by Tracy Wolff
As was she. She could feel the sting of his nails scraping against her scalp, the ache of the hard ground beneath her knees, the burn of his cock stretching out her throat. She’d never had any desire to mix pain with pleasure, but this moment—on her knees in front of Wyatt as he used her, as he thrust into her mouth again and again and again and took what he wanted—was, by far, the most erotic experience of her life.
And she wasn’t ready for it to end, even though she was nearly as strung out on sexual pleasure as he was.
Slipping one hand under his swollen balls, she cupped him, rubbing and squeezing and stroking until he was panting like an animal. Until his fingers were twisting hard in her hair and he was calling out her name with each thrust of his cock into her mouth.
Tears leaked from her eyes, ran down her cheeks—a by-product of having him so deep for so long—and still she didn’t let up.
Her jaw ached, her lips and mouth and tongue threatening to go numb under the fast, brutal pace of his hips jacking against them, and still she didn’t finish him. If this was all he was ever willing to give her—all he would ever be willing to take from her—she was going to make it last, going to relish every second of it.
But then he was reaching between them, cupping her breast in his hand. Stroking and pinching and pulling at first one nipple and then the other through her blouse and bra. It was too much stimulation, too much pleasure, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Wyatt grated out as he pinched her nipple between two fingers and then flicked his thumbnail across the very tip of it. “I’ll get you there, too.”
She was already there, and would have told him so if her mouth weren’t still stuffed with his cock. Her clit burned, her pussy throbbed, and her whole body felt like it was on the verge of shattering into a million jagged pieces.
Desperate to stop the ache, desperate to hold herself together, she slipped a hand between her thighs. Pressed her palm flat against her clit.
But that only made it worse, as did the deep rumble of Wyatt’s voice urging her on. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Spread your thighs for me. Let me see you touch yourself.”
Any other time she would have been embarrassed, but right now she was too needy, too frantic, to do anything but follow his instructions. “Fuck yeah, baby. Let me see you. You’re so pretty,” he crooned even as he started thrusting harder, faster, into her mouth. “So. Fucking. Pretty.” Each word punctuated another thrust into her mouth, another squeeze of her nipple, another step up the precarious ladder of her own pleasure.
“You’re so good, baby,” he told her as he clamped down on her left nipple hard enough to have her gasping around his cock as a quick shock of pain shot through her. It was immediately followed by a very pleasurable heat, though, so she went with it, arching against him, into him, as shocked and needy tears slid down her cheeks.
“So good,” he repeated. “You take it so well.” His hand slipped from her hair, and then he was cupping her cheek. Tilting her head up so that she was looking directly into his eyes.
What she saw there had her nearly gasping again. Dominance, yes. A need for control, absolutely. But there was tenderness, too. And just a hint of the vulnerability she’d seen earlier. She was giving herself to Wyatt here, letting him take from her what he needed. But as she looked up at him, as she saw the openness on his face as he gazed down at her, she couldn’t help thinking that he really was giving just as much of himself to her.
It was terrifying and exhilarating and arousing, all at the same time. Her pleasure ratcheted up another notch, and she knew she was close. Knew it wouldn’t take much to send her careening over the edge into oblivion.
Wyatt must have sensed it, too, because his eyes darkened to a wild, dangerous blue that just might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “You like that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice taut as a circus tightrope. “Does that feel good?”
She nodded as much as she could considering his hand was on her jaw and his cock was down her throat. But the wicked grin he flashed her told her he got the message. As did the hoarseness of his voice as he instructed, “Now slip a finger inside that sweet pussy of yours.”
He watched, avidly, as she followed his instructions. “That’s good. Fuck, that’s perfect. Spread your thighs a little more so I can see. I want to watch you finger fuck yourself. I want—” He broke off as she did what he asked, spreading her thighs so wide they burned. And then she was thrusting her finger in and out of herself, fucking herself the way she wanted him to fuck her.
“Fuck, yes. God, baby, you look so fucking hot. Fuck. Now add another one.”
She whimpered as she did what he asked, sliding her fingers in and out of her drenched sex in the same rhythm he was sliding in and out of her mouth.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart? Do you like that?”
Her only answer was a high-pitched whine that came from the very heart of her.
He was deep in her throat and she felt the cry go through him like an electric shock, his body stiffening and eyes going wide. In response, he thrust even deeper, faster, harder.
She sucked at him as best she could, but his hand was back in her hair and he was in control now, fucking her mouth with a blazing intensity that she knew would leave her sore later. Not that she cared about being sore. How could she when she was on the brink of an orgasm that threatened to consume her whole?
“That’s it, baby. Oh, fuck, that’s it. You’ve got the best mouth, sweetheart. You take my dick so good.” As he spoke, he never took his eyes off her wet, swollen sex. “I just want you to do one more thing for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”
She didn’t know. She was drowning in sensation, drowning in a razor-sharp pleasure that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. But she nodded anyway, determined to give Wyatt whatever he wanted. Whatever he needed.
