by B. B. Miller
No wonder sex and rock and roll go together.
Jack breaks me out of my churning thoughts. “So, can I assume that was the man you were speaking of earlier? The complicated one?”
I sigh and meet his eyes in the quiet of the back seat, nodding once. He chuckles and shakes his head. “Wow. Sean Murphy.” He leans back and crosses his legs. “You weren’t kidding. Your father would have a coronary.”
“I know.” Closing my eyes, it’s easy to imagine how red my father’s face would be if I ever told him. And then he’d start sputter-swearing like he did when I told him I’d accepted a spot at UCLA. “Look, Jack, it’s new, really new,” I say, holding up a hand. “So new, I’m not even sure what it is yet, or what may happen. But I want to give it a try.” I glance out the window at the New York evening. Even at midnight, there are people on the street. In Cheyenne, they would’ve rolled up the sidewalks hours ago. “Until I’ve figured it out, I want to keep it to myself.”
“I understand. You can trust me.” He takes my hand, drawing my gaze back to his. “And I can trust you?”
“You can. I promise.” I laugh lightly. “I can’t promise I’ll agree to your plan, your proposal, but you can trust me to not reveal your secret.”
“Thank you.” The car pulls up outside my shop, and he swiftly gets out to come around and open my door. “I know I’ve given you a lot to think about tonight,” he says, giving me a soft smile. “Don’t dismiss it out of hand. Please. Given Redfall’s touring schedule and such, an arrangement such as I suggested might work out well for both of us. Think about it.”
I lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I will. Goodnight, Jack. Talk to you later.”
The only sound in my darkened shop is the muted ticking of the clock in the break room. I swiftly check the windows and doors to ensure they’re locked and try to block out the conflicting voices in my head. Jack’s plan shocked me…but I can see the benefits, to both of us. My parents would be over the moon. It would get them off my back until after Dad’s reelection, and probably even after we separated, at least for a while. Besides, marriages of convenience happen every day, especially among politicians and celebrities. I’ve outfitted at least three brides—that I know of—who married for status or power rather than love. As far as his offer of investing in my business…I couldn’t take his money outright, but I wouldn’t be opposed to accepting a loan from him that I’d pay back. Then I could hire some seamstresses I trust and lessen the stress of meeting deadlines. From a practical perspective, my head is telling me it’s not the worst thing I could do.
My heart isn’t so sure. At all.
Rounding the corner near the front door, I start to mount the stairs—three sharp raps on the door scare the hell out of me and freeze me in my tracks. Sean’s voice bellows from outside. “Fly-girl! Open up!”
“Oh my God,” I mutter and jump down the steps to unlock the door. Swinging it open, my breath catches at the sight of him, standing tall with his amethyst hair glowing in the light of the streetlamp. “Shhhh! People live around here, you know. They’re trying to sleep,” I hiss, trying to ignore my suddenly pounding heart.
His smirk sends a delightful shiver down my spine. “There’s only one person around here I care about.” Without waiting to be asked, he moves past me into the foyer, closing and locking the door behind him. He changed after the show—he’s wearing a tight black T-shirt under his leather jacket and looks like sin.
“What are you doing here?” My eyes search his in confusion. “And how did you get here so fast? I mean, I thought you had stuff to do afterward.”
“Nothing is more important than you.” He rakes a hand through his damp bangs, making them stick up all over, and takes a step closer.
“You don’t say?” I hate how breathy I sound, and I rub at the base of my neck. As if that will help.
“I do say.” He takes another slow step toward me. I’m hit with a wave of his spicy scent, and my heart starts racing. “You left. You left before I even got offstage.”
I raise my chin at his accusatory tone. “There was no reason for me to stay.”
