Maximum Rush (Tangled Desires Book 4)

by Murphy,Misti

  All my friends tell me I couldn’t lie my way out of a paper bag. That I smile when I lie and it’s obvious. Rush would have worked it out and then the whole situation would have been so godawful that I don’t think I could have stuck around. And I have to if I want to finish the interview.

  “Finishing what we started.” He pushes me into his bedroom, with its massive California King draped in gray silk sheets.

  I’ve been in this room a couple times when we were talking. I’ve seen the walk in closet that’s as big as my bedroom at home. The bathroom, done up in teak, with its twin vanity, glass surround double shower, and Jacuzzi. I’ve sat in the large leather armchair by the windows. And of course, I’ve imagined falling into his bed, with him following me, but this time it’s real. “We’re going to do it again?”

  “Soon as you’re ready.” He practically throws me onto the bed before opening the drawer in his nightstand. Pulling out a condom packet, he tosses it onto the bed then climbs on beside me and splays his fingers over my belly. “You haven’t had much experience.”

  “No.” Understatement of the year, considering he’s my only experience. I absolutely hadn’t expected to orgasm. I thought it was supposed to really hurt the first time. “But I’ve had enough.”

  “I doubt it.” He smooths his palm up over one breast, tweaks my nipple between his fingers. It still feels good. Still stirs heat under my skin. “How many times have you had sex in one night? How many times have you orgasmed from that sex?”

  “That’s none of your business.” I try to twist away from him, but that only ends with me on my side, his chest pressed to my back, his thighs to mine, and his hardness against my ass.

  “You looked like I hurt you.” Even with my back to him, I can hear the subtle confusion, the ticking of his brain. “I’m guessing you’ve had some pretty crappy shags.”

  Uh, no. One pretty fantastic shag, actually. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

  “Fine?” He shifts, so I’m on my back and he’s half lying on top of me. The weight of him, his hard body covering mine, sets off sparks along my nerves. “I have a sister. I grew up around enough women to know that when a woman uses the word ‘fine’ she’s usually lying.”

  “I’m not lying.” I smile. I am totally lying. Through my teeth. It has to be obvious. There’s probably a big old sign painted across my chest that reads, ‘First time she’s had sex,’ or something similar. Not to mention the one on my forehead that says ‘liar.’ But he really doesn’t need to know that after the fact, doesn’t need to assume I was waiting for something special. It was an experience. Trying something new. Like eating sushi for the first time. At least I chose to make the decision based on logic and not some pathetic emotion.

  Spearing my fingers through his hair, I pull his mouth to mine and nip his bottom lip. “So are you going to fuck me again now?”

  Those violet eyes turn smoky, as he clasps my jaw with one hand and presses his thumb to my bottom lip, making me open to him. “You bet your sweet ass I’m going to.”

  Then his tongue is in my mouth, his lips crushed to mine while he kisses me in a way that now reminds me of how it feels to have his cock plunging in and out of me, while his other hand scrapes up and down my side. Each touch is demanding and powerful, creating anew the sensations that had me wanting him inside me in the first place.

  My most sensitive place throbs and gets slick, and I whimper into his mouth as I move to his touch. My hips bump to his, my back arches to push my tits into his hands when he grasps them. With a nip to my chin, he licks down my throat and pushes his fingers between us to rub at my clit.

  Moving them over me and inside me, he groans. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you? Your pussy’s practically begging for me.”

  “Please.” I’m shocked to realize he’s right, that I’m so aroused by him, my body is on fire and feeling hollow with the need to be filled. I clasp his shoulders, wanting to pull him into me, but he sits back on his heels.

  One hand stroking my thigh, he picks up the already torn open packet and pulls out the condom, rolling it over his erection before settling over me, his weight pushing me into the mattress. I can feel the fat head of his cock, hot and pushing at my entrance, and I shift, wanting more.

  “You ready to take me?”

