Rowan nudges gently at my shoulder. Then not so gently. “It’s time, girl.”
And that’s what has my heart tripping over itself right now. Hadley and Rowan accompanied me to see the show, but the whole plan was that they leave now. That I walk backstage by myself. That I go face to face with Nick on my own and pull out the speech that I have planned.
Somehow I’d been convinced that this was a good idea, that this is something I wanted to do—and I do want to do it—but now that the music has stopped and the lights are switched on, I can hear the thunder of my heart in my ears, louder than the bass drum had been, and I’m starting to lose my nerve. It’s ridiculous that I thought I could go through with this.
“Why don’t you guys come back with me?” I say grabbing onto Hadley’s hand as though it were a life preserver in the storm suddenly swirling inside me.
“Uh,” Rowan says. “No. That was not the plan. You are going back there to meet Mr. Hottie Pants on your own.”
“Just four minutes,” I plead. “You can leave as soon as you want; I just need someone to help me walk in is all.” Right now, the idea of walking past the line of fans that will surely be outside his door is more frightening than any part I ever auditioned for. Coming here was a mistake, I just know it.
“He doesn’t want to see us,” Hadley says patting my hand with her other. “He wants to see you. He wants you, Natalia.”
“Are you sure? Maybe he was just being friendly, giving us the backstage pass and all.” I wrap my fingers tighter around Hadley’s.
“We all know that’s not true,” Rowan says. “He couldn’t pick me out of a lineup if his life depended on it. He’s only got eyes for you. And even if the man hadn’t stalked you, hunted you down to get you here tonight, there’s no way he could look at you now without wanting to fuck your living brains out. Even I want to fuck you in that outfit.”
The girls had helped me pick out what I’m wearing. It’s a mint-colored swingy dress that barely hits the top of my thighs. The cutout gives me as much cleavage as I’ll ever have. I’m only wearing a thong underneath and 4-inch high gold mesh Louis Vuitton shoes with peepholes to finish the look. I feel bare and naked. It’s a different kind of vulnerable than the way I felt at the club, because this time there’s a face to the fears I have. What if it’s too much? What if I’m not enough?
My skin is prickling, and I can’t decide if I want to be covered up, or if I’m dying to be completely undressed.
“You do look really hot. Sexy.” Hadley gives me one more appraising look and squeezes my hand before letting it go. Then she hugs me quickly. “We’re off. Have fun.”
I practically shriek. “Don’t leave me!”
But she and Rowan are already halfway up the aisle, and my two choices now are to follow them up the row and listen to their scolding for the rest of my life or head over to the security guard at the front and show him my badge.
The security guard is already looking at me, waiting. My badge is dangling from my neck, so he can tell I’m supposed to be backstage.
I want to run. But I’m not a coward. Just a scaredy-cat. For all the confidence I have on camera, real life sure can be daunting. But I did promise the girls that if I had the chance, I would take Nick up on whatever he had to offer.
So this is me, coming to find out what he has to offer.
I hope it’s nothing crazy.
I pray it’s something crazy.
The security guard does let me in, opening the door before I even reach him. I walk back along the cold, narrow concrete hallway, and my footsteps sound loud and clambering as they echo off the walls. At the end of the hall, there is a line waiting, just as I suspected. Mostly, it’s young teenyboppers wearing Nick Ryder fan shirts and holding CDs and concert programs waiting for autographs. A gentleman a few years older than me greets me immediately.
“Miss Lowen?” he asks courteously. “I’m Kirby. Let me show you into the next room.”
I follow him past the crowd of groupies, and the walk feels somehow like a walk of shame before I’ve even taken my clothes off. Everyone’s eyes are on me, and I can hear whispers as I pass. My name is the muttered refrain. Someone calls out to me, but I don’t look over. I keep my head held high and my gaze forward as I follow Kirby. When at last we reach the end of the crowd, he leads me into another, empty, hallway. At the end of the hallway is a closed door. Nick’s name is written in black sharpie on a white piece of paper and taped to it.
