Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (74 page)

Right after I smacked her to the floor, too. And
damn,
she was good. Those sweet, sweet little strokes, she knew exactly what a girl wanted. I had absolute heaven on, around, in and up my pussy, and a hot poker of absolute hell right through my ass.
 

I cried and I sobbed and I laughed and I shrieked as I came, and I came, and I came, god
damn
. The dancer tasted it and she squeezed my thighs and sucked deeper and harder and harder on my clit.

Blaze was still beating and banging and pounding into my poor, sore, red little rim, but after my last yelps of tortured ecstasy, I felt him slow down. He was holding back. He almost stopped. Then with a whole run of full-throated, rasping yells, he belted into me and his red-hot load pumped against the inside of my raw, devastated ass.  

As soon as Blaze hauled his cock back from my ass, my body crumpled to the stage like a rag doll. The dancer stroked my head and my cheek. The noise of the crowd was so loud now, it was painful.
 

Bikers were right there in front of me, yelling and shouting, but their thighs were at my eye-level, and the sound was one, indistinct rush. Blaze was standing, grinning, waving his arms in the air. Bikers pushed bottles of bourbon at him, as well as blunts, pipes and little packets, but he just put his hands on his hips, grinned and waved.

He pulled me up by my hair and took me down from the stage, through the parting sea of grinning, shouting bikers to Zelda’s table. My t-shirt hung ripped and wet over my swollen, swinging breasts and grazed my hard, over-sensitive nipples.
 

My shorts just hung open to my crotch, and my black sheer panties were no more than a whisp. The stockings were very laddered now, and one raw knee poked out through a rip. From my head to my knees I was shaking and soaking wet. To say that I had ‘Bambi legs’ would be an understatement.
 

Half of those bikers must have cum right in their jeans at the slick, bedraggled sight of me. I barely made it to the table and I fell more than sat into the chair. Blaze basked in the celebration. I reached across the table for the bottle of Jack, and took a long, deep swig. Zelda put her hand on mine and looked in my eye. Her voice was quiet and low, and she said,

“You’d stolen the show from him there, Lucy.” Her grip tightened on my hand, “You need to be careful, girl.”

Every part of me was exhausted, and I couldn’t put together what she was telling me. Still looking very serious she said,

“You can always call me here.”

BLAZE

Part 3

BURN

by

Alice May Ball

When Blaze was satisfied with my sword swallowing skills, we were practically never apart for the rest of the
Organ Grind
tour.

It kicked off as Blaze took me to a hotel suite, and the party that went on for the next month, moving to another city every couple of days. The parties were two or three hotel suites, or, in one small town, a whole motel, all around a pool.

Wherever we were, the place was mostly packed with hard-rock stars, dancers and bikers, as well as the crew and a few guys, usually in shades, who transacted business in bathrooms and didn’t stay too long.

Every night Blaze played one or two songs with the
Organ Grind
, but the tour was more like a sideshow, an incidental to the epic partying. Blaze was never far from a bottle of bourbon, hardly ever slept, and he fucked me senseless at least half a dozen times every day.

Where one day ended and the next began became more of a philosophical speculation whenever jokes ran slow.

In a house in Beverly Hills, Blaze took me from behind in an infinity pool, the valley stretched out in front of us, bathed in golden sun, and about twenty old geezers on a ‘Homes of the Stars’ tour bus shouted and waved at the sight of my big tits splashing in the pool.

That and my head thrashing from side to side, plus my keening wails from Blaze reaming my ass for the third time that morning. The wives of the old geezers weren’t such big fans of the show, although one sweet-looking white haired old girl had her nose so hard up against the bus window, I thought her face was going to burst like a balloon full of water.

I felt like one of those old-time screen goddesses, being gallantly sired by Douglas Fairbanks or Cary Grant.

We fucked in the aisle of a Learjet over the Grand Canyon, and Blaze tried to get the cabin attendant to join in. She wasn’t having any of it, but Blaze teased her, had her really drunk and got her skirt hiked up. She sat on my face and I sucked her as Blaze fucked me wheelbarrow style.

She came like a sleepy, mewling kitty, stretching. The taste and the feel of her puss, I kinda liked, Her, not so much.

