Blind Attraction

by Eden Summers

  Instead, he strode to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and washed his face repeatedly, waiting for his heart rate to decrease. When he calmed to the point of civility, he walked back into the bedroom and found her sitting at the foot of the bed, her head bowed, her hands clasped in her lap.

  He strode to the bedroom door, flicked off the light, and went to her. His sight took moments to adjust to the darkness, to the soft glow coming from beneath the door. When he reached the bed, he nudged between her legs, and her thighs parted without protest as he nestled between them. With gentle fingers he lifted her chin and peered down at her shadowed features.

  “I’m sorry.” He wished he had the perfect words for her. All he had was an uncomfortable yearning he couldn’t relieve.

  “I’m not…comfortable with violence.”

  “I know, sweetheart. It was nothing.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb, then her lips. “We’re all stressed at the moment and… It doesn’t excuse anything, but I swear you have nothing to worry about.”

  “You need to be honest with me.” Her voice sent a white-hot blade through his chest, destroying everything in its path. “I’m not familiar with this, with us, and I have no clue what’s going on. Have I done something wrong? Do you want me to leave? I...” She heaved a breath. “I really like you, Mitchell—”

  “Hey.” He knelt between her thighs, and placed his hands on her hips. Her warmth surrounded him. The intoxicating mingled scent of her body and the hotel soap sank into his lungs like a hypnotic drug. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” The urge to pour his heart out became overwhelming. He could tell her how he felt, and she would comfort him and persuade him into believing things between them would work. That she would always wait around for him, always be willing to put her life on hold so they could be together.

  And that was what he feared the most. That he didn’t have the strength to bite his tongue. To be a man and walk away for her sake. To give her the life she deserved.

  “I’m sorry, Allie.” He pulled her closer to the edge of the bed and circled his arms around her back. “I’m tired, and stressed, and overwhelmed. I usually get a little weird before promo or concert tours. It has nothing to do with you.” The lie stung deep in his chest, like a back slap from God warning him of his inevitable trip to hell.

  She didn’t reply.

  “The last thing I want is for you to leave.”

  Her hands slid to his neck. He held his breath, felt the pull of his cock as it hardened, and delighted in the buzz that ricochet through his body when her nails dug into the back of his head. A moan vibrated in his throat, and he leaned into her touch.

  “You should go to bed,” she murmured.

  “Mmm, maybe I should.” He moved to his feet and grasped her hands, pulling her up with him. “Want to join me?”

  “Yes.” The word was a breathless whisper.

  Leaning in, he brushed her nose with his and hovered his lips over the warm satin of hers. He closed his eyes and let everything seep in. Her smell, her essence, her emotion. He inhaled it into his lungs and locked it away deep in his soul, never to be released.

  His heart continued to taunt him, to flash images of a perfect future into his mind. One with passion and commitment and love. He wanted to reach out and grab them. To open his mouth and kiss his love into her, but he straightened his shoulders and remained firm.

  Alana would find a man. A better man.

  And the realization hurt more than the thought of letting her go.

  He ignored the turmoil threatening to tear him apart and bent over, lifted her, one arm under her knees while the other supported her back.

  She didn’t protest, didn’t say a word as her arms came around to encircle his neck. He carried her around the bed and laid her down. When she scooted away, he pulled at the cover, working it to the foot of the bed as she maneuvered under the sheet.

  He took his clothes off. One by one. His jeans. His underwear. His shirt. Until he stood completely bare in front of her—physically and emotionally. He didn’t know if she could see him, but her gaze burned his body, over every inch of his skin.

  He grabbed a condom from the bedside table and placed it under his pillow. Climbing onto the bed, he moved under the sheet and positioned himself beside her. She lay on her side with her face turned toward him.

  “You should get some sleep.” Her voice held no humor, only resignation.

  Fuck sleep. His tiredness had been an excuse to cover for his crabby mood. He wanted to spend the whole night loving her, touching her, devouring her. For once his band commitments could come second. The last hours with Allie were all that mattered to him.

