by Susan Ward
Scratch that, Avery. I’m practically crazy-girl infatuated with E. That’s why I’m halfway to freaking out over skipping out on him, when there’s a very reasonable explanation, and that’s why my thoughts and emotions are doing the rumba.
The combination of wanting someone—forever—being worried I’ve screwed it up, and the delay finding out how badly makes it understandable I’m a mess.
“Shit! You lied to me. This isn’t a fucking party.”
My scalp prickles and I stare at my door. It’s Ethan. And footsteps in the hall—or is it the room next door? I’m not sure.
“This is all the party you get tonight, Ethan.”
I scramble from the bed and inch open my door a hair to see Ethan’s body pinned against the far wall by a powerful arm.
Shit, he’s not alone.
I ease back and cautiously peek through the crack.
My eyes go wide.
Is Ethan drunk?
What I’m seeing and what I know about Ethan doesn’t compute in my head. He doesn’t get wasted. At least, I’ve never seen it before. Not in six years working or traveling with him. A little booze now and then, but he hates drunks and wasted people.
“I’m going to kick your ass in the morning, Dillon.”
Soft laughter. “If you remember anything that happened tonight, I’m thinking you’re going to thank me instead.”
Ethan’s head wobbles against the plaster. “I put on a fucking great show. Why the hell aren’t we out partying? You used to be fun. You’re getting old, dude. My mom stays out later than this when she has a gig.”
“Trust me, it’s late enough and you’ve had enough fun,” Dillon says, struggling to reach across the hall to open Ethan’s bedroom door without letting go of E. “You’re already going to feel like shit in the morning.”
The door is slammed shut, kicked closed by the sounds of it, and I jump back. My eyes move along the wall separating our bedrooms as the muffled voices keep changing location. What are they doing? They’re moving around in there. I hear something hit the floor, then another thud, and the squeaky hinge again.
“Hey, E.” Dillon’s voice. “Can you take it from here?”
“Yeah, I’m great,” he slurs. “You’re the limp dick asshole that had to come home early tonight. I could have stayed out until morning.”
Footsteps fading away.
My head whips toward the hallway.
Dillon’s leaving.
A few seconds later, the house is bathed in silence.
Crap. I don’t know what to do. I really want to see Ethan. Talk to him. But he sounds very drunk.
My stomach turns at the thought of waiting until morning to clear up why I stood him up for the second half of our date. That he hasn’t texted me since nine thirty is clear indication he’s pissed and thinks it was deliberate. But waiting until daylight means the entire household is going to be awake. I don’t know the Manzones well, but I can tell by how they interact with each other that the family will make it a nightmare to talk to him privately.
It’s now or later.
Talk tonight or in the morning?
Drunk Ethan, not a good choice.
Trying to work this out surrounded by his parents and sisters—worse choice.
Decision made.
As I cross the room I catch a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror and my slightly mussed state makes my smile turn to a grimace. Crud, I looked cute when I left Emmy’s with Eric. Long wavy hair, loose and flirty around my shoulders, painstakingly curled by my sister. Makeup done to accentuate my eyes and lips. Tight black sleeveless mini-dress, and Emmy’s fuck-me shoes. Even my toenails got done tonight, but now I look like an unmade bed.
Fudge. The one night I spend time on my appearance, it gets demolished by a series of unlikely events before Ethan can see it.
I don’t know why I ever bother trying. Grabbing a tissue, I carefully remove the smudges of my eye makeup. Then I use my fingers to fluff up my hair. I study my success and make a face.
Stop stalling.
Go talk to him.
You’ve waited all night for this.
Flutters fill my stomach.
Wrong.
I’ve waited for something else for a very long time, but I don’t think that’s happening. Not if Dillon had to help Ethan to bed.
I slip into the hall and softly knock on his door.
“Go away, Dillon. I’m fine.”
How Ethan says that isn’t encouragement to continue this, but I swallow the nerves in my throat. “No, it’s Avery. Can I come in?”
Languid, husky laughter. “Only if you’re naked like me.”
