“As if,” she said. As she started the car, she rolled down her window and told me, “You really need to hit that, though. If you don’t, I just might.” Then she smiled at me, her killer party-girl smile, and tore out of my driveway.
I knew she was just ribbing me. Maybe she could tell I was already hitting that, and she just wanted me to confess.
When I walked back into the house, Seth was pouring me a glass of red wine. The kitchen smelled of freshly brewing coffee.
“How do you drink coffee at all hours of the night and still manage to sleep?” I asked him.
“Tire me out,” he said, looking at me from under lowered eyelids, “and I’ll sleep.” He slid his hands onto my waist and pulled me to him.
But instead of melting into his arms like I wanted to, I felt a little tense.
“I have to be at the bar for seven in the morning,” I informed him. “The auditions are not gonna wait for me.” Actually, they were. If I didn’t show up on time, the auditions couldn’t start, and a whole lot of people would be annoyed with me.
It was the first time I’d mentioned the auditions to Seth since they’d resumed, but he appeared unfazed about the subject. “Then you should probably kick me out.”
We just stood there, neither one of us making a move to make that happen. His lust-hazed eyes stared me down; the cocky bastard knew I didn’t want him to leave. That’s why he’d made himself coffee.
I took a sip of my wine and said, cooly, “I think Summer enjoyed making music with you.”
His gaze moved over my face, reading me like a book. “You’re… jealous?”
I scoffed way too hard, totally giving myself away. “Of what?”
“You think I’m into her?”
“It’s okay if you are,” I lied. “She’s hot, and you seemed pretty comfortable with each other. And I know her. Usually when Summer smiles that much at a guy, she’s planning to fuck him… or she already has.”
“Well… I can’t tell you what her plans are. But she’s never had sex with me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Now I was just suspicious. “Why not?”
“Is it totally impossible to imagine that I can be in the same room with a woman and not have sex with her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Can you?”
“You’ve been in the rock ’n’ roll game too long,” he said, walking me backwards until he had me against the wall. “Not all men think exclusively with their cocks, Elle.”
I was aware of that. Brody, for one, had never been a dive-in-dick-first-and-ask-questions-later type of guy, and I’d always appreciated that—that someone had restraint on tour. It gave me ongoing hope for the male half of the species. But Brody was a businessman, first and foremost. A different animal. One that led with his brain.
My male rock star friends were another story.
“You’re right,” I mused. “I’m pretty sure Dylan’s made a decision, or maybe two, over the years, that didn’t involve his cock.”
“There you go,” he said, kissing my neck. “Proved my point.”
I sighed as he licked and nibbled his way down my throat. “Can we not talk about Dylan anymore…?”
“No problem. What would you rather talk about?”
I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. Seth was already on his way down, lifting my shirt to kiss my stomach, then sliding his hands up my short skirt…
Next thing I knew, we were on the kitchen floor, half-naked.
His hands were all over me, stroking, caressing, kneading. His mouth, his tongue, were everywhere. If I closed my eyes, it was kinda like three different men were adoring my body, kissing, nibbling, licking… His mouth was on my nipple, sucking. Then on my neck, licking, teasing, making me shiver. One hand was in my hair, pulling slightly. One hand was on my stomach, his fingertip caressing my clit.
Then he produced a condom from somewhere, and slid his cock deep inside me. I wrapped my legs around his waist.
His tongue was in my mouth, screwing in deep. His fingers dug in between my legs as he thrust into me, his hips working in a slow, deep rhythm, swiveling against me. I was so focused on kissing him back, on stroking and sucking his tongue and wanting to turn him on, and just kinda melting in the all-over bliss, I didn’t even know I was there—until I came, my entire body seeming to shatter beneath him.
I gasped into his mouth and writhed against him, trapped between his hot body and the hard, cold floor.
My head spun.
Every time… it was like he was worshipping me. Like he was hellbent, laser-focused on my orgasm… on sucking and fucking and stroking and squeezing it out of me… Like he couldn’t get off until he’d gotten me there.
And when he did…
He lost it. He lost his rhythm. His thrusts sped up. His breathing grew jagged, heavy, and he fell apart. He rammed into me and I felt his cock pump a few times as he let go deep inside me.
I held him as he panted, kissing my throat, my chest.
When he’d recovered, he pushed himself up a bit. “You’re so fucking beautiful…” There was awe in his voice, and in his eyes as he gazed down at me.
“You’re… uh…” I tried to get the words out, but there was very little blood in my brain. “Tuned into me.”
A smile twitched across his full lips.
“I mean… shit, that was terrible sex talk. I just meant… you’re so intense on my, uh, reactive spots. I kinda lose control. I’ve never had that happen before.”
“Had what happen?”
“I don’t know… Losing track of myself like that? Usually, I’m in control of my own orgasm. Don’t laugh.” He was grinning at me, and I poked him in the chest. “I mean, usually it’s up to me when I come. I can make it happen when I want to, or slow it down. But with you… I don’t know. I’m coming, and I don’t even know how I got there. I don’t have control of it. The sounds I make or what my body does… You just drive my body there before my mind can catch up.”
His smile faltered a bit. “Is that bad?”
