“You sure make yourself at home here,” I mutter, over more shock now that I’ve processed his presence, as I bend to pick up the scrapbook and hug it to me. My nipples are very expressive. Dressed as I am, in sheer nightclothes, my desire for him will be revealed. One whiff of him and they’ll stand at attention. “You never did tell me the reason you were here the night I met you.”
He flinches as if I’ve said something awful, then it hits me. Raw jealousy surges through me but I paste a smile on my mouth.
“Don’t worry,” I say breezily, though I can’t hide my irritated sniff. “I won’t rat you out or whatever servant you boinked. That’s our secret. Especially since she wasn’t supposed to be in one of the guest rooms.”
Guilt flashes across his face, but he turns away, his reaction kind of confusing. Unless…Oh my God, I’m so upset I’m about to keel over in a fit of anger. Instead, I attempt to affect Mom’s sophisticated contempt. “Do you like her, like her?” I ask for clarification. If he does, of course he’d feel guilty for the possibility of risking her employment.
“Her who?”
“Boink. The girl you boinked.”
Okay, maybe, not as refined as Mom.
“Can we forget that night?” he asks tightly, his lips thinning. He grabs the scrapbook and his gaze lands right on my breasts. Heat washes through me at the way he’s staring. Instead of behaving, my nipples grow harder.
Endless moments tick by as we lose ourselves in silence. My heart is pounding beneath the scrutiny of Sloane’s blue eyes. Unable to stop myself, I study his mouth and crave his perfect lips on me. They’re full and pink and beautiful. I squirm and wish for mind-reading abilities. Not only to know what he thinks of me but also to find out who in the house he slept with.
I can’t think of any of the servants who’d risk my mother’s wrath and bring a man to fuck in a room only available to them for cleaning.
I purse my lips. “Um…” What do I do? Ask Sloane Mason would he like food? Bad boy rock gods have to eat, don’t they? Yes, according to the gossip sites, Sloane’s favorite food is French fries with mayonnaise, like they serve in Europe. “Do you want fries and mayo?” I blurt, twisting my hair around my fingers.
Sloane raises his head, a brow lifted, and smirks. “I prefer fries and ketchup.”
“No, you don’t. I read what your favorite food is and it’s fries and mayo.”
Laughter bursts from him, a full-bodied sound that I can become addicted to. “Fine, if you read it, Georgie.”
The way he rasps my name sends a shiver through me and makes my panties wet. His voice, his presence, wrecks my entire body. Pounding heart. Thumping pulse. Hardened nipples. Clenching core. He both soothes me and sends me into overdrive.
“You’re hearing the truth from me,” he adds with a shrug and resumes flipping pages through my favorite scrapbook, although he’s still clearly amused.
My heart sinks. I’m so lost in disappointment and confusion, I allow him freedom to turn through it, but his sharp intake of breath snaps my attention to where it belongs. I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
He’s found his nude photos and raises his head to narrow his blue gaze on me, sweeping it from my head to my toes, which I curl into the carpet. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes darken and his breath quickens.
Ignoring him holding out the book to me, I study the floor. “What are you doing here?” I mutter, frozen in my spot.
He sets the scrapbook on my desk and saunters to a window seat. This room curves northward and looks out over a walled rose garden, instead of the pool. After glancing outside, he sits and leans his elbows on his knees, legs spread. “I came to check on you.”
My heart melts and I beam at him, deciding to take another shot at mentioning what I know about him, based on published reports. It chafes that I got his favorite food wrong. As his number one fan, I should know the basics. “How are the recording sessions going?”
“They’re fucking going. To shit. To hell. They’re going up in fucking flames.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he suddenly stiffens. “Don’t mention that to anyone.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the warning. I have a trail of people who give a fuck enough for me to tell them what you’re doing.”
“Change your mind and see it my way about no one giving a fuck about you?”
Spinning away, I stomp to the desk. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever used it and sit with my back to him. “It slaps you in the face when you’re in the hospital and you’re all but forgotten.”