Yep, he’s drunk. No doubt about that. My fingers close around the knob. I take a deep breath and quickly step in, leaning back against the door when I close it behind me.
Oh my.
He is naked.
My startled gaze flares wide.
The lights are on and Ethan’s sprawled on his stomach atop the covers on his bed. He’s so goddamn hot, even drunk and staring at me with blurry blue eyes as if he’s unsure that I’m here and an adorable confused expression on his face.
He blinks, and his gaze sweeps down my legs and back again to my face. “Oh fuck. It is Avery,” he says, sounding surprised and as if he’s working hard to concentrate. “Remind me in the morning to apologize to Dillon for hauling my ass home early.”
The implied compliment in that—that he’s pleased I’m here—sends my heart racing in my chest. “So long as you let me apologize to you first.”
He turns slowly on his hip, and studies me with his cheek in his palm propped on an elbow. He shakes his head. “No apologies. Not from the door. You come here.”
He pats the space on the bed beside him, and his uncharacteristic cockiness is so fucking sexy. Almost as sexy as how he’s watching me. I beat back a smile. Maybe E should consider drinking more often. He’s not usually this bold or direct, but I could get used to this.
“Nothing’s going to happen tonight,” I warn him, my voice pert and flirty.
He makes an adorable pout. “No? Kinda looks like you dressed so something might happen tonight.” My cheeks heat as his eyes do another leisurely float over me. “Fuck, you look amazing. Why the hell don’t you ever show your legs? They go forever. The kind a guy wants wrapped around him.”
My senses scatter and I have to remind myself that he’s probably not in control of what he’s saying and doing. I need to speak my piece and get out of here, because if I stay too long with how he’s looking at me—and how he looks on that bed—my good intentions won’t matter.
I’m hot from my head to the tips of my shiny polished toenails, and even before finding him in the buff I was beyond ready to fuck him. “I’m sorry I ruined tonight. Not being at the Bowl. I wanted to pick up where we left off after dinner in the worst way. I’d have been there if I could.”
“I don’t care about earlier. Forgotten. Shit happens. It’s all good now that you’re here.”
I caution myself not to take that at face value. “How drunk are you?”
“One drink in the car. Maybe two at the Bowl. That’s it. I think that’s it. I’m just tired. But I don’t think too tired if you’ve got something other than talking in mind.” His gaze turns heated. “Why don’t we find out?”
He grins, teasing, and it’s infectious. A smile answers, though I try to stop it, and the horny girl in me is saying all kinds of things I shouldn’t listen to. Like he’s clearly not mad at me and I was worrying in my head for nothing. And he might just be goofy from being on stage. That’s why he seems more drunk than he is. Three drinks is practically nothing.
“We’ve known each other for six years,” he murmurs, amused, as if he can see the indecisiveness on my face. “Do you think one fucked-up night makes any difference? Because it doesn’t to me if you want to finish what we started today.”
My muscles clench in my panties and I can’t resist letting my eyes drink in the full m
onty again. “Ethan, don’t look at me that way…” My voice trails off into a groan.
He puts his index finger to his lips and his eyes glow. “If you’d stop talking and get in this bed I wouldn’t have to. We’d be fucking already.”
And before I’ve decided how far I’m going to let us go tonight, I’m walking across the room. Because it’s what I want. It’s what would have already happened if none of the other junk had gotten in the way, and if the way my pulse races is any indication, this night is going to be one for the record books.
I perch on my knees close to him on the bed and a part of me wants to take this slowly, to savor every touch and feel I’ve only imagined, but I can tell that’s not going to happen. Not from either of us.
Any doubt he’s not one hundred percent up to the task dies in the half second it takes him to get my dress unzipped and off me, freeing my bare breasts.
He runs a finger, feather light, across the ridge of the tops. “Oh fuck. I can’t believe I haven’t gotten to see them before. Those beauties are even more kissable than I’ve imagined.”
His mouth closes over a nipple, making my back bow as he pulls me to him. The way he sucks and nips feels spectacular, and my hands shoot into his hair, grasping hard as he licks, squeezes, kisses, and kneads every inch of them.
