by Casey Hagen
“A large mystic with pepperoni, bacon, and sausage, please? Also, can we get three shirts. Ladies small, ladies medium, and a men’s large?” Aiden asked.
“Sure can,” she said, scrawling the order on a pad and yelling back to the kitchen before grabbing their shirts.
“I don’t really need two,” she said with a laugh.
“Yeah, you do. I want you to be comfortable, but I’m also looking forward to the smaller one stretched across your breasts, braless if you really want to torture me. Afterall, I think I’ve earned the torment,” he said low and deep in her ear.
“I think that can be arranged,” she murmured.
He paid for their pizza and shirts, and they grabbed the first bench seat closest to the kitchen where the decadent scent of sauce and sizzling meat, cheese, and vegetables reached their noses.
They talked about their favorite foods, eateries, and best childhood vacations to pass the time. Lost in conversation, she jumped when the waitress reached in with the metal pan filled with steaming hot pizza.
“Oh my God, I think I could eat this on my own,” she said, not caring how it made her look.
“Well, you’re not so don’t touch my four pieces,” he said, serving her a piece.
“Sounds like someone’s hangry,” she said, raising her eyebrow and smirking at him.
“It’s all the kissing. I worked up an appetite. Plus, there’s that sauce. It doesn’t smell different, but it does. I know that doesn’t make sense, but either way, this slice needs to get in my belly.”
She slid her foot out of her boot and glided it up the inside of his jean-clad thigh. “Then eat up because I fully plan to take advantage of you later.”
Chapter 13
“FROM THE MANDARIN ORIENTAL to the Anchor Light,” he said with a laugh. He pulled out the tube TV and hooked up the wires for the DVD player, grateful that all the colored plugs matched up with the holes on the back.
“What’s wrong with the Anchor Light?” she said from where she knelt in the middle of their queen-sized bed with a floral comforter circa nineteen eighty something or other. Her straight, white teeth bit into the plastic at the corner of the DVD before she tore the packaging open.
“Nothing. I mean, there’re no bedbugs, so that’s good.” He snorted as he choked back a laugh and slid the TV back into place.
It may not be much on the eye, but they also made sure to clean behind the furniture from the looks of the vacuum marks he’d spotted while hooking up the wires.
Taking the offered disc, he slid it in the DVD player and joined her on the bed.
The dull glow of headlights cut across their closed curtains as cars traveled out of town. The single-story motel sagged under the weight of who knows how many decades of service, but the fresh blue-and-white combination of paint along the outside fit right in with the charming coastal town.
While décor of the room could have been updated three decades over already, the carpet was new, and the room smelled fresh without a hint of pets, smoke, or even the musty, stale scent that came with disuse.
“Would you have rather stayed somewhere upscale?” she asked with a perfectly arched copper eyebrow.
It was a test. A trap. And he knew it.
He crawled across the bed, and with every advance, she retreated until he trapped her against the particle headboard. “Wherever you are is right where I want to be, even if that means sleeping out in the cold in the back of that Jeep,” he said, hovering over her soft lips. “I just thought after staying in that suite, you might want something decorated sometime in the last decade.”
“I just spent months on the road staying in places so upscale, I needed instructions on how to use the faucets. I’d take this right here with you over that. Every. Single. Time.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
“I think we’re in deep here,” he said, tracing his thumb over her lip.
“At least we’re not lonely,” she said, biting his thumb and flicking the tip with her tongue.
“You don’t have to be lonely ever again,” he said, tracing his finger over her jawline.
She snaked her hands around his back and slid them under his shirt. Goosebumps broke out on his flesh, and his scalp tingled with the sensation of her small, soft hands confidently roaming over his back.
“Neither do you,” she said, pressing her lips to his neck.
Her curls lay in a soft blanket of red under his hand as he cupped the back of her head and tilted to give her better access.
“What’s the speed of love?” he asked as she gently sucked his Adam’s apple, the sensation shooting south.
“A thousand heartbeats, a hundred sighs, a dozen kisses that mark the soul. Have we reached our destination yet?” she asked, searching his gaze, her warm hands cupping his face, holding him captive.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching for the hem of her sweater and working it up over her breasts.
She raised her arms, and he peeled it over the rest of her before tossing it to the floor next to them.
His shirt joined it, and with a flick of his fingers on her spine, so did her lacey bra.
He traced his fingertip over her collarbone and down the valley of her breasts, enjoying the way her uneven breaths rasped from her lips.
He did that to her. Not some rock star or movie star.
Aiden fucking Powell. Overworked chiropractor, exhausted son, and makeshift caregiver.
He left her there, her pink nipples puckered in the air, and reached for his zipper. When he pushed the waistband down, taking his underwear with them, her ravenous gaze went to his rock-hard cock.
“I want that,” she said, reaching for him.
“Ah, ah, we have a movie to watch,” he said, taking her hand before she could touch him.
“Cruel and unusual torture,” she said with a frown, still staring at his package.