  I nod. This time when he plunges into me, it’s not such a weird feeling. In fact, it’s a sweet sensation that makes me ache for him to move.

  “Fuck, you feel incredible on my cock.” He grips my ass with both hands, lifting me up to meet his strokes. “Knew I had to have you the minute I saw you. Knew you’d be something else.”

  I gasp as he pumps in and out of me, building a rhythm that makes the bed squeak and scrape on the wooden floor. He’s hitting places I didn’t understand could feel so good, building sensations that burn through every cell in my body. Rasping his hand down my thigh, he lifts my ankle onto his shoulder so he’s fucking me deeper. I can feel him so far inside me, filling me hard, but it only drives me to want more, to move my hips to take more of him.

  Teeth gritted, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, he grunts as my pussy clamps around him. He never stops, never lets up, driving into me over and over while the aching need for release heats every cell of my body.

  I cry out as he pushes me toward the edge of climax, and dig my fingers into his skin while wicked pleasure licks up inside me, an explosion of toe curling sensation that swallows me.

  “That’s it, beautiful. I want to feel your tight hole milking my cock.” The pressure of his hands, one on my ankle, one on my ass, increases as he curls over me and smashes his mouth to mine.

  Slamming my eyes shut, I surrender to the orgasm that seizes me. I ride the feeling that has my insides clenching around him so hard I swear I can tell when he blows. A burst of heat as he pulses inside me, not stopping but slowing in a way that drags out the intense bliss of this thing called fucking.

  When we finally still, he rolls off me and drags the condom off his dick before tying it off and tossing it in the trashcan beside the nightstand. He doesn’t say anything. There’s a few seconds where he looks at me, I assume considering small talk, but what is there to say?

  “That was some fuck.”

  “Did you enjoy riding my dick?”

  “Told you I was going to have you on my cock. It was only a matter of time.”

  “Come on admit it, I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

  “So you want to explain why you pretended you weren’t a virgin? You told me this wasn’t going to mean anything.”

  I shut my eyes and block him out. At least until I can gather my scattered wits.

  ***

  I wake up in Rush’s bed, the light from the bathroom carving into the dark. I must have slept for a while. The bed is empty beside me, cold to the touch. I’m not surprised that I woke up alone. It’s sort of how it should be, except I shouldn’t be waking up in his bed at all. I should have made the walk of shame back to my own room before falling asleep, but apparently this sex thing isn’t quite as I imagined, and somewhere in the few minutes we lay side by side I closed my eyes and forgot to open them.

  There’s a dull ache in my core, a sort of tightness to muscles I didn’t know I had. Scooting out from between the silk sheets, I consider doing a mad dash from his room to mine, naked. But then I spot a shirt thrown haphazardly over the armchair in the corner and decide that would be a much better idea. Pulling it on, I do up the buttons. It falls to mid-thigh, practically a dress on me. Better than leaving this warm, barely lit den of his with nothing on and praying I don’t smack into him in the hall.

  Did I really just have sex with the man? I glance over my shoulder at the bed as I open the door. Yeah, I guess I did. And it was something. More than I was expecting. Different. It’s not like I didn’t have a clear idea of the physics of it, and I’ve never cringed away from hearing my friends talk about it, but there’s something about experiencing it for myself.

  Once.
It was only once. Or a couple times in one session, but still only once. One evening where I chose to forget who I am and who he is and let go. Just to get it done and over with so neither of us are thinking about it, anticipating it. My thighs shake with that intense workout after-burn as I tread along the hall to the door of my own room, but I’m thirsty and my stomach growls.

  I can hear the low soundtrack of a song I know but can’t put a name to, accompanied by the constant ping of Rush’s message tone on his phone. He’s downstairs, doing whatever he does when he can’t shut down his brain.