“God, why did we waste so much time imagining this?” I moan and the assault on my body makes me melt as he moves me beneath him on the bed.
His tongue circles one rosy tip before he lifts his head, grinning. “I thought you didn’t think of me.”
I arch up, rubbing my lace-covered slit against his erection. “I said not a lot.”
His mouth wanders upward on my neck and his callused fingers go to work on my breasts. I’m all but soaked through my panties. His hips do a roll, teasing me, before he slips a hand in to finger me there. “By how fast you got wet, I think quite a lot.” He lowers his face, takes a nipple in his mouth, and sucks hard, at the same time plunging in his finger. “You get me so fucking hard, Avery.”
His mouth glides downward as his long limbs go toward the foot of the bed. His tongue swirls in my navel then his lips travel the line of my hips, and everything inside tightens around his stroking finger effortlessly find the spot where I ache.
Jesus Christ, Ethan is hot in bed. I’ve fucked drunk guys before, but I’ve never fucked a guy who’s felt like this. Rough and gentle. Wild and torturously slow. Nasty thoughts breathed earnestly, and so damn sensual with every touch and kiss.
It’s crazy how hungry he’s gotten me so quickly. The rightness of how it feels to be in his hands, his mouth on my flesh and his fingers in me.
His mouth closes over my mound, pushing heat through my panties, and a ragged moan gushes out of me. I want him so much and it doesn’t feel like anything can sate this desire. Not even fucking him, because that won’t be nearly enough to quench this heat.
Then he removes my panties and his mouth is there and my mind goes blank to everything but his tongue teasing my bud, drinking my wetness, plunging in. Over and over again until I’m nearly crawling from my skin.
My hips start grinding against his face as my fingers clutch his hair. He eases back, blows into me, then attacks again.
When he dives deep with his tongue, I let go, crashing over the edge. “Oh God, yes. More. Right there. Don’t stop.” My breathing goes into overdrive.
As the ripples slow, his tongue pressing full slit, I open my eyes to see him watching me.
“I love watching your face when you come and how noisy you are. I love that you want me to fuck you.”
“Fuck me now. I need you inside me.”
He’s laughing as he crawls and kisses his way up my body. His mouth takes mine as he rubs the head of his dick against my throbbing pussy and grabs my ass.
Then the motion of his body stills and he clutches my face, staring down at me with passion-glazed eyes. “I’m fucking in love with you, Avery. Did you think blowing me off for my brother would make me not want this?”
Oh Ethan. I cup his cheek with my fingers. “I didn’t—” My words are lost as his mouth crashes into mine and he plunges into me.
There’s a moment’s panic as my foggy senses realize he’s in me bareback, but the hard thrusts are glorious…and it’s not like he’s a guy I don’t know…he’s not a manwhore…and he loves me.
His breathy moans and words push from my head everything but Ethan devouring my flesh.
* * *
A cell dings and I lift my face from Ethan’s chest. We’re a sweaty, tangled mess still atop the covers of his bed, and the light in the room tells me it’s afternoon. The heat rises in my cheeks in contrast to how adorable he looks mussed in sleep.
The lines of his face are so handsome, and those potent blue eyes pop when his lids aren’t hiding them. His shoulder-length golden hair is so soft and I love the way it slips from my fingers. His mouth—what can I say? It’s thoroughly panty-melting either smiling or doing other things. Even now, quietly parted in purring deep sleep.
From devil at night to sweet in the daylight. And holy shit, he’s in love with me. After all this time of not thinking he was even interested in me, the torture of not knowing, he’s finally told me he feels the same way as I have since practically the day we met.
I start to laugh but quickly sink my teeth into my lower lip to keep from waking him. Curling into his side, I run my fingers down that hard muscled chest. His body couldn’t be more perfect. He doesn’t stir as I stroke him on his stomach, but my lower parts come alive with a quickness they shouldn’t. We darn near fucked until dawn. How could I wake up ready to go at it again?
A knock on the door startles me out of his arms.