He nudged her chin up, raising her face to him and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “But the anticipation will put the experience right over the top. We’re going to watch naked. If our hands wander, well, these things happen.”
“I’m holding you to that,” she said on a sigh before reaching for her button.
“Counting on it.” He rolled onto his back next to her and shed his pants the rest of the way. Spotting the flare of her curvy hips and round ass as she shirked out of her jeans, he had a pinch of regret.
He hadn’t been inside her since that night and now more than ever, with everything out in the open, he wanted to see what kind of sparks they made.
They might just burn the Anchor Light right to the ground.
Peeling back the covers, he patted the mattress next to him as he hit play. She curled up and by the time she settled, a wedding scene unfolded. “Look at her. No way she’s making it through the ceremony, right?” he asked.
“Oh, God, you’re one of those. That’s worse than the mail you leave stacked next to the coffee maker.”
His lips twitched. “The love affair is over already?” he said, glancing down at her.
“Well, maybe not, but you owe me,” she said, glancing up at him under those long lashes.
“I’d be happy to pay up—oh, see, told you,” he said, pointing at the screen.
“Yes, well, I’ve seen this,” she said with a laugh.
“Daisy has a mouth on her, but I bet you the real troublemaker is Kat. Look at that grin,” he said.
“Hmmm, yes,” she murmured.
“You know I’m only being this obnoxious because right now, I want nothing more than to bury my face between your thighs for dessert,” he admitted.
She laughed against his ribs, her breath tickling over his skin doing nothing to lower the flag pole tenting the comforter. “I see,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his cock. She slid up and down in a slow, smooth stroke.
“Natalie,” he growled.
“I’m just distracting you from dessert. Consider it my gift. Now watch the movie,” she said as her hand stilled,
and she squeezed him one last time.
NATALIE THOUGHT SHE had the upper hand by putting her hands on him, but nope—not even close.
He kept his focus on the screen and commented throughout, so he was definitely paying attention to the movie, but the way his breathing would catch and he’d let out the occasional ragged huff told her that her touch kept him on the razor-sharp edge of lust.
It was right about the time that Kat got it on with the Yale guy that he turned the tables, his fingers going to her nipples.
“Ten more minutes and the movie will be over,” she said even as she arched her back. A giggle bubbled up, and she rolled away.
“Come here,” he growled, reaching for her.
“Ten minutes,” she said again, swatting his hand and lying on her stomach, her head by the foot of the bed to deter him.
“Mmm, ten more minutes then,” he said. His hand crawled up the back of her calf, his fingers tickling the back of her knee on his way to her thigh as the food critic on the screen pulled a slice of pizza away from his mouth, the cheese stretching three inches before breaking away.
The last of her willpower fell away, and her eyes drifted shut. The movie faded into the background. The bed shifted under his weight, and his heat surrounded her just seconds before his fingers found the heart of her, sending pulses of arousal coursing thrumming through her veins.
“You’re bad at following directions,” she gasped out.
“Not usually, but when it comes to getting my hands on you, I seem to be willing to push all the boundaries.” His mouth trailed over the back of her thigh, higher and higher, leaving her breathlessly anticipating where he would go next.
He hooked his hands around her hips and jerked her ass into the air.
“Oh,” she said on a whoosh of breath.
With his first lick into her, she gripped the sheet so hard her knuckles ached. Fire spread through her, and she moaned against the mattress.
Need speared her, and she lay there taking in every single sensation, committing it all to memory, wondering how she could possibly put the kind of desire he conjured in her into the words of a three-minute song.
She wanted that. She wanted to give him a song that was just his, a mix of fire and ice.
“Let’s find out if you’re ready for me?” he rasped as he slid his fingers inside her. “Oh, yeah. So warm and wet,” he said as his fingers slid back out of her and found her throbbing clit.
The mattress dipped on either side of her as he straddled her and ran the head of his dick against the cleft of her ass in a slow glide to her damp center.
Holding her hip, he eased into her, stretching, stretching, oh god, stretching even further as he buried himself to the hilt.
A fiery rhythm, maybe from a song, maybe from her heart, it pounded in her head even as his palm lay flat over her spine holding her down while the other pulled her ass into the air even higher.
And he thrust deeper.
“Fuck yes, that’s it.” He pulled almost all the way out and thrust again, a low growl on his lips as he did.
“More,” she whispered when she turned her head.
He thrust harder.
“More,” she said again straining against him.
Her body jerked as he drove into her, the force lifting her off the bed.
“More,” she said on a throaty moan when that jagged pressure built deep inside.
His skin slapped against hers as his control broke, and he pounded into her. The hand at her back slid into her hair, tugging her head up with his rapid-fire thrust.
No one had ever pushed the boundaries of roughness with her and the more she pushed him, the more she found she loved his punishing pace that came with surrendering the grip he had on his control.
The frustration and grief she sensed in him from all the hardships he faced funneled into this act and not only could she take it...she loved every last minute of it.
Their mingled gasps grew louder. The pressure mounted, and she cried out, her orgasm tearing through her like wildfire.
