The hostess lingered by the door. “May get I get you anything else?”
Without taking his eyes off Skye, Gentry handed the waitress a hundred-dollar bill. “No. And see that we’re not disturbed. If we need anything, we’ll ring for you.”
The waitress took the money and disappeared with a nod.
Skye walked to the balcony and ran her hand along the curved metal rail. The balcony itself was glass, giving a dizzying view of the dance floor below it and a peek into the other VIP suites that lined the upper level. A blonde young woman in a black dress standing in a balcony directly across from them caught her eye. They shared a brief smile before Skye turned again to take another look at their suite from this new angle.
A horseshoe-shaped black leather sofa took up the center of the room. In the middle, on a black-leather ottoman sat a tray with a bottle of high-end vodka, low ball and martini glasses, an ice bucket, and garnishes. Mandatory bottle service, if she had to guess. She’d seen enough television to know about that.
Gentry must have noticed her eying the setup, because he leaned forward and touched the bottle. “May I mix you a drink?”
“Sure. Vodka and soda with a twist.” She’d only had half a margarita at their last stop, and she didn’t plan on drinking much at this stop either. She was far away from home with a man she’d just met the day before, so she wanted to keep her wits about her. And she also wanted to be running on all cylinders for whatever the night had in store for them. But he’d gone to the trouble of paying for the VIP suite and bottle service, so a few sips of vodka wouldn’t do any harm.
“Gentry, what are we doing here? I said I wanted to go someplace private with you. Are you dragging your feet?”
He mixed her drink and handed it to her, then poured himself a club soda with lime.
“You didn’t add any vodka to yours.”
“That’s because I don’t drink.”
“You had a beer at the bar, then got up on stage and sang a song called ‘Beer O’Clock,’ which everyone seemed to know the words to, so I’m guessing it’s one of your big hits.”
Sitting back, he rolled a sip of soda water around his mouth. “You ever wear a persona like a suit of clothing?”
She wished she could claim she couldn’t relate, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. Far beyond her job, she could never quite shake the feeling that she was playing at being a good Catholic daughter. It was an ill-fitting suit, that persona, one she was determined to adopt for real. Just as soon as this weekend was over.
“Yeah, you know what I mean. Because I watched you abandon that housekeeping uniform in the fitting room in favor of this little red dress. Me and my stage personality are like you and that uniform. Every year, every album and tour, it gets a little bit less me and little bit more fiction. The beer was a decoy.” He winked. “Which can be our little secret.”
“Are you an alcoholic or something?” She regretted the question instantly. They had this one, hedonistic night together and there she was wasting it with far-too-serious and personal questions. But she couldn’t help it. There was so much more to Gentry than he’d seemed, and the more glimpses she got of the man beneath those tattoos and bad boy smirk, the more she wanted to know.
He didn’t seem to mind the question, though. With a shake of his head, he leaned close to her ear. “Not an alcoholic, but I’m not a great guy when I’m drunk, something I figured out when I was a senior in high school. The drummer of the band I was in at the time, Nick, who’s still my drummer to this day, told me I was getting to be just as mean as his old man when I was drunk, which was saying something. He threatened to quit the band if I didn’t shape up. That was all it took for me to lose my taste for the stuff.” He pushed up his sleeve and angled his arm out to show her his tattoo of a farm. “This cornfield, it’s the farm I grew up on. An homage to my downhome roots, is what I tell the press. But to me, this tattoo isn’t an homage, but a reminder of how far I’ve come from all the shit I left behind when I decided to pursue this career, everything that isn’t good for me.”
Her expression softened as she studied his eyes. Beyond the tinge of weariness, she was most struck by the determination blazing in them. She scooted closer on the sofa and stroked his cheek, then kissed the spot.
He turned his head and captured her lips. She’d had months of tentative end-of-date kisses with staid, respectable men, but the way Gentry kissed her was nothing like those. The bristle of his five o’clock shadow. The hard planes of his body. His scent was that of dusty leather, and of chicory and sage, the spices of her mother’s potions. So familiar, and yet, somehow, on him, the scent heightened his exotic appeal, this musician.
