From the direction of the bedroom: a giggle, a murmur, a moan.
The door stood cracked open a fraction. He put his fingertips to the panel, and sent it swinging inward.
The sight that greeted him was no longer merely the stuff of fantasy – but it wasn’t exactly commonplace, either.
Jazz sat on the end of her bed, dressed in cutoffs and a denim shirt unbuttoned to her navel; no bra beneath, her full breasts bare; her new manager nametag pinned forgotten above the chest pocket. The blond sitting on her left was one of the newer girls, something with an S. The curvy brunette on her right was Chanel, who’d been keeping company mostly – but not exclusively, he didn’t think – with Roman’s son Boomer these days. Both other girls were naked save for lacy thongs. The blonde had Jazz’s cutoffs unbuttoned, and a hand down the front of them, arm flexing as she worked her with doubtlessly skilled fingers. Jazz loosely clutched a handful of Chanel’s hair, holding her in place, as Chanel suckled at her breast.
Jazz’s eyes were closed, her head tipped back; she bit her lip, and her hips worked in short little movements, shifting into the touch that worked between her legs. Enjoying herself, basking in the attention.
She was someone who loved giving and receiving pleasure, in all its forms, always up for anything, never shy, never ashamed of feeling good. It was what had drawn Carter to her from the first, when the club was still this overwhelming spectacle, rather than his daily life. It was what drew him to her now, and every other time he was feeling lost, and hollow, and in need of feeling good himself.
He must have made some sort of sound, though he wasn’t aware of it. Her eyes opened, and her hazy gaze landed on him. Her smile widened, dazzling, already half-drunk with pleasure, and only looked at him a moment, letting him get an eyeful.
“Girls,” she said, voice throaty. “The guest of honor’s here.”
Both turned to him, Chanel with one last flick of her tongue across Jazz’s nipple. Both of them looked eager, hungry, predatory; both raked him over with their eyes, flagrant scrutiny.
“Hey, baby,” Jazz purred. “You wanna join us?”
He stepped into the room already reaching for his belt buckle.
~*~
There was a wide mirror mounted on the wall of the bedroom, and Carter stared at it, the view it offered him of Chanel’s heavy breasts swaying in time to the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucked into her steadily, but not frantically enough to bring either of them off yet. He gripped her hips tight, pulling her back onto his cock again and again, relishing the tight, hot grip of her sex, and the sounds she made: little cut-off moans and whimpers that might have been real, might have been for show. He didn’t care. Liked the way her eyes were shut, and her mouth was open, and the way she clutched the edge of the mattress, trying to keep her knees under her. He could see the play of light on the sweat that sheened his chest; the flex of his abs as he worked his hips.
Every few seconds, he would glance over to the side, to where Jazz lay back against the headboard, propped on a stack of pillows. She held her breasts in her hands, offering them up; the other blonde – Stephanie – knelt between her spread legs, fingering her and sucking at her nipples in turn, back and forth.
“Oh yeah,” Jazz panted, head thunking back against the wood. She arched up off the pillows, chest lifting. “Like that. Oh yeah. Harder. Right there.”
Carter watched Stephanie’s fingers plunge deep; watched her cheeks hollow as she suckled hard at a peaked nipple, and his rhythm stuttered.
Chanel pressed back into him, and he fucked into her hard, harder, his grip on her hips so tight it had to hurt.
“I’m – I’m–” Jazz gasped, and came on a deep, throaty moan.
Stephanie sat back grinning, triumphant, and worked her through it, stroking Jazz’s quivering stomach with her other hand.
Carter closed his eyes a moment, thrusting into Chanel, listening to Jazz come down and catch her breath. He felt like he was onfire, flushed, and breathless, the sweat pouring off him. But he wasn’t ready to come yet, not even close.
“Need a hand?” Stephanie’s voice asked, right in his ear; her hair tickled his shoulder.
When he opened his eyes, she was right there, grinning at him, and a moment later he felt her fingers at the base of his cock. Circling, teasing at where he was joined with Chanel. Then she shifted upward, and he knew she was stroking Chanel’s clit when Chanel let out a quick, breathless cry.
A few more thrusts and she was coming, clenching around him, screaming quietly into the mattress.
He gritted his teeth and kept working his hips until she collapsed; then he slid out, and sat back, seeking her red face in the mirror, seeing its dreamy, blissful expression.
Stephanie stroked the other girl’s back and her gaze went to Carter’s cock, still hard and wet. “Jazz, you weren’t kidding,” she said. “He’s got stamina.”
Jazz chuckled, sheets rustling as she sat up. “You wanna hop on and go for a ride?”
He ended up on his back, Stephanie sitting astride him. She peeled off the used condom, rolled on another, and sat down on his shaft without preamble. “Ooh,” she said with a breathless little laugh. “God, I love this club.” She tossed her hair back and lifted up onto her knees, settling into a hard, fast rhythm right away.
Jazz stretched out beside him, with Chanel sitting behind her, watching.
Jazz raked her nails across his chest, and leaned in to kiss his cheek, his jaw. “You like my surprise, baby boy?” she murmured, tongue tracing the shell of his ear. “Is it cheering you up?”
Stephanie was clenching around him every time she sank down on him, and speech was beyond him at this point. He lifted an unsteady hand, got it tangled in Jazz’s hair, and pulled her in for a kiss.