“The hell there wasn’t.” Before I can blink, he grabs me by the shoulders and slams his mouth to mine. I can’t breathe, I can’t think…I can only feel the strength of his hands and the force of his kiss. He tastes of cinnamon and whiskey. My knees are weak and I slump a little in his grasp. I hate that this man can scramble my wits so thoroughly. Just as abruptly, he lets me go and I grab the door handle for support, almost collapsing on wobbly legs—damn him! His smug grin infuriates me, and I let my hand fly—the sound of my slap against his cheek echoes in the room. His eyes grow big and he presses a hand to his reddening cheek; he’s as shocked as I am, I think. Then I’m moving without thinking, flinging my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his.
“Fuck, Cassidy,” he murmurs against my mouth, lifting me away from the door and pressing my back against the stairwell. I’m desperate for him, the irritation I felt earlier morphing into a need I can’t explain. And he seems to feel the same. He peels my coat off and I grab at his leather jacket, both of them landing somewhere on the floor. I tug his hand and, between kisses, we slowly move up the stairs, removing clothing as we go. My Jimmy Choos clatter on the wooden steps, and I pull his shirt over his head.
“Hang on, Fly-girl.” I can’t help my giggle as he slings me over his shoulder and runs up the remaining steps. I cling to his belt loops and kiss as much of his bare back as I can. “Bed,” he barks and I point as best as I’m able while hanging upside down. Then we’re in my bedroom and he flings me on the bed as if I weigh nothing, leaving me bouncing on the mattress while he pulls his boots off. With a predatory smile that curls my toes, he crawls over top of me, and I sigh in satisfaction, savoring his weight pressing against me. Cupping his cheeks, I stare into those green eyes that seem to be able to see straight into my soul.
“What are you doing to me, Sean?” I whisper, feeling too vulnerable. Tears prick my eyes and his expression softens. His hand slides behind my head.
“I don’t know, but you’re doing the same thing to me, love.” He kisses me tenderly, the urgency gone, but the desire as strong as ever. He trails his lips down my neck to my collarbone and reaches to remove my bra. “You should never wear these blasted things,” he mutters, flinging the offending garment over his shoulder. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I slide my hands over his shoulders and around his biceps. “You’re the beautiful one.” Moonlight streams through my upper windows, allowing me to see him clearly. Tracing the line of the Union Jack as it curls around his arm, I press my lips to it. “I want to know about this,” I whisper. “I want to learn about all of them.”
He suckles and nips at my nipple, causing me to hiss and arch up off the mattress. “Good,” he hums against my skin, his accent thicker. “Because that might take a while…weeks, months even.”
“Well, I’ve never been a quitter.” I gasp in delight when his teeth find another target. At this rate, I’m going to have hickeys everywhere—not that I’m complaining. All thoughts of Jack and fake marriages and political schemes fade away under Sean’s skillful hands and lips. His skin is so smooth, with just a light smattering of golden red hair over his arms. Adorable freckles peep out between the swirls of ink, making me wonder where else he has them.
He helps me when I start pulling at the buttons on his jeans, and soon he’s gloriously naked; his taut body kneeling over me as he rolls on a condom. “Are you ready for me, love?” he murmurs, his voice suddenly rough. In answer, I pull him down to me and guide his heavy cock to where I want him, need him. With one swift thrust, he claims me as only he can. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze, and he groans in appreciation before slamming his lips to mine. He sets a quick pace, sending my heart racing and my hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders, biceps, anywhere I can reach.
We don’t speak, but words aren’t really needed. With every thr
ust, every gasp, every whispered encouragement, we connect on a level I’ve never had before. This is how it is every time with him. Actually, it’s better every time. I’m sure the number of partners I’ve had pales in comparison to his, but it doesn’t matter. The desperation and need I see in his eyes tells me that he may just be feeling what I’m feeling. I’m out of control with him, and I’m not sure I really care. That’s both terrifying and thrilling…just like he is. Sean is the giant coaster in the amusement park. The dangerous ride that taunts you until you finally get up enough nerve to strap yourself in, and then you have to remember to breathe while you’re being scared out of your mind—and loving every second.
