by Piper Lawson
I’ve never been selfless in bed. The blowjobs I allowed myself on tour, the way of venting when I didn’t want to lose control and have another mistake, didn’t help. Letting some woman I’d never see again explore her darkest fantasies with me meant I just had to be there.
I won’t let myself be that with Haley. She deserves more.
She deserves everything.
We shouldn’t be friends, or anything, but now that I know she exists out there in the world, I can’t forget her. Maybe it would be easier if I didn’t have money and fame and influence. But dammit, I’m used to getting what I want.
The thought of her seeing that Dale guy, or her precious professor, bothers the hell out of me. But at least they don’t come with the baggage I have. With the distance of a few hundred miles between us, it’s easier to see how true that is.
Which means that until I get my head on straight, which I can’t see happening anytime soon?
The best thing I can do is stay far, far away from her.
8
Haley
I almost chicken out three times.
The first is on the way to the airport, when I know there’s no way I can score a standby flight in my price range.
Second is when I’m in the air at thirty-five thousand feet.
But the third isn’t until I’m in the elevator, realizing there’s no way I’ll get up to the penthouse.
Outside his door, I glance at the jean skirt and tank top I put on this morning. I traded the Converse sneakers for ballet flats and flat-ironed my hair so it falls down my back. I press my lips together, but the balm I applied on my way out this morning is gone.
I knock lightly.
Nothing.
Maybe he’s not home.
Disappointment seeps through me. On its heels, though, there’s relief. Because not seeing him means I don’t have to look him in the eye and ask him something he’s not going to like.
Come on, Haley, suck it up.
This time I knock hard enough the wood hurts my knuckles.
Finally, I hear footsteps.
Then the door swings wide, spilling light into the plush but windowless hallway.
Dammit. I should’ve prepared myself better.
There’s no guitar in his hands, no paparazzi lurking in the corner. Jax shouldn’t look like a god sent to wreck havoc on mortals.
His jaw’s a little shy of square, his lips carved and purposeful, as if someone created him knowing he’d use his mouth, his voice, to rock the world. His hair is damp and brushes his forehead on one side.
Jax’s white undershirt shows off the muscles of his shoulders, the scrolling ink of his tattoos. He’s also wearing sweatpants.
I never knew sweatpants could cause cardiac arrest before.
“Haley.”
He’s surprised, and it’s not in a good way.
“Hi. Is there… are you with someone?” It had never occurred to me, but now, seeing the curl of his hair, uncertainty creeps in with misery on its heels.
“Mace left a while ago. I just got back from the pool.” Relief has my shoulders sagging. “How’d you get up here?”
“Your doorman buzzed me up. Can I come in?”
He steps back, and I follow him inside.
I had a speech prepared, but it escapes me as I take in the foyer of his penthouse. Plush carpet, cream walls. A round mahogany table with a vase spilling fresh flowers.
It’s a palace.
The thing is it doesn’t seem too grand for him. It seems just right.
My attention drops to the pile of glossy magazines and brochures on the table. “Whoa, what is all this?”
“From my agent.”
“A soda jingle. A reality TV series.” I snort, picturing the guy I know doing either of those. But it’s the third that has my stomach shaking. “Japanese hairspray?”
“Got to keep the money flowing.” His mouth twists, and I relax a degree. Despite the reality check of this environment—the room that probably costs more a night than my apartment does a month—I’m reminded that this is still Jax. The man I joked with on tour. The man whose hoodie I own.
Although he doesn’t look the most relaxed at the moment. Considering he’s finished his tour, back in the city he wanted so badly to return to, he looks like he’s ready to go three rounds with the world.
“You said I could come if I needed something.” My throat is suddenly dry. “Can I get a drink first?”
With a moment’s hesitation, he turns, and I follow him to the kitchen.
I try to ignore the way his clothes hug the muscles of his back. His shoulders. His ass.
Jax reaches into the stainless fridge, pops the top on a soda water, and offers it to me.
My gaze pulls down the kitchen to the bar at the end. “Do you have anything stronger?”
He goes to the bar, returns with a bottle of bourbon. He pours two fingers into a glass, which I take.
“Thanks.” Jax studies me as I tip the glass back, wincing as the bourbon burns down my throat.
Now or never.
“You remember the app I was working on this summer?” He nods. “I’ve got another chance to submit it to a competition. But this contest’s even bigger. I need more data. Preferably early cuts. The more songs and the more variations, the better.”
“Meaning?”
I take a breath. Then another drink. “I need permission to use your songs. Unedited, unreleased—”
“Absolutely not.”
I played this moment out in my head. I pictured him looking incredulous. Sceptical even.
What I didn’t picture was the lightning-quick response. The dismissive jerk of his head.
“It’s for science, Jax. Sure, the program can help make songs that sell. More importantly, it can help us learn how music affects our brains, our feelings. I was doing some research on the plane, and there are all these networks of scientists looking to understand the links between music and our emotions. Even our development as kids. What’s more worthy than that?”
