Love Struck Bad Boys - 3 Novel Box Set

by Amber Burns

Each kiss brings a soft sigh, a shudder and breathy moan, and when I kiss her jaw I smile at her closed eyes, pooched glossy lips, her picture of anticipation.

  Kissing her forehead, I complete my though against her smooth flesh, “Is teasing.”

  I lift off of her, ignoring my hard-on and the strong pull that makes me want to throw all other commitments but giving her yet another mind-blowing orgasm, the third that day if I haven’t lost count, but duty calls...loudly.

  “Five more minutes before Tense Finger rocks our minds, peeps,” the emcee’s voice thrums through the closed bedroom door. I sidestep Dan’s clothes. The trail of T-shirts, socks and jeans lead to a half-filled, open suitcase propped up in front of the doors leading to the walk-in.

  My man had loaned Astra and I his room soon as we officially announced our status. I’m still getting used to the whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ thing, but Astra’s done adjusting the top of her simple, black dress and reaching for me, her arms coming about my waist and her soft lips catching me off-guard under the jaw.

  What I don’t need to get used to is holding this woman and kissing the breath clean out of her lungs.

  “Ryker,” she breathes hard, her mint-laced breath fanning against my throat when I hug her, hands moving down to cup her ass and bring her to my clothed cock.

  “Soon as I’m done, we’re picking up right where we left off. So I better see this cute ass,” and I squeeze her cheeks for emphasis, and Astra yips a cross between a hitched breath and a gasp. “Better be here, in the air, ready for my touch.

  I press a hard kiss to her crown and step back, exposing myself to her hand. Astra cups me through the jeans and I’m swallowing my groan from fully being voiced at her half-lidded, smiling expression.

  With her hair piled up in a haphazard bun, and ringlets of red waves cascading her pale, full cheeks, hazel eyes and reddened lips, words like enchantress, seductress, temptress come to mind.

  Fuck. I have to be the luckiest guy in this world.

  “You little minx,” I growl without a lot of heart and she lets me pull her hand up by the wrist and nip at her fingers and thumb before trapping it to her chest and stealing one last kiss...for now.

  Astra giggles, letting me lead her to the door with an arm secured around her waist, exactly where it’d be the whole night if I weren’t playing, “Showtime?” I ask.

  She nods, her face radiating a glow rivaling the extra lighting worked into the house specially for the party. Astra passes her hand over the banister strewn with fairy lights, awe working her features open. “This is beautiful. Holly’s really done a great job pulling this party together.”

  “And last minute,” I tag on, navigating from the quieter foyer where two young men in black and white livery were helping the latest arrivals with their coats.

  “But she still seems pretty worried,” Astra adds, her brow compressing. I draw her to a halt and press my pointer between her shapely red eyebrows, physically smoothing her anxiety and then I trade my finger for my mouth.

  She’s on my wavelength, smiling and tugging me down by the collar to lock our lips to the shock of the teen girls behind us and their not-so amused parental guest.

  “Mindy, Sharon, move,” the irate mother says, giving us a parting sharp glance.

  “Sorry Mindy or Sharon or both girls’ mom.” I murmur to Astra’s groaned laugh. She lifts her head off my chest and looks up at me. I kiss her forehead quickly. “Pretty sure they didn't’ recognize you as one half of St. Blowjob’s counselling team.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call the school that name,” she says, but damn if she isn’t chewing her lip to hide her smile.

  “Two minutes and counting – who’s ready to rock with Tense. Finger.” At the emcee’s prompt the crowd in the monster family room converted concert hall shouts for an encore of the band.

  We’d already played four songs to open the evening, and with the party lasting for another two hours, we were slated for another four songs.

  “Looks like you’re wanted by others.” Astra says, breaking away from me at the threshold of den. “Break a leg, lover boy.” She steps out of my reach, letting the crowd swallow her and I’m forced to grin and bear the cries and screaming excitement at the teen girls catching sight and hold of me first.

  I glance up at the stage, glad to see the steps are within reach. Jesse and Dan are up there, nearer to the back tuning up, and waving once in awhile to catcalls.

  Closer to the front of the stage are two pretty brunettes, in green, white and black skirts and matching sports bras, expertly twirling, tossing and catching green and white flags while synchronize their handwork to fast foot and body moves.

  Though TzaTza and Custodio haven’t floated around me all evening, the Lopezes pulled out all stops for their little girl, nabbing two cheerleaders from the Jets Flight Crew to entertain guests with a little cheer passion; the emcee a familiar face as well from some popular teen vampire TV show currently in the ‘in’.

  Lola, in true diva fashion – or is that princess? – is sitting in a throne, beaming up at something the dark-haired, handsome emcee is saying. He laughs at something she’s saying, and I swear she’s about to turn to mush and soak the red velvety cushion of the dais.

  Likely though she is to wind up like her control-freak father and sneaky, trophy wife mother, I can’t take this away from her – no much more than her parents tried and failed to sabotage Astra and I.