My voice shakes a little at this revelation. I don’t want it to hurt, but it does. My fingers twitch with sudden need. Crowell. I need him. Or, more specifically, his drugs.
Arms wrap around me and I jump before sinking against Sloane. I lay my head against his hard belly, covered with a gray T-shirt, and glance up at him. He bends and kisses my forehead, the brush of his lips burning my skin.
Desperate for love, for attention, for someone to care, I lift myself and aim my mouth for his. I’m in an awkward position, though, so I give up when he moves out of my reach and groans.
“I have to go.”
I don’t bother turning around at his announcement. Sooner or later, everyone in my life has to go. I just add him to the list and dig out my cellphone as originally planned.
Sloane
I’m playing with fucking fire. As I stand outside the door of Georgie’s study, in her sitting room, that thought runs through my head. This place is massive. Her area alone could count as a small apartment with the bedroom, sitting room, study, walk-in closet, and bathroom. It’s been decorated in various shades of pastels.
Our conversation is one of the most awkward in the history of verbal communication. The desire I feel for her and the knowledge I have about her mother leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. No matter how many girls I’ve fucked over the past eight days, my dick is still hard and throbbing now at seeing Georgie in her pretty peach-colored peignoir, her black hair framing her gorgeous little face.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing there when the door to the study opens and Georgie is there, wearing a sundress and wedged sandals, halting when she sees me and growling under her breath.
“I’m your fan,” she says with a sullen glare. “I stalk you, not the other way around.”
Her words surprise a laugh from me. This laugh, as did the other one in her study, eases my tension.
“You’re being really creepy,” she continues.
“Is that so?”
“Instead of staying in there with me, you’re staking out the door.” Suspicion enters her eyes and she balls her fists at her side, her entire body stiffening. “Are you checking up on me for my dad?”
“Yes,” I snap, “because I have nothing fucking better to do with my time than to spy for Parnell.”
Rolling her eyes, she folds her arms. “Doesn’t look like it since you’re here just staring at my door.”
Fuck. She’s right. I level her with an earnest look. “I’m worried about you,” I admit. “You’re…lost. I know what that looks like. I’ve been there. But I’m fucking with disaster.”
She glances at me, then lowers her gaze, flushing to the roots of her hair. “You don’t know me,” she whispers. “I’m just a girl. One of your millions of fans. No one to risk your career…” A brief lift of her eyes and a swallow. “Or your freedom.” She fists her dress and hangs her head. “I’d sleep with you. I know you know that. That’s wrong, too. Because…I…having sex with you wouldn’t make you stay. In the end, we’d just be using each other. Is that worth risking everything you have?”
Her insight surprises me and it weakens me a bit more. “Is it?”
She shrugs. “I got your favorite food wrong, so, maybe what I’m about to say is wrong, too. You don’t believe in love, so insta-love is completely out of the question. I think you’re searching for an outlet to all the bad boy energy that you’ve had to contain for months.”
> “Bad boy energy?”
She’s on a roll in analyzing me, so my words don’t halt her for long. Continuing, she punctuates her sentences with hand gestures.
“In me, you see the forbidden and that’s exciting to you. If you have me, you won’t be bored. You’ll also be thumbing your nose at everyone who’s telling you to behave.”
“Not much fun if they can’t know I’m misbehaving.”
She cocks her head to the side. “I think for you the danger is in the threat of getting caught. Isn’t that why some married people cheat? For the thrill and the chase and the excitement they no longer find at home?”
Does she know about what her parents are up to? The thought slips away as she falls silent. Everything she’s said is right. Except she left off the part where I’m truly concerned for her. The moment she swallowed the blow replays in my head and juxtaposes with her freefall into the swimming pool.
She thinks no one cares about her, so she doesn’t care about herself. The Grim Reaper is getting a boner—pun intended—waiting for her final fuck-up, so he can swoop in and take her away.
