Rockin' the Heart (Hot Wired)

by Miller, Gracen

  “Forgiven.” She pulled his hair like when they were kids, the love she held for him evident in her expression.

  Jase was a lucky bastard. He did not deserve the family he had, but nothing would convince him to give them up. After getting a dose of how short life could be, he finally realized their happiness was all that mattered. The ‘what ifs’ could be dealt with if they occurred. Borrowing trouble had been a waste of time and had brought conflict to those he loved.

  Lesson learned. He hoped not to be repeated.

  A week later Sam woke spooning with Heath. Backside warm, with his knee wedged between her legs, gave him just enough space to explore her intimately with his fingers.

  His breath puffed against the back of her earlobe, and he whispered into her ear. “Happy birthday, brat.”

  A finger penetrated her.

  She moaned and pressed down against his caress. Starting off this way, her birthday would be happy indeed.

  His chuckle sent gooseflesh scurrying across her skin. “Someone’s eager this morning.”

  She buried her nails into his arm and hooked her leg over his thigh, providing him easy access to her girly bits. A slight turn of her head and their mouths connected. Tongues tangled in a slow ballet, while his penetration matched the same languid pace.

  A moment later he rolled her to her back, catching her hand and guiding it between her thighs. Confused, she stared into his eyes.

  “Touch yourself.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he placed the wet fingers he’d used on her over her lips. “Now’s the perfect time to get my gift for your birthday.”

  Amused that he’d purchased himself a gift, but frustrated that he’d worked her up and wasted a timeout on a measly gift for himself. On my birthday! “You bought yourself something for my birthday?”

  “More or less.” A wicked twinkle showcased the devil inside. He slid off the bed, his cock swollen and the veins evident. She admired his ass while he rummaged through a bag. He returned with a single dark blue jewelry box. At the foot of the bed he stopped and stared at her. “You’re not touching yourself.”

  “By definition rebels are rule breakers.”

  “Do you want my gift or not?”

  “Not.” A flash of a frown scurried across his brow. “Whatever that is”—she toed the velvet box—“it’s your gift to you. I want you to fuck me… that is your gift to me.”

  “Brat, I have so much planned for you today, you’ll be exhausted by midday.”

  “Promises…promises,” she teased. “I hear rock star gods are shallow creatures. I’m suspicious you cannot live up to your pretty packaging and illicit promises.”

  A smirk tilted one side of his mouth and his silver gaze glittered. “I’ve already proven I’m more than a pretty package.” Yes, he has. “I should tickle you for that gibe, brat.”

  Sam offered him a cheeky grin. In response he ran his fingernail along the bottom of her foot. She gave a sharp squeal of surprise and executed a quick yank of her leg to remove his tickle from her insole. She surveyed him carefully ready to make an escape if he was serious about tickling her further.

  “I’d rather fuck you instead.” Thank God. He caught her ankle and held her still as he kissed her foot where his nail had scraped. Gawd… even that was sexy. “I want you wearing these when I slide my dick into you.”

  He crawled up the bed and knelt beside her hip. He snapped the lid on the box upward. Gemstones twinkled in the light. Jewelry for each of her piercings. Sam laughed. No wonder he called it a gift for himself. “Only diamonds will do in the most intimate areas for my woman.”

  She spread her legs and circled her clit with a fingertip. “You have to remove the old ones and put in the new ones. You know since they’re your gift.”

  He surprised her by not balking and going for her bellybutton first. After unscrewing the barbell he slid the surgical steel out and placed it aside on the bed. He prepped the new jewelry. The top bead bore a gemstone, as well as a dangling heart. Hands steady he threaded the barbell into place and tightened the ball into position.

  The straight nipple barbells came next, with each end showcasing half a carat gemstone. She watched his face as he worked, his features washed in solemnity as if he tagged her as his by giving her these.

  As he removed one and replaced it, he said, “I almost bought the nipple shields, but I didn’t want anything coming between my mouth and these beauties.”

  “I approve.”

  He licked the nipple and set to work on the other one. With quick efficiency he completed his task, cupped her breast and flicked his thumb across the spiked peak. “You look amazing decked out in my diamonds.”

  Her grin died when he bent his head and sucked hard on just the tip. The contact had a direct line to her groin and she rocked her hips against his leg. As soon as he started, he vacated her breast and wiggled down her body placing kisses along her belly.

  The barbell slid from her clitoral hood with barely a tease. His eyes dilated when the new one was in place. Like before, he bent his head and sucked. Her fingers dive-bombed his hair and held him in position until she climaxed a few minutes later.

  As she went limp, Heath caught the back of her knees and went to his. Holding her legs open, his gaze focused on her core, he executed a thrust and impaled her as deep as he could go.

