Mattress Music (Rock Starz Book 1)

by Lily Harlem

“Hell yeah.” He leapt up and dashed to a hugely impressive stereo system.

  The plastic girls ain’t got nothing I need.

  Gimme real life, give me real skin, give me real love.

  “Is this the one on the charts?” I asked. I suddenly remembered the taxi driver’s earlier comment. “No, don’t tell me, it’s number seven.”

  “Yep, number seven and on the way up,” he said, looming over me with a downright predatory look on his face.

  I could be predatory too. I pulled at the five buttons on his Levi’s and shoved them down his thighs. “I think it’s got excellent rhythm,” I said, sitting on the sofa so he stood right in front of me, his tented black boxer briefs level with my face and his back toward the huge expanse of one-way glass.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.” He grinned down. “I got plenty more rhythm where that—” I released his cock from his boxers and wrapped my fingers around his long, thick shaft. “Ah, fuck,” he said as I cupped his balls with my other hand. “I thought the plan was to come together this time?”

  “It is. But I want to taste you first.” I leaned forward and kissed his flat belly, sampled the flavor of his hot, spiced skin as I feathered my tongue over the neat line of dark hairs that led to his much denser patch of pubic hair.

  “Yeah, well, be careful, you got me to bursting point this morning at your place and then again in the bug house.” He tangled his fingers in my hair and shifted his feet wider as if securing his base. “I’m still hovering.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said, looking up and giving a little smirk to make him wonder just what I had in store for him.

  His body tensed as if he were preparing for a physical strike. With our gazes connected, I poked out the tip of my tongue and tickled the deep slit at the head of his cock. His erection twitched as I retrieved a small bead of moisture and took it into my mouth. “You taste good,” I murmured.

  He replied with a groan. Gimme me real life, gimme me real love, the stereo belted out.

  “This is real life,” I said, then ran my tongue over his silky-smooth cock-head and into the groove beneath it, all the time pumping him slowly with my fist, gliding over the veins of his shaft and tickling his balls. “There’s nothing fake about this feeling, is there?”

  “Sure isn’t,” he hissed as his fingers tensed in the roots of my hair, tugging at my scalp.

  I was so greedy for him, so hungry in the pit of my stomach. My overwhelming desire was to give him the pleasure he’d deserved last night and this morning. So I continued to massage his cock as I stretched my mouth wide and drew him to the very back of my throat, replacing my fingers with my tight lips as I sank down.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered in a voice so strained it could have been the result of extreme pleasure or agonizing torture. “Your mouth feels fucking fantastic, Nina.”

  Pleasure then.

  I continued to caress his taut sac and set a hard suction as I withdrew and dropped back down, spooning him with my tongue. He tasted so sweet and hot, sexy and salty. His fingers left my hair and I glanced up and saw them caught in his own hair, elbows stretched sideways. He’d gritted his teeth and his eyes were shut tight as though summoning an extreme amount of concentration and willpower.

  My insides bloomed with satisfaction. He’d driven me wild in the hall and now I was pushing his limits of self-control too.

  Suddenly he stepped away, sliding from my mouth. “You can do that again later,” he said in a voice that was deep with lust. “But right now I’m too damn near spilling down your throat and I don’t want to come without you riding high with me.” He kicked off his jeans and boxers and pulled at his trainers and socks.

  I licked my lips and looked at his swollen cock, shiny with my saliva. His plan suited me just fine so I stood and moved to him. He whisked off his t-shirt and crushed me against his naked body. My nipples rasped against his chest hair and my breath squeezed from my lungs with the determined force of his hug.

  His cock pressed against my stomach and I couldn’t help a groan of desperation for him to hurry up and get inside me. But instead he paused, scrabbled in his jeans pocket for a condom and rolled it down his cock.

  “Ian,” I murmured reaching up for a kiss. “Please…now…”

  He got the hint because he picked me up and tossed me on the sofa. I landed in a heap, one foot on the cushions and one on the floor.

  Plastic girls with their plastic toys.

  They don’t need no boys.

  Gimme real girls, gimme real life.

  The beat was fast and urgent—so was my rock star.