The door behind me opens and I turn. Anger burns through me when Crowell struts into the room. His smile fades when he sees me.
“You told me you were alone, George.” His accusing voice slaps the tense air.
“I thought Sloane had left,” she responds defensively.
“I changed my mind,” I say lazily, closing the distance between her and me, and planting my body in front of her to remove her from Crowell’s line of vision. “Three’s a fucking crowd, so leave.”
A knowing smile lights his eyes. “Possessive behind George. Imagine what your fans will think of that.”
If only I could, I might keep a cooler head, but Crowell’s pissing me the fuck off. “About as much as what your fucking pals will think when they discover you stick your tongue up her pussy and supply her with drugs.”
Behind me, Georgie’s gasp ends on a strangled choke.
Crowell’s stare is hard and ugly and I see a hint of cruelty. I wonder if he’s ever shown that side to Georgie.
“Later, George,” he sneers before turning and leaving with a loud slam of the door.
“How could you?” she asks the moment we’re alone.
I whirl on her, ignoring her vanilla scent. It’s soft and sweet, but, on Georgie, it stimulates my dirty thoughts of her taste and her mouth all over me, especially on my cock.
“You just humiliated me in front of Crowell!” she snarls, thumping my shoulder.
“What the fuck was he doing here?” Her annoyance with me over him pisses me off and I stiffen. His reasons for being here isn’t any of my business, but I have a good fucking idea. This is what she needs saving from.
“None of your fucking business.”
The urge to shake her overwhelms me. I grab her, gripping her slender arms. “I’m asking you again and I want an answer. He gives you blow and you take another fucking dive from your balcony, no one will be here to save you.”
Her eyes fill with tears and she opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. “Fuck you,” she spits and snatches herself away from my slackened hold, rushing toward the door.
She’s an undisciplined, unsupervised, goddamned brat and she needs structure and a firm fucking hand. In the time that I’ve known her, she’s been high. Sucked my dick. Forgot she didn’t have fucking wings and jumped from her balcony. She’s almost drowned and she’s been hospitalized.
Who I want to be to her is blurring in my head. My desire to fuck her is already established. But I also want to save her. Now, though, I want to fucking discipline her and I close my eyes.
I can’t…I’ve got to behave. That means in all fucking areas. No guns. No drugs. No indecent exposure on stage. No fights. No orgies. No fucking one woman while I’m still involved with another one. Although there’s no chance of that happening, since I’m not involved with anyone. No destroying sisters-in-law. And no fucking domination.
A sob escapes her and, just as she opens the door, I move, rushing behind her and pulling her back. I close the door and crowd her against it, thrusting my hard dick against her back and nuzzling her neck.
“Shhhh.” I press harder into her when her shoulders shake. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry.”
My heart is pounding. I half hope she continues to behave and I completely fear that she won’t. I’m on edge, near to losing my control. If she pushes, she’ll tip me over the edge.
I kiss the smooth column of her neck. She smells delicious, a subtle scent that wreaks havoc. I want to mark her as mine and possess her so she’ll have no doubt as to who she belongs to. Her pulse thrums beneath my lips, firing my blood to a raging degree.
“No more drugs, Georgiana. No more Crowell.”
She stiffens and I know she’s going to push every one of my buttons, so I tighten my hold on her.
“Shut the fuck up,” I order. “Before you push me too far and I fucking give you what you’re lacking.”
“What’s—“
“Discipline,” I bark, her hostile tone chafing my balls. “Maybe, you need that?” My fingers slide along the curve of her hip, up the indent of her waist, and to the slope of one of her small breasts. I flick a thumb over her nipple and she sucks in a breath. “Do you like your nipples sucked?”
A tremble reverberates through her and her nipple pebbles beneath my touch. “I’ve never had them sucked,” she admits on a gasp. “Crowell only licks my pussy.”
My dick grows at her words, but I have to know. “Is that the reason he was here today?”
