Page 63 of Cruel Games

“Chill-out room,” said Maxwell.

I spluttered. “In public?”

“Relax.” Orlando squeezed my left breast. “Everyone’s usually too busy doing their own thing to notice a girl blowing two guys.”

“No way.” I gave my head a firm shake. “I don’t want people thinking I’ll just suck anyone off. We’ll do it in private or not at all.”

“Fine,” Orlando growled. “What do you suggest?”

“Did you bring your limo?”

The two boys exchanged wolfish grins. Orlando tugged me toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute!” I dug in my heels. “The night hasn’t even begun. I want to dance for a bit.”

“Alright,” said Maxwell. “But we’re keeping you by our side.”

I got on my tiptoes and gave them each a peck on the lips, mentally thanking them for giving me enough time to work out a way to get out of their clutches.

“Do you still want the champagne?” I asked.

“We can drink on the way home.”

My face fell. Getting them drunk wasn’t an option, then.

“Come on.” Maxwell wrapped an arm around my waist and walked me around the heaving dance floor to the nu-jazz room. Orlando slung an arm around my shoulder, letting everyone know I was their plaything for the night.

“Want a drink?” asked Orlando.

I held up my three-quarters-full bottle of Smirnoff Ice, making sure to take the tiniest of sips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you something?”

Maxwell squeezed my ass. “The only thing we want from you is your mouth around our cocks.”

“And a spit-roast in the back of the limo,” added Orlando.

I rolled my eyes. There was no point in arguing that I’d agreed to no such thing because I’d be long gone before we even got to that stage.

A Latin-jazz number blared through the speakers. Rapid drums accompanied congas and a wicked bongo beat. A groovy bass reverberated through my bones and got me swaying my hips.

Maxwell kept his hands on my ass as I danced, as though I might samba away into the night. I spun and wrapped my arms around his neck so we could dance face-to-face.

His stern expression melted into a smile, and he moved in time with the music. For a moment, it felt like I’d gone to a club and met a super-hot guy with silver eyes and piercings to match. I couldn’t help running a hand down his bulging bicep.

“Do you like the ink?” he asked.

“It’s the only thing I like about you.” I smirked. “That and the piercings.”

His face broke into a wide grin. “Ken tells me you two have gotten friendly. Have you popped his cherry yet?”

“I haven’t even put it on my to-do list.”

The DJ melded the track into a slow bossa nova, and Maxwell pulled me into his hard body. As we swayed together to the melody, he lowered his lips onto mine in a kiss that melted my knickers.

I should have pulled away. I should have told him I had no patience for wankers, but those strong arms around my back and the hand on my ass made me melt against him.

Maxwell tasted of champagne, smelled of expensive cigars, and his low, pleasured groans pulled me into a vortex of lust that I couldn’t escape.

My eyes fluttered shut, and I lost myself in the sensation of his lips, his tongue, and the light dusting of stubble across my skin.