“Ethan, wake up. Mom’s texting you,” Khloe shouts from the hallway.
I smother a laugh and look at him. Out, completely gone to the world.
Another knock. “Ethan. Answer. Don’t make me come in. Mom and Dad want you. Now. It’s after three. Even Dad doesn’t sleep this late after a gig.”
Oh crap.
“One minute, and I’m coming in, so you better be decent,” she warns.
Fuck, I think she means it.
I scramble from the bed, searching for the clothes Ethan tossed across the room. Rapidly I pull on my panties then jerk my dress over my head. My gaze darts around the room to make certain there’s nothing else…
He’s naked on the bed and his very nice cock is slightly hard and very prominent. If Khloe’s to be believed she’s barging through that door any second.
Tugging the comforter from beneath him, I fold what material I can over his lower half. Interesting parts covered, at least. I drop a kiss on his cheek and pause for one last look. You can thank me later, Ethan.
I’ve slipped out through the patio slider when I hear his bedroom door open. Whew, safely out of sight. It would have been ghastly if Khloe caught me in her brother’s bed my first day here.
Her raised voice trying to wake Ethan floats into my room until I close my patio door. Kaley’s right. That girl has no filter. No way do I want to talk about last night to her.
Part Two
Rules For Groupies:
“There’s no such thing as too wasted for a rock star. If he’s not passed out he can still fuck. Only he won’t remember it in the morning, but you girls won’t ever forget it.”
~ Linda Cray
Written in 1979 on the rooftop patio ladies’ room wall of the West Hollywood Hyatt.
Chapter Twenty
“Ethan”
I swat at whatever is shaking me so hard that everything above my shoulders feels like a bobblehead. Why does that painful, droning voice sound like Khloe’s? How’d she get into my house and why the fuck does it feel like there’s a wrecking ball crashing into my temples?
I try to open my eyes, but it’s not happening. Can’t take even a sliver of light, and I groan, trying to turn away from the noise, the brightness, and whatever that is snapping my body side to side eno
ugh that upchucking isn’t outside of the spectrum of possibilities.
“Ethan. Stop screwing around. I know you’re awake. Mom wants you. Now.”
There’s so much that’s confusing about this it would have failed to compute even if I didn’t feel only barely conscious. Christ, are they both here? My sister and my mom? And exactly where the fuck is here?
I get shoved in the shoulder, hard. My arm that feels like rubber swats, only hitting air.
Deep, husky laughter. “God, you’re a mess. You didn’t used to miss when we were kids. What the heck did you do to yourself last night?”
Last night?
Shit, shit, shit.
I’m not sure what I did last night.
What’s the last thing I remember?
The Bowl.
Dillon waiting with the car.
The Wall Bangers.
Oh fuck.
I cover my mouth as my upper body spasms.
“If you’re going to throw up, don’t you dare do it on me.”
Her voice blasts from too close beside me and this time it rattles around in my head. But the pain confirms I’m not imaging things. Yep, it’s Khloe and what I can tell will only be a ghastly reality if I can fight through the agony to open my eyes. Fuck, my head feels like a twenty-pound bowling ball attached to my neck. The rest of my body only a shade better.
“What are you—” My capacity to speak is momentarily lost on my desperate need to take in air, and once my insides settle a bit I force myself to lift my eyelids. “Did something happen last night? What are you and Mom doing here?”
My sister’s enormous blue eyes flare so wide she looks almost like a caricature A mocking, irritating, soon-to-be anything but funny caricature.
Her head tilts as one black brow goes up. “I’m not here. You’re there.”
Yep, I shouldn’t have expected anything that even winked at understandable. Not from Khloe. Not ever. “I’m there?”
She nods. “Exactly.” Then her lips pucker as she holds back a laugh. “Well, this is unexpected. If I didn’t know better with the sorry sight you make I’d think you were Eric. No wonder Dillon had to carry you into the house last night, undress you, and put you to bed. If after fourteen hours’ sleep you look this awful it’s a good thing Mom didn’t see you last night.”