When the kiss ended, she snuggled in close to him. “What are we doing here? Because I thought you said you wanted to be alone with me. Did you get cold feet?”
The suggestion seemed to amuse him. “No cold feet, trust me. I’m taking my time, making the most of our night together.”
“I had the same goal, but mine involved a bed.” And maybe the shower if they were feeling adventurous.
In a flash, he rocked up to his knee, looming over her, caging her between his arms. A provoking heat infused his expression. “Don’t sit there and pretend you’re with me tonight because you want to play it safe with the same old, same old. If you’d wanted to make quiet, vanilla love in a bed with the lights off, then you would’ve picked a different man. God knows you’ve got enough of them beating down your door.” He brushed his finger over her chin. “But you didn’t pick one of them. You picked me. And what I want is to see what your skin looks like under these strobe lights. I want to fuck you in time with that booming bass.”
Skye’s breath caught in her throat. He was right, and it scared the hell out of her. She wasn’t with him that night to play it safe. She’d wanted a thrill, and he was delivering it to her beyond anything she could have imagined for herself. The edgiest fantasy she’d conjured for the two of them was doing it in the shower.
But he wanted her here in this semi-public space. Anyone on the dance floor could look up and see them through the balcony glass, and just because he’d paid the waitress to leave them alone didn’t mean she would.
She flashed back to the bar, when Gentry was singing, and how the women in the front row had practically tossed their tops on stage to him. What was it like to go on tour and have that constant barrage of women lusting after him? Did that turn him on? Did he select a special one each night the way he’d brought Skye up on stage, then take her back to his trailer with him after the show? The idea turned her on as much as the unexpected flash of jealousy.
His hand dropped from her chin to her outer thigh. His fingers teased the sensitive flesh. “Now that we’re clear about what I want,” he growled, sliding his hand up until it bumped into her dress. “What is it that you want?”
With that look on his face, the heat of his hand, her answer was an easy answer. She knew what she wanted, what she’d wanted from him since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. She pressed his chest, pushing him back onto the sofa. Then she stood. She bullied her knee between his two and nudged his legs open wider. “What I want is for you to treat me like one of your groupies.”
That hard expression didn’t dissipate, even when the corners of his lips kicked up into a dangerous smile. “See? I was right about you. Dirty girl.”
Gentry Wells’ Dirty Girl. She liked the sound of that. Then again, it was easy to push the envelope on a night like this, so out of context from her life, another world, another version of herself that she knew wasn’t real. But if she was only playing out a fantasy with him, then why did she feel so alive? It scared her shitless to wonder whether she had it backward—that this side of her was real and honest, while her real, daily life was the fantasy.
She pushed the thought away. She had a lifetime to ponder that, but at the moment, there was a gorgeous man sitting in front of her, offering her anything and everything she wanted. Time for som
e fun.
She set a hand on his belt buckle. “Tell me what they do for you. Is it like this?” She unlatched his belt.
“That’s a good start.” He slouched even more, then lifted his right leg and, with his boot, pushed the ottoman away. The second she figured out why, a rush of arousal flooded her between her thighs. He was making room for her legs. He wanted her on her knees.
She grabbed a pillow from the sofa and dropped it on the floor between his boots. A girl had to stay comfortable, after all. And then she sank down to the floor, knees on the pillow.
He let out a ragged breath. “You are the stuff of fantasies, Skye Martinez.”
She unzipped his jeans, revealing a shock of bright blue. She’d forgotten about those ridiculous bikini briefs, the ones that were meant to help his creativity. Their encounter that afternoon in his villa had seemed like a lifetime ago.
Refusing to remind him about his writer’s block or anything else about their real lives, she ignored the finding. This was a game they were playing now, and she was determined to stick to the script. She wasn’t going down on the earnest, sweet guy who didn’t drink, but the badass, sexy-as-hell country star Gentry Wells—and she was merely a groupie.
