Blue Shoes #1: New Adult Rock Star Erotic Romance (Morris Music Book 6)

by JJ Knight

  “I can’t take it getting worse,” I whisper.

  “It’s not been too bad lately,” Dylan says. “You’re stressed. Maybe you’ve been working too hard. I’ll talk to Chet about getting you some time off.”

  At the mention of Dylan talking to my boss, the needles in my head get worse.

  “No,” I croak, my voice still thick from the sedative. “Work is the only thing that keeps me sane.”

  Dylan frowns, his jaw determined. “And life with me is insane?” He sounds hurt.

  I’m still sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Doctors and nurses are going about their business on the other side of the curtain. This isn’t a very secure place to have a private conversation.

  I reach for his hands and pull him close to me. I stare up into his brown eyes and whisper, “Insane or not, I need to be with you.”

  “I need you, too.” He rests his hands on my thighs, and gets a sly smile. “That’s why I’m going to marry you. We’re going to have the most gorgeous kids.”

  “Kids?” This is news to me. I lean back.

  This mention of kids doesn’t hit me quite as hard as that giant SUV of a man who ran into me, but I’m speechless.

  Chapter 7

  “Babies?” I whisper.

  “Sure, eventually,” he says. “Some girls who’ll get your good looks, and some boys, too. Hopefully they get your looks too, not my hideous face.”

  I stare at his handsome face and smile. He’s about as far from hideous as a guy can be. He’s on at least two different magazine covers this month.

  Dylan’s voice gets husky. “We’ll start with just one of course.”

  I lick my lips again. My mouth is dry, and I don’t think it’s from the sedative.

  “Or we could start with a dog,” I say. “A small one.”

  Dylan laughs, which sends a pleasant vibration all through my body. I’d do anything to make him laugh. How can I make him laugh more? For a moment, I imagine him holding our baby in his arms, laughing at her as she grabs his nose.

  This image in my head is so crisp, I have to shake my head to clear it.

  He leans forward and kisses me on my forehead, then my cheek, then along my jaw line. His hand caresses my thigh as his lips work their way to my mouth. All my worries lift away at his comforting touch.

  I almost forget there’s only a green curtain between us and the world. I’m perched on the edge of the bed, and my skirt hikes up, flashing him with my panties. I loop my legs around his body to pull him closer to me.

  He growls and comes in close, grinding against my body, his lips hot on my mouth and then my neck.

  Our bodies fit so perfectly together, as always.

  All my aches and pains disappear. I arch my back as he reaches under my hips and pulls me tight against him. He leans forward, daring me to go further. The curtain is closed all around us. I turn my head and glance at the pillow on the hospital bed.

  Sex, right here? No, I’m being crazy.

  He keeps grinding against me, and now his hands are like fire on my back and sides. I run my hands across his muscular chest. He’s been seeing a personal trainer, and he’s stronger and sexier than ever. I glance over his shoulder at the green curtain. The hospital staff sound busy with other things, but they could come through that curtain any moment.

  Dylan nibbles my earlobe. He moves down and sucks at a pressure point on my neck. My pulse crackles. The rest of the world disappears. It’s only us here.

  I slide my hand down his abdominal muscles and over his jeans. He’s hard for me. Now I’m not even thinking. Just moving.

  I unbutton his jeans. He pulls back from me long enough to grab my panties and yank them off. Grinning, he tucks them in his pocket.

  I lean forward to kiss him as I ease down his zipper. The jeans are tight, but I push the front down along with his underwear. His whole body shudders at my delicate touch. I wrap my fingers around his length. He sighs into my mouth. His whole body is rigid with tension.

  I delicately massage and tease him with one hand. All my aches and pains are gone, replaced by a hunger.

  He kisses me ferociously, devouring me. I glance over his shoulder at the curtain.

  We shouldn’t.

  If the press catches us, it will be the scandal of the month. Maybe of the whole year. But the press isn’t in here. Just hospital staff.

