Ripped

by Katy Evans

  I’m not only trembling, I feel like I’m burning from the inside out. A hot, quivering mess of desire under his lips. The same lips that sing crap about me, hurt me, haunt me, somehow remain the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen, felt, or tasted. God. Tasted.

  In a sudden frenzy I grab his shoulders, my tongue pushing hungrily into his mouth, my hips rolling toward his. God, I hate this fucking asshole.

  I hate him for making me feel like this after all these years.

  But my hands have a mission. Memorizing the texture of him. The feel of him. How he’s changed in six years. He’d been long and lean before and now he’s longer and harder. Smoother. Bigger. No more teen limbs, now he’s all thickness of a man, and though my arms are now free to roam, my head is trapped under the weight of his kiss. And I can’t get enough of his hot, wet, thirsty, mean, dirty, delicious mouth!

  Hell, I can’t unleash all my anger in just this kiss.

  I can’t express what he has done to me—how he has ruined my life—with just this incredible, pulse-pounding, life-altering kiss.

  I want to bite and claw at him, kick and scream at him, take his cock in me and ride him until he can’t walk!

  The bastard.

  I want to hit him while I kiss him, curse him while I kiss him, push him the hell away from me while I kiss him.

  I want to . . .

  I just WANT.

  As though channeling our frustrations and anger into this one kiss, we keep rubbing tongues almost ferally, rubbing our bodies against each other in as much anger as lust. He leans forward, grabs one of my thighs, and hooks my leg around his hips, still nearly kissing my lips off as he aligns his erection to my cunt, our sexes scraping through our jeans. One big palm cups my breast, and his thumb swipes across the hardened peak, to and fro, shooting angry sparks through me.

  His hand slides under my T-shirt and I make a noise in the back of my throat as I slide my fingers under the fabric of his shirt as well, touching the smooth, bare flesh beneath. It’s harder than ever, the grooves of muscles hard and defined under my fingers, rippling as our bodies shift to get closer, our mouths remaining fused.

  He winds his arms around me and sits back, adjusting me over him so my nipples brush against his chest as he pulls his mouth free and looks first at me, then at my swollen mouth. His face burns with a harsh, animalistic passion.

  “You haven’t been kissed in a while, have you?”

  Oh god, it can’t be that obvious. “That’s none of your business.”

  “It is my business. And I’m making it priority business.”

  Need slams into me at the possessiveness in his tone. His grip tightens on me, quieting my denial. “You haven’t been fucked in a while either, have you?”

  “No, but I don’t want you,” I grit out.

  God, he’s like a sexually charged nuclear weapon about to detonate me.

  “Don’t be petulant,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand down my hair. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks. I can taste him on my tongue, and my panties are drenched with arousal.

  “This won’t be for the cameras.” His voice is deathly sexy in an I’m-so-ready-to-fuck-you way, his breath a warm gust of air against my throat as he nuzzles me like he’s mad about me. Like he’s Dracula and I’m Mina, and this little foray into the closet? This will be our undoing. “This is for me—for you and me. I need to fuck you out of my system. We’ll play whatever game they want, but we’ll have our own game. I don’t want this on film. Our lives are on film, but this can’t be in it. Do you understand me, Pandora?”

  Please excuse me, but my brain is in a fog of lust and I can’t think straight. “Wha . . . but how are we going to . . . ?”

  “Shh. I’ll find a way.” My muscles start quivering as he reaches between our bodies and I hear the rasp of my zipper.

  He eases his hand into my jeans, his eyes glowing. “Have you been thinking about this?”

  Fuck, considering that at one point yesterday I wanted to lick the tomatoes off him, YES! But I refuse to say it, refuse for him to know. I swallow back a moan when he slips a finger inside my sopping wet pussy and rasps, “Yes,” as if answering himself.

  He rubs my insides, and it feels so good, I arch for him.

