by Tessa Bailey
“Yeah.” His warm breath huffed across her mound. “I’m going to need you to love it.” The pressure increased, along with the pace of his rubbing and a scream kindled in her throat, her hips twisting. “Well?”
“Love it. I love it.” With a coarse groan, Johnny ripped the panties down her legs and cast them aside. His angular face was shadowed and highlighted by the moon, gorgeous, so gorgeous, as he positioned her knees over his shoulders and, watching her closely, ran his tongue up the divide of her female flesh, his eyelids growing heavier the farther his tongue traveled. “Tastes like good girl,” he said, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Tastes like my good girl. Is that what you are?”
“Yes,” she wailed, her fingers twisting in his hair. “Yes.” Hope had always thought of sex as some blurry movements, hands, mouths, cherishing words being exchanged. There was nothing blurry about this. Johnny’s tongue between her thighs was carnal—and she’d never used that old-fashioned word in her life. There was no other description for what he was doing, though. He looked her right in the eye, flickered his tongue against her clit and turned her into a whimpering, shameless servant to her own needs. She couldn’t take or leave his touch—she needed it. Needed it to survive one second to the next, so she pulled his face close and worked her hips, Johnny’s answering growl vibrating through her thighs.
His thumb took the place of his tongue, worrying that sensitive pearl of flesh side to side, up and down, going faster and faster the louder she moaned. “Am I the first man to give you an orgasm, Hope?”
She nodded vigorously, pressure unlike she’d ever known building in her lower body, the stars above seemed to expand and wink down at her and oh God, oh God her legs wouldn’t stay still. She couldn’t breathe.
“Would you like me to be the only man who ever does, baby?”
What was he asking? She didn’t know. And she couldn’t reason out his meaning when the flat of his tongue met her clit again and enveloped her in great, long licks, interspersed with maddening little flickers. “Yes!” she screamed, her heart releasing some undeniable truth her head hadn’t caught up with yet. “Yes, I want that.”
“Done.” He reached up and gripped her hand, squeezing. “You’re mine now, Hope.”
Her heart rejoiced at the same time as her body and it was an implosion of feeling, the full, aching sensation between her legs coming to a head and loosening with a great wave of relief. Hope’s throat started to burn and she realized she was calling Johnny’s name hoarsely up at the night sky, her body trembling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. In the open expanse of field, she felt almost untethered to earth, a woman floating in the atmosphere, never to return to such a normal, mundane planet—and her heart told her there was some truth to that. She’d never be the same.
That truth was confirmed twofold when Johnny’s appeared above her, his impossibly gorgeous face outlined by the moon and stars. His lips kicked up at one end. “So much for you bringing back the silence.” He squinted an eye. “My ears are going to be ringing for a week.”
Hope waited for embarrassment to land, but it never did.
Only joy. The breathless kind.
“See…” she whispered, feeling loose limbed and glorious. “That’s kind of your fault.”
“True.” He gave her a one-sided grin, but his eyes were serious. Watchful. “I’ll happily take the blame if you spend the night with me.”
She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, her breath catching at the unnamable emotion that crossed his face. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Chapter Four
Johnny was tempted to believe tonight was a dream.
Once while touring in London, the members of Citizen had been invited to a party at Mick Jagger’s house and Johnny had gotten stuck in a conversation with a shit-faced Keith Richards who’d rambled for hours about the muse of rock and roll. Every once in a blue moon, he’d explained while blowing cigarette smoke into the air, one lucky son of a bitch is blessed by a visit from the muse and she fills his head with new songs.
Watching the moonbeam-haired angel-goddess circle his hotel suite shyly, Johnny had a hard time totally discounting the possibility that Hope was the mythical creature Richards had spoken about. Her name might be evidence alone. Every moment with her was an experience and she made him want to go out and experience more. See and do and breathe.
This girl. She made him want to go out and live again.
With her.
She’d reminded him tonight of what was out there. How to find inspiration in the simple or unexpected. He used to be able to do that, but his reason for loving music had gotten swallowed up by the overwhelming racket of fame.
With Hope, he could hear himself think again.
Being around her made him excited. Made his blood pump. Reminded him to be grateful. So she better not be the fucking muse of rock and roll, because the muse tended to vanish when their mission was complete. And he wasn’t letting her go.
Johnny tossed his hotel room key on the modern, mirrored bedside table and followed Hope into the living room space, the plush carpet sinking with each step. Compared to the hotels where he usually stayed, this one was a six out of ten on the luxurious scale, but Hope tiptoed through the place like it was a palace, her eyes wide as silver dollars as she looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a snaking river, trees, the moon and stars.
I’m going to show her everything. Everywhere.
Something told him she’d never get bored. Not this girl who found renewed pleasure sitting beneath the same tree in the same field, day after day.