She conjured up her best look of wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not Skye Martinez. You don’t know what my name is. You don’t even care. You just want to take from me whatever I’m willing to give.”
He held her gaze. His jaw rippled with tension as he swallowed hard. “Damn right, I do.”
She freed his hot, heavy cock from the briefs. It curled up against his tight abs, hard and huge. “I knew it,” she murmured, biting her lip. “It’s just like your song.”
With a wry smile, he gathered her hair in one fist and the base his cock in his other. “Less talk. You know why you’re here.” And then with mock-force, he brought her lips to the blunt head of his cock.
She sank her mouth over him, feeling her lips stretch to accommodate his girth. She moaned with the pleasure of taking him into her, of the salty heat of him that made her mouth water. She let the vibrations of that moan carry from her tongue to his shaft. He hissed a breath out through clenched teeth and arched his hips, straining for more.
She teased him with slow strokes of her tongue and teasing suckles of his head until the pressure of his hand in her hair intensified, urging her to move fast, take him deeper. She felt like the most powerful goddess in the world when she rolled her gaze up and saw his eyes glazed over, lost in passion. Then she started to move, bobbing her head in time with the beat of the club’s techno music, ready to take him right to the edge.
He gave a low grunt and rocked his hips in time with her, bumping his cock on the back of her throat with every thrust until, with a curse, he backed off, breathing hard.
He released his grip on her hair and stroked her hair like she was his pet. With his other hand, he took hold of his cock, glistening in the pink and purple strobe lights, and traced her lips with his cock head. “Tell me, baby, how deep into this groupie fantasy do you want to stay? Are you gonna swallow like one? If you don’t, that’s okay. I just need to know what to do. You tell me if you want me to be a gentleman or not. The choice is yours.”
She loved that even though they were playing out a fantasy, he was still in control of himself. He was still letting her call the shots. With her lackluster dating life, it’d been years since she’d swallowed, because no guy she went out with ever seemed worth that kind of effort. But Gentry was, and it didn’t feel like an effort at all. “You were right, before. I didn’t get on that plane because I wanted to spend the night with a gentleman. Use me how you want. Let me have all of you.” She licked her lips, then parted them and set her tongue on the underside of his crown.
“That’s what I thought.” His hand went to the back of her head again and he shoved his cock past her lips on a grunt.
Only this time, he scooted to the edge of the seat and pivoted, forcing Skye to turn with him until he’d pinned her head to the sofa with his cock. With a hand braced on the coffee table, he pumped his hips, fucking her mouth, taking what he wanted, but never violently, and never forcing her to take him deeper than she could handle.
Before tonight, she’d never gotten off on rough sex or blow jobs. It had always seemed so selfish, reflecting her lovers’ unskilled, porn-fueled character flaws. But not with Gentry. He made sure she knew that he wasn’t actually losing control, that he knew what their boundaries were and he respected them. She never felt unsafe or used, not really. It was all part of the game.
She reached a hand up her dress and fingered her panties. Soaking wet, they clung to her folds. But she didn’t have time to do more than find her clit before Gentry’s thrusts grew erratic.
“Take it,” he growled. “Just fucking take—” His words dissolved on a grunt.
And then he filled her mouth with ropes of wet heat. She rubbed her clit, generating ripples of pleasure that radiated through her whole body. She was so aroused that she was only half aware of swallowing, half aware of her tongue cleaning him off.
After one last thrust, he stood and backed up, taking in the sight of her on the floor, her hand disappearing between her legs.
“Fuck,” he breathed in appreciation.
No shit, she thought, her eyes on his still hard cock jutting out from his jeans.
Then he offered her a hand up. “It’s time for Little Miss Groupie to get her reward.”