Kirby stops to knock twice. Waits for the gravelly response, “Come in.” There’s no turning back now.
He opens the door and gestures for me to enter.
I walk inside, the door clicks behind me, and my fate is sealed. There’s no one but us in this dressing room. Nick Ryder standing in front of me, his arm braced on the doorway of the bathroom as though he just stepped out to answer the door. He wore a T-shirt and jeans throughout the concert, what I’m coming to know as his standard uniform, though it’s unbearably sexy how they cling to his form every time. Now he’s only in his jeans, riding low on his hips, the band of his boxers showing above the waistband.
Holy shit, is he ripped.
I knew it—I’d felt his torso under my fingers that first night at the club, but to see it bare now in its full tattooed glory, the way his abs ripple with each inhalation, the V that pokes out above the band of his boxers. It’s enough to rob me of my breath and my speech. Especially with that cocky grin on his face, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.
I’m afraid of getting even more tongue-tied, of blurting out something idiotic in answer to any question he may ask, so I don’t let him speak. Instead, I tumble directly into what I want to say instead, using my nervousness to propel me the same way I do before a big audition.
“Look,” I say taking a step forward. “I’m here. I came, and it was awesome. Really great show. Fabulous show. And now I’m back here. With you. And there’s a line of fans who have probably already reported to the celebrity blogs that they’ve seen me here. Everyone’s going to be making assumptions already, and so let’s just put it right out there. That’s what I’m here for. I’m here for the sex.”
My face is red, I can feel it, with both excitement and humiliation at how forward I’m being.
But I’m on a roll and I take another step forward. “So that’s what this has to be. Just sex. But like—dirty, filthy, really hot sex. Because I think that’s what . . . we want. So let’s stop dancing around it, and just get right to the point. Or, to the sex. What do you say?”
His grin widens slightly. I can’t tell if it’s because he thinks what I said is a good idea or if he’s laughing at me—both are possible. He drops his arm from the doorframe and takes a casual step toward me. My body responds, heart pounding impossibly even faster.
“I was just getting ready to jump in the shower,” he says, rubbing his hand over his freshly buzzed head. My heart sinks even as my fingers long to roam where his are, to feel the shorn hair.
The feeling of rejection starts to flood me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can talk to you later. Just forget it.”
I start to turn, to flee, but he takes another step forward and reaches out to grab my wrist, stopping me. I turn back to meet his eyes. They rake over my body, sending goosebumps down my arms. His pupils are huge with his own desire.
“Want to join me?” His voice is deep and full of promise.
A wave of euphoria pours over me. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”
He tugs me close, until my body is flush with his, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he sets his hand on my hip and walks us backward into the bathroom. He reaches inside the shower and turns the water on, then turns his attention back to me.
The tension between us is as thick as the steam billowing from the shower. I can’t stand the waiting. How my heart feels pounding against my rib cage, shouting to break free. How close he is as my fingers dance lightly across his torso, too afraid to really touch.
I feel like I’m on
the edge of a cliff as I tilt my mouth up toward his.
And then Nick twists one hand around my loose hair, fisting it tight until my spine tingles from the sharp pain, the pleasure. In the same instant, his mouth crashes over mine, and I’m over the edge and flying.
There’s nothing tentative or cautious in this kiss. The time for that was over from the moment that door closed behind me. He’s all tongue and lips and teeth as he nips against the edges of my mouth, devouring me in just the way that I long to be devoured. My fingernails scratch up along his inked pecs until I’m gripping his shoulders, holding on for dear life, as his hands move to unfasten the button at the top of the back of my dress.
He tears himself away from me long enough to pull my dress over my head, leaving me standing in my thong and high heels. Immediately our mouths meet again and I press my breasts against his chest, trying to ease the tight ache in the peaks of my nipples by rubbing them against his skin.
