the kiss, his lips so soft but firm, I have to consciously stop myself from nipping the bottom one. I wonder why this kiss feels so much more electrifying than any kiss I’ve ever had before.

  Julian’s tongue swipes the bottom of my lower lip. I press my toes into the ground below, parting my lips and swiping him back with my own tongue. He plunges into my mouth, curling his tongue behind my teeth, letting the tip chase along the roof of my mouth—my clit pulses, my knees lose whatever small amount of solidity they had left. I had no idea there were so many nerves in my mouth, but Julian seems to know where all of them are.

  There is a scraping noise in the background. Tristan is moving around. I can’t seem to muster whatever it would take to care. I guess that means I’m staying—not so Tristan can have his blackmail, but bec
ause parts of me I didn’t know existed have suddenly roared to life and they’re, apparently, much stronger than the rational mind I so pride myself on having.

  Tentatively, my arms slip down Julian’s shoulders, one catching in his hair, the other continuing all the way to his chest. His muscle is firm and, well, more abundant, than his usual long-sleeved shirts and sweater-vests suggest. I press my fingers into his hard abs, then slide them back up his neck.

  Julian’s hands move from my back to my hips. They firmly trail down, slip under my shirt and then trace my skin back up, until they are tickling my rib cage—another place I never knew had so many nerve endings. They move back down, my pelvis curves into his, but when his hands land on my hips, he manages to pull us even tighter together. Another primal moan escapes from me.

  Now both of my hands are in Julian’s hair, pulling his face closer to mine. His tongue moves faster, and mine moves to match it. I am becoming lost in the sensations I’m feeling, and the ghosts of sensations I want to feel more of. My hands become more frantic, running from his hair down his neck, along his shoulders. I want to melt into him.

  Julian trails over my ribs. I instantly cover in goose pimples, devastated with disappointment when his fingers brush over my bra, and my skin is denied the direct contact. Then hands are on my hips again, one sliding down to slip into my jeans while the other tugs at the button above the zipper. These hands cannot be Julian’s.

  I break our kiss, alarmed, but Julian’s hand instantly leaves my breast and gently grabs my jaw, purposefully pulling my mouth back to his. His tongue possessively pushes past mine, then curls around it, shoving it to the roof of his mouth and parting my lips so wide that the corners of them feel like they might rip.

  Tristan’s hands find the place where my pelvis and my thighs meet. From there he pulls me backward, and again my ass is pressed into his cock. His hands slide to meet in the middle. His fingertips brush the hood of my clit then slide past it between the folds of my labia, which are slick and treacherously welcoming. Before I can stop myself I thrust into his fingers, desperate for the sensation they provide.

  Julian’s hands wind back under my shirt and up my back. After a few tries, he unlatches my bra clasp. Instantly, his hands come back around and greedily cup my breasts. One of Tristan’s hands escapes my jeans and pushes Julian’s hand out of the way. Julian concedes.

  His displaced hand now falls between us; his fingers hook onto the edges of my jeans, and he pushes them down—just like I watched him push Tristan’s down—over my hips, wrapping around to slide them over my ass. I rub my thighs and knees together and my pants and underwear shimmy to the floor.

  Julian’s hands are back on my hips, his fingers slip into my underwear and they caress and tease without interfering with Tristan’s ministrations. Half of me is lost in trying to devour Julian with my tongue, the other half consumed by the terrible wonderful sensation of Tristan’s fingers rimming the walls of my entrance.

  I push Julian’s shirt over his shoulders, down past his elbows. He yanks the sleeves over his wrists and his shirt cascades to the ground. I run my hands up and down his torso, from lean natural abs up his perfect rib cage, to his chest—broad, hard muscle, with little dips to his collarbone—drawing lines to his Adam’s apple, his shoulders, his biceps, down to his forearms, so hard, his hands so long and graceful.

  I bring his hands into the space between us, inviting him to touch me where Tristan is touching me. I simultaneously feel like I’m already dying of overstimulation and like there could never be enough sensation to satisfy the hungry creature that’s been awoken inside of me. Julian takes my cue, he grabs on to the nub of my clit and pinches it just hard enough that it hurts. However, with the rhythmic circles Tristan is tracing, what might ordinarily have been pain instantly transforms into pleasure. It tugs at some place behind my navel and I instinctually thrust into Tristan’s fingers.

  Finally, finally, the tips of Tristan’s fingers enter me. They circle my inner walls, gradually and mercilessly building pressure. My legs go so weak with pleasure that I am practically hanging off of Julian.

  My face is in Julian’s neck. My mouth opens and I find my teeth hooked onto the place where his neck meets his shoulder. I bite him just hard enough to make him groan.

  Julian’s hands, now displaced by Tristan’s, travel up, up, up, along my sides, tickling my ribs, skimming my breasts, all the way to my armpits. I realize he’s trying to tug my shirt over my head. I grab the edges of the sleeves myself and pull it off for him, along with my bra. My arms are instantly back around his neck, my hands buried in his hair, my lips on his. He nips my lower lip, his arms pull me tight and I melt into him, tantalized by the sensation of bare skin on bare skin.

