And dear god in Heaven…
My mouth gapes open, and my grip tightens on the glass in my hand with so much force, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Juliette is standing there looking fierce as fuck with her blonde hair down and full around her face. Her makeup is dark and dramatic, with lips the color of blood.
And her outfit?Mother of all fuckers.My cock thickens in my pants at the sight of her. She’s wearing a strapless, one-piece, leotard thing that’s made of shiny leather in a deep red color. The top of it is cut to resemble flames against her chest. Fishnet hose crisscross down her mile-long legs, ending with tall red rhinestone boots that sparkle in the flashing lights.
I can see black-and-red feathered wings peeking over her shoulders, and illuminated red devil horns sit atop her mass of blonde hair. She is sinfully stunning.
“Damn,” Ryan cackles. “Looks like you’re going to have your hands full tonight, buddy.” He slaps me on the shoulder and wanders off. At least I think he does because all I can see isher. My she-devil.
Juliette’s eyes meet mine, and her top teeth sink into her plump, glossy bottom lip. My feet move without me telling them to, and I hear titters from the other women as I pass them, my eyes taking in every sexy inch of my dream girl.
When I reach her, she dips her chin coyly and turns those bright eyes up to me, sooty lashes framing her gaze. My hands automatically find her slim waist, the slick leather softer than I expected.
“You look very… pure,” she purrs, running her hands up and down my bare arms.
“I’m feeling anything but,” I growl, pressing my hips forward so she can feel every inch of my impure-ness. “You look positively wicked, dream girl.”
“Maybe I’ll take wicked advantage of you later,” she says airily, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
And I’m damn well going to let her.
The karaoke party is in full swing, the drinks are flowing, and Juliette and I are happily tipsy. Actually, everyone in the bar is feeling pretty fine at this point.
Most of the singers are not great, but I think that’s the point. Juliette has been on stage three times already with various groups of women, the last one a very loud rendition of “It’s Raining Men.”
We’re standing near the backlit bar while Jane and Gaston sing “Islands in the Stream.” They’re dressed as Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers.
I cop a feel of Juliette’s ass. No one gives a fuck here. Everyone is all over each other. My eyes dart to a dark corner booth where a woman is straddling a man’s lap, and I lean down to whisper in Juliette’s ear. “Who is Marilyn Monroe with over there?”
She squints and then pops her eyes open wide. “Austin Powers, and I’m pretty sure they’re fucking.”
Sure enough, their rhythmic movements suggest some very naughty things are happening beneath Marilyn’s iconic white dress.
“Is that Victoria?” I ask, and Juliette nods.
“Yes, and Austin Powers is Chris, Inge’s husband. According to what Victoria told me yesterday, they’re swapping tonight. I saw Inge and Elvis kissing in the corridor when I went to the bathroom earlier.”
“I’m assuming Elvis is the one dressed as Elvis?” I ask sardonically, remembering the guy in a sparkly jumpsuit I’d seen on the dance floor earlier.
“That’s him,” Juliette giggles before leaning over the bar to get the bartender’s attention. Of course he runs right over. And stares at her fucking chest while asking what she wants. Not thatI can blame him; her tits look amazing in this outfit. “Another shot of Fireball, please,” my girl—mine—requests.
I step up behind her, plastering myself possessively against her back while cradling her curvy hips with my hands. “These boots are hot. I want you to wear them while I fuck your mouth later,” I whisper in a low, commanding voice in her ear.
She turns to face me, her eyes glinting with mischief. “The angel wants the she-devil to suck his big, hard cock?”
The cock in question swells against her belly. “More than I want to breathe,” I say, the words not much more than grunts because all the blood reserved for making my mouth work has migrated much farther south.
The bartender sets the shot glass on the bar behind Juliette, and I take it, holding it in front of her. Her glossy red lips part, and I press the glass to her lower one, tipping it up and pouring the contents into her mouth.
She winces only slightly before smacking her lips in satisfaction. “Thanks. I need some liquid courage. I’m about to go solo.”
“What are you singing?” I ask, still staring at the cherries of her lips, imagining all sorts of devilish thoughts.
“You’ll see,” she sings, flashing me a cheeky wink.
I’m vaguely aware of someone approaching, and then I hear Kat’s accented voice. “Okay, hot stuff. You’re up next.”