He growls in the back of his throat. I can feel his erection pressing into my abdomen just below my belly button. The knowledge that it’s mine, that I make him feel the same way he feels about me, is heady.
“I’m sweaty,” he says against my mouth, and I think it’s supposed to be an apology, but I’m not bothered at all by the slick sheen on his skin. The product of a show well performed.
“I like it.”
He grips my ass to pull me closer, tilting my pelvis to grind against his trapped cock. “You’re so delicious,” he says, his lips leaving mine to trail a series of kisses down my neck and collarbone. I lift my head to give him better access, but suddenly he’s twirling me around and facing me toward the cabinet. From behind, his hands snake around my chest to palm both my breasts. His thumbs slick across my nipples, sending sharp shocks down to my pussy.
Then his hands slide lower, tracing my frame until he gets to my hips.
“Put your hands on the counter,” he orders, pulling my hips backward until I’m bent over. He kicks my legs farther apart and bends down behind me.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he groans, and before I know what’s happening his mouth is on me, licking wet heat through the thin fabric at my crotch.
I jump, but quickly relax into it. My head sinks down onto the counter as I brace myself. I’ve never had a man do this before. Go down on me from behind—It’s so wickedly naughty. So crude and insanely erotic. It only takes a few swipes of his tongue before I feel an orgasm building inside me fast and strong. I didn’t know this was possible, to get so much from so little.
He places his palms on the cheeks of my ass, spreading me apart further, and I have never felt so exposed. His tongue finds its way around the material of my underwear, and now it’s directly against my skin. Darting between my folds, sliding along my seam to find my clit. He licks and sucks there with an expertise I have never had in a lover.
In just five minutes, he’s changed everything.
“Oh God. Oh God.” My climax is nearing eruption when he slides his tongue down to my wet and waiting entrance. The first time it swipes inside of me, light flashes behind my closed eyes. I open them wide and prop myself up on my elbows. Pure curiosity drives me to watch myself in the mirror as I come. By the time he’s taking me more fiercely, his finger on my clit and his tongue pressing in and out at lightning speed, I’m shaking and wobbling on my heels, swept away with the magnitude of my orgasm, and still turned on by the sight of myself.
He continues to lick me until I find my breath again, then bites along my ass cheek before standing up. His hands reach around to fondle my breasts again as he nuzzles into my neck. “Get naked. I want you in the shower. This time when you come, I want to watch your face.”
I don’t know how I manage to stay upright, still reeling from my orgasm in the euphoria that accompanied it. But in record time my thong and shoes are off, and he’s naked too, pulling me into the tight space of the dressing room shower. The water is hot, and there’s not much room, but I think our bodies would still be pressed together like this even if the shower were twice this size. I want to look at him, to take in every taut muscle and defined shape of his body, particularly the stiff-as-a-rock one protruding from between his thighs, but there’s no room to stand back and study him the way I want.
So instead, I study him with my hands. Pouring a dollop of body wash into one palm, I rub mine together and then slowly work the lather all over him. Over his shoulders, down his arms, around his waist and down to his firm, tight ass.
Then I find his cock.
I wrap my fingers around him tightly and glide up his length. He’s granite and silk all at once. Imagining his cock inside me as I wind my hand up and down makes my insides quiver and long for him to be buried there now.
He explores my body in much the same way, touching me everywhere—my neck, my breasts, my ass, all the while kissing me with rich, luxurious strokes of his tongue.
Eventually, his hand slips between us to the slick ball of fire between my legs.
“Make me come,” he says, the pad of his finger flicking over my buzzing clit. “And I’ll let you come again too.”