“Good girl,” he told her as he tightened his fingers around her nipple just a little more. A shock of electricity slammed through her and she jumped. Squeaked. He laughed a little, a low, dark sound that had her eyes falling shut and her body climbing even higher. “Now pinch your clit between your thumb and index finger like I’m pinching your nipple. Squeeze a little harder, a little harder… Fuck!”
He broke off as she whimpered, a high pitched, broken sound that resonated all the way through his cock. And then he was thrusting wildly, fucking her mouth, his rhythm shot to hell as he drove himself closer and closer to orgasm.
She was right there with him, though, ecstasy sparking at the very heart of her. Pleasure shooting along her every nerve ending. Fire racing down her spine, tearing through her limbs, engulfing her every sense.
“Fuck, baby, I need you to come with me. I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—” Wyatt groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as he tried to pull her off. But she was teetering on the edge of her own orgasm, and there was no way she was going to deny herself the feel and taste of him on her tongue.
So she sucked him hard, sucked him deep, one more time. And then he was going over the edge, his release shooting onto her tongue and down her throat in a series of powerful pulses that had her own climax rising up like a wave to swamp her. To pull her under.
Her last coherent thought was that she wanted to see, and she blinked her eyes open just in time to watch Wyatt’s skin flush and his sharp eyes turn blurry as he gave himself over to a pleasure so intense that for a moment she feared it would tear them both to shreds.
Chapter Eleven
When it was over, Wyatt dropped to his knees in front of her.
Wrapped his arms around her.
Rested his forehead against her own.
And then they just breathed, their exhalations mingling in the hot summer air.
Poppy counted his breaths and his heartbeats, reveling in the sound of them, the feel of them. Reveling in the knowledge that she had brought this sexy, beautiful man to his knees—in the most delicious way.
It didn’t take nearly long enough for Wyatt to recover—or for the real world to intrude—and when he finally stirred, Poppy expected it to be like the night in the alley. For him to just pull his pants up and go back to the mess he’d made with the band like none of this had ever happened. Or, more accurately, like it didn’t matter that it had.
And why would it? He was a rock star, for God’s sake. He probably couldn’t even count how many women had gone down on him in his life.
And she was okay with being just one more, she assured herself. She really was. After all, sleeping with Wyatt was the worst possible thing she could have done for her own career, so the less fuss anyone made about it, the better. Especially when they had much bigger things to deal with—like figuring out how to keep him in the band.
That wasn’t to say she regretted what had happened, because she didn’t. First off, because who in her right mind could ever regret that kind of pleasure? And two, if being with her helped Wyatt fight his demons for even a little bit, then the way she’d screwed up her own plans was worth it. Because he was worth it.
Except Wyatt didn’t give her a chance to play it cool, didn’t give her a chance to show how okay she was with things going down that way. Because he didn’t walk away.
Instead, he pulled up his jeans, then steadied her as she yanked on her own jeans, sans the underwear that lay in tatters at their feet. She tried to straighten herself up, but there wasn’t much she could do, considering she was certain her hair looked like a rat had nested in it after a bomb had gone off. Still, once her jeans were more or less back where they belonged and her blouse was buttoned again, Wyatt settled back against the trunk of one of the nearby trees and lifted her into his lap.
She went because she didn’t know what else to do—he’d caught her off guard and she wasn’t prepared to resist—and because there was a part of her that really, truly wanted to be cuddled after the most spectacular orgasm of her life. A part of her that wanted to be held and stroked and comforted. The fact that Wyatt Jennings—one of the baddest of rock’s bad boys—seemed to understand that even more than she did, destroyed the last of her preconceptions about him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, nuzzling against her cheek. “I was really rough.”
“You were perfect,” she answered. Because he had been rough—she had the swollen lips and aching jaw to prove it—but he’d also been exactly what she’d wanted. She only hoped he felt the same way about her.
He laughed then, and it was a harsh, rusty sound. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that word in reference to me before.”
“That’s because you haven’t been listening hard enough. It’s out there.”
“Do you always see the world through rose colored glasses?”
“Do you always see the world through gray ones?” she countered.
He cocked a brow at her. “You realize, right, that half the sunglasses on sale have gray shaded lenses?”
“Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best analogy,” she admitted with a grin. “But my point still stands.”
“Does it? Does it really?”
She rolled her eyes in response then stuck her tongue out at him.
His eyes darkened and for a few moments she was sure he was going to kiss her again, but in the end he settled for tucking a few of the more riotous strands of her hair behind her ear. Then he dug around in the pocket of his jeans for his clove cigarettes and lighter. He offered her one, smiling a little ruefully when she wrinkled her nose and pulled another lollipop out of her pocket.