  Tristan’s hands abandon my groin and travel up my stomach to cup both my breasts. He catches my nipples between the knuckles of his fingers and yanks gently at them.

  It’s been a while since I had sex, but now that they’ve got me worked up in the dance my body seems to remember things my conscious mind never knew it had learned. My hands unravel from Julian’s hair and travel down his neck, soon they are buried in a different set of curls.

  Tristan suddenly jerks me backward with his grip on my breasts, pulling me away from Julian, then spinning me around. He twirls me right into my armchair. Before I am even able to think he’s on his knees, pushing his way between mine. His tongue lands on my inner thighs and races its way up, up, up—and then, like a man dying of thirst he plunges his greedy tongue into my aching folds.

  He licks and sucks and licks and sucks, and I am putty in his hands. He grabs my hips and pulls me down so I am even more open to him. Behind him Julian stands watching appreciatively. His eyes move from the back of Tristan’s head to my face and his hands travel to the lip of his still unbuttoned pants. He nimbly slips his long elegant hands into his boxer-briefs and grabs ahold of the very hard cock they’re hiding.

  My eyes roll to the back of my head as an electrifying jolt travels from my clit through my belly all the way up to my heart—Tristan and his tongue have just uncovered the exact perfect angle to attack from. I twist my head to the side and look at him. His ice-colored eyes stare hard at me from beneath thick black lashes. He ceases his perfectly rhythmic lapping just long enough to smirk at me, letting me know that he knows he’s got me—resistance is futile, if he keeps going, orgasm is imminent. Then he returns to his work without holding back.

  Electric sugar runs through my belly and my thighs and spreads to the rest of my body. The sensation is so overwhelming that for a minute I go numb and squeeze my legs together, forcing Tristan’s head back. He resists. His hands leave my hips, grab my thighs and push them farther apart, His tongue leaves my clit. It trails down and sinks back into my cave, tracing the entrance in a slow tantalizing circle that gradually builds.

  Again, he finds a perfect rhythm, and a whole other kind of electric surge is released—one I didn’t even know existed.

  It builds and it builds. Breathing becomes panting. My toes curl. The relentlessly perfect circular motion of his tongue never stops and that throbbing ache grows stronger and stronger. My hands grab the back of his neck and my ass muscles clench together, arching my pelvis upward, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper.

  I moan and a hand slips into my open mouth and gently compresses my tongue. I open my eyes.

  Julian stands above me with a good-natured smirk and one finger placed in front of his lips. “Shhh,” he whispers. I watch as his hand leaves those pouty lips and grasps his erect penis. It is thick and long, but not so long as to promise pain. He does not remove his other hand from my tongue, nor his eyes from mine.

  Tristan’s circles continue, pulling me back to the brink of orgasm. The pressure of Julian’s fingers on my tongue, the sight of him leisurely stroking his cock only inches from my face, adds fuel to the fire Tristan has already set ablaze. I am absolutely certain that I have never been so turned on.

  I find myself wi
shing that Julian would mount the chair so his knees straddle my shoulders and I could take his cock into my mouth. As I picture it happening that is all it takes to send me over the edge. The throbbing culminates in a huge burst of released energy and a wild growl escapes from deep in my gut and transforms into feral snarls.

  The pulse of the orgasm echoes through me with every heartbeat. My body simultaneously begs me to pull Tristan’s smirking face right back between my legs and to smack his thumb away, because even the gentlest brush against my clit is too intense right now. I have never ever had an orgasm like that before, and judging from the cat-that-caught-the-canary grin on Tristan’s face, I’m pretty sure that prick knows it.

  Tristan stands up and steps away. Julian quickly takes his place. He kneels between my legs but he only takes one long deliberate lick all the way from my perineum up into my labia, hooking his tongue just inside my still pulsing vagina. Then he pulls away, tempered lust and appreciation in his warm eyes.

  He turns to Tristan. His hands leave my thighs and land on Tristan’s angular jawbone. They slide up and weave through Tristan’s platinum blond hair, gripping him at the base of his head. Tristan’s hands latch onto Julian’s neck in the exact same spot and, like two expert dancers, they twist their heads together, closing the space between them.

  I have recovered enough to worm myself into a sitting position. I watch captivated as they push and pull at each other’s lips, tantalized by the ebb and flow of their tongues as neither concedes dominance, yet neither appears to be demanding it. I have also recovered enough for my body to scream out, like an addict, for more of what it’s just had.

  As if they can read my mind they pull apart and both of them look right at me, devious smirks gracing their well-kissed lips.

  “Dibs on front,” Julian says. I don’t know what this means, but his hands are on my left thigh and a microsecond later Tristan’s are on my right. They pull me down and I slide out of the chair, but I don’t hit the floor.