  So I’d let her, even help her, live the wet dream of most sixteen-year-olds on their sweetest of birthday celebrations.

  “About time,” Dan winks, particularly knocking me over he’s at my side fast enough. “How did it go? Casa Dan good enough for you and the missus.”

  Lowering his voice like the music ripping through the top-line basses with the deejay’s beats or the screaming fifteen and sixteen and seventeen-year-olds aren’t enough to mask any chance of his line of questioning.

  “The missus?” I roll my eyes, but unable to stop smiling. Shrugging, I say, “Let’s just say I’ll be playing stiffly.”

  “TMI,” but Dan thwacks me playfully. “Good to see you’ve come down from the stars and back on Earth, my man.”

  “Blame Astra. Though don’t tell her I said that.”

  We laugh.

  “You’re flying out with us tomorrow morning, right?” Jesse joins us, adjusting his earpiece, his eyes and hair blonder in the white light washing down from the rafters of the deep purple floors and curtains of the stage.

  “Yeah.” I don’t bother to mask the disappointment. Leaving Astra behind bites, but we’d promised to wait to make any hasty moves like one of us handing in their resignation nearer the end of the school year and planning to move across the country for good.

  Or one of us fessing up about a ring they’ve ordered custom-made to be delivered from a jewelers in Beverly Hills to Orange Compass…

  “Are you guys ready?” the vampire teen emcee wanders over to us from Lola, his gaze trailing to the bouncing rears and racks of the cheerleaders, both women at least a decade older than him.

  With our blessing, he smiles at the peppy cheerleaders backing off for the next concert and turns his charm to the crowd of teens closer to his age. Party people, as promised we’ve got Tense Finger here and ready to heed your call. Give them some noise and even more lovin’!”

  We crash with an opening, doing two songs back-to-back without commentary, and then during tune-up and Dan changing from bass to a two-headed guitar, I take the microphone and talk to the audience. Calling out to the closer fans, I stare down their flashing cameras and phone lens, and flicking one of my guitar picks into their reaching hands.

  “Who wants more goodies?” at their crying enthusiasm, I visit Jesse who hands me a pair of spare drumsticks. He kisses the sticks to the wild fanfare of the audience.

  And not to be outdone, Dan pulls the red bandana from his back pocket, and though the cloth is dampened by sweat, for good measure he wipes his brow clean
again, and cupping his hand, he shouts, “Hello Orange Compass!”

  A chorus of ‘hellos’ and ‘his’ and possibly ‘screw mes’ rain back his way. He grins at me, poking his tongue back at Jesse who shakes his head with a smile.

  “Okay, okay,” I hold up one of the sticks. “Who wants this from our lovely drummer?” I randomly shoot for the left of the crowd, seeing hands and heads diving for the stick.

  “And this one?” I toss the other drumstick right, getting a little more aggression. “Cool it, cool it. We do not condone violence. We’re not playing for animals here.” I cover the mic and stare down the group of girls who’d been fighting for the stick. “Ladies,” I breathe, waiting for them to settle down; two chaperones already approaching them.

  “All right then, last item for toss and drenched in the sweat of our bass genius.”

  Dan strums his guitar when I announce the bandana.

  “Who wants dibs?” the crowd screams and I see a familiar face surging in the crowd – little Nate Ringermann from the B&B. There’s a girl beside him, leaning in close to whisper something. Maybe it’s the light, but his face is even redder than it was when he was stuttering his way to asking an autograph from me.

  “Hey Dan, is it okay if I pass it over to my friend, Nate?”

  His guitar sings as way of ‘yes’.

  “Nate Ringermann, for you then.” The boy is shocked, but he recovers quickly enough when I point him out and nod with a grin. He’s close enough for him to catch the balled-up cloth and he holds it high for a collective cheer and the starting intro of song three from Dan and Jesse.

  It takes me a moment to make my way back to my place, hooking the mic on its stand and jumping in with back-up guitar and the lyrics to our new song.

  The next two songs pass in a blur, thankfully, and we haul our asses off-stage to be replaced by the deejay and a concert break, the second to last.

  I’m faster at unstrapping than the guys. Clearing the stage quickly, I suffer the groping of stray hands and keep my smile on until I’m at the exit of the den, running into Holly.

  “Seen Astra?” is the first thing that pops out of my mouth.

  “Hello to you, too.” She says with a quick smile and then sighing. “No, I haven’t. But I’m here and there, and all over, and I barely know who I’m seeing or not. It feels like there’s still so much to do.”

  “If it helps, the place looks stunning.” I say.

  “Just stunning,” Dan’s voice floats over.

  Dan and Jesse are not too far behind, catching up to me and greeting the stressed out party planner. Our resident Casanova has Holly by the hand and he presses a kiss to it before she can so much as snatch it back...which she doesn’t, she doesn’t even complain about that beard of his. “It’s top-notch planning, you super-planner, you.”

  “I’ll have to put you in touch with my mom. She’s chairwoman of her ladies’ social club, whatever that really means, but she’s always complaining about having to plan last-minute gatherings; luncheons and tea parties and charity dinners, that kind of thing. I could give her your number,” Jesse takes my place closer to Holly as I drift away from the trio and their weird love triangle.

