I pressed against him but there were too many layers of fabric between us. I pulled at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he finally brushed my hands away and undid them all himself. I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and he shrugged out of it before wrapping me up in his arms and taking us both down to the floor.
He lay on top of me, still clad in his jeans, one of his thighs wedged between mine while he ravished my mouth with his tongue and lips, stroking, teasing me into a frenzy.
I pushed at his chest. “Jeans off, now,” I gasped.
He smiled and stood up. He popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down his legs. His boxer briefs hugged every inch of his erection and I licked my lips, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Condom’s on the dresser,” I said. He grabbed it, slowly peeled down the last piece of clothing standing between us, and rolled on the rubber. I loved watching him touch himself that way, even if it was mostly utilitarian. I wondered if he stroked himself in the shower. I wondered if he would let me stroke him in the shower.
Oxygen was hard to come by as I took in his male form, fully revealed. His legs were long and defined by long muscles and light hair. His hips were narrow, his belly taut with the hint of abs when he twisted. His nipples were flat and dark. The muscles of his neck were strained, as was his jaw. His eyes, focused solely on me, had gone dark and his nostrils flared slightly with the same breathlessness I felt.
“Get down here,” I said in a breathy gasp I hardly recognized.
“Yes, m’am.”
I opened my thighs to welcome him and he cradled my head, kissing me and nipping at my lips until I dug my fingernails into his biceps with impatience. The tip of his cock teased just at my entrance and I wanted to feel the long, smooth slide of him deep inside me.
“Now, Dillon. I need you.” I arched up, trying to force him to obey.
“Uh uh,” he said between kisses. “I want this to last a while.”
“Next time,” I grunted and moved my hands to his backside. “Please.”
He met my gaze, an insanely hopeful look across his features. “Next time?”
I nodded.
He thrust inside, making me gasp.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling back to look at me.
“God, yes,” I sighed, quivering beneath him. “More than okay.”
“Good.” He leaned in to kiss me again, lightly nibbling a trail from my earlobe all the way to my mouth.
He swiveled his hips experimentally and I groaned, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“Harder.”
He complied, sliding out of me, then back in, shooting home hard. Heat and friction built between us as he repeated the move in slow motion.
I was panting and sweating and felt like I was being consumed by fire. My skin tingled, my breasts ached, tension coiled low where Dillon’s body met mine. I clenched my teeth against the sweet torture until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I shoved at Dillon’s chest, rolling him to his back. His wide-eyed expression was one of surprise but he didn’t miss a beat. He grasped my hips and thrust upwards, faster this time. I leaned forward, resting my hands on his chest and tweaked his nipples.
“God, Becca. You’re so hot. You feel so good. So tight, wet. Perfect.”
I sat up and reached behind me to stroke his balls. He threw his head back, his jaw tight. He looked like he was in pain, but I knew better.
Dillon pounded into me harder and faster until my knees banged against the floor and I was sure Mrs. Gates in the apartment below us was wondering if her ceiling was caving in.
I moved my hands up to my own breasts, cupping them. I pinched my tingling nipples and rode Dillon with sharp, short movements that forced the friction between us to a higher level.
Blood surged through my veins and all sensation centered on a single pinprick of sensation right at my apex. It was starling in its intensity, bordering on pain, then all at once, it surged though my body in a wave of pleasure that had me screaming Dillon’s name.
He stiffened, letting out a low growl of pleasure, then went still, a look of perfect ease smoothing his face.
After we both caught our breaths, he opened one eye and looked up at me. “I think I have rug burn.”
I laughed and slid off of him. Bright red patches on both knees burned. “Yeah, me, too.” I grinned down at him. “Totally worth it.”
“Agreed.”
Dillon got up and went into the bathroom to clean up. I went to my dresser to find a nightshirt, but Dillon finished in the bathroom before I had a chance to dress.
He hugged me from behind and pressed against my backside.
“What are you doing?” I asked when his hand slid around to the front to cup my breasts.
He nibbled at my neck, rolling his hips slightly.
“I believe you mentioned a next time?”
My eyes widened. “Already?”
“Uh-huh,” He rolled his hips again and there was so doubt he was ready for round two. My nipples went hard beneath his fingers and the first spark of heat ignited deep inside me.
“I’m a woman of my word.”
“Thank God.”
I knew there were things that needed to be said between us. We need to make sure we were on the same page now that our relationship had gone from friends to friends with benefits. But the way Dillon’s touch affected me, I knew it would be quite a while yet before I could think clearly again. A very long while.
Chapter Nine
I smiled so much the next day that Josh at the studio actually pulled me aside and asked me if I was on something. I honestly couldn’t help it. It had been an amazing night. And morning. I had seriously underestimated nice guys, and Dillon had some wicked tricks up his sleeve. It wasn’t just that the sex was good, though.
I enjoyed sex. But sometimes afterwards, I felt like there was something missing. I wasn’t such a sap that I thought you had to be in love to have good sex. I’d had plenty of wall-banging orgasms with guys I met in bars or at the parties I catered.