He stared at it for long seconds before taking it from her and pulling the paper off. “No vices at all?” he asked before shoving his cigarettes back in his pocket and popping the sucker into his mouth instead.
“Tons of vices,” she countered. “Those just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Oh, yeah?” He looked interested as he settled back against the tree. “Tell me one.”
“And why, exactly, should I give you information you can use against me?”
“It only seems fair. You know all of my vices. I should at least get to know one of yours.”
“Yes, but also to be fair, much of the world knows about your vices. Mine are a bit more private, thank you.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back. Nothing like throwing his past failures in his face just as he was trying to get over them. He didn’t take offense, though. And a quick glance at his eyes told her he hadn’t gone to the dark place she’d already seen him in at least twice. Instead, he just laughed, and this time it sounded a little more natural, a little less rusty.
“With a name like Poppy, a guy could be excused for thinking your vices aren’t any better hidden than mine.”
“My mother had issues, okay? My half-sister’s name is Belladonna.”
He cracked up at that. “You so got the better end of that deal.”
“You’re only saying that because…” She trailed off, not sure she should say what she was thinking. Not when it came to this.
“I’m only saying that because Poppy suits you. Despite the fact that you don’t have red hair. And, for the record, I have no desire to snort you up my nose.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’ll try not to be offended that you don’t.”
“Why would I, when there are so many better things to do with you?” He slid a hand down inside her jeans, traced a finger along her still wet sex.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you already did a bunch of those things.” And still she spread her thighs. Still she arched into his touch.
“Did I?” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth before licking his way along her bottom lip. “I don’t remember. We should try a couple of them again, just to jog my memory.”
“Oh, yeah?” she murmured against his lips. “And what is it you think we should try again?”
“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He flicked his thumb across her clit and she gasped, her legs falling open as wide as her skinny jeans would let them.
He took instant advantage, his tongue sliding inside her mouth at the same time his fingers stroked inside her sex.
It felt good, really good, and for long moments she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it. Eventually, though, reality intruded and she pulled her mouth from his. “Shouldn’t we get back? The others are probably freaking out—”
“The others are used to waiting for me,” he told her as he pressed kisses along the line of her jaw. “Besides, I’m not very good at ‘shouldn’t we’s.’”
“Yes, but you need—” She broke off on a moan as he crooked two fingers deep inside her and found her G-spot.
“What I need is to watch you come again,” he muttered against her skin, his thumb circling her clit.
She didn’t think that was going to be a problem, considering the fact that she was already close. She’d always known he was magic with his hands—anyone who paid attention when he played the drums had to know that—but still, what he was doing to her body was absolute art. Absolute heaven.
“Wyatt,” she gasped as he twisted his fingers and she climbed even higher. “Wyatt, I—”
“It’s okay,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “I’ve got you, Poppy. I’ve got you.” And then he pulled her closer, his arms tight around her as he pinched her clit with one hand and her nipple with another.
That was all it took to send her soaring over the edge, orgasm thundering through her like a drum riff. Wyatt held her through it all, his talented fin
gers coaxing every cry, every whimper, every ounce of pleasure out of her until she was boneless. Mindless. Until all she could do was curl into his chest and cling.
He held her as she came down, his calloused fingers stroking her back, her neck, her cheek, as she trembled against him. He pressed kisses into her hair, whispered about how beautiful she was, how sweet.
It wasn’t what she’d expected from him, but it turned out it was exactly what she needed. She clung to him for long seconds, dropping kisses along his neck and collarbone and whatever parts of him she could reach. At least until Wyatt’s phone buzzed with a series of quick texts.
He ignored it, but she couldn’t. No matter how much she wanted to spend the rest of the day out here with him, he had a job to do. And so did she. At least for now.
Reaching into his pocket, she fished out his phone and held it to him. Though initially all he did was scowl at it—and her—eventually he relented and took the thing.
His scowl only deepened as he scrolled through the texts, although that might have had something to do with her taking advantage of his preoccupation to scramble off his lap and straighten her clothes once again—and taking extra care to make sure she was out of his reach as she did so.
“Time’s up?” she asked after he fired off a couple of texts in quick succession.
“Something like that. Ryder’s threatening to come looking for us if I don’t get my ass back there.”
“Of course he is.” She all but shoved him onto the path to the house. “You did drop a hell of a bombshell back there. Is it any wonder they’re freaking out?”
They didn’t say anything else as they walked back to the studio, both lost in thought. She was doing her best to figure out how to convince Wyatt to change his mind about quitting Shaken Dirty, and he was thinking about…God only knew what. She could only imagine what was running through his head after that awful call with her father.
Once they reached the studio, he headed toward the front door with her hand still firmly clasped in his. She stopped him with a murmured, “I’m going to get going now.”