  He stops kissing me and looks down into my eyes. I stare up, into those gorgeous brown eyes. I’d do anything for him.

  He grabs my knees and spreads my legs wide. My skirt rides up to my waist.

  I open my mouth to say we shouldn’t, but he quiets me with his lips.

  And then he’s inside me, the force lifting my body from the thin mattress. I moan softly into his mouth. He drives himself deeper.

  He eases back, like he’s having second thoughts.

  We’re both breathing heavily, the air around us hot and electric.

  He pulls back halfway.

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper.

  “Are you begging?” he growls.

  I’ve never felt this hot inside. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and whimper in desperation.

  He grins at my pleading, and then he grabs hold of my hips. He digs his fingertips in. I almost cry out from the pleasure of his touch.

  He eases back, teases his way out, then pushes in all at once.

  He pumps his hips, lifting my body with his, filling me.

  My senses are so heightened, I immediately start to climax.

  My feet curl and my legs tighten around his waist. The pleasure is too intense. I’m panting, and I can barely stay quiet.

  He feels me clutching inside, and soon he’s lost as well. He thrusts into me, his arms tense and holding me tight. He moves his mouth over to my ear and moans, just loud enough for me to hear him.

  I feel him pulse with pleasure inside me. Just as he’s finishing, I catch a second wind and flex my legs around him, giving him a playful bounce. I could keep going and going.

  He groans again and lifts me right off the bed. Now I’m completely supported by only his body.

  I have to quickly bite his shoulder to keep from squealing.

  He holds me like this for a moment, and we’re motionless.

  Then slowly, quietly, he gently pulls out and sets me on my feet.

  On the other side of the curtain, nurses and doctors give their orders, completely unaware.

  Chapter 8

  It’s dark when we drive home from the hospital.

  I haven’t eaten anything since the orange juice, hours ago, so we go to a McDonald’s Drive Thru. I can’t stop laughing at how funny it is to order McNuggets from a Maserati GranTurismo.

  It does make me feel better, though.

  We munch on fries as we drive to the house.

  “Hey, Dylan.” I hold up my container of fries and make a cheesy grin. “How’s this for a US Weekly feature? Stars — They’re Just Like Us! They eat fries!”

  He chuckles. “Why do people want to see that stuff?”

  “Stars stuffing their faces?” I take another sip of my shake and look out the window at the passing lights. “I don’t know. I guess they’re curious.”

  “You’re too nice, Jess. You always think the best of people.”

  “You don’t think your fans are curious?”

  We’re stopped at a red light. He revs the engine. The light turns green and he punches the gas. The tires squeal as we leave the traffic behind.

  “They love and hate celebrities,” he says. “They love us, but they also want to tear us down.”

  “Why?”

  “Humans are destructive, because we crave novelty. You have to tear the old ones down to make room for new celebrities.”

  “Hmm.” I fish out the last loose fries from the bag. I eat the fries and lick the salt off my fingertips.

  Dylan doesn’t expand on people tearing down celebrities, and I don’t want to ask. Sometimes these late-night conversations get d
ark, and they just go nowhere.

  I can tell he’s worried about something. I wish I could pop open his head and look inside, but I have to trust him that he’ll eventually tell me.

  At the house, Dylan gets worried about me falling on the walkway steps.

  I tell him he’s begin silly, but he scoops me up in his arms.

  He carries me to the house, like I’m something precious he needs to protect. I relax and let him carry me. It’s nice to be in his arms, anyway. We both have busy schedules, so I appreciate when he takes the time to be romantic.

  We walk through our beautiful house, past our wall of favorite photos. There’s a picture of me and Riley as kids, hung next to one of Dylan as a little boy. He and Riley both have the same rebellious look in their eyes.

  He carries me down the hallway, stepping sideways so my feet don’t hit the walls.

  Inside our bedroom, he lays me on the bed and whispers, “Wait here.”

  I stare at the ceiling. It’s been such a crazy day. I want to tell him about the visit from Nick Clark at the office, but talking seems like too much effort.

