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His own groan reverberated beneath that grunt, and he bent over, laying his chest on her back. He slid his hands under her arms, grabbed hold of the beer case, and began to fucking pummel her from behind. The bottles rattled together inside their boxes. Every slam of his body into hers forced that harsh sound from her chest.
His cock hit every right place, every single time. This was the only position she was sure to get off without other kinds of stimulation going on as well, and her high from this night, her surprise at what she and Eight were doing right here and now, and her love of the man himself all blended into a powerful aphrodisiac. Marcella hit her peak in record time.
Then he put his mouth to her ear and rasped, “You like it when I give it to you hard.”
God, she really did. Every atom that made her quivered in tempo, ready to explode. “Shut up and fuck me, Edgar,” she gasped.
He laughed and did what he was told.
Marcella’s climax blew up, and she slammed her mouth on his arm, bit down, and screamed.
When Eight came, he slammed into her so hard he knocked the beer cases over. They crashed wetly, and Eight and Marcella would have followed, but he grabbed her and the nearest shelf and kept them on their feet.
“Holy shit,” Marcella laughed when she had enough breath for it.
“Yeah,” he chuckled and eased out. “We’re good at that.”
“We really, really are.”
~oOo~
After their second set, they had one more big piece slated for the party: the premiere of the video for ‘One Last Lonely Night.’
Despite her discomfort with how sexual the video had become, Marcella was proud of the result. It was beautifully filmed and professionally produced. The other members of the band ultimately got enough screen time to feel represented, and the narrative was lovely. Little of the video was what she would have done, but then, she wasn’t a visual storyteller. The result of a team effort, including Wes Brown and his thick wallet, was a moving, beautiful video she thought did the song justice.
However, she was still worried. Eight hadn’t yet seen a single frame. She’d invited him a few times, to watch them work, or to look at drafts, but every time he said he didn’t want to see her fucking Dash, even if it was fake fucking.
She’d pushed again a few days ago, wanting him to watch it on her laptop before the premiere, so they could deal with any feelings he had while they weren’t in a sold-out crowd of people. When he’d made his usual comment about fake fucking, she’d pointed out that she’d been cool with strip clubs and lap dances, so fair was fair.
Honestly, she’d had to work at that cool. Her first impulse had been burgeoning anger. But then, while they were on the phone, she’d thought about who Eight was, who he’d always been and who he was trying to become, and what it meant that he’d called her from New Mexico for permission.
It meant a lot. So she’d been cool.
Then he’d held up his end and called her, and they’d had a trulyepicphone sex session that had lasted a whole damn hour.
Now she really was okay with strip clubs and lap dances.
His response to her comparison: he hadn’t stopped her from making the video. So fair was already fair.
So here they were, in a packed house, waiting to screen the video, and Eight was going to see it cold in the middle of all this.
Marcella was definitely worried.
When the house lights went down and the screen lights went up, she slid to stand right in front of him and hook his arms around her. She wove her fingers with his hands and hoped like hell he was settled by her loving touch.
Because in a video clocking in at just over three minutes, almost two minutes was her and Dash writhing artfully together in very few clothes.
~oOo~
By the time the video was over and the lights came back up, Eight had become a granite statue around her. He hadn’t said a word, not even to answer when she’d asked if he was okay.
Now, while the crowd whistled and applauded, Eight worked his arms from her hold and pulled back.
The people around them—including Yvonne and Chase—filled in the space he’d left right away, clamoring to talk to her.
Ignoring them all, Marcella turned. She saw Eight working his way through the crowd like a snowplow, headed to the front door.
Fuck. Fuck.