  “Right now, I should be doing a lot of things, but the only thing I want is you.” He moved into her, placing an arm over her waist, letting the hardness of his erection push into the soft cotton of her shorts.

  He heard her deep inhale and leaned in before she let it out, taking her mouth in a passionate kiss. Their lips meshed, their tongues danced and slowly the rigidity of her body seeped away, leaving her malleable in his arms.

  Her hands found his hair, always his hair, always his undoing, and glided the strands covering his face behind his ear. He didn’t usually allow anyone to play with it. He’d never enjoyed the sensation, but with Allie, it was different. Every stroke made his scalp shiver, every tug and scratch shot desire straight through his body to harden his aching cock.

  He ground into her, groaned over the delicious friction, and kissed her harder. He was crazy for her, his thoughts and desires making him insane.

  Damn it. He wanted to go slow, to savor and sample every inch of her. Pulling back, he gasped for air and tried to calm himself. “Take your clothes off. I want to feel you...every part of you, against me.”

  She complied, removing her shirt, then shuffling under the sheet before she dragged out her shorts and panties and threw them away.

  They lay in silence, his erection pressing into her curls, his arm over her waist, her breasts resting against his chest. He played with the skin at the low of her back, ran his fingers around in intricate patterns while they enjoyed each other’s warmth.

  One of her hands roamed his body. She trailed her fingers over his arm, down his ribs, along his thigh. His skin burned wherever she touched, turning his blood to lava, and his cock to stone. He wanted to change positions, to make her writhe in pleasure, to distract her with her own need instead of his own. Leaning down he sucked her nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the stiffened peak. She mewled, rubbed her crotch against him, and dug her nails into his ass.

  Her reaction only made him hotter. He moved to her other breast, paying it the same attention while his hand slid up her waist to cup the one he’d just been savoring.

  She arched her back, moaned her pleasure, yet it still wasn’t enough. He needed her as hot as he was, as needy, as crazy with lust and adoration. He tweaked her nipple with his fingers, relished her gasp, and then released her. Slowly, he ran his hand down her belly, over her abdomen, and through the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Her breathing increased, the pants of her breath brushing over his face as he moved his mouth from one breast to the other. He teased her pussy, gliding his fingers around her swollen lips, back and forth, until she was undulating against him.

  “Mitchell...Mitchell.”

  He glanced up to see the darkened beauty of her face.

  She nuzzled into his neck and tasted his skin with her tongue. “Please. Oh, god, please.”

  “What, sweetheart?” He applied more pressure to the fingers circling her clit. “Tell me what you want.” He craved the words, hungered to hear the disorder in her voice. “Tell me what you need.”

  She ground into him, scouring her nails up his back. “You,” she whispered into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine that pooled in his balls. “I want you, Mitchell.” She sucked on the skin of his neck. “Only you... Please.”

  He stroked his fingers
down the center of her pussy, straight through the juices of her arousal.

  “I want you inside me now.”

  He couldn’t wait either. Leaning back, he grabbed the condom from under the pillow and sheathed himself. Gently positioning his body on top of hers, he rested on his forearms so she didn’t take his entire weight. He settled his erection against her wet folds, his stomach pressing into hers. The room fell quiet as her hands lay at his shoulders and for long moments they just stared.

  Her eyes were too dark to make out, too shadowed to see the light green irises he loved so much. Her heart beat hard against his chest, the rapid succession matching the pounding which echoed in his ears.

  Damn. He had it bad. Even in shades of gray, she was beautiful. And never before had he wanted to make love. He couldn’t remember ever having slow, emotional sex. As a teenager, he’d concentrated on his mantra of “this is a marathon, not a sprint. This is a marathon, not a sprint,” and spent his time concentrating on getting his partners across the line, one way or another. Then Reckless Beat became famous, and women flocked to him. They didn’t care if he pleasured them or how the situation ended as long as they had the opportunity to tell their friends they’d screwed a rock star.