We did it at the top of the Coit Tower, the San Francisco bay and the Golden Gate bridge twinkling in the evening fog, although I didn’t see much of it upside down from between his thighs. My thighs were on his shoulders for the standing sixty-nine.

He was farther up my throat than ever that time, and I hardly moved along his shaft, just squeezed him with my throat, my mouth and my lips, lolled my tongue around him, slicked him in slippery saliva and sucked. We barely moved, only filled and gave to and took from each other, more and more.

It seemed like forever, and he moaned some of the sweetest sounds I that ever heard him make. After the smoky taste of precum, my tongue lapped and pressed out to the hilt of his shaft, and he began to pump, so gently and so slowly, until I moaned, and the low vibration triggered him.

Then he started to move and he was pumping cum so hard into my throat, I had to pull back to get the head of his love muscle in my mouth, or I wouldn’t have got a taste at all.

The last night of the tour is in Madison Square Garden. Blaze is pumped. He plays three songs on stage with
The Organ Grind
, plus they hauled him back for the second encore.

His vocals are all smack on the money, and his guitar solos all catch fire. In the last encore, Blaze and Chainsaw improvise an inspired guitar duet, harmonising higher and higher, spinning faster and faster licks, and the crew let off a surprise firework display at the climax. And the song is
Lovelace Lies Bleeding
.

A fleet of hummers, limos, trucks and bikes sweep the band, the crew and a comet’s tail of wild revellers back to the 42nd Street hotel, where the top floor is all ours. Blaze and I stepped into the suite together, into the noisy throng.

Dancers, showgirls and all-purpose floozies stretched and posed and cavorted, with and on the men, all manes, tattoos, leather and denim. The scents of testosterone and its female counterparts were intoxicating.

Dancers in heels, stockings and nothing else but filmy scarves were on all the window sill ledges. thumping rock cranked out of the sound system, and the riggers, bikers, players, techs and liggers drank, dallied with dancers, and generally found much great cause to whoop and holler.

We were on the balcony slamming tequila shots with champagne. Slammed into a foam, it hits the bloodstream fast. Coming off the tour, the final concert and the sheer adrenaline rush from the Garden in full throng of thunderous appreciation, the energy crackled in everyone.

All eyes sparkled and flashed, no drink was drunk unclinked in toast to some triumph. Blaze tried to act cool, but everywhere I touched him, all of his muscles twanged and vibrated. His eyes flashed with fire. He cupped my chin in his hand and his eyes snapped into mine.

A rush of emotion flashed through me, and I could see that he was welling up to say something to me. Those moments were apt to be explosive. Blaze expresses himself with actions, or he makes jokes. Straight talk is a precipice for him.

My hand was on his chest and his heart thumped under my fingers. My sense was to calm him, to soothe him, but I ached and yearned to know his mind.

He pulled me closer, and my breasts met his silk shirt, still wet from exertion on the stadium stage. The ripple of his stomach muscles, under the shirt, met my hardening nipples. My breasts pressed against him, and I felt as though all of him, all that was inside of him was ready to burst into my breasts.

He cupped them both in his hands and squeezed. When he did stuff like this, especially in a room full of people, it was always bravado, a show. This was something different. His grin wasn’t the showman’s leer, it was something connected.

It felt wonderful, it felt like the heavens would open and a deluge would fall on us, soak us and cleanse us. A renewal. But it was uncharted territory, new ground, and it frightened me, because it could be an overdose of the thing that he feared.

I didn’t know what that thing was exactly, but I had a sense of what would touch it, and I longed to heal it for him. He squeezed my breasts and my heart raced, but something told me there was danger in the night air, forty floors above Manhattan. His cock stirred and snaked up against my tummy, and I hugged him, to feel it, to feel him, enfolded in my rising breasts. He said,

“More shots,”

And I didn’t know whether I was laughing or crying. I was kind of doing both, and he kissed me. Softly at first, but slowly and deeply. His arms were around me, mine were around him, our breasts, hips, thighs, all of me was reaching for all of him.

All of him was possessing all of me. When he pulled me close it was softer but somehow closer than he ever had been before. The embrace was long and warm and soft, and at the same time as our bodies clung and pressed together, turning for more closeness, adjusting for an extra inch of long and hot and hard touch.

