Page 4 of Secondhand Smoke

Tango’s eyes were everywhere. On Jasmine’s slick lips around his cock as he pushed into her mouth and then withdrew, cradling her head, keeping his rhythm slow because he could see the way the sex was consuming her. On Carter, as the complex musculature of his back flexed and strained, his hips grinding, thrusting. It was spectacular, the sight of him between Jasmine’s thighs, driving his cock into her, body torqueing as he went deeper, harder. He grunted and cursed. He gripped Jasmine’s thigh and angled her leg, spread her wider, took the penetration deeper. He dropped his head over her breasts, covered her nipples with his tongue. And Jazz seemed to levitate, bowing upward into his mouth, into his driving cock, her hips trying to meet the kiss of his, moaning as she sucked on Tango. The sounds were a vibration through her mouth, shooting up his cock.

Tango pulled out of her mouth, sat back, hard and aching, watching. She kicked her head back and gasped. “Oh. Oh. Oooohhhh.” He knew the flush of her cheeks, the way she bit her lip – a real orgasm, and not a show.

Carter made a sharp growling sound and tensed, ass clenching as he drove into her hard, pressed her down into the mattress, and found his own release.

Jazz heaved a deep, satisfied sigh; ran her hands down Carter’s back, to his ass, squeezing, holding him where he was. Both of them panting, gleaming with sweat. A moment Tango should never have been witness to, much less a part of.

Then Jazz turned her head and looked at him. “Baby boy. Come here to me.”

An invitation. The woman who made him feel like both a sheltered boy and a man. And a man who had no idea of his sordid history; didn’t know that in a way, his own nakedness was as much a part of the temptation as Jasmine’s.

“Tango,” Jazz prodded.

He plucked two condoms off the nightstand and joined them.

~*~

Aidan had to close one eye behind his nighttime goggles on the way to the clubhouse, but he managed not to wipe out or crash into another vehicle. Wouldn’t that just be perfect? His epic turnaround had been prompted by an accident – and when that didn’t work, it would be back to the asphalt he went. Splat.

But he arrived in one piece, staggering off the bike once it was parked in front of the clubhouse, head tipping back as he sucked cool night air into his paper-dry mouth.

The stars cartwheeled overhead. The plain gray façade of the clubhouse snapped in and out of focus. The black dog affixed to the siding was running, long legs reaching…

He was at an unheard-of point of drunkenness. He’d never in his life been this wasted and still been on his feet.

But the fury was still there, flooding his veins, tangling with the whiskey in a way that made him think he’d breathe fire if he tried to speak.

She’d done it on purpose, hadn’t she? Gotten pregnant. That’s what women did – they trapped you, pinned you to them for life. Drained you of your money and your soul, and all with those five words:

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

He snarled up at the sky, but the stars ignored him, dancing and swirling and refusing to keep their constellations.

“Bitch,” he said to Tonya, though she wasn’t there to hear.

The ground heaved beneath him as he walked to the front door. One way, and then the next. He stumbled and caught himself against the wall. Took three tries to turn the knob and let himself in.

He wanted there to be a rampaging party waiting for him, some den of heathens where he could drink and fuck and smoke the hatred away. But the common room was empty. TV rumbling to itself. Two beers sitting on the coffee table, cold condensation running down their sides.

Fresh beers.

Someone was here.

The back hall lengthened as he walked down it, like he was in a funhouse. His head pounded, the blood thrusting against the backs of his eyes with each beat of his pulse.

If he so much as smelled Jack Daniels Honey after this night was over, he’d probably puke on the spot.

Damn you, Tonya.

Damn women.

He heard moaning. Deep, highly-aroused, feminine moaning. Porno material, the kind you dreamed about hearing when you were inside a woman.

Women – the stuff of both dreams and nightmares.

All the dorm doors stood ajar, clean and ready for occupancy. All but one, a seam of light flashing along the floor where it was shut up tight.

Aidan didn’t knock; he’d spotted the bikes in the parking lot. He opened the door and nearly fell inside, catching himself against the jamb and waiting for the room to stop spinning.

---