I think the difference was that I respected Dillon and liked him. And I got that vibe from him, too. I wasn’t just another lay. We weren’t just doing it because we were horny and it was convenient. It was him specifically I’d thought about and fantasized over, so by the time we finally hit the sheets, the anticipation added to the enjoyment of it.
He was such a sweet and considerate lover, too. He’d look up at me with that certain tilt to his head and innocent expression in his face, then his gaze would turn dark and he’d do naughty, delicious things to my body.
I’d had a lot of partners, of course, but I’d have to say Dillon was my first lover. Not that we were a thing or “in love.” But Dillon was one guy I didn’t mind facing over the breakfast table the morning after. I was afraid there would be weirdness between us, but it was the opposite. Now that we’d broken down the wall of physical intimacy, the pressure was off. We touched freely, barely able to keep hands off of each other as we’d each gotten ready for the day together.
Not even temperamental writers could harsh my mellow that day, no matter how persnickety they got. I did each take with a nod and a grin until they were happy. I winked at Josh on the way out and hurried home, looking forward to seeing Dillon. All of Dillon. I had barely dipped into the toy box and was curious just how far the naughty extended before the good guy was out of his comfort zone.
Our apartment was empty when I got there and I stifled the disappointment. There was a message on the answering machine, though, and I punched the play button.
“Dillon? This is Hailey. I really need to talk to you. Soon. Please call me as soon as you get this.”
I could hear the fake little quiver in her voice and rolled my eyes. Sure, she wanted him back now, after she’d messed with his head. Hailey was one of those spoiled, self-centered little twits who wasn’t good for anybody. After deliberating less than a second, I hit the delete button, assuring myself it wasn’t jealo
usy that made me do it. If I thought Dillon really wanted to get back with Hailey or that they were truly good together, I would have stepped aside and let her at him.
But I knew better and as his friend, I didn’t want to see him hurt. Besides, if he never knew she’d called, he wouldn’t have the guilt trip about whether to call her back or not.
I went to my bedroom and shrugged out of my jacket and kicked off my shoes. There was a note on my pillow from Dillon.
“Becca—got a last-minute thing. Will be home late. Dillon.”
Disappointment dampened my mood a bit, but I shrugged it off. No biggie. I’d curl up on the couch and watch a movie. It wasn’t as though we had a date or anything.
Love Me Tender was on TBS. It wasn’t one of my favorites, kinda sappy for my taste, but hey, Elvis was Elvis and it was his very first movie. He was so young in the film, so sweet-looking.
I popped some popcorn for dinner, changed into some sweatpants and my favorite soft white cotton cami and prepared to enjoy two hours of pining over Elvis. My obsession was the closest thing I’d ever experienced to falling in love. Every time I heard the man’s name or saw his beautiful face, it was an instant punch to the gut. Looking at his picture or listening to him sing or watching his movies always put me in a good mood. Elvis was my happy place.
I watched Elvis sing out his broken heart over the fact that he’d married the girl his older brother had left behind when he went off to war to fight the Yankees.
By the time the truth came out about the brother and the train robbery, my popcorn bowl was empty and my eye kept going to the clock. I toyed with the idea of getting dressed and heading over to Willie’s or wherever Dillon was playing—it wouldn’t be difficult to find out, since I knew people at the different clubs.
But I resisted the urge. It wasn’t just that I was comfy in my jammies and didn’t want to go back out in the cold and dark. It was the fact that I was even considering changing my couch potato ways and missing an Elvis movie on one of my nights off for a guy. Even a great guy like Dillon.
I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and returned to the couch, determined to give all my attention to the only man who deserved it. Dillon would get home when he got home. I wasn’t going to be one of those girls who called a guy for constant status updates whenever he was out of my sight.
I yawned big and pulled on Dillon’s ugly crocheted afghan that was slung over the back of the couch, visions of jet black hair and Southern drawl swimming behind my eyelids.
* * * *
Ted’s basement had not improved since I had moved out. It still smelled like cat piss, and Ted’s girlfriend kept picking up the cats and talking to them like they were babies the whole time we tried to rehearse our set. Ted, of course, only had eyes for the woman, who very nearly fell out of her top every time she bent to pet one of the mangy animals.
Bobby, on the other hand, was hung over. Or maybe still drunk. It was difficult to tell. But he’d shown up at a lot of our gigs and rehearsals lately in the same state.
I should have been more sympathetic to Ted. I was having a hard time concentrating, too, thinking of Becca at home. Naked, with any luck.
My mind kept going back to our night together. The way her skin was so soft and silky, the rush of heat that consumed us both. The way she touched me, the sounds she made. It was all I could do not to smile like a fool. It had been all I’d hoped for and more. She’d worn me out. I’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before having to be on duty at the music store and I’d been sleepy all day. But it had been worth it. Big time.
We had to practice if we weren’t going to make total fools out of ourselves at Tootsies, though. With only a handful of weeks to rehearse, we couldn’t waste time. This was our big chance, possibly our one shot at getting in front of a real crowd, not to mention producers, songwriters, and record execs looking for fresh talent. I been waiting for this kind of opportunity since I’d first set foot in Nashville and I couldn’t let other distractions, no matter how delectable, get in the way.