  He’s smiling against my temple, because of course he knows—we both know—I’m drenched. And swollen from arousal. And god, it feels so good, but my pride is smarting because I’m so wet. I fight the desire he makes me feel, and I put my hands on his shoulders, battling within myself and gathering the strength I need to push him away. But then I realize . . . he owes me this. He fucking should pleasure me until I can’t get enough. So I grab the back of his head and start kissing him again, groaning softly when he does the same, his mouth taking control of mine. His skull is round, perfect. His tongue works its magic on me as I feel the knowing strokes of his finger rubbing me inside.

  “Part your legs. Lift your shirt so I can suck on those tits.”

  “If you want it, lift it yourself,” I huskily reply, still clinging to my pride.

  He laughs darkly. His hips move against my body in a punishing roll that makes me gasp, and he groans at the stimulation as though he could get off just dry humping me.

  “Do as I say, damn you.”

  My head falls back as I pull my shirt up to my neck. He yanks my bra down and hooks it to the underside of my breast, then latches on to one puckered nipple. I am in full-blown arousal and pumping to his finger, moaning as he sucks my nipple. God, what is this? I’d forgotten this. How he consumes me. Delights and moves me.

  I’m so aroused I’m in agony when he peels his mouth and his fingers away for a moment. Then he takes my hand and I hear a zipper, and I feel pure, hard, smooth cock in my palm as he shoves my hand into his jeans. “Oh fuck, you want me bad,” I cry.

  “Work me, honey,” he urges softly. I try. Really I do. But he’s pumping into me with that magic finger and his mouth is fastened onto my other nipple, and I am so close. I’m moaning mindlessly when the snickering starts outside. Crashing back to reality, I pull my hand out of his jeans as we hear screeching.

  “Shit!” I say.

  Mackenna groans. “Fuck them to hell!”

  “Get up!” I cry as I leap to my feet, slip my shirt back on, and try not to look like we were just making out in this closet.

  Ohmigod.

  That was the most incredible seven minutes of my fucking life!

  I stand on wobbly legs and have just finished adjusting my shirt and hair when the doorknob turns. When they fling the door open, the outside light burns my eyes.

  “So, Kenna? What the fuck, man? You teach her who’s boss?”

  I wonder if he’s moping on the floor because he didn’t get to come, but I don’t get to worry for long. He brushes past me, fully composed. “Oh, she knows all right,” he says in a husky murmur, his buzz cut hair perfect, his entire demeanor as attractive as every rock god’s should be.

  The twins snicker, and I tip my chin up as I walk past them down the hall, aware of the girls who are with them staring at me. When I turn, I see both of those girls embracing Mackenna, whining, “You don’t really like her, do you?”

  He grabs their asses and squeezes. “Nah, I just like pissing her off.”

  He looks back in my direction, his eyes still so ravenous they’re burning holes through me, and I’m so angry at what I just let him do—put his hands on me, his tongue in me . . . god, I was about to jerk him off in the closet!

  My whole body tightens in anger as I storm into the room, slam the door, scan for something to throw, then just grab the pillow and scream.

  SIX

  I KNEW SHE’D SCRAMBLE MY BRAINS

  Mackenna

  “So, you fuck her in the closet?”

  The twins? Yeah, these fuckers have had too many Jägerbombs and lemonshots. “You two fucking dickheads are going to get fucked, by me.” I shove Lex first, then Jax shoves me, and we push and shove our way into our suite.
>
  I fall down on the couch and the girls soon follow, manicured fingers rubbing up my arms and chest.

  “She’s such a bitch,” one whispers.

  “She’s not that pretty either,” says the other.

  My stomach writhes with need. Not that pretty? She’s all I fucking see. Right now. In my head. Dark hair, liquid dark eyes, that dark mouth of hers that apparently still makes me hard as a teenager. “Do me a favor, get me something to drink,” I whisper to the girls, and I rub the back of my neck as I wait for them to come back.

  Whoa, this encounter worked you up, Jones!

  Fuck her, she’s getting to me again. But I can’t let her.

  “Come back so we can fuck,” I shout after them. Shutting my eyes, it’s no use. I can’t get rid of the way she looked at me, with those angry dark-as-sin eyes, that ridiculous pink streak in her hair. I’m still throbbing under the zipper of my jeans, aching for her touch.