“This is business, Hales. Not personal.”
Fire starts in my gut, and it’s not from the bourbon. “Your best friend is your bassist. You almost missed a show because your flip phone went missing and you couldn’t call your daughter. You say I’m just a tech on your tour, then you say you’re going to fuck me someday. So tell me again where personal ends and business begins.”
Jax’s gaze narrows. “This isn’t a good time, Hales. I can’t help you.”
He brushes past me, and I set the glass on the counter, scrambling after him. When he reaches for the door, I slide between it and him.
We stare each other down.
I’m out of options.
Not quite.
Everyone wants something. Cross wants power. Carter wants… who the hell knows what Carter wants? I’m done guessing.
But Jax? I know what Jax wants.
“I’m going to fuck you someday. But not until you beg me for it.”
Riding a wave of bravado I might regret, I reach for the hem of my shirt.
The irritation is gone, replaced by something like panic. “What are you doing?”
I have no idea, but they say doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of insanity.
Moving slowly, I drag my tank up and over my head, squirming a little when it gets stuck on my earring. “Ouch.”
“You need help?”
“No.” I flush red. Panting, I manage to get the shirt off.
It takes every ounce of courage in me to let the fabric fall from my fingertips.
I’ve never tried to seduce a man before. I’ve never wanted to, nor am I deluded enough to think I know the first thing about how to do it.
I don’t have moves, or pornstar heels, or dirty talk.
All I have is me and the feedback from his expression, his body, to guide me. To tell me if I’m on to something or if this will ruin everything.
Testing, I inch closer.
His nostrils flare, but he can’t scare me. Not when I see his gaze drop to my black satin bra and linger there.
That observation makes me bolder. It’s a positive result that has me deeming this line of experiments worthy of further exploration.
“I need those songs, Jax.”
I trace the line of his shoulder, biting my tongue at the feel of his hot skin beneath my finger, and his eyes darken. I can smell his shower on him, and I ignore the lust that rises up.
He’s used to people tripping over themselves to obey him. He’s not used to being pushed.
I’m gaining confidence in my play until everything shifts.
“You want me to pay you by the minute, Hales?” His voice is a soft challenge. Or by the act?”
I swallow, thick. “What’s the norm?”
He glowers down at me like an avenging angel. “None of this is the norm. And it’s not you. You don’t think I know I could have you right now?”
Jax’s hands grab my wrists, slam them overhead.
That’s when I know I was wrong. That I took this too far.
I twist in his grip, trapped between the heat of his fingers and the door.
But instead of relenting, he squeezes harder.
I’m shaking on the inside. I hope to God he doesn’t see it because I don’t want to be weak in front of him. Not like this.
Jax’s gaze rakes down my body. His slow perusal lingers on my lips, my breasts. My skirt’s twisted and bunching, and I want to fix it.
But his gaze returns to mine, fierce and determined. “You. Need. To. Leave.”
He lets go of my wrists, and they drop, limp at my sides. My head falls back, hitting the door as my eyes close.
Something soft tickles my cheek.
His hair.
I turn an inch, because that’s all I can do, to find his forehead pressed against the wall.
I breathe him in, inhaling the familiar scent of his…
“Jax,” I whisper.
“What?” The response is barely audible as he turns his face toward mine, his eyelids at half-mast.
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Did you buy my shampoo?”
Those amber eyes open, slow. The look in them has me sucking in a breath too late.
Because he devours me.
Every woman should have a chance to be kissed by Jax Jamieson once, because I can’t think of anything that compares when that sexy mouth slants over mine.
He tastes like smoke, or I do, and the flavor of Jax and bourbon is the best thing I’ve ever had on my tongue.
My fingers find his damp hair. Not because I’m ready for more, but because I need something to hold onto.
He presses me back into the door on a groan.
His hands grip my bare waist, stroke up my back, sending shimmering ripples of sensation across my skin.
My nipples are tight peaks rubbing against his chest through my bra, and the friction has me making stupid little sounds I wish I could swallow.
I don’t know where this is going. Or maybe I do, and that’s even scarier. It’s like we’re racing toward a cliff and I can’t decide whether to hit the brakes or the gas.
The fear in my stomach can linger, keep company with the doubt, but none of it stands a chance next to the promise in Jax’s eyes.
It’s not a promise of safety or security.
It’s a promise to show me something I’ve never seen before. Something incredible.
Which is why suddenly I’m kissing him back, pressing into him, tangling my tongue with his.
My hands loosen their grip, running down his shoulders, exploring the muscles there.
Jax’s hands run up under the hem of my skirt to the edge of my panties, grabbing my ass like it’s his right. He drags my legs up around his hips, but his mouth continues to torment mine as he carries me across the living room.
Who knew Jax Jamieson was an epic multitasker?
He sets me on something soft, and I blink my eyes open.
The room, the four-poster bed, none of it can compete with the way Jax is looking down at me.