“No,” she admits, finally relaxing against me and throwing her head back. She arches her back to thrust her breasts up. “He was bringing me coke.”
Anger flashes through me, but I shove it aside. She’s calming down, so I’m calming down and wrestling back my dark desire. I turn her in my arms, entering dangerous fucking territory. Now that she’s facing me, I’m held captive by her violet eyes, throwing me into a near frenzy of need to fuck her and to control her waywardness.
She stands on tiptoes and I can’t resist bending to taste her luscious mouth. My fingers glide through her hair as I tease her lips with my tongue, until she opens and allows me to enter. The recesses of her mouth are warm and soft. She isn’t shy about meeting my tongue with her own. I groan when she pulls away and drops to her knees.
Her fingers slide to my belt, unbuckling it, before opening my jeans and grabbing my cock. She drags her tongue across the head, combining her saliva and my pre-cum. Cradling the back of her head, I surge into her mouth, keeping eye contact with her, almost nutting then and there at the sweet submissiveness of her pose.
She’s a pro at dick sucking and hollows her mouth, pulling me in deep before licking her way to my balls and tonguing the sac. When her fingers push into my ass, I growl, but I want to fucking kill Crowell. He taught her this dirty shit. Taking me into her mouth again, her fingers press against the spot inside of me that makes me roar in pleasure and fill her mouth with cum.
Giving me a final lick, she pulls away and rests on her haunches. Her mouth is swollen and her face is flushed.
And, I, Sloane Mason, officially initiates the downfall of my life.
Chapter Eight
Sloane
“Get up,” I snarl, shoving my dick back into my jeans.
Uncertainty flashes into her eyes. She licks an errant drop of cum from her lips.
Bending, I grab her shoulder and yank her to her feet, shaking her. “I said get the fuck to your feet.”
She frowns. “Crowell is always nicer after I suck him off. Why aren’t you? I didn’t do it right?”
Her words render me speechless and my nightmare worsens. I’m fucking furious I allowed her to suck my dick, and I’m fucking burning up at the thought of her with Crowell. The lines blur a little fucking more. A savior I am not. I should make a phone call and have her ass dragged to a rehab center, find her fucking parents, and blackmail them into ch
ecking her in.
That’s the fucking best I can do to save her. To be her savior. But I can’t do that. Blackmail is a two-way street and I have more to lose. For instance, Georgie discovering I’ve fucked her mother, and I don’t want that to happen.
I fell off the Wagon of Goodness they’re making me ride and let Georgie suck my dick. For once, I can overlook my excessive lifestyle and do real good.
“Will you make me come?”
Her words arrow right to the hedonist in me and I know I’m beyond fucked. Surprisingly, I start around her to leave. At the door, I turn to her and see her head is bowed, tears tracking her cheeks. She must feel my gaze on her because she raises her head and swipes at her face.
“See you, Sloane,” she says, overly bright, her phony smile plastered to her face.
The moment I leave, she’s going to find fucking Crowell. She hasn’t said it. As a matter of fact, her mask of sad innocence suggests she’s going to curl up and bawl like a baby.
“Pack an overnight bag,” I order her, satisfied when her eyes widen. Before she questions me, I add, “You’re spending the night with me at my hotel suite.”
That’s the best insurance I can give. If the guys are present, I’m guaranteed not to fuck up any more than I have.
I doubt they will be, though.
“Really?” she breathes, her excitement hard to ignore. The way her eyes suddenly light with something other than sadness or a drug high, affects my brain and my dick.
She runs up to me and hugs me. My arms wrap around her body and I breathe in the sweet scent of her.
“Do you want to take my car?”
I don’t even want to consider her symbol of bought affection and neglect. “No. My bike is fine.”
“A motorcycle?” she asks, her eyes rounding.
When I nod, she squeals and jumps up and down.
“I have to change,” she announces, and bounces towards her closet, where she pauses. “You’ll still be here when I come out, right? This isn’t an elaborate joke, is it?”
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 11