My climax seizes me without warning, and I gasp his name as my eyes squeeze shut, sparkles dancing behind my closed lids.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, gripping my arms tightly as he spasms, every muscle straining, before collapsing on me. We’re a panting, sweaty mess of limbs wrapped around each other, waiting for the world to right itself. Gradually, I come back to myself and slowly take stock; the bed looks like a cyclone hit it, and…yes, that’s my lace bra dangling from my ceiling fan. How the hell did it get up there?
A series of sirens travels nearby, and he groans. “Is it always this loud here?” he complains, but I can see amusement in his eyes.
“This is New York. Yes, it’s always this loud. Some of the bars start closing about now.” My street isn’t as busy as it is during the day, but you can still hear some traffic outside. I slide out from under his arms to get up and walk over to the wall above the front of my shop. I can feel his eyes on me as I move. Grabbing the long cords hanging down, I lower the blinds in my upper windows, plunging the room into near darkness. The sirens have passed us by, trailing off somewhere to the south. “See, they’re already gone.”
He grunts and pulls me back against him as soon as I return to the bed. “Why did you slap me?” he asks, surprising me. I stiffen in his arms.
“Well, you were an ass to Jack, for starters.” I try to move away, but he holds me still.
“Hmm, well, maybe I was,” he grumbles eventually. “He had his hand on you.”
“Seriously?” I lean up on an elbow and look down at him in the dim light. “What about that groupie? She was on you like a Band-Aid.” He starts to protest, but I cut him off. “Look—I get it. That stuff must happen to you all the time. And I’m not judging you—truly. But you can’t get all up in arms when I show up with a guy you knew about ahead of time, not when you’ve got that kind of thing going on backstage.” I flop back down beside him and allow him to draw me close again.
“I sent her away, though, didn’t I?” His tone is reproachful. “If you saw her, you must have also seen that I didn’t accept her offer.”
“Yes,” I admit with a sigh, and then look down, hiding my face. I’m not usually that girl, the girl who gets jealous over every little thing, and I’m not going to start now. “Like I said, I get it. I was more bothered by how you treated Jack. And…” I try to sound casual, but I’m not sure it’s working. “I meant what I said at lunch. If we’re going to try this, I can’t be one of your worldwide women.”
A car alarm goes off down the street and is abruptly silenced, but not before I hear Sean’s aggravated grunt at the interruption. “You won’t be, Cassidy,” he says, his accent smoothing the hard consonants in my name. He lifts my chin with a finger and kisses me gently. His lips fit to mine as if they were made for me; I was crazy to wait so long before kissing him. “I sent her away because she wasn’t who I wanted. I wanted you. And then, when suddenly you were there, with that—” I clear my throat as a warning, and he hums, considering his words. “That Jack, I overreacted. I’d like to say it won’t happen again, but that would be a lie. Overreacting seems to be in my DNA. Ask Sydney.”
I huff a laugh at his joke. “But I’ll be less of an ass to your friends,” he continues, trailing kisses down my shoulder. “That I can promise.”
With a sigh, I relax into his embrace and stretch my neck out as his lips travel upward. Then the silence is shattered when another damn police siren blares, seemingly right outside the window before it heads off around the corner. “Fuck,” he groans in frustration, dropping his forehead against my shoulder. “This is why I live in a fucking penthouse. You don’t have to deal with all that rubbish.”
“You live in a penthouse?” I shake my head—of course he does.
He hums in the affirmative, distracted, and then grabs my hand. “Hey, do you have to work tomorrow?”
“Well, I don’t have any appointments, but, yeah, I have to work. You see, I have this wedding dress order from some posh Englishwoman and her overreacting brother,” I quip, and he chuckles.
“It can wait.” He rolls over me, and his voice drops to a devilish whisper in my ear, making me shiver. “I have just the idea to get away from all this noise.”
Murphy’s Law No. 7: Sex with no strings is safe. Strings have a way of tangling up and choking you.
Sean
SEX WITH SOMEONE I’M ACTUALLY starting to care about is new. That sounds awful in my head. Of course, I cared about the women I was having sex with previously. I cared that they had an orgasm or three and so did I. I cared I was able to escape without any strings attached. There’s already a hell of a lot of strings holding me to Cassidy. I have a feeling there’s a solid chance they’re going to become tangled and messy.