  I need to work it out of my system. I need to work her out of my system. I suck on my middle finger, and my cock twitches. She tastes good, smelled good, felt good. She smelled like my teen years. Back then, her skin and hair smelled of coconut—like a damn beach. And now, even though her looks are dark as sin, she smells like anyone’s dream vacation. Her tits are fuller than I remember. Still not big, but just right on her. And, here’s an odd thought, I want them again. In my mouth. I want to fuck that girl. God fuck me standing. I want to fuck her until she can’t walk and neither can I, for that matter.

  Jax grabs one of the girls and pulls off his shirt, then his pants.

  “No one wants to see you naked, Jax,” I cry, tossing him a pillow.

  “Only a million people,” he returns.

  I narrow my eyes as the girls bring me a whiskey, straight up, and I down it in one second as they rub my body like it’s made of the most precious material on the planet.

  There’s a strange modern drawing on the ceiling of the suite, and my eyes trace the swirls as I think of that mouth of hers. That mouth of hers. I could kiss that mouth of hers again. She kisses like her kiss could kill, and I’m suicidal enough to want that fucking kiss again, just as badly as I did when I was younger.

  I like bad things—booze, threesomes, orgies, smoking. But the baddest thing I’ve ever wanted is Pandora, and I want her deep and hard, like wanting to tie myself to a sinking ship and letting it take me under. So when one of the girls tugs on my shirt and presses her mouth to mine, the moment she trails her tongue along my lips, I pull away and laugh at myself.

  “You know what? I think I feel like torturing Pandora a little longer,” I tell them, easing away and zipping my jeans back up.

  “Kenna . . . ,” they chorus, pouting.

  “Where you going?” Lex calls.

  “Obviously back to hell.” One of the cameras follows me down the hall. I stop the cameraman, Noah, and tell him, “Not this, dude.”

  “I can’t come into her room. Leo said it was the only way she’d sign a contract.”

  “Really now?” I stare at him as I register the singular truth that Pandora’s bedroom is a safe place from cameras. “Excellent. She’s smart, that woman. And mad. Stay away from her.”

  “Like you are?” he snorts.

  “Stay away from her,” I repeat. “Stay the fuck away from her, and a couple of feet away from me.”

  I charge back down the hall and knock on the door. There’s a flash at the peephole as she seems to peer through. She groans. And holy shit, even that groan I can feel in my dick.

  I knock again. “Gonna knock all night if I have to!” The door swings open and she’s . . .

  Fuck.

  Her pupils are dilated, her hair loose, and she’s in a short T-shirt. I can’t take it. The blood storms hot in my veins. I open my mouth, my tone low. “I’m fucking desperate for you.”

  She glances at the camera, then at me. She opens her mouth to say something, sees the camera again, and says, “You’re such a drama queen.”

  “Drag prince,” I shoot back.

  She frowns and makes a move to slam the door in my face, but I stop her with the toe of my boot. “Come on, Pink,” I say, my heart pounding as I grab her by the neck so she looks into my eyes. “You want this,” I urge. I dare not even consider what it’ll be like if she sends me back to my room. Failure is not an option here. My body is tense with the need for me to sink myself inside this woman until she comes for me. “You’re desperate for me too,” I whisper, massaging her scalp with my fingers. “Aren’t you? You’re wishing you hadn’t kissed me in the closet, but you did. We both did. And now we can’t stop here.”

  Her eyes keep drifting to my mouth, and that act alone makes standing here with a hard-on only one step inside her room nearly the most impossible feat of my entire existence. “What happened to your threesome?” she dares me, and I can hear from the texture in her voice she’s caving in.

  Go for it. Seduce her stupid, Kenna.

  I lean over in the hopes Noah can’t hear me, whispering close to her ear, “Obviously I passed on it for something better.”

  “Really? You had a better offer?”

  I reach up and trail my hand down the pink in her hair. “I’m hoping for one.”

  “I don’t even like you.” She pushes my chest using the heels of her palms with great effort, and for a second I indulge her by taking a step back.