  Sam cried out at the sudden fullness. Bliss bloomed and spread from their connection, winding tendrils of ecstasy through her body. She twisted the sheets in her grasp relishing his hard plunges, each drive wrenching a gasp from her. Wild, uncontrolled sex, rough and raw, and Sam treasured every nuance.

  The climax struck her by surprise. One moment she steeped in the hedonism of his thrusts and in the next she combusted with a strangled cry. “Heath!”

  He hooked one of her legs over his hip and wedged his thumb on her clit as he came down on top of her. “Happy Birthday, Sam,” he said as his pad circled her nub, prolonging her orgasm.

  She shook beneath him in unending pleasure, his name falling from her lips as if whispering desperate invocations, “Heath… Heath… Heath….”

  He bottomed out, stilled and groaned in her ear. She clutched at his head and smashed their lips together as he spilled inside her. A little more hip action wrenched a tremble from her. Heath ceased the stroking of her clitoris and he collapsed atop her.

  She drifted to sleep. It felt like moments lapsed before he woke her and dragged her from the warm bed to the kitchen to partake in a late breakfast.

  “I’m naked,” she pointed out, shoving her hair out of her face when he pushed her down on the chair.

  A devilish grin charmed her. “Just the way I like you, in your birthday suit.”

  He wore lounge pants. She liked him nude too. “The birthday girl requests you disrobe, Mr. Fangor.”

  “I’m not taking requests today, Ms. Collins.” He set a tray of blueberry pancakes in front of her and soaked them in maple syrup. Just the way she liked them.

  “Is this my birthday or yours?”

  “Yours, but I’m allowed privileges.”

  “Do I get privileges on your birthday?”

  He opened a can of BuzzMe and placed it in front of her. “We’ll negotiate that at a later date.”

  “What are you up to?”

  Simulated innocence spoiled his features. “I can’t enjoy my gifts if you’re dressed, brat.”

  That practicality coupled with the guileless expression, set off alarms.

  “Check out the article on page four.” Heath nodded at the Celebrity Beef rag resting on the table.

  “Is it going to piss me off?” She should prepare herself for the real possibility the paparazzi would rarely grace them with a moment of peace?

  “I…hope not.”

  She contemplated him a long moment. Unable to discern what he premeditated, she picked up the magazine, and flipped to page four. Written by the reporter they’d chatted with after the concert a couple of weeks ago.

 
; Fang asks the question…

  The headline read, along with a nice spread of photos of them kissing and hugging in public venues. Even a couple of snapshots from the abbreviated tour made the lineup.

  “We look good together, pookie.” She blew him a kiss.

  “It’s a known fact I’m the hottest of the two.” He winked back at her.

  Lead singer for the mega hit rock band, Hot Wired, Heath Fangor—better known to his fans as Fang—was recently touted as one of the most eligible bachelors of the year by RockLegends. Fans from all walks of life agreed with the montage. Then Samantha Collins—sister to Hot Wired’s drummer, but better known for her rebellious antics that often land her on the wrong side of the law—was caught making out with Fang in a sex store. Fans were scandalized and abuzz by the news.

  “What a crock of bullshit! We weren’t making out!” An almost kiss was a long way from making out.

  “Keep reading.” He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee.

  “It gets worse?”

  He shrugged and crossed his ankle over his knee. She speculated on his odd behavior, but he motioned to the article. “Read aloud so I can follow along where you are.”

  Sam wet her lips and began to read again…

  Just that quick one of rock stars most eligible bachelors was off the single’s list. Speculations ran amok that it was a publicity campaign to promote their tour.

  “They kinda got that one right.”

  Heath remained silent, his finger tapping on the table, his focus honed on her.

  She picked up where she left off…

  Then they gave the fans a look into their life while on the tour. From the moment Samantha Collins stepped onto the stage and interacted with Fang, it was obvious there was charisma between them. Catastrophic charisma. Respect. Attraction. To put it bluntly, they are fucking hot together—

  “They can say ‘fucking’ in an article like this?” Stunned she gaped at Heath.

  Amusement glinted in his silver eyes. “Seems so.”

  Confused she returned to the article…

  —and all the female fans were crushed they had to cross Fang off their to-do list.

  Sam snorted.

  I was given the rare privilege of meeting them personally and getting an interview with them. I’m sold on this couple. I’m certain they’re going to be one of the romantic legends. Like Marilyn and JFK… okay I admit that’s a bad analogy, but Samantha is as sultry and sexy as Marilyn, so it’s an accurate description from that vantage. The best modern comparison I can come up with is Angie and Brad…

  “Oh, good gawd! This is the most ludicrous article I’ve ever read.” She tossed the rag-mag on the table and picked up her fork. “He didn’t use one single piece of the interview we gave him. Shocker he created his own hype full of stupid jargon and even more ridiculous analogies.” Syrupy heaven hit her taste buds, and her eyes widened. “Oh, my God! Sooooo good. Orgasmic.”