  He dropped down on top of me, grabbed my wrists and hauled my arms above my head. His knees nudged mine farther apart and I gasped. He was unstoppable. Then with one long, powerful thrust, he buried deep.

  “Ian,” I cried, arching my spine and neck into the cushions. He was big and should’ve taken his time but he didn’t. He’d buried to the hilt on the first plunge and the sharp, edgy pleasure was mind-blowing, I couldn’t get enough of it.

  “What?” he panted into my neck, dropping one of his feet to the floor to get better purchase on his thrusting.

  I’d forgotten what I was about to say, so I opted for, “Fuck, that feels good.”

  “Tell me about it.” He began to pump in and out in time with the fast beat of his song, circling his pelvis as he did so, capturing my clit and all the flesh around it. The plump head of his cock stroked my special place, and soon the sizzling heat of our connection sent fiery fingers through my flesh, warning me I was getting ready for takeoff.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and gave in to the tremendous feelings coursing through my body, the pleasure that was consuming me so entirely. I tried to move my arms, but he still had me pinned just where he wanted me. “Don’t stop,” I cried at the top of my voice.

  “Gone way past that point.” He pulled back and looked down at where our bodies joined.

  I followed his line of sight and saw the black of his pubic hair meshing with my coppery curls each time the thick stalk of his cock disappeared into my depths.

  Watching every powerful stab of his hips brought me closer and closer. I was mindless as I raced toward climax. There was no going back now. All my nerves were electric. I was being devoured by pleasure. His song filled the room, tangling with our desperate breaths and moans and groans of approval.

  “Come with me,” I said, looking up into his dark eyes. “Ian, come with…” I couldn’t finish. I was hung in that blissful state of ecstasy, suspended for that split second before my orgasm rushed through me and I became a hostage to the pleasure pulsing over me.

  “Fuck, yes,” he ground out through gritted teeth as he stared into my face.

  I wailed, loud and abandoned. Part scream, part moan, reveling in being able to vocalize my climax as I convulsed around him.

  His body turned to granite before shuddering violently. He swore again, shut his eyes and groaned deep in his chest. Then he gave one last thrust and collapsed, his cock pulsating deep within me.

  Finally he released my wrists and I wrapped my arms tight around his shoulders, wanting to be as close to him as I possibly could—wanting to be close to his soul.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “Hey, Nina, kiss for luck.” Robbie, lead singer of the Manic Machines, stood grinning in front of me.

  “Cheeky.” I laughed then kissed his cheek anyway.

  Robbie turned, pulled a gleeful face at Ian then raced up the six steps to the stage, both arms waving wildly. “Hello, Wembley!” he shouted. The roar of applause and screams was deafening. It rang through my ears and vibrated through the soles of my feet.

  “You okay?” Ian asked, taking the shiny scarlet guitar a member of the floor crew was handing him.

  “Yeah, fine.” I smiled.

  “I won’t be long.” He circled his free arm around my waist and pulled me close, pressing the entire length of his body against mine.


  “I know,” I said looking up into his beautiful dark eyes, sparkling with excitement and brimming with love. “And I’ll be right here waiting.”

  “Driver!” the red-faced floor manager barked. “For crying out loud, get on the damn stage.”

  “Sure, in a sec.” Ian bent his head and pressed a kiss to my lips. He pulled me closer still as his tongue probed into my mouth.

  I sighed and rested my palms on his cheeks and felt them hollow and dip as he got caught up in the moment and set about kissing me the way he did when he was about to strip me naked and put on our favorite mattress music. My knees weakened and I became lost…lost in my husband.

  “Ian, fuck, get up there, man!” the floor manager barked.

  Ian broke the kiss. “Guess I gotta go,” he said, his eyes heavy and his lips moist. “But hold that thought.”

  “I will.”

  He turned and took the steps two at a time as the drums banged out the intro of Manic Machines’ latest hit. The roof lifted at his arrival, and as I watched from the sidelines, I saw him throw a quick wave to the crowd before he ducked his head and got down to the serious business of playing Strawberries and Screams.

  The End

  www.lilyharlem.com

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  www.evernightpublishing.com