  I close my eyes. I’m not sleepy at all. The memory of being swarmed by paparazzi rushes back to me. My hands close into fists. I haven’t been this angry in a long time. I think about my beautiful dress—that I barely owned for five minutes.

  I’m still fuming a few minutes later, when Dylan comes back into the room. I open my eyes and look up at him. He stares into me, and I can see the love in his eyes.

  The day washes away. We’re here together, and the other stuff doesn’t matter.

  I’m still on my back, where he left me.

  He pulls his shirt off, stretching his arms up to show off his muscular body. My eyes widen in response. He grins when he catches me staring.

  I can hear the water in the bathroom running.

  “Are you ready for a bath?” he asks.

  “No. I still have my clothes on.”

  He smiles and shakes his head. Sometimes we play silly games, but I’m not yet sure what this one is about.

  “Do you want me to undress you?” he asks.

  “You don’t have to. I’ll just get in the tub like this.”

  I start to sit up, but he pushes me back, shaking his head again.

  He starts by pulling off my shoes. Next is my skirt. He wiggles the fabric and turns it around so he can unfasten it. He slowly slides my skirt down my hips and off.

  I like this game.

  He unbuttons my blouse and lays the material on either side of me, like he’s unwrapping a gift.

  We were just together at the hospital, an hour ago, but his tenderness fires me up instantly.

  His fingers trace along the line of my ribs until they get to the front clasp of my bra. With a flick, it’s undone and the two sides spring open, freeing my breasts. His eyes light up with longing. I look down at his jeans and see the affect my body is having on him.

  He smiles hungrily, looking like a wolf. He bends over me and places light kisses from my breasts to my underwear. I wriggle as he pulls my panties off.

  He lifts me up from the bed. My blouse and bra fall away, and I’m naked in his arms, except for the bandage on my elbow. My arm was aching, but it feels better now.

  He carries me to the master bathroom. Candles burn in every corner and the tub is filled with bubbly water. The perfume of fresh roses fills the air.

  He slides me carefully into the large tub. The hot water feels good on my body. He sets a folded towel along the side, for me to rest my bandaged elbow on. Even in the soft candle light, I can see dark bruises on my legs, from falling.

  Dylan kneels next to the tub. He picks up a sponge and rubs my neck.

  With all of his muscles gleaming in the candle light, he reminds me of a warrior. He looks like a fighter, but moves like something else. A poet. That makes sense, because the lyrics he writes are poems.

  He’s my warrior poet.

  He has a light touch. The roughness of the sponge arouses my skin. He moves it down to my breasts, making my nipples stand to attention. He notices and smiles at my reaction. He leans down and sucks on one nipple, his chin dipping into the water. I lean back against the tub, my back arching instinctively.

  Dylan keeps teasing me with his tongue. He moves the sponge across my lower stomach, then down my leg to my knee. He sweeps back up again, along my inner thighs, under the warm water. The sponge touches between my legs, and I giggle at the sensation.

  His eyebrows lift, and he gazes at me with interest. There’s insatiable hunger in his dark brown eyes.

  “Ticklish?” he asks.

  Instead of answering, I lick my lips and stare at his mouth. He lifts his chin in response, but doesn’t kiss me yet.

  He sweeps the sponge up and down until I’m trembling.

  He drops the sponge and moves his bare fingers against my flesh, between my legs. His hand feels the same temperature as the water. He moves slowly, deliberately, finding the right spot to caress.

  I arch more, wanting him to explore deeper. I need him to kiss me, too.

  We’re going at his speed, though. He’s in control. I flutter my eyelids closed and lean my head back against the tub.

  He grabs the sponge again and drags its rough surface up over my body. I lift my chest in response, and feel his mouth on my breast again. He pulls my nipple between his teeth. I moan with pleasure. He reaches down into the water again, between my legs.

  He must like what he feels, because I hear him groan. He pulls away, breathing heavily. I open my eyes and watch as he removes his jeans and underwear.