“No.” Did it sound bad, the way I described it? I wasn’t sure… I could hardly remember what I’d said. My mind wasn’t exactly razor-sharp at the moment. “It’s just… intense. Different.”
It was different.
It was also something I could get incredibly used to.
I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I said, “I’ve just never had a man take control of my body like that.”
He considered that as he pulled up his jeans. “You don’t like it?”
“I think I do,” I admitted. It was a massive understatement.
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed me, all hot and steamy and spent. “’Cause making you come is kind of a passion of mine.”
Heat swept through me at his words. Yeah… I could totally get used to that.
“Oh, shit… I almost forgot,” I said, as I struggled back into my panties, wobbly and weak. “My dad called this morning.”
Seth looked at me; he’d been doing up his jeans, with some difficulty, over his semi-hard dick.
“We’re having a late dinner with my family tomorrow night, after auditions. I mean, unless you have other plans.”
He’d gone completely still, and his mouth fell open a bit. But no words came out.
“They want to meet you. You know, again.” I grinned, as his eyes widened in a look of sheer terror. “Don’t worry,” I told him, sliding on my bra. “They’re fans.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elle
They were fans. All of them. My mom, my dad, and even my crazy little sister.
By the time we’d finished dinner, they were even bigger fans.
And it felt good, being out somewhere with Seth, even if it was just in my parents’ dining room. Like for once we didn’t have to hide away from the world.
I’d told them simply that I was bringing a friend to dinner, and since any friend of mine was ever-welcome at their table, there were no questions asked. Of
course, they knew who Seth was. They’d met him years ago, many times. But if they were surprised to see him when we arrived, they didn’t show it. He was welcomed just as if he came to dinner on a weekly basis.
While we ate, my parents peppered him, innocently enough, with friendly questions, just like they would any dinner guest. Actually, it helped that someone else was driving the conversation, keeping Seth talking, so I could just listen and soak him up.
He was pretty fucking dreamy, with his pouty lips and his smoky, thoughtful eyes and his soft-but-rough, manly singer’s voice. His strong, capable guitarist’s hands and his tanned, olive skin.
Especially when he tolerated my little sister’s one billion questions over dessert with grace and charm. At least she’d waited out the appetizers and main course, letting the rest of us get some conversation in before she unleashed, but I knew it was hard for her to hold her tongue. Angie was twenty-three, but to hear her talk you’d think she was thirteen.
In fact, by the time Mom served up her famous peach cobbler, it was pretty clear to me what was going on: my sister was a little starstruck.
I’d never seen her starstruck over Jesse or Zane. She’d known them for half her life. Dylan, for whatever reason, was a different story. Angie had always had a mad crush on Dylan. It was fucking hilarious, to me, and some days I lived to see her go all tongue-tied and weak in the knees when he took off his shirt or bent over, oblivious, in front of her. I could laugh because I knew she’d never act on it.
In my little sister’s mind, Dylan was a thing of untouchable perfection to measure all regular dudes against; she didn’t even want to touch him and risk the fantasy dissolving. She’d told me as much. Her exact words were, Dylan Cope is my standard.
She was content in her unrequited crush, in worshipping him from a safe distance.
But Seth, somehow, she could both crush on and talk to, apparently—even as the tiny cartoon hearts throbbed in her eyes.
“How many albums have you played on?” she asked him, watching him drink his coffee. Her blue-eyed gaze kept snagging on his lips.
I understood; Seth had incredible lips.
“Including the one I did with Dirty,” he answered, “four.”
“What’s your favorite song?” she asked.
“Of all time?”
“Yes.”
“If I had to pick… ‘Carry On Wayward Son.’”
“I don’t know that one.”
“Great song,” my dad put in.
“It’s Kansas,” Seth informed my sister. “From nineteen-seventy-six.”
Angie wrinkled her nose a bit. “Have you ever met Lady Gaga?”
“No.”
“Katy Perry?”
“Saw her across a room once. Does that count?”
“And you didn’t go over to her?”
“Nope. Big mistake?”
“Uh, yeah. Have you seen her boobs?”
“Angie, we’re at the dinner table.” That was my mom. She smiled apologetically at Seth, as if to say, Sorry my daughter’s such a perv.
“What kind of girls do you like?” Angie pressed on.
“Smart ones.”
“Do you like blondes?” Angie wasn’t blonde; her hair was light-brown. I was the only blonde in the room.
I threw her a warning look.
“I’ve been known to,” Seth said.
“How long were you addicted to heroin?”
“Angeline,” I warned her.
“What?” she protested. “It’s on the web.”
“So you’ve been researching our dinner guest?”
“Not long,” Seth answered her. “It didn’t take too long to realize it was a bad idea.”
“What other drugs did you do?”
“Angeline, enough.” That was my dad.
“It’s okay,” Seth said. “I did a lot of drugs. I don’t even know all the ones I tried. And I wouldn’t recommend any of them.”
“Really?” Angie said. “I’ve tried pot, ’shrooms, ecstasy and special K.” She shot a look at my dad. My dad gave her a look right back. “My dad hates that. That I took ketamine.”