Johnny’s heart beat faster as he followed Hope out onto the balcony, his breath stuttering at the sight of her standing at the railing. Her white-blonde hair was being tossed around by the wind, her eyes were closed in enjoyment, the moon bathing her skin. Jesus. She looked like such an angel, he almost felt guilty for wanting to fuck her so hard, but there was nothing he could do about his body’s reaction to her. It recognized her as the final woman he ever wanted to get naked with and his cock was heavy with that knowledge.
Mine. Mine.
He ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip and caught the faint taste of her pussy, savoring it, because he still didn’t think Hope was ready to go further. He needed to go slow. Not just physically, either. They’d met each other a matter of hours ago, and while he might be ready to promise her everything—and mean it—he didn’t want to overwhelm Hope into running away again. He didn’t think his heart or his sanity could take it.
The only problem was, Citizen left town tomorrow morning.
Not an ideal schedule when a man needed to be patient.
Johnny tipped his head back and blew a breath out in the direction of the stars. After a moment of attempting to make a game plan and failing, he dropped his chin to find Hope leaning her side against the railing, watching him with a curious tilt to her head. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
A puff of laughter snuck out. “Not sure you want to know.”
“Of course I do.”
He closed the distance between them and cupped the soft skin of her cheek, the goodness shining from within her giving Johnny no choice but to be honest. Mostly. “I’m thinking, tomorrow is going to come way too soon.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Yeah?”
She pressed her face firmly into his hand and nodded.
Come with me. Never leave me.
He wanted to say it out loud so bad, but Christ, she’d think he was crazy, asking her to uproot her life and live in hotel rooms. Didn’t she say she hated being confined inside four walls? Johnny’s stomach dropped a little and he tried to hide his dread by glancing over his shoulder into the room, spotting his guitar case near the foot of his bed. “You want me to play you a song?”
Hope picked up his right hand and ran a thumb over the sore calluses decorating the bases of his fingers. “You�
�ve played enough tonight,” she murmured. “You don’t have to entertain me.”
Comfort rocked him down to the soles of his feet. Belonging. He couldn’t stop himself from burying his face in Hope’s neck, his hands fisting in the material of her dress, drawing her closer. And closer. Up onto her toes. Until she’d said those words—you don’t have to entertain me—Johnny didn’t realize that’s all he’d felt good for…for a long damn time. Performing. Moving the cogs of the machine so everyone could get paid. Making the record company happy so they’d keep Citizen signed to the label. Maybe there was more of him left over after all that grinding. If so, this girl seemed to see it.
“Why did you start playing music, Johnny?”
She was still selflessly trying to cure him of his writer’s block when all he could think about was drowning in her and forgetting the world existed. But he couldn’t help wanting to reward her determination to fix what was broken inside his head. Johnny exhaled, watching the moonbeam hair shift on her temple. “You might already know this, since it’s asked about in every single interview, but my mother passed away when I was young.” He cleared his throat and she squeezed him tight. “What I’ve never told anyone, though, is that she left me her guitar. And I thought I could bring some part of her back if I learned to play. That’s why I started. I continued because I love when the right notes or lyrics come together and it shifts something inside of you. It’s like…”
“Magic.”
He took hold of her hand and spun her in a slow circle, falling those final few feet into love when she blushed to the roots of her hair. “Yeah. Magic.” Fuck. Looking at her made it hurt to swallow. And a few minutes ago, the last thing he wanted was to hold a guitar, but his fingers were starting to itch in that undeniable way. He’d almost forgotten how it felt and suddenly he needed to make music to match Hope’s beauty. Needed to find a way to immortalize it. “Keep dancing. Please?”
Momentarily tearing his eyes off her, Johnny returned to the inside of the hotel room long enough to retrieve his guitar before joining Hope again on the balcony. Her eyes ticked from the guitar to his face and she smiled softly, slowly raising her arms up over her head, swaying her hips side to side. For long moments, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and his rasping breath for her to dance to, but then…
His mind quite simply flooded with songs, like a dam had broken. Enough words to fill two notebooks and spill over into a third. Songs about open spaces and tasting the far side of heaven on his tongue and his knees digging into the fucking soil.
Johnny’s fingers twitched against the strings and an original series of chords released into the night air, sounding like a haunting love song. They seemed to make Hope’s neck lose power, her hair cascading down her back like a snowy waterfall. Gorgeous. So gorgeous he almost knelt at the vision she created.
“Angel make a beggar kneel…” he murmured, under his breath, his fingers playing another cluster of notes. “Just for the chance to feel. Barefoot balcony dancer, soak her in. Shining with innocence. Tempting sin…”
Hope’s laughter was joyful as their gazes met, a light sheen in her eyes. “Wow.”
“Likewise.” Johnny played the same series of chords as before, but made a slight tweak and felt that click, deep in his gut. There it was. “Hope,” he said hoarsely. “Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
She danced like a fairy on the balls of her feet, the stars silhouetting her, and Johnny continued to play, memorizing the notes, somehow knowing he’d never forget them. Never be able to forget anything that involved her. But his fingers stumbled over the strings when Hope caught the hem of her dress in both hands and lifted the garment up over her head, letting it dangle from her fingertips.