  Cringing, I realize that going down there means I have to face him. After what he did to me, after what we did together? The idea has me wanting to race into my room, pull the blankets up over my head and hide until he forgets how pathetic I probably was. If I’d told him it was my first time, it probably wouldn’t be so bad, but I didn’t want him to know, didn’t want him to think that it meant anything when it didn’t. It wasn’t special, it doesn’t mean I have feelings for him. It was good though, great, even. Unlikely to occur again, and I still have five weeks here.

  I need to go down and face him. I need him to know he doesn’t affect me. And the sooner I do the less awkward it’ll be. Right?

  “Right,” I mutter, and head for the kitchen.

  I don’t know if he realizes I’m up and awake while I set about making a sandwich, then two, in case he’s hungry too, and pour myself a glass of milk. He doesn’t call out or come in to see what I’m doing. When I’ve piled the sandwiches on a plate, I carry my snack into the living room.

  He’s hunched over the computer, working on something, his phone beside him, opened to texts that he answers as soon as they come in. Humming along to the music, he smiles as he continues what he’s doing. He’s intense. Always. Watching him while he’s consumed by what he’s working on and paying me no attention is fascinating. He really does attack everything he does with the same passion and focus. No wonder he is who he is. Famous, rich, getting whatever he wants practically falling into his lap. Me. Once. That’s all.

  “What are you doing?” he asks after a while.

  He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, and I’m unsure whether to slip back into the kitchen and pretend I wasn’t here or… “I was hungry. Thought, in the spirit of being temporary housemates, I’d make you a sandwich too. Do you want it?”

  This time when his phone chimes, he ignores it, glancing up at me instead. “I should have thought to order in something better than sandwiches.”

  “Sandwiches are fine.” I give a half-shrug. “So do you want one or not?”

  “Sure.” Patting the couch beside him, he motions me over. “What have we got?”

  “Peanut butter or jam.” I pull my legs up under me and settle beside him.

  “Peanut butter or jam?” He chuckles.

  “Well, I couldn’t find any Nutella.” I hold the plate out to him.

  Taking the tops of both a peanut butter and a jam sandwich, he sticks them together and takes a bite. “Not bad. You needed more of each spread.”

  “That is… you know that’s disgusting right?” I rear back and raise one eyebrow, my mouth already revolting over the idea. “And you wrecked mine.”

  Chewing, he grins around a mouthful. “Don’t pull that face until you’ve tried it. It might not be as bad as you think.”

  “I’m pretty sure it will be worse, actually.” This is one thing he isn’t going to get me to do. Picking up the jam half, I fold it into a triangle, and take a bite. “You can keep your weird spread mixing all to yourself.”

  “Fine.” He relaxes and lays one arm along the back of the couch. “So this is a truce, right? This is you showing me that you’re not going into hiding and dying from shame?”

  “Something like that.” I tear the other piece of bread into chunks. It gives me something to do, keeps my hands busy and my gaze off him. Keeps me from trying to work out if he thought I was as lame in bed as I probably was. God, I don’t want to know.

  “Are you okay?” He shifts, to draw one leg up on the couch, balancing his foot on his knee. “You’re not in pain or anything? We got off to a rough start.”

  “No, no.” I wave off his concern. “I’m fine. I’m not going to compliment you on your size again, if that’s what you’re after.”

  Pursing his lips, he studies me as though he’s unconvinced. Even though I don’t look at him, I can feel his gaze burning into me. A ripple of heat works its way down my belly and between my thighs. Shit, this isn’t good.

  I don’t want him to think I expect it to happen again, that I want him anymore than for what we’ve already done. “S-so what are you working on?”

  Finally, he turns his attention back to his laptop, picks up his phone and sends off a rapid-fire message. “The new TV series. We start filming in LA a couple days after Tommy and Gem tie the knot.”

  “You have such passion for what you do, for everything really.”

  “It’s pretty easy to be obsessive about things you love.” Swapping from one window to another on his phone, he brings up the schedule for the show. “Five weeks, non-stop. My team will be working eighteen hour days to get everything tied up on time, but they’re dedicated, and they’ve learned to keep up with me.”