  His eyes darkened. He nodded at the magazine. “Finish the article, Sam.”

  Another slice of tongue-gasm made passionate love to her palate. “Why? It’s minutes from my life I can’t get back.”

  “Please. For me.”

  She wagged her fork at him and catered him with a distrustful eye. “You’re lucky you’re so sexy and have an acrobatic tongue.”

  He leaned forward and smeared his finger through her syrup, licked the tacky, sweet substance off his digit. The move reminded her how he licked her arousal off his fingers. She swallowed hard.

  “If you’re lucky I’ll demonstrate my tongue-talent for you later.”

  With a groan, she stabbed her fork in her pancakes. “I fear giving in to you sets bad precedent, but with promises like that… I’ll take the risk.”

  She retrieved the stupid fucking magazine and picked up where she left off…

  I’m almost certain we’re all a bit in shock and awe by their hotness level together. We all desire a fairytale romance like theirs. He’s her prince charming and she’s his snow white. Yeah, yeah, mock me for getting sappy. In my interview with them Fang had one question—

  Huh? Sam didn’t recall Heath asking any questions.

  —and I promised him I’d write it exactly how he asked it… “Brat, I told you if you finagled the paparazzi just right you could make them work for you. This is proof. Will you marry me, Sam?”

  Wait? What? Huh? She backtracked and reread the last few sentences in silence. From her peripheral vision she noted Heath went to his knees in front of her.

  Her breathing set a three-fourths beat as she met his gaze.

  “Marry me, brat, and give me a chance to tame your rebellion.” He presented a red, velvet box and opened the lid.

  She didn’t even look at the ring that was sure to be nestled inside. This has gotta be a dream.

  “It’s not.” She didn’t even realize she’d spoken aloud until he commented. Sam blinked as Heath went on. “You saying ‘yes’ is my fantasy. Will you say ‘yes’ to becoming Mrs. Heath Fangor?”

  Sam melted out of her seat and onto the floor with him. Her lips captured his in a graceless kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Yes, Heath,” she whispered against his mouth. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He gripped her hair and embraced her in an emotional smooch that promised all sorts of wicked promises. “Do you like your ring?”

  “I like anything you give me.” She hugged him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The dreamlike quality failing to evaporate.

  “You haven’t even looked at it, brat.”

  “I didn’t need to look at it to like—” She gasped when she got a glance at the massive stone. A heart shaped diamond, three-ish carats, surrounded by red stones, and set in an antique platinum setting. “That is way too much for me.”

  “Nothing is too much for you.”

  “Heath, that is what three carats?”

  “Five.”

  She gasped stuttering over the enormously ridiculous size. “It’s one of a kind, just like my girl. I worked with a designer to make it for you.” He pulled the jewelry out of the box and slid it onto her finger. “If you don’t like it, you can take it back.”

  Was he crazy?

  “I love it.” Sam palmed the side of his face with her left hand. “But I have a few rules.”

  Heath grinned, and she bet he was thinking of the night she told him she had a few rules before she’d agree to be his real girlfriend. “Let me hear them.”

  “I get the left side of the bed.”

  “Done.”

  “Even when I’m wrong, I’m right.”

  He chuckled. “Haven’t we already established that?”

  “No stupid endearments.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it!” His simulated shock teased a chuckle from her.

  “You agree to never call me on stage again.”

  “No promises.”

  He could’ve pretended to consider it. “Heath!”

  “Brat, when you’re on that stage prancing around like you own the platform, it’s fucking hot. Makes me hard, eager to get you in bed so we can play.”

  Sweet talker. Using her fingertip she traced his lips. “Watching you on stages makes me wet.”

  He groaned. “That’s all I’ll be thinking about at the next concert.”

  She grinned. “This one’s a deal breaker, Heath.”

  He said nothing, just waited for her to speak.

  “I will always love you more.” His mouth parted with what she knew would be an objection. She tapped her newly decorated ring finger against his lips. “I’m going to prance around on stage for you and endure the bloodsucking paparazzi for you. I love you more. Admit it.”

  “I have a rule.”

  She scowled at him, but he clearly didn’t buy the gravity of her expression or rule. He responded in like manner and elevated his eyebrows.

  “Name it,” she said.

  “If I have to admit you love me more, then you have
to admit that I need you more.”

  Sam busted out laughing.

  The Road to Hell series

  Madison’s Life Lessons (prequel)

  Pandora’s Box (book 1)

  Hell’s Phoenix (book 2)

  Genesis Queen (book 3)

  Stand Alone Erotica

  Fairy Casanova

  Elfin Blood

  Taboo Kisses