Her mostly naked body was such a fucking work of art, it took Johnny a few beats to notice she was blushing even more furiously than before. “I don’t know. It just felt right,” she said, letting go of the dress and leaving her nothing-but-panties-clad body on display. “Us. It…feels right now.”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. He knew. Earlier in the night, she’d asked to know him better before they slept together and this was her signal to Johnny that she was ready. Without being aware of his actions, Johnny set down the guitar and crossed to Hope in two long strides. He wrapped his right arm around the small of her back, his other hand shaking as he laid it over her heart, absorbing the erratic beat with his palm.
“Shhh,” he said against her mouth. “You’re safe with me.”
“I know I’m safe, Johnny. Your song did this.”
“Did it?” he managed, backing her up against the smooth balcony wall. Pressing her there and letting the fingertips of his left hand trail down, over her peaked nipples and shuddering stomach, rasping them against the front panel of her panties. “I was only getting started. You want more?”
“Won’t you need the guitar?”
“That would mean I stop touching you, so I’ll pass.” He caught her mouth in a hard kiss, then pressed their foreheads together, holding eye contact as he tucked his fingers inside the waistband of her white, cotton underwear and slipped his middle finger between the split of her sex, teasing her clit, making her moan. “I’m going to play you instead.” Johnny angled his wrist and laid four fingers along the seam of Hope’s pussy, humming the notes he’d written in her ear while pressing down with the corresponding finger.
He only made it halfway through the chord progression when she started whimpering and dampness eased out onto his fingertips. “Johnny,” she gasped. “Oh my—”
He silenced her with a slow, wet kiss, continuing to play her pussy like a guitar as the contact between their mouths grew more heated. “Can I put a finger inside you, Hope?”
Her shaky exhale bathed his lips. “Yes.”
Looking her in the eye, Johnny found her drenched entrance with his middle finger and slowly pushed it in, stopping when he got knuckle deep. A growl worked free of his chest to find her even more snug than he remembered. Earlier he’d almost been in a frenzy to take her, but thankfully, they’d waited until she was ready. Until she trusted him. Hope was a girl you waited an eternity for, if necessary.
Gently working his finger in and out of her wet pussy, Johnny laid his mouth against her ear. “Angel make a beggar kneel. Just for the chance to feel.” He sank that digit deeper inside of her, eliciting a gasp that turned into sob when he found her G-spot and rubbed it in slow circles. “Moonhaired savior, the last of her kind. Breaking me, making me the marrying kind.”
*
After Johnny said those words—making me the marrying kind—Hope tried to meet Johnny’s eyes in the hopes of reading his meaning, but he snagged her mouth in an extremely distracting kiss and she all but levitated off the ground.
Relax, girl. He was just writing a song.
They’d met a matter of hours ago, and while she could admit there was the type of connection between them she’d only ever read in books, even the subtlest hint that he could marry her was wild. Tonight was a magic moment, with this incredible man who was so much more than a famous rock star, more than anyone knew, and she wasn’t going to squander it by trying to guess if he had deeper intentions.
They had tonight and she wanted to savor every last second.
And speaking of savoring, Johnny slipped a second long, thick finger inside of her and the full sensation made her thighs tremble. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned shamelessly into his mouth. The flesh between her thighs constricted around the invasion, creating more wetness and he cursed, rolling his lower body against Hope’s right hip, rubbing his hard bulge side to side, making it grow.
Johnny broke their kiss and trailed his open mouth down her throat, giving her a long lick between her cleavage, before crossing to her left nipple. “Look at these pretty, little tits,” he muttered, flickering his tongue against the bud and making it tighten almost to the point of pain. “Get up here and let me suck them.”
&n
bsp; When he started to remove his hand from between her legs, Hope made a sound of protest, but he raked his teeth over her nipple and it made the flesh between her legs pulse wildly. Unexpectedly. Like a starving person seeking sustenance, she hitched her legs up around Johnny’s waist and arched her back, offering her breasts to his mouth.
“Yes, Hope. I love how fucking eager you are. No games, just taking what you need from me.” He shoved his hands down the back of her panties and molded her butt cheeks roughly, grinding her down on his erection. “I want to give you the rest. I want to give you everything.”
“I want everything,” she whispered, brokenly.
And he was already striding into the hotel room, the shadows of the dimly lit room dancing over his flexing jaw and neck. Yearning to press their bare skin together, Hope gathered his T-shirt, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, immediately diving into a kiss that made her dizzy, made her inner thighs feel like vapor.
When she sensed they’d reached the bed and anticipated him laying her down, Johnny’s mouth found her nipples instead, sucking them one at a time with such intense, hollow-cheeked adoration that she could only chant his name, fingers burrowed in his hair to hold him close. Every draw of his mouth created an echo of lust low, so low in her belly and just when she thought she might climax from the perfection, Johnny freed her nipple from his mouth, lunged, and pinned her beneath him on the giant bed.
“Last chance to escape,” he rasped, nipping at her neck, suctioning his lips to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “I mean that in more ways than one, Hope.”