“It’s a horse tranquilizer, daughter.”
“Really, Angie,” my mom added, “what were you thinking?”
Angie shrugged. “It was just once. A girl’s gotta experiment, you know?”
“More coffee?” I held up the pot in Seth’s direction. His eyes met mine and he nodded. He looked amused; his slight smile seemed to say, Your family’s cute as fuck. Maybe to him, they were.
To some families, they might seem a little eccentric or odd. But they were pretty ultra-fucking-normal in my world, since most of the people I knew, by comparison—Seth included—came from highly dysfunctional families. My parents were still in love after thirty-odd years of marriage. Dad was a successful realtor. Mom ran the house and had never worked outside the home, other than her charity work. She baked peach cobbler in a frilly apron and wore pearls, and we could openly talk about illicit drug use around the dinner table. We were picture-perfect, in a modern Leave It To Beaver sort of way, and I knew that. We even got along, most days.
I topped up Seth’s coffee and tried to give him a look that said, Just tell Angie to shut up if necessary.
“Have you ever been to Japan?” my sister asked him.
“Yes.”
“Are girls prettier there?”
“Girls are pretty everywhere.”
“Do you think my sister’s pretty?”
“Your sister’s a knockout.”
Seth had already answered before I had a chance to stab Angie with a fork under the table. Unfortunately, she was wearing jeans, so it had little effect.
“Do you still have groupies throwing themselves at you? I mean, since you left Dirty?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s that like?”
Seth seemed to think about that. “Uncomfortable, usually.”
“Why?”
“Because some girls are aggressive about it. And they don’t like being turned down. And if they’re fans, you really don’t want to piss them off, but sometimes, you have to.”
“Uh-huh. How many girls have you slept with?”
“Angeline! Jesus Christ.” I jabbed her again. She ripped the fork from my hand beneath the table.
“Honestly.” My mom threw up her hands.
“Baby girl,” my dad warned.
“What’s a good answer to that question?” Seth asked my sister.
Angie used my fork to take a bite of her peach cobbler and considered. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” Seth said.
“Ever been married?”
“No.”
“Five,” my sister said. “Five’s a good answer. Not so many that you sound like a slut, but not so few you sound like a loser.”
“Five it is, then,” Seth said.
“Sorry about Angie,” I said, closing the door of the bedroom behind me. “My parents have kinda spoiled her. Last baby to leave the nest and all that. She doesn’t hear the word ‘no’ very often.”
“It’s alright,” Seth said. “She’s cute.” He was looking around, taking it all in. We were standing in my childhood bedroom, the one I’d lived in from the time I was born until I was nineteen. “Reminds me of you when you were younger.”
“God. Really?”
He smiled at me. “You were a little more… sassy. Even back then.”
“Man. I must’ve been obnoxious.”
“Hardly.” He was looking at the bed, where a bunch of stuffed animals sat on the pillows, as if some little girl still lived here. “The way I remember it, you were pretty fucking charming. Witty. Sarcastic as hell. Fun. You had a great laugh. Great ass, too.” He glanced over at me, and I felt the rush of heat between my legs. All he had to do was look at me. “Little blonde firecracker…”
I watched him finger the ruffled bedspread, and I realized how it all must look, to him. An orphan and foster kid; a street
kid. The buttercup-yellow walls and posters of rock stars, the custom furniture and walk-in closet. The ruffled pillows and lace curtains and all the sparkly, girlie shit piled on the shelves.
Obnoxious was definitely the word.
“So this is it, huh? Where the magic happened…” He turned in a circle, looking around the room. “Can’t believe this is the first time I got into your bedroom.”
“You’ve been in my bedroom,” I said.
“Not this bedroom. The bedroom of Elle Delacroix, teen dream.” He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “You have any idea how many boys at your school would’ve killed to be standing here right now?”
“Right…” I said. “Pretty crazy that I never got laid in here, huh?”
He actually looked shocked. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“That’s a fucking travesty,” he said, wandering over to me.
“It really is.”
He swept me up in his arms and pulled me in for a kiss. As usual, it didn’t take long before we were tangled up in each other. Before we were tumbling on my ruffled pink bed and peeling each other’s clothes off.
“Fast,” I managed to say, between tongue-gropings. “Angie’s a bloodhound. If she thinks we’re going at it in here, she’ll come knocking.”
“No worries,” he said, “I’ve got it covered.” He’d already pulled a condom from his jeans pocket.
“How industrious,” I teased, but I was glad he’d thought ahead. Otherwise I’d be wobbling out of here, incredibly unsatisfied.
“What can I say? I was hoping this would happen. Kind of a fantasy of mine…” His cock was already out, thanks to me tearing open his jeans, and he was rolling the condom on.
“What? Doing me in my teenage bedroom?”
“Yeah.” He grinned at me, maybe a little self-conscious. “Is that weird?”
“No. It’s hot.” He lowered himself on top of me and started doing his thing, kissing his way down my body and turning me to a throbbing mass of desire. “You fantasized… about fucking me here?” His tongue found my clit and swept over it. I fell back on the bed and melted as he dove in…
Dirty Like Seth: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 3) Page 22