  I flatter in my steps when Holly calls me back. “Could you check on the extra snack table if you’re headed that way?”

  “Which one?” there had to be at least three different snacking areas in the party-cordoned areas.

  “The one in the kitchen. Please and thanks,” and then she’s overwhelmed by Dan on one side and Jesse on the other. Thank God I don’t have to vie with anyone else for Astra’s attention and affections.

  I do pass the kitchen so I make a detour on my hunt for my fiery-headed, cool-tempered girlfriend.

  The open kitchen is huge – closer to the stuff you see in a large establishment, a hotel or a larger restaurant. There is a second, smaller party of guests in the den it overlooks.

  I spy the punchbowl on the counter over the heads of five boys, about four wearing hoods and coats like they’d just come from outside. My boot narrowly dodges a small puddle and I frown...or they did come from outside.

  “So I guess one of you knows where the mop is,” I drawl. The boys turning in unison, and each looking guiltier than the last, I recognize one face and he pales when I single him out with my drawn brows and frown.

  Lola’s kid brother, Tony, is standing by the punch bowl with a group of his friends. Suspicious as hell the lot of them, but I promised Holly I’d check it out for her. They break their little circle apart for me.

  “Hey, little man,” I step up and rub his head, mussing his hair to his plain horror. Or maybe it’s the fact that his friends are watching on? “Haven’t seen you around all that much.”

  “I’ve been out at my cousin’s new place in the city,” he says, his cheeks growing ruddy as he shoves his wind-chapped hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket. “Besides I’m not a kid. I don’t need to be monitored.”

  My brows hike up; first at the fact Custodio and TzaTza can let him go off to New York alone, cousin or not – and I’m pretty sure he’s talking about that cousin of his, the 19-year-old college dropout who looked hopped the few times I’d met him, and then secondly because Tony’s starting to sound like his sister...which by proxy makes him sound like his parents.

  “You’re thirteen.”

  He raises his shoulders, eyes flashing. “So what?”

  “So, step away from the punch. The same goes for the rest of you,” I breeze a cool look over his four friends. They do as I say though, so I decide to turn away and leave it at that with this parting advice, “Want to stay at the party, then listen closely: Watch it ‘cause I’m watching you and being on my shit list isn’t going to go well for you, not tonight...or ever.”

  See with 13-year-olds you could get away with saying something creepy like that and get the same scuttling reaction and not feel an ounce of guilt for breaking up their numbskull idea to spice the drinks.

  They follow each other out in single file, mumbling curses my way likely, but I could care less of what a bunch of pre-teens are saying or not saying about Tony’s uncool 30-something faux uncle.

  As I check for Astra in the smaller crowd lounging around the extra den, I turn back in the hall and head for the floor-to-ceiling windows separating the house from the frozen garden and immense backyard outside.

  The outdoor pool is covered for the winter, and the tarp isn’t visible under the layer of snow from the snowstorm a week and a bit ago, the storm that had followed me into Orange Compass.

  She’s not other there – no soul is out there, at least no soul who can read the printed sign warning guests to ‘Keep Out’.

  I pass the kitchen and go by the family room on my way to access other parts of the house. It hits me to try Astra’s cell. I don’t get an answer there, which reminds me she likely has her purse up in Jesse’s room where she had been helping Holly choose between two dresses before the party’s start.

  The irony of the indecisive party planner isn’t lost on me.

  After a quick check upstairs, I return to the foyer with my coat and let myself out past the bored door guards. I look around at the cars snaking up and down the two lane driveway, stepping down the front porch to squint into the dark winter night.

  By chance I spy a spray of curly red from the side of white pickup. I close in and speed up, my heart lifting as easy as my steps through the thick, sticky snow.

  Astra has her back facing me and she’s standing still, head slightly tilted to the cloudless, starry heavens.

  My worry takes a back seat when I see the perfect opportunity for a sneak attack. She doesn’t anticipate my hands coming around and settling over her belly, my chin resting on her right shoulder and, because I can’t resist, I’m bringing her ass to my cock, thrilling at the soft pressure.

  “I missed you,” I say at her gasp, demystifying her curiosity. “Were you expecting someone else to meet you out here in the cold?”

/>   Astra’s laugh is throaty, her hands falling over mine on her belly. “I suddenly needed fresh air.”

  “It is getting a little stuffy in there. You’d think there would be a fire hazard or something.”

  “You played wonderfully, for what I stayed of it, which was the first two songs and the toss of the favors,” she leans to the side and cranes her neck as much as she can to flash her smile. “You’re caught the personality.”

  “That sounds a gazillion times better coming from you, not critics, wannabes or professionals.” I meet her lips and glide my lips across hers. “Mhm, had a little punch did you?”

  “I did. I was really thirsty, and then,” she trails off and I give her a squeeze at the silence and scrunching of her features. Her downturned mouth frightens me.