  He’d never sought the intimacy of the missionary position, yet right now, he wanted nothing else. To feel her breath, the touch of her breasts against his chest, to see the dark outline of her face.

  With a slight tilt of his hips, he rocked into her, the head of his cock finding her slick entrance. Her hands gripped his shoulders tighter, and he closed his eyes to press his lips against her. He pushed into her sex and groaned over the tight ecstasy.

  Their kiss was lazy and deliberate, soft strokes of tongues, tender pressure of lips, and he mimicked the rhythm with each gentle thrust of his hips. With each slide, he gave his heart and soul to her, and his insides crumpled under the weight of love.

  I love you…I love you…I love you.

  He couldn’t say the words aloud, but he showed them with every touch.

  Her thighs parted further, and her legs rose to encircle his waist. With the next pulse of his hips, they groaned in unison, the deeper penetration driving him so close to the edge he thought he would go over. He broke the kiss, paused, and leaned over on one elbow to break the connection his soul seemed to have made with this woman.

  The pleasure didn’t just pool in his usual zone of awesome, it rushed along his stomach, through his chest, clenching his heart. She consumed him from head to toe, mind and soul.

  “Don’t stop.” She pulled him back down to her chest.

  “Just give me a minute.” He rested his forehead against hers.

  “No,” she whispered and lifted her hips, making his cock sink deep inside her core. “I’m so close.”

  “Christ,” he moaned, biting his lip to control the orgasm threatening to explode. He kept his movements slow, deliberate, but hit harder, sinking to the hilt. Each time he retreated, he paused to take a breath and rebuild his restraint.

  “Mitchell.” Her plea was his undoing.

  He reached around to cup the back of her neck and smashed his lips against hers. This kiss wasn’t soft, it wasn’t sweet. It freed his passion, his weakness, and left him raw and vulnerable. Her thighs gripped him to the point of pain, her back arched, and with each hard thrust of his hips, she panted.

  “Mitchell, I’m coming.”

  His release hit in an instant, her pussy milking him harder with every slide between her tight walls. He shot his seed and moaned with each rhythmic pulse, until his legs burned with tension. Burying his head in her neck, he let the feminine sounds of release wash over him with the last bursts of paradise.

  Her thighs began to relax, their grip loosening from his waist, to fall back down on the bed. His mind was a frenzied blur, caught between his desire to make Alana his, and his conscience battling to let her go. The struggle tore him apart as he panted into her neck.

  He wished he had all the answers and knew which path to choose, the one that was right for both of them. But as exhaustion settled in, pulling him into slumber, he realized no matter what happened between them, even if he did leave her, he would never truly be able to let her go.

  Alana came to consciousness, warm, sated, and still wearing the smile she fell asleep with the night before. Mitchell lay behind her, the hardness of his hip resting against her bottom. The heat of his hand sat against the top of her thigh.

  She began to rise from the bliss of sleep into reality, and the happiness slid from her face. She didn’t want to open her eyes and begin the day. Beginning the day meant she came closer to the end where she would have to say goodbye to the man she adored. The thought of their upcoming last kiss made her stomach turn.

  Sliding her hand from her pillow, she ran it under the sheet, over her naked waist to rest on top of Mitchell’s. She touched him for strength. Above everything, she wanted to be able to say her farewell without drama. There wouldn’t be a fan-girl moment. She wouldn’t cry. As much as her eyes burned and her hands trembled, she wouldn’t shed a tear in front of him.

  She gripped his fingers and startled at the groan that followed. A groan which vibrated from in front of her, not behind. Her eyes snapped open. She followed the lump under the sheet beside her, all the way up to the tattooed arm coming out from the covering, to the spiky dark hair of a man resting face down on the pillow.

  A squeak escaped her throat.

  “Blake,” she whispered and swallowed to alleviate her dry mouth.

  He groaned again. “What?” His voice came out garbled from the pillow.

