But this? Not happening.
So fucking not happening.
“Give us a minute,” she said to him sweetly, like really fucking sweetly, in a tone I’d sure as fuck never heard her use on me. “You know, band business.”
“Oh. Sure.” Coop disappeared, reluctantly. No shit. I’d get impatient too if Maggie was talking to some asshole at the door instead of riding my dick.
“You’re not fucking Coop,” I said, low enough he wouldn’t hear it, leaning in to make sure she did, my face tipped down to hers.
She didn’t back down. She just glowered at me, her eyes narrowing and her sweet mouth puckering, all pissed off and petite.
Which was why I loved fighting with Maggie. She was so fucking hot when she was mad. Hot, and cute as all fuck. Adorable. Like a feral kitten.
Also, if I really hit the sweet spot and she lost her temper, made it a lot harder for her to ignore me like she usually tried to do when I jabbed her buttons.
“Are you fucking Coop?” I pressed.
“News flash, Zane,” she bit out. “You’re not the only one who might want to do it in this stupid-fancy hotel suite, okay?”
“Jesus, though. Coop?”
She glared up at me, a storm brewing in her gray eyes. Then she growled. She actually growled, low in her throat, and I swear to Christ I almost came in my pants. “What the hell is wrong with Coop?”
“Where do you want me to start? For one, he’s not me.”
“Nuh-uh,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Not doing this. Not getting into this with you.”
“Let’s get into it,” I said, pushing another inch into the room, my pulse beating in my dick, spurring me on.
“Nope.” She put her hand in the middle of my chest, holding me off. “It’s been a really bad night, I have not been laid since Christmas, and you are not going to ruin this for me.”
Then she shut the door in my face.
Christmas?
Christmas was four months ago.
As I stood there, my back to the bedroom door, I racked my fucking brain to figure out who the hell Maggie’d fucked at Christmas.
Coop?
Some other fuckwit?
As far as I knew she wasn’t seeing anyone regular. Maggie’d never had a boyfriend in the years I’d known her. I’d seen Coop checking her out. I’d seen him flirt with her, but big fucking deal. Who didn’t flirt with Maggie? Half the crew was hard up for her, but the girl was so fucking proper and all-business she hardly seemed to notice. She so rarely partied with anyone, I’d gotten pretty comfortable telling myself if she wasn’t sucking my cock, at least she wasn’t sucking anyone else’s.
Now I had a visual. Sweet Maggie, down on her knees sucking off Andy Cooper—fuuuck. The murderous surge of testosterone and adrenalin made my dick so hard it felt like it might split in half.
Shit.
Maybe I was a fucking idiot.
Two hot chicks, horny and willing, were going at it right in front of me, and my head was in the next room.
But no fucking wonder. I’d been hot for Maggie, one of a very few woman I’d ever spent more than an hour with who wouldn’t spread her legs for me, for years. Years. And now she was giving it up to Coop?
Fuck. That.
Who the hell did he think he was?
Asshole had pretty much fucked his band’s sweet ride on Dirty’s coattails the second he breathed on Maggie. I said the word, the Pushers were off the next tour, and that gave me a grim fucking sense of satisfaction.
Would I actually do it? Maybe.
Depending how things went down tonight.
I grabbed the remote to lower the volume on the music. Too bad. It was Wolfmother’s “Woman,” a decent song to fuck to.
I liked sex the way I liked my music: loud and hard.
No idea how Marvin Gaye got in the mix. Probably my wise-ass drummer, fucking with me.
I listened, but I couldn’t hear shit from next door. What kind of awkwardly quiet, polite sex were those two planning on having? What were they doing in there, right now?
And how long was I gonna let this slide?
According to my phone, three fucking minutes had passed since Maggie shut the door. Felt like a goddamn hour.
But the longer I let this go, the worse it would be for Coop when I kicked his ass out. Yeah, so I was a sadistic prick. Didn’t bother me in the slightest that I was about to cockblock a brother.
Not when he was in there right now with Maggie, getting ready to stick his dick in her.
Right. That was about far enough.
I hammered my fist on the bedroom door. Hard.
Half a minute later, Coop opened it.
“Maggie!” I thundered over him. “Get your ass out here.”
“Don’t let him in!” Maggie called from inside. “He’s like a goddamn vampire. You invite him in, you give him power.”
Coop’s eyes narrowed a little as he looked me over and every muscle in my body coiled tight. Pretty sure he could smell the lust and aggravation rolling off me, but he just shrugged. “Sorry, man.”
He started to close the door but I stopped it with my hand.
“Coming in to talk to Maggie,” I said evenly. “You can step aside or I can take this shit right through you.”
He sized me up again and I flexed my other hand at my side, a couple of knuckles cracking as I made a fist. Adrenalin surged through me. Never woulda thought Coop had it in him, but shit. Was he actually considering fighting me for Maggie?
I’d spent years as a kid getting the shit kicked outta me by dudes way tougher and way meaner than Coop, and you got a clue, you lose enough fights, eventually you learn how to win. Which meant Coop took me on, he was so gonna lose this fight.
He knew it, too.
“Whatever,” he muttered and opened the door.