  “But your mouth still likes mine, and I can’t even begin to describe how much I like yours—”

  She slams the door in my face. I swear out loud and run a frustrated hand over the back of my idiot head. “Motherfucker.”

  Behind me, muffled laughter. “Crash and burn, Mackenna?” Noah taunts, camera trained on me.

  Scowling, I flip him the bird. “Just watch. I’ll be practically living in that room right there.” I point to her door, then angrily stalk back to my suite, where the guys’ private party is raging full blast.

  Everyone’s fucking or doing blow or drinking, and I’m stone fucking sober. One of the girls is bent over Lex. She signals to me that I’m next. Fuck that noise. I stomp into my bedroom, my entire brain filled with Pandora. Her stony little glare. The solid door in my face. Her pussy felt so goddamn tight in the closet, like she hadn’t had anyone in five fucking years and I’m suddenly obsessed.

  I should have closed the distance between us and crushed her mouth under mine, until neither of us remembered anything at all. My hands are restless at my sides. I push them through the buzz of my hair, run the water in the sink, and splash some onto my face.

  I imagine her crawling up against the headboard, spreading her legs for me. She’d sigh out my name and I’d dip my tongue to taste the sweet honey between her thighs.

  Fuck this shit. I’m not settling for less than what I want, and suddenly I want in that room like nobody’s business—and I know just how to get in there.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  MINUTES LATER, I’M pounding on Leo’s door.

  “What the fuck, Kenna?” He swings the door open and motions at one of the girls to stay put in bed. Obviously entertaining him.

  “Key,” I growl.

  Leo’s eyes get glassy with cash signs; clearly I don’t need to say to which room.

  He grins and nods. “Take her to your room so the cameras can get some of the heavy petting,” he instructs.

  “Write Santa Claus a letter, see if he listens, Leo.”

  My manager rolls his eyes, then goes to rummage through his stuff while the girl comes over, tying a robe around herself. “Hey, Kenna, looking good.”

  Leo comes back with a key. “Try to throw the cameras a bone soon.”

  “If I throw anything tonight it’ll be the ass of a cameraman out the tenth-floor window.”

  I march down the hall and pop that fucking door open. The lights are dim and the room is completely silent.

  On the bed, Pandora is sprawled, facedown. My chest feels cramped as I take in her long legs, the soft, pale skin peeking out from under the T-
shirt she wears. She’s out like the dead, her head tossed to the side, all that dark hair made for my fingers. Before I can think twice, I’ve shucked my clothes and climbed into bed with her. Just like old times. And the demons that have ridden me all night quiet down enough so I can relax against her. I pull her close to me.

  She sighs in her sleep, her body seeking my warmth.

  She fits me so right; she’s always fit me right, this girl.

  We were both virgins once. You’d expect it to be awkward that first time, but it wasn’t. It felt like being swept up by a storm. Disheveled and destroyed inside on some level I never recovered from. When we were done, she was softly crying in my arms. I felt as unhinged as a building shaken to its foundations. I’d lost control, and so had she. I didn’t know what to do, what I’d done wrong, how to make it right.

  I feel like that now.

  Back then, I waited it out, wanting her to explain how she had all that emotion for me when she was usually a girl who displayed none. When she finally composed herself and wiped her tears, I kissed her and told her I loved her, and I asked her, “You love me, don’t you? Don’t you, Pandora?”

  For the two years we dated, she never did say she did.

  Yeah, I don’t think this girl can love anybody.

  I don’t know why the memory slaps me now. It doesn’t bring the anger it usually does, or the sadness and frustration. I fell for a girl who would never love me back the way I wanted her to. Hell, I’m over wanting declarations of love. I’m over craving it. I’m over feeling the way she made me feel all those years ago.

  But will I ever be over her?

  I exhale.

  She’ll probably punch my face when she sees me in bed with her in the morning. Blue balls and a purple eye, that’s what a guy who messes with this girl gets. But fuck me if I care at all. That’s not really my problem.

  My problem is I can never seem to find a way to get this girl to let me in.

  I whisper in her ear, “I’m just going to hold you, all right? No funny business.”