He swelled and pulsed, his hips jerking, as he grunted and growled his release. She begged and pleaded, her voice ragged as the waves sucked her under, but he stayed right there with her. Anchoring her to the moment.
His hands massaged her ass as the ripples of pleasure faded into satiated relief.
“I hope those walls aren’t paper thin,” he said breathlessly as he slid out of her.
She couldn’t even muster up the energy to care. “At least it’s the off-season. Maybe there’s no one in the rooms on either side of us.”
“Come here,” he said, helping her up and situating her under the covers with him.
She burrowed against his chest as the edges of sleep crept in. “Tired,” she muttered.
“Sleep,” he whispered against her temple. He aimed the remote at the TV and the little bit of light in the room winked out.
Chapter 14
AIDEN WOKE EARLY AND slid out of bed, leaving Natalie to sleep. He hadn’t had a chance to sift through the pictures he shot and curiosity finally got the better of him. Taking a seat at the small Formica table tucked into the corner, he winced at the clicking sound coming from his camera as he turned it on.
Not that he had anything to hide, she could look at the pictures, but he had a thing about seeing all the shots before he shared them with anyone else. Especially when it had been so long since he had used the camera regularly.
He scrolled through in the opposite direction, wanting to save the one at the church for last. If he managed to capture it just right, it would be something special, but if he hadn’t, the true wonder of everything going on inside her would forever be in his memory alone.
He wanted her to be able to see what he saw that day, but it had to be perfect. She was the conduit to emotions, but she missed so much not being able to be a spectator to the show.
He figured he had a hundred or so shots to sift through and half of them wouldn’t even pass inspection in the viewfinder of his camera itself.
One picture at a time he saved and discarded based on his critical eye and a two-inch screen. More than half of the pictures were of the roadside sights, but the others were all Natalie.
He came across the picture he took of her, lobster roll in one hand, root beer tipped to her lips in the other while she executed the perfect saucy wink.
He smiled. He’d frame that.
His next favorite, a glimpse of her hands resting on top of her head where she held the mass of her curls as the cold air swept in off the water from the overlook they’d chosen for rest.
She looked like a landlocked sea goddess staring out at the mystery and power of the ocean she longed to return to.
He’d frame that, too.
Finally, he arrived at the picture he’d been waiting to see, and he held his breath as he examined it. He zoomed in and panned over from top to bottom to look for imperfections, but found none. He’d have to bring it up on his computer to know for sure, but it looked like he’d nailed it.
She talks to angels.
In that moment, in that image, she wasn’t just a picture. She’d become art.
He shut off the camera and reached for his cell and fired off a text to his gallery buddy, Oliver, to see if he could do him a huge favor. The guy wouldn’t see it until midday, but he didn’t need an answer right away. They had time.
This was the woman who wrote stories into songs for her fans, but only after a team of musicians scoured through and took her heart out of them.
And when she did that, she hid this woman even deeper inside. So deep that when he met her that night in the Mandarin after months of touring, self-doubt crept into her eyes as she’d become more exposed.
She didn’t have to hide her heart to keep her privacy. If she could go through the transformation to become Nikki Lane, why not talk to her team about changes she could make that would allow her to be comfortable in her skin, but still protect her from being easily recogni
zable in everyday life?
What was the point of any of it, the anonymity, if you couldn’t share your raw talent with the world?
And what right did he have to interfere in any of this?
He scrubbed his hand over his face and glanced over at her relaxed, soft body stretched out over the mattress.
Because he loved her and didn’t want her to feel like she needed to hide any part of herself to stay safe, but at the same time, how the hell was he going to protect her?
He sent a follow-up text letting Oliver know there was no pressure. If he could make something happen by the coming weekend, Aiden would take it as a sign.
“Are you okay?” she asked sleepily, lifting her head and pushing up on her forearms, offering him a glimpse of her pale breasts in the predawn light.
Speaking of signs.
“Never better,” he said, crossing to her to take her sleepy mouth in a slow kiss. “You should go back to sleep.”
“I have a better idea,” she said, reaching for him. Her warm lips cruised over his stomach with lazy swirls of her tongue along the ridge of his ab muscles, waking up his cock.
“Mmm, I like the way you think,” he said, letting her take him wherever she wanted to go, something he’d been doing since the moment they met.
And it had been the single best decision he’d ever made.
A COUPLE HOURS LATER, they’d packed and checked out. He drove this time and after a quick breakfast, rock, paper, scissors sent them toward Rhode Island, and they spent most of the day crisscrossing the waters in and around the patches of land between the miniscule state and Massachusetts.
She brought up his brother and without even saying a word, she sensed that something about their relationship was strained and asked about it. He spilled about his mother and took most of the blame as usual.
“Your brother is a big boy and can be responsible for his own decisions,” she said. “Who’s older?”
“Me, by seven minutes,” he said.
“You seem to hang an awful lot of responsibility on seven minutes. Why don’t you give yourself a break?”