“For fuck’s sake, Zane!” Maggie scrambled off the bed, yanking her shirt down to cover herself. She was still wearing Coop’s T-shirt. “What do you want?”
“Want?” I met her in the middle of the room and once I was in her face, I leveled her with a hard, simmering eye-fuck, seeing as that was the only way I ever got to fuck her. “You really want an answer to that, babe?”
“You two got some shit to sort out?” Coop asked, standing off to the side, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
“Yup,” I said, in the exact same breath that she said, “No.”
We stood there a foot apart, me eye-fucking her and vibrating with adrenalin, my dick standing at attention, her glaring up at me with her chest heaving and not blinking.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna go.”
“Cool,” I said, as Coop headed for the door. “Coupla girls in the other room. They’re yours if you want. Just take ’em with you when you go.”
“Alright, brother.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped.
“Andy.” She looked from me to him as he paused in the doorway. Then she walked over to him. “I have your shirt,” she said, clearly unable to process what the fuck was going on.
“Keep it,” he said. Then he gave her a chaste little kiss on the forehead and left, shutting the door behind himself.
Maggie drew a deep, ragged breath, then let it out between her clenched teeth. Her shoulders dropped as she turned to me.
“Are you kidding me?”
I shrugged. “He scares easy, Maggs. And he was pretty quick to replace you. Better you find that out now.”
She stood there raging, kinda like a baby bull about to charge. Then she took a few slow, measured breaths. She walked over and stood in front of me. Her gray eyes met mine, so fucking stunning against her honey-toned skin.
“I hope that amused you. Because it really fucking sucked for me.”
“Maggie—”
“Don’t. Coop’s a nice guy, and you just treated him like—”
“Coop’s a fucking pussy,” I ground out. “He just walked out on you. While you’re wearing his shirt. And why don’t you take
that shit off? Take a shower while you’re at it, ’cause you stink like smarmy bass player.”
Yup.
Shit disturber.
But some things just needed to be said.
Maggie stared at me and an ugly, loaded, fucking terrible silence landed in the wake of my words. Her lips parted… then she shut her mouth. Her jaw spasmed, her eyelashes trembled, and for a horrible minute I thought she might cry.
Then she scowled instead and something raw flashed in her eyes, between hurt and rage.
“Yeah?” She whipped the shirt off over her head and flung it across the room. “Well, the shirt’s not the only thing he touched.” She stood there in her tiny, neon-green panties and nothing else, and my jaw went slack.
I had no words.
No. Fucking. Words.
I’d never seen so much of Maggie before. Couldn’t believe how much better the flesh was than my imagination, and I’d spent a helluva lot of time imagining her.
I drank in her petite curves, the soft swell of her breasts, her hard nipples a dark, dusky pink as her chest rose and fell with the force of her uneven breaths.
Then I swallowed, hard, and ground my teeth. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
Had to, or I was gonna grab her, slam her down on the bed and devour every inch of that gorgeous smooth skin.
“Guess I should take this off too.” She plucked at the see-through lace of her panties and my dick achieved a new level of hard, kinda like reinforced steel. Then her finger touched my chin, guiding my eyes up. “Go fuck yourself, Zane.”
“Okay,” I said. “If you’re into that, I can show you a few things.”
She made a little choked noise, shaking her head in disbelief. Her eyes never left mine and it was still there, the raw and the rage, her jaw hardening like she was fighting the urge to literally bite my head off.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed. “Is that all you ever want? Seriously. What. The. Fuck.”
Then she launched herself at me.
Maggie was a small woman, but it took me so off-guard, it brought me to my knees as she smashed her mouth to mine. I caught her in my arms, just barely, and her legs went around my hips as she kissed me with a fucking vengeance, all angry lips and teeth, her hands clawing at my neck, her fingernails digging in.
Holy mother of fuck.
Maggie was kissing me.
I gripped her tight and kissed her back like my life, my very next breath, depended on it, my heart slamming a fucking dent in the wall of my chest as my brain completely spun out.
All I could think was, if I fucked her right here on the floor, would she hate me for it?
Because my gut was telling me to put her down… to let her go, to back the fuck off… that this wasn’t right, that Maggie wasn’t gonna be happy about this even if she started it… but my dick just wanted to make her scream and figure the rest out later, and my dick was a bull-headed prick.
I caught my teeth on her bottom lip and when she gave up a ragged gasp, my tongue plunged into her like a heat-seeking missile. I tasted her like I’d wanted to do for fucking years, desperate to have her, any way I could get her, angry, clawing at me, I didn’t care.
Then it hit me, and I almost gagged.
The taste of liquor. Pungent and sour… revolting… and totally fucking intoxicating.
And I dove right into it.
I screwed my tongue into her mouth like I was tongue-fucking the neck of a bottle, sucking hard, the bliss of that taste and a brutal crush of memories smashing me in the back of the skull.
Then I caught myself. I almost gagged, again.
I ripped myself away with such force I shoved her off.
I spit out that bittersweet taste on the carpet and mashed the back of my hand to my mouth.
Yeah… not the best thing to do after kissing a woman. Kinda ranked right up there with laughing at her and throwing up.