A smile ghosts across his handsome, wicked face as he tugs down the cup of my bra, his rough palm squeezing my breast. I always thought moaning during sex was something porn stars did to sell it. Now the joke’s on me because I can’t stop the noises coming from my throat.
“I wanted to take this slow, Hales. Make it good for you.”
Before I can ask what he means, his dark head drops, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth.
Oh, God, that’s crazy. I mean, it’s actually stupid how good that feels.
He chuckles, and I think I might have said it out loud.
My hands fist in his hair, pulling him closer as he licks, bites, and sucks on my body in a way I never knew I wanted and sure as hell never would’ve asked for.
But he’s so competent, so confident, it bleeds into me. I can’t be self-conscious, can’t question, because he has every answer before I can think to ask.
He pulls back, releasing my breast with a pop and moving down my body with a wicked gleam in his eye.
A sting at my hip has me pulling back as he snaps my thong against my skin. “Off.”
It’s a little obscene that I’m almost naked and he’s still fully clothed. But then, it’s like winning the lottery and complaining when they give you the cash in twenties.
I’m afraid of what’s happening between us, but I’m more afraid he’ll stop. That he’ll shake his head and realize how crazy this is and I’ll never get to touch him again.
I work the fabric down my hips, kicking it off.
He reaches for the bedside table, then drops something onto the bed. Without moving, I sneak a glance at the foil packet, and my heart rate accelerates again.
I reach for it, but he pins my hand to the covers. “No. Not yet.”
I want to protest but his mouth drops to my jaw, my neck. It feels like he’s everywhere. Like he has four hands instead of two, two mouths instead of one. I’m surrounded by his scent, the feel of his lips and teeth. The sounds of his shallow breathing.
This isn’t what I wanted. This is torture. I’m losing myself with every touch.
His fingers trail down over my thighs to my knees.
I’m too dizzy and wanting to protest when Jax pulls my thighs apart.
This time, his gaze does drop.
Dragging down my heaving chest, my shaking stomach, settling between my legs, where he makes a noise that sounds like a growl.
Oh shit. I can take him whispering in my ear. I can take him being rough with me.
This? This I can’t take.
I try to bring my legs together, but he holds them wide.
“So fucking pink,” he rasps. “The things I’m going to do to you.”
My stomach muscles evaporate, and I fall back onto the bed.
I’m pretty sure the difference between college guys and men can be summed up in those two sentences.
Maybe Serena’s right. Maybe there’s something to—
“Ohmigodstop!”
My fingers grab his hair and yank him away.
Because his tongue is fucking inside me.
“Hales?” The vibration against the most sensitive parts of me makes me squirm, but he holds me tight. “You okay?”
“Yes.” My voice is tiny.
“Really?”
Jax shifts over me, and I expect confusion or even irritation.
All I find when I force my gaze to his is concern.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” I grab the top of the comforter, tugging it to cover myself.
He drops onto the bed on his side, blowing out a breath as if he’s channeling patience he’s never tapped before. “You know why I said I want to fuck you, Hales?”
I shake my head, slow.
“Partly, it’s because I can’t think of anything sexier than the feeling of you on my cock.” I shiver at those words. “But mostly, it’s bec
ause I want to watch you lose your mind. And I want to be the one who makes you do it. What do you think about that?”
I turn it over like it’s a rational question. “I think I have no idea why you would find that satisfying,” I admit. “But I like that you do.”
“Good. Because if you’ll let me, I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” His jaw tics, his brows drawing together in determination.
Oh boy. The idea of Jax putting his all into something—putting his all into me—is dizzying.
He nudges my bare shoulder with a finger. “That’s what I wrote, you know,” he goes on, that mouth I love curving at the corner. “On the sweatshirt. ‘You’re worth the wait.’”
I think I melt. “You did not write that the week after we met.”
Jax grins. “How do you know?” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “You want to get dressed?”
I bite my lip, considering, as my gaze runs down his still fully-clothed body. I feel like Alice stumbling into Wonderland, because the only thing I’m sure of is that if we go through with this? Nothing in my life will be normal again.
“No,” I decide at last. “But maybe we could level the playing field.”
He shifts off me, standing next to the bed. I prop myself up on my elbows, the blankets still draped over me.
Jax reaches for the edge of his shirt, yanking it over his head.
This is heaven. It actually is.
Heaven is this man’s chest and abs and all that golden skin and rippling muscles inches from my face.
His sweatpants go next.
And whoa. That’s not better at all.
I mean, it is, but it’s also way more intimidating.
I stare at him. “Um. Jax… what’s going on here?”
“Where exactly?” His solemn response has me shaking my head.
Because seriously.
Not only is he more of a man than any guy I’ve met?
He looks like one.
Every other you-know-what I’ve seen vanishes from my mind. Like hitting Empty Trash on your desktop.
“How is it possible we had a super awkward talk and you’re still ready to go?”