  He looks so beautiful naked, tall and lean. He steps into the tub carefully, but his movements splash some water onto the nearby cluster of candles. Their flames flicker, but don’t go out.

  We’re facing each other in the tub.

  He places one leg on either side of me, facing me, then leans back, looking content.

  He closes his eyes.

  I frown. That’s it? I want him inside me so badly now, and he’s going to have a nap?

  I stare at him for a moment, and then I let out a big sigh. Fine. Whatever. I’m not going to go cray cray over this.

  He opens one eye and looks at me.

  “What are you scheming?” I demand.

  “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

  I’m confused.

  He reaches for the folded towel and switches it to the other side of the tub. Now I understand.

  I know what he means, but I play dumb and pretend for a moment that I don’t.

  Finally, he reaches out and pulls me up out of the water. His arm muscles bulge, but he can hold me up easily. He spins me around, so my back is against his chest. He shifts his body down in the water, so that when he brings me back down, he’s between my legs. He’s thick and hard, and with a minor adjustment, he slides right into me. All the way. I cry out. Electricity spirals up my body.

  Dylan moves his hips with mine. He lifts me up in the water, then brings me back down over him. We rise and fall, again and again, as waves of pleasure build and recede.

  With my back against his chest, his hands have full access to my breasts. He cups them and squeezes my nipples. He brings one hand down between my legs, to apply even more delicious pressure.

  He keeps pumping his hips, getting harder inside me. I’m full and yet I still can’t get enough of him. I arch my back, crane my neck, and we kiss. He groans against my lips. His whole body is tense and hard beneath me, moving in urgency.

  We both slide deeper into the warm water. His angle changes as he drives deeper inside. The heat of the water seems to rise like steam from our bodies. Ecstasy explodes within me, deep and powerful. Dylan’s body is electric beneath me, impossibly hard. He lets go with everything but his hands, rocking me against him in rhythm.

  He releases with a sexy moan just as I’m coming down from my peak, extending my pleasure.

  Wow.

  When we finally relax, we move
within the water as one. He’s watching the water line carefully, and stops us before my mouth and nose go below the waterline. Which is good. Because I can barely move.

  Chapter 9

  On Monday morning, I’m at my desk, trying to work. I can’t stop thinking about getting into the tub again with Dylan.

  Having a sex life that’s too good can be very distracting. Especially when you have a ton of paperwork and no assistant.

  My boss, Chet Morris, walks into my glass-walled executive office.

  “You’re here,” he says.

  “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “I saw the pictures online. Are you okay?” He takes a seat in my visitor chair and looks pointedly at the bandage on my elbow. “You could sue someone,” he says.

  I reach for the jacket on the back of my chair and slip it on to cover the bandage. It’s cute when Dylan treats me like I’m helpless, but I don’t like it when other people do.

  “Nobody’s going to sue anybody,” I tell my boss.

  “We have a full cadre of lawyers here. They get restless if you don’t keep ‘em busy.”

  I smile and stare into Chet’s emerald green eyes. He has the same eyes as his father, the founder of the company. Thankfully, Chet doesn’t seem nearly as evil as Mr. Morris Senior. In fact, Chet is probably too decent to run a multi-million-dollar record label.

  “Do you mean the lawyers who do the contracts?” I ask. “They don’t do personal injury, do they?”

  “We’ve got everything covered.”

  I wave the idea away with one hand. “I’m not going to lawyer up. I just hope my grandmother doesn’t see the pictures of me falling down, or of my bloody elbow.”

  “She worries?”

  “Sort of. She’s always threatening to come here and kick them with her hiking boots.”

  Chet laughs, and I try to mask my worry by joining him. Every network seems to have paid for footage of my fall. The late-night talk show hosts are making fun of me, the clumsy farm girl fiancée of rising rock star Dylan Wolf. They showed my fall over and over, but of course they didn’t show any footage of the person who stole my wedding dress.

  “So, nothing’s broken?” Chet asks.