  “Still, it must be challenging.” I sit forward as he brings up a different window. “Don’t you ever get tired? I mean you toured for five months, and you were, what? Exhausted for one day?”

  “It was a bit longer than that, but I’ve never been able to sit still. Never been able to handle quiet. This is how I live.” He points at a list on the screen. “This is what keeps me sane.”

  “Your tricks?”

  “Thinking up new ones, creating them in my head and working out the details, practicing them over and over so that I can make a grown man laugh, or a woman’s eyes light up, or a child clap with glee. People make me who I am, and drive me to work my ass off to keep amazing them, to keep entertaining them.”

  “You’re amazing.” I wonder if perhaps I should have worded it differently as he shuts the lid on the laptop. I don’t want him to think I mean it any other way than he really is an amazing person, and not because I’m biased in any way, because I’m not.

  “So they tell me.” Getting up, he strides toward the kitchen. “But it is late. And we have breakfast with my crazy family. Last minute wedding shit to deal with. I’m still human enough to need a few hours of sleep.”

  It takes me a moment to drag myself up. What did I expect? For him to ask me to go to bed with him again? That isn’t what this is. And it sure as hell isn’t what I want. It was only once. And now we’re back to being pseudo-friends. I can do that.

  Shutting off the lights, I head upstairs too. I did the one thing I told myself I’d never do. I swore I’d never have sex with a man who fucked for fuck’s sake. And the weird thing is, I don’t regret it. I can’t explain why, but somehow the experience was worth it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rush

  It’s funny how weddings make women more susceptible to the love bug. All night I’ve had women throwing flirtatious looks my way, but Maxi has been an effective human shield. Or at least she was, but she’d wandered off at some point and left me to fend for myself. After that it’s a free for all. Claire and Razer’s single wedding guests keep hitting on me. I get propositioned, too, more than a couple times while waiting for Maxi to come back.

  The last woman is a real hoot, dragging me into the coat closet, and trying to suggest we could be a thing if only I was shorter and didn’t play around with silly magic tricks. Then she gets tangled in a couple coats, and almost suffocates herself. Probably would have been better if she’d laid off the champagne. I drag her out and dump her into the arms of her friend before hunting for Maxi.

  Then I get way laid by a couple guys I went to school with. They were a year or two below me, but I recall them giving me shit. Still are, I realize when I hear them debating how that clown who was too
busy fucking around with magic tricks and almost failed high school could manage to become so famous. I show them a sleight of hand that had them both wondering how the hell I got their credit cards, and then drop some more money on the bar tab.

  More alcohol and then I dance with my mother, my sister, Chelsea, Gem, punctuated with glasses of champagne, but no freaking Maxi. We’ve gotten along these past few days without her getting too embarrassed about anything, but tonight she’s been notably quiet, and now she’s disappeared. I have no idea why. I was enjoying her company, and this evening would have been easier with her stuck to my side the entire time.

  Finally, I grab two glasses of scotch and step out on the back deck to find Mace staring down toward the lake. I pass him one and mull over the first sip of my drink. “Claire and Raze will be off shortly.”

  “Two weeks in Rome, I hear.” He smiles, cradling his drink. “Quite some honeymoon.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the one who turned me down.”

  “It’s a bit much.” He shrugs. “Plus Mia’s so little.”

  “She’s perfect, you know. My niece is going to be a real handful, a heart breaker.”

  “Not anytime soon, she won’t.” Mace growls. God, this new life looks good on him.

  “Go dance with your wife.” I take his glass, mine empty, and drain his, too. I’m not jealous of him the way I used to be, but I’m still envious. No, I’m not. We chose different paths, and I have everything, almost everything I could possibly want. I’m king of my realm, top dog, and I’m not done yet. Still, he seems content.

  “Right.” He grins, stepping around me. “And by the way, your girl’s down by the lake.”

  “She’s not my girl, dick head.” I scowl at his retreating back, and get a hearty laugh and his middle finger in return.