With the driving thump of techno music as their score, he walked her to the balcony. Irrational fear of falling or the glass giving way kept her from getting too close—right up until Gentry pushed her up against the rail and gave her a dirty, wet kiss that went on and on, until the only thing on her mind was Gentry’s tongue and the hard planes of his body pressing against her—that, and the wanton hope that someone in another balcony or on the dance floor might be watching them.
Twisting behind him, he grabbed an ice cube from the bucket on the table and set the tip of it on her shoulder, just inside the strap of her dress. He traced her collarbones with it, then drew a line of icy water between her breasts. Her nipples hardened. Chill bumps broke out all over her skin. She threw her head back and surrendered to sensation as Gentry drew lines and swirls on every exposed piece of skin, putting on a show of pleasure for whomever might be watching.
“All right, baby, are you ready to push the envelope a little more?”
She lifted her head and looked at him again. His nostrils were flared, and his eyes dark, oozing virile power. “I thought we already had.”
He offered her a lopsided grin full of wicked promise, then he sank to his knees.
“I’m going to taste you now. I’m going to make you come.” His hands roved over her legs. “Widen your knees. Let me in, baby.”
Gentry’s hands slid up her legs until they disappeared beneath her dress. His fingers closed around her panties, then pulled. The sensation of air swirling between her legs on her wet, heated flesh made her clench in pleasure. She cast a look over her shoulder. No one in the other balconies was paying them any mind, which was too bad, she realized with surprise.
He scraped a finger along the curls covering her plump flesh, one side and then the other, then right up the middle. “So beautiful. And so fucking wet.”
He reached behind him for another ice cube, then traced the same path that his finger had. He pushed the ice in between her folds. It stung her hot flesh, bombarding her senses with pleasure and pain.
Then he held the ice cube up to her mouth. “Eat it.”
She didn’t think twice before accepting the ice on her tongue. It tasted faintly of her, but only a little. The cold made her shiver again as she held it on her tongue and let the water trickle down her throat. Gentry bunched the fabric of her dress until it neared her hips. Soon, the whole club would get a view of her ass. She was all for pushing the envelope tonight, but public nudity? Did she actually want to take it this far?
He buried his face in her curls and kissed her sweetly, warming her flesh again. “Don’t worry. It’s a one-way mirror.”
She looked out across the room at the other balconies and confirmed that to herself. The sliver of disappointment she felt at his answer shocked her. She had her answer. “That’s too bad.”
His deep chuckle rumbled between her legs. He suckled her as though savoring a delicacy. “You really do have a kink for breaking the rules.”
She rolled her head, face tipped up and eyes closed. “Yes, always,” she breathed.
His tongue breached her folds. Ripples of bliss consumed her, and she cried out. The music fell away. The club, the other people, and all she knew about herself in that moment was that she was sexy and beautiful and a powerful, gorgeous man wanted her. There was no room in her head or her heart for anything but the way he made her feel. Just Gentry and his hand and his mouth, that hard body holding her while she quivered and bucked and descended into the madness of pleasure.
The buildup of her release was swift and potent. She gripped handfuls of his hair. “Oh, damn, Gentry. So close…”
Just like that, he stopped, removing his mouth and hands.
She whimpered and squirmed, a slave to the impossible pressure inside her screaming out for release. “What the hell?” she bit out between pants for air.
He looked up at her with eyes that were dark and intense to the point of almost seeming angry. “What are you going to do about that kink of yours when you marry your boring husband? You gonna pretend you don’t need it? Pretend like that part of you doesn’t exist?”
She mashed his face into her pussy. “Shut up. Finish what you started.”
He resisted her efforts and stood. His lips were shiny with her juices and his shaggy blond hair was in disarray. “Or is that part of the kink? Maybe you like to put yourself in little boxes just for the pleasure of breaking out of them.”
She fought against allowing his words to sink in. He knew nothing about her, so he had no idea what he was talking about. Why would she do that to herself? Make rules so she could break them. When she and her mom had conjured that love spell, Skye had meant every word. Unlike tonight, her life was no game and he was out of line to suggest that she treated it as such.
One Wild Night Page 10