“Come on, guys,” I said, deciding to take charge of the situation. “Let’s take it from the bridge.” I glanced at the digital alarm clock on the coffee table. “We have time to do it once more before we head over to Club 17.”
“Geez, Dillon. What’s up your ass tonight? Why don’t we just do the same set we always do?”
I gritted my teeth and mentally counted to ten. “Because we need to develop a better set for when we play at Tootsie’s. Something everybody and their brother hasn’t heard before. This is an excellent opportunity to try out some new stuff.”
“Whatever, dude.”
The attitude of my two band mates was beginning to drive me seriously nuts. I had joined the group and given it my all with the goal of getting a record deal. These two seemed to like being in a band because of the women and free beer.
It was becoming more and more obvious that we had different goals for the band and in life and the thought had occurred to me more than once that I was really getting tired of it all. Maybe it was time to think about a new line of work.
“You ready, Ted?” I asked.
He nodded.
I looked at Bobby.
“Ready when you are.”
We ran through the song I had written one more time. Bobby was off by the end of the second verse, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad. Ted’s girlfriend was right on for once. She didn’t have a great voice, but she got the job done.
“Okay, not bad. Let’s all rehearse separately and meet again Wednesday before the gig, if that works for you guys.”
Of course it worked for them. I was the only one with a day job. Ted’s girlfriend agreed with a smile, but the other two just grumbled about all the work of setting up and tearing down twice, and once again I had to bite my tongue.
We headed over to our gig at a little hole in the wall we hadn’t played before. There were only a couple of dozen people there but somehow we made it through the set. After a pre-show beer, the guys were a little more into it and the new song was definitely shaping up.
I was dog tired by the time I finally packed up my gear and left the club. We’d gotten started late, played two sets, then had to wait around to give the cops a statement once they broke up the bar fight. All I had thought about all night was getting home to see Becca.
I was headed out the door when Ted shouted at me. “Hey, man, did I give you that message?”
I turned. “No. What message?”
“Hailey, dude. She’s been looking for you.”
“Why?”
Ted shrugged. “Don’t know. Just said she needed to talk to you.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I plucked the cell phone out of my pocket as I headed out the door and checked my incoming calls. Sure enough, Hailey had called about a dozen times, but I had silenced the phone after she called me the first time and had never taken it off. I’d been distracted.
I couldn’t imagine what she wanted. She seemed more anxious to talk to me now than she did when we were together. What could she possibly have to say to me at this point? Her actions had been pretty clear. Maybe she was one of those girls who only wanted what they couldn’t have. I was definitely off the market and not interested in Hailey anymore. After being with Becca, I couldn’t imagine why I was ever with Hailey at all.
My more gentlemanly instincts told me returning her call was the right thing to do. But thinking of dealing with whatever Hailey’s issue was versus heading home to Becca, it was no contest. I tucked my phone back inside my jacket and headed home.
Sex with Becca was better than I ever imagined. She was sexy hot and not afraid to say what she wanted and what felt good. I’d never had such a fearless lover. She made me fearless, too, all the insecurities and doubts burning up in pure white-hot passion for her.
I smiled, thinking about how she’d pushed my buttons. Bondage had never been my thing, but when she broke out the genuine police-issue handcuffs (I wasn’t going to
ask where or how she acquired those) and the warming massage oil, I began to see the appeal. When I turned the tables on her and fastened her delicate wrists over her head and had my wicked way with her, I became a fan for life.
Becca had insisted that our night together was a one-time thing, a way to get it out of our systems so we could go back to being friends. I didn’t know where Becca stood on the issue today, but I was no less hot for her tonight than I had been before. In fact, I wanted her even more. I hoped to God she felt the same way or I was going to have to take another one of those cold showers.
I unlocked the door of the apartment and slipped inside quietly, not wanting to wake Becca if she was already asleep. An infomercial for getting-rich-quick blared on the television and as I set my guitar case down and took off my jacket, I noticed a bundle wrapped in the afghan my aunt Constance had knitted for me, curled up on the couch.
Becca looked so young, so delicate in sleep. Her dark hair was strewn over the throw pillow, her head tucked beneath her cheek. Her mouth was open slightly, her skin pale and perfect. I couldn’t help myself. I sat down gently beside her and traced the line of her high cheekbone with a fingertip. Her skin was silky smooth and cool to the touch. I stroked her soft hair, smoothing it away from her forehead.
Becca had wormed her way into my heart and taken me by storm, no doubt. She was feisty and sweet, sensual, sexy, and funny. I never thought I’d fall for a girl like her, assuming instead that one day I would marry a girl like the ones I’d dated in high school or college. A girl from a good, old Southern family, moneyed, conservative in her political views and fashion choices, dignified and reserved, with sex on birthdays and every other Saturday night. But none of those girls had ever stirred me at a soul-deep level the way Becca did and I knew I was fast on the way to losing my heart for good.
I traced her lips and she cracked open a sleepy lid. She smiled when she saw me.
“You’re home,” she said, stretching. Her eyes fluttered closed again and I continued to stroke her face, her lips and her hair. A lump formed in my throat.
Nashville Naughty Page 8