He puts one hand around the back of my neck, as if bracing me to keep me close, but pulls away so he can watch as my hand moves faster up and down his shaft. I work him, hard and quick, eager for him to explode. All the while, he keeps teasing my clit, and I have to concentrate hard to remain focused on my goal of getting him off first. My legs start to shake, and I whimper, but he’s getting close. I feel him tightening, his abs and thighs growing hard like steel. I quicken my stroke, tugging mercilessly on his cock, my eyes flicking back and forth from his face to his crown, desperate to watch him when he finally erupts.
He comes suddenly, all over my stomach, in thick white ribbons. It’s so hot and dirty that it only takes a few more aggressive swipes of his finger before I’m coming again. My fingers dig into his shoulder, holding myself up as my entire body is racked with wave after wave. I can feel it everywhere. It’s like I’ve been bulldozed. Slammed with this perfect, gorgeous feeling of pleasure that radiates from my core to my curled toes.
He kisses me again, leisurely this time, then it’s his turn to turn the bottle of body wash upside down and spread it generously over my body.
I’ll smell like him now. All man and musk and manly body wash. He’s claiming me. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
A few minutes later he turns off the water and steps out before me. He wraps a towel around his waist, then turns back to engulf me in a second one.
I can feel that I’m grinning like a maniac, and his relaxed smile says he’s feeling pretty good too.
“That was pretty hot,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say, and because it really was.
“Was it dirty enough?” he asks, teasing me. “Because I can do better.”
“It was pretty dirty,” I admit. Probably the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done. Feeling each other up in the shower like teenagers, letting a man I’ve never even been on a date with put his tongue and his cum all over my body? Yes, totally dirty.
“I hope you give me a chance to be dirtier,” he says, giving me a wink. I don’t know if he means tonight or if he’s hinting at another rendezvous. I really hadn’t thought about whether this would be a one-time thing or not, and the idea suddenly makes me nervous. It’s one thing to have a night with Nick Ryder—a sex night—but seeing him again turns this into a fling. Gives us more opportunity to be caught.
I can’t have the press hounding me about dating him. About being a cougar. I can only imagine the field day they’d have.
All my concerns from earlier rush back. I can’t regret what just happened, but I’m not ready for people to talk about it.
The turning thought sparks a realization. “Oh no,” I say. I stare over his shoulder at myself in the mirror. My face was never in the stream of water, so my makeup has survived—somewhat—but parts of my hair are soaked. “Everyone’s going to be able to tell I was in the showe
r when I walk out of here.” All those fans will know exactly what I’ve been doing in here.
Nick shrugs. “You said yourself they’re already talking. Give them something to talk about.”
He brushes past me into the dressing room where he finds a pair of jeans and puts them on, sans underwear. My face flushes at the sight of the trail of hair leading from his belly button down to disappear beneath the sexy V showing prominently.
But I can’t think about him wearing pants without underwear, can’t think about his cock right now. I need to get dressed and figure out how to get past the waiting fans without dying of embarrassment.
I pull on my dress and reach back to do the little button. My hair gets in the way, so I pull it up and tie it, hoping against hope that no one will notice its disheveled state if it’s in a bun. I pick up my thong, but then he’s there beside me, taking it from my hands.
“You won’t let me keep a memento?”
I smile shyly. “You can have them if you want them.” I wonder if he can tell how thrilling I think it is that he’ll have them forever. And if he’s already thinking about mementos, he must be on the same page as I am—a one-night affair, and that’s all.
I turn to lean against the bathroom counter as I slip on my shoes.
“Hey, I usually go to dinner after,” he says, before pulling a T-shirt over his head.
“After sex?”
He laughs. “After a show.”
Disappointment sinks inside me. This is the brushoff. He had his moment with me and now he’s done. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. Let me just freshen my lips.”
He walks over to me, puts a steady hand on my hip. “Quit thinking I’m trying to get rid of you, okay? I’m not the one that runs. I’m asking you to come with me. There will be a few people from the band. My manager. Kirby. It won’t be anything big.”
I’m reading his subtext. It won’t be a date, which is one thing I was worried about. “And then after . . . ?”
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