  “Your hand is on my thigh.” She didn’t move and kept her voice low, not wanting to wake Mitchell.

  “Mmm.”

  “Blake!” She pleaded. Her skin buzzed at his touch, making her hyperventilate. “I’m naked, and your hand is on my thigh.”

  He tilted his head, gave her a flash of his crooked grin and slid his hand away. “Sorry, I hadn’t noticed.” His tone and gleaming eyes told her the exact opposite. He stretched and turned onto his back, placing his heavily inked arms behind his head.

  She raised a brow at his arrogance, but couldn’t muster any annoyance. Blake had been kind to her. A little cheeky at times, and yet, along with the man lying behind her, they both reiterated the message that the opposite sex wasn’t the enemy. He had been the echo to Mitchell’s perfection, the person who backed up the kindness and trust.

  “Why are you here?” Her voice was breathy. She wanted to believe it came from the shock of waking up with an unwelcomed guest in the bed. The way her nipples tightened told her otherwise. Not that she was attracted to Blake. He did have the most gorgeous, dark brown eyes she’d ever seen, but he didn’t match her like a jigsaw puzzle the way Mitchell did.

  He kept his eyes closed. “Ryan and Julie took my bed...even though they weren’t going to make good use of it. And Mason and Sean drank too much and passed out on the couch and floor. I had nowhere to sleep.”

  “And your hand on my thigh?”

  His grin widened and he opened one eye to glance at her. “I snuggle in my sleep.”

  She shook her head at him and diverted her gaze to his arms. She followed the intricate designs marking his skin from his wrists to his shoulders and her heart fluttered with slow dawning realization.

  She could see.

  There were still fuzzy patches, parts of her vision melted into others, but overnight her sight had improved enough for her to make out the finer details. If Mitchell weren’t asleep, she would place her face an inch away from his and stare into his eyes forever.

  As if reading her thoughts, he moaned from behind her and wobbled the mattress as he shifted on the bed. He changed his position so they were spooning, his erection nudging against her ass, his arm moving to cuddle her waist and lay against her belly. He ground into her, once, twice, then went languid against her.

  She remained silent until his breathing grew heavy against her neck. When she
was convinced he’d fallen back asleep, she turned her gaze to Blake, who now stared at her.

  “You like him.”

  She took a deep breath and pulled the sheet up to her collarbone, taking the extra moments to compose herself. “Yes.” There was no need to elaborate. She wasn’t sure what her feelings for Mitchell meant. She only knew her heart was full, all because of him.

  “Have you two spoken about what’s going to happen once we leave?”

  His voice was flat, and she hated the unfamiliar seriousness in his tone. He no longer smiled, the humor having left his face entirely. The change in him unsettled her. She prepared for the best friend speech, where he would ask her to walk away quietly. Or explain to her the time with Mitchell was nothing more than a fling.

  She focused on the white hotel sheet and made swirling patterns with her fingers against the cotton. “No.” She gave a slight shrug. “He mentioned maybe calling me. But apart from that, we haven’t discussed anything.”

  Her heart beat stronger waiting for his reply. When it came, his words were barely audible. “He likes you.”

  Her gaze snapped to him, needing to read his expression. What she saw made her chest constrict. His eyes held an anguish she knew would be echoed in her own. She hadn’t expected him to voice the hopes she bottled inside. She’d figured he’d let her down gently.

  “Don’t let him go, Alana.” He implored her. “He wants you just as much as you want him. Don’t let the hurdles surrounding his career stand in your way.”

  Relief and hope burst to life, flooding her with happiness. His career had never scared her away as much as it made her feel out of his league. She lay in silence, picturing what their future would be like if they did commit to one another.

  He would be away a lot, which would be tough to handle when she wanted nothing more than to spend every second of the day with him. But her life seemed to be evolving. She had so many things she wanted to do and was positive the excitement of finally living would dull the loneliness of being apart. She’d never been a dependent person. Although she grew up in isolation, she’d forged her own career and made her own income.