Then someone offered us the shots. A look quickly wound through Blazes eyes, a look that I once saw at a show, when the bass player dropped the beat. A look for only a fraction of a moment, but a look like murder. He made a new smile, took the shots and topped them with Bollinger champagne. He held up the glass, a tribute, showed it across the balcony. He said,

“Hero’s all,”

Our glasses clinked, I said,

“Hero’s all,” along with the rest of the revellers, we slammed our shots and inhaled them. Blaze fixed me with his eyes, and said,

“We can do anything, baby,” and his eyes swept across the balcony, making sure of his audience, as he started to undo his big, silver belt buckle. For me, this moment should have been ours. Ours alone.

There was a whole firm of people on the tour, and I had no part in it, so I didn’t feel that I was entitled to take it for myself. The end-of-tour party was for everybody who drove, looked after clothes, flung up lights and rigging and pulled them down, handled security, instrument technicians, sound mixers, and not to mention the musicians.

This was for them, even more than it was for Chainsaw or for Blaze. It wasn’t for me at all, I was a ‘plus one,’ not even a walk-on. But I had wanted it for myself, and I choked on having to share it.

Too late, girls were shrieking, guys were nodding and stamping, a girl was fire-breathing on the far side of the  balcony, and the incendiary smell of petrol and burning air mixed with that dark scent of Blaze’s body.

My head swam as Blaze waved his fine, prodigious member in the glimmering lights, the orange illumination from the flames and the cool New York breeze. That fine weapon, firmly erect, thrust straight out of the front of his leather jeans, his neat ballsack like a launching pad.

Alone or in a crowd, the thought of that monster snaking into any part of me, from any end opened my sluice gates. My stomach thrilled and my juices ran. When I get that feeling with Blaze, my chest swells, my heart bangs, juice eeks out of my puss, and my eyes water. I haven’t known that with any other man. Every part of me opened to his nearness, his need, his want.

He put his fingers into my lips and I wet them and sucked on them. He reached down to my breasts and ripped open my shirt. Sliding down his body, I nestled and wrapped the hot, beating meat of his cock between my swelling breasts.

Here, he was mine. His firm, huge member burrowed into the heat between my soft breasts like an animal cub. His pleasure called out to my welling juices and my nipples throbbed as I held his shaft deep in the softness of my cleavage.

My hands pushed my breasts together and I craned so my lips could reach his dark, shining, purple head. I licked at its opening, and he shook, and the taste sent such a thrill down my body that I had to hold my thighs apart, the juice flowed so hot.

I felt it warm the skin of my thighs below my shorts, down to the stocking tops.

My lips parted and I wet them with my tongue to draw that head into my mouth, and onto my tongue. When it was inside, my wet lips closed around it and my tongue lapped and beat against  its hard underside.

I wanted him more and more as I felt his vein thrum in my mouth and tasted the dark sweetness of him. His pulse pounded with the anticipation of what was to come, and I drew every second of it out, nibbling along his length, drawing him in, a little more at a time.

My stomach rose to give rhythmic suction to him. Hot as they were, my lips felt cool along the length of Blaze’s swelling shaft. When I had him to the top of my throat and paused, he cried my name. That was the most thrilling moment of all of these weeks.

Fucking in reverse cowgirl behind the drummer, my red swollen tits bouncing for the front rows of the audience to see, the Coit Tower, the infinity pool, it was nothing compared to the raw, delicious sound as my name tore out of his throat right there.

My head plunged and my lips slid straight down, all the way to his hilt. I pressed there, and stretched my tongue out to tease his balls and my breath fanned his groin.

I pressed my breasts against his thighs, running my hard, stinging nipples along them, and pulsing waves ran from the bottom of my stomach up to my chest like the gush of a volcano.

He moaned again, and I fucked him with my throat, with my face, with my mouth, with my tongue, with the power of my breath, with all of the suction that I could muster.

He reached to grab my hair. This time, for the first time, he tried to slow me down, to make me take him more softly. I wouldn’t. The pain of my hair, tearing in his hands, only spurred me on. I slid and I sucked and I dove and I rocked. I rocked. I took it from him. He couldn’t stop me, and he couldn’t hold back.