A woman disappearing at one of my concerts is also new. Someone who won’t take any of my shit is new. I had asked her for “experiments,” almost afraid of the word relationship. It’s not something I understand. I used to think it sounded like a self-imposed prison, limiting yourself to one person, but I guess I didn’t count on that person being Cassidy.
I didn’t expect my chest to feel tight or for my heart to beat harder. It’s singing to her as I pound into her tight heat: Cassidy, Cassidy, Cassidy.
When she comes, I feel like I’m spiraling out of control, losing my fucking mind over this woman. Every stroke of her hand over my skin, every hitched breath of hers I steal with a long, drawn-out kiss, reduces me to a raw, needy mess.
Now that I’ve tasted her and know what it feels like to have her sweet lips on mine, I can’t stop. I don’t know how long we spend kissing. Time doesn’t seem to matter.
Her lips were made to be kissed by me and only me.
Her fingers find their way into my hair, and she’s clutching so tight, I feel the sensation in my cock. Stroking my tongue against hers, she arches into me and seems to revel in the erotic journey of exploring my mouth. Finally being able to kiss Cassidy is pure bliss. I could get lost in the feel of her lips against mine. There’s no more room between us. We’re just a jumbled mass of limbs and urgent kisses. I’m drunk on her scent, on her lips, on any part of her she’ll let me have.
Every so often, she drifts off into a boneless sleep, and yet the urge to bolt I usually have when I’m with a woman is nowhere to be found. The only place I’m supposed to be is here, with her messy blond hair splayed over my chest and my palm resting on the curve of her hip. That’s also new, and the thought should terrify me, but it doesn’t.
“You stayed.” It’s a sleep-warm, throaty whisper from Cassidy as the morning light spills into her room. Staying the night—another thing to add to the experimental list.
My arm is all pins and needles, likely from the weight of her sleeping on it, but I can’t seem to care. I crack an eye open and take her in. She’s fucking fabulous, turned toward me on her pillow with her hair all messed, her swollen mouth curled into what I can only describe as satisfied bliss.
“Did you want me to leave?”
She lets out a tired sigh. “No, but I should. I should want you to leave.”
I rest my forehead against hers, tracing my thumb along her cheek. “Shouldn’t you want your boyfriend to stay?” I grin to myself. Who would have thought I’d be someone’s boyfriend? Who would have thought I’d actually want to be? In
stead of being terrified, I’m strangely calm.
The corner of her mouth kicks up. “My boyfriend,” she mumbles, her eyes still closed.
“Has a nice ring to it, yeah? Do I need to remind you of that fact?”
She groans, burying her face against the pillow with a groan. “No.”
I start to work my hands over her shoulders.
“That feels so good.” At least she can’t see my smirk as I press harder, moving in slow circles over her back. My hands are strong from countless hours logged playing with Redfall, and that I can be useful for more than just drumming is a bit of a revelation. Or that I want to be more than a drummer is even more mind-blowing.
I drop a kiss to her creamy back. I get a shiver in response, but I don’t bother covering her up. Now that she’s spread out for me, there’s no way I want her to hide away.
She murmurs into the pillow, “I just think I need to find a way to keep up with you. I need to be in better shape.”
“I happen to be very fond of your shape.” I trail my fingers up the length of her spine. It’s the lightest of touches, but I hear her breath hitch. “It’s the stamina. Comes with the territory.”
“Lucky me.”
“Three-hour concerts for over fifteen years. Sometimes they’re longer depending on the crowd. And Kennedy is a perfectionist. Our rehearsals and sound checks are marathons.”
“I’ll have to thank him for that.” Her deep groan as I work over her lower back causes my cock to stir again. “You know, the words scream that you’re complaining, but your tone tells me you love it.”
“I do love it. The high is just…” I brush her hair away from her face, trying to find the words. “There’s little in life I’ve found that compares.”