I saw it in her gray eyes… the exact moment she started hating me. Or at least, hating me more than she already did.
Her face shut down and she wrapped her arms around her chest as she sat there on the floor staring up at me, next-to-naked in her lace panties, looking small and so fucking vulnerable it gutted me.
“You’re so full of shit,” she whispered.
“Maggie—”
“Get out.”
And for once, there was no arguing the point. I was the world’s biggest asshole, and now she had proof.
I got the fuck out.
Get Dirty Like Us
Sneak Peek: Dirty Like Brody
Dirty Like Brody (Dirty #2)
He was all she ever wanted. Then she broke his heart…
As longtime manager of Dirty, the hottest rock band on the planet, gorgeous and brooding Brody Mason has had his share of beautiful women. Yet the only one he’s ever wanted is the one he never had—the one who tore his heart out.
Beautiful and elusive Jessa Mayes appears to have it all. Talent, money, and a glamorous life. But she also has a secret. Six years ago, she ran away—from her dream career as a songwriter with Dirty, and the only man she’s ever loved—without telling anyone why.
Now Jessa’s doing the one thing she swore she’d never do. She’s coming home—to be a bridesmaid in her brother’s rock star wedding… and face the mistakes of her past.
It won’t be easy.
Love this intense never is.
DIRTY LIKE BRODY
PROLOGUE
Jessa
I will never forget the first time he spoke to me.
I remember everything, right down to the music that was playing on the Discman I had tucked into the back of my jeans. (It was my brother’s new Chris Cornell album, and the song was “Can’t Change Me.”) When the bullies started taunting me I turned it up, but I still heard what they said.
I was eight years old, and the last girl on the playground anyone would ever guess would grow up to become a fashion model. Every day I came to school in clothes that were worn and usually a couple sizes too big for me, hand-me-downs, either from my brother or from Zane. When I wore their baggy clothes, the other kids didn’t spend so much time telling me how skinny I was.
But they said other things.
I was sitting alone in the playground after school when it happened, up on top of a climbing dome; my brother and his friends called it “Thunderdome” because they’d made a game of dangling like monkeys from the bars inside and kicking the crap out of each other. The bullies were standing at the bottom of Thunderdome, so I couldn’t even run away. They were big bullies. Fifth grade bullies, and while my brother, who was in seventh, would’ve intervened, he wasn’t there.
“How come you got shit stains all over your jeans?” the dumb-looking one asked me, leaning on Thunderdome and looking bored. “Doesn’t your mom do laundry?”
“You got a shit leak in those saggy diapers, dork?” the even dumber-looking one asked, and they both snorted.
“Yeah, she’s so full of shit her eyes are brown.”
“What’s wrong, baby dork? You gonna cry?”
No. I wasn’t going to cry. My brother had a lot of friends and while they were never that mean to me, twelve-year-old boys could be relentless. I knew how to hold my own. I’d cry later, at home, when no one could see me.
Besides… the new boy was coming over, and I definitely wasn’t crying in front of him.
He was in seventh grade, but the rumor was that he was thirteen or even fourteen and had flunked a grade or two. Obviously, he was super cool. He wore an actual leather jacket, black with silver zippers, like rock stars wore. He smoked outside the school, hung out alone at the edge of the school grounds, and spent more time in the principal’s office than the principal. I never knew what he did to get in trouble, but whatever it was, he did it a lot.
The other kids in my class thought he was scary. I just thought he was sad.
Ever since Dad died, I knew sad when I saw it.
The bullies saw him c
oming and they started getting squirrelly. I thought they’d run but he was there too fast, closing the distance with his leisurely, long-legged stride.
“You guys’re so interested in shit, there’s some over here I can show you, yeah?” He stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, as the bullies started going pale.
I slipped my headphones off.
“Naw, I don’t wanna—”
“Sure you do, it’s right over here.” He toed the ground at his feet with his sneaker. The grass was still damp from a bit of rain in the afternoon and mud squished out.
The bullies started shaking and sniveling, babbling apologies and excuses. There was a brief, almost wordless negotiation, at the end of which they ended up on their knees in front of him.
He hadn’t moved. His hands were still in his pockets.
“Just have a little taste and tell me if it’s fresh,” he told them, in a tone that brooked no argument, squishing his foot in the muck again.
Then he looked up, his brown hair flopping over one eye, and winked at me.
I stared from my perch atop Thunderdome with unabashed, eight-year-old awe as the bullies bent forward, shuddering.
He was going to make them eat shit!
For me!
I was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure it was just wet mud, but those bullies were scared enough to believe it. And ate it, they did.
He then told them to apologize to me, which they also did, eyes downcast and shaking, spluttering mud. One of them was crying, snuffling through his snot and tears. Then he told them to beat it and they ran away, blubbering and tripping over their own feet.
I stared down at my savior as his unkempt hair fluttered in the breeze. He wore a Foo Fighters T-shirt under his leather jacket and his jeans were ripped, like mine. “You can go home now, you know,” he said, like maybe I was slow.
I just sat there, picking dried mud from my jeans.
“Aren’t your parents waiting?”
Dirty Like Seth: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 3) Page 36
