"After." I grind against him.
I drag my hands over his chest and stomach. His body is so hard and defined and there's something so pleasing about the way it feels against my palm, like it was meant for it.
My hands brush the soft hairs below his belly button. He shudders, his hips rocking against me. I go lower, lower, until I'm at his waistband.
Lower. I rub him over his pajamas.
Drew groans into my mouth. He digs his fingers into my chest, squeezing my nipples.
I pull off his bottoms. Drew lifts his hips to help me. Then they're at his knees and off his feet. Then it's just him.
Something in Drew turns on, something animal. His pupils dilate. His breath gets heavy. He pulls the top over my head and tosses it on the floor in one desperate movement.
I press my lips against his neck then work my way down. I draw an outline around his chest piece with my tongue. His skin tastes good. Like soap and like Drew.
His hand goes to my hair. It presses gently against the back of my head, ready to guide me to just the right spot.
I drag my hands down his defined stomach. They rest on his hips, and I hold on tight as I position myself.
The muscles of his stomach tense. I flick my tongue against them. Then a little lower. I nibble on skin just below his belly button.
He lets out a desperate groan. Grabs onto my hair a little tighter. He's shaking. He wants me that badly.
He's at my mercy.
I press one hand against the bed to hold myself up. The other, I wrap around him. He's so thick and warm and hard.
I brush my lips against his tip. He shudders, his hand digging into my hair. I do it again and again, until he groans.
I slide my tongue over him, tasting him, testing his reactions.
His eyes close.
I flick my tongue against the underside of his tip. His fingers dig into my hair. That's it. That's the spot.
"Kara," he groans quietly. "Fuck, Kara."
My nipples harden. My sex clenches. The way he says my name—it's magic, it's poetry.
I do it again and again, until he's panting and shaking, until he brings his other hand to my hair. His fingers press against my head, a gentle nudge.
I take him into my mouth. Sucking on his tip at first, then going deeper. He's big. Too big for me to take completely. I wrap my hand around him, using it like an extension of my mouth, so I have all of him under my control.
Drew groans. It's such a great sound—his pleasure—and it's all because of me.
He guides me over him, digging his hands into my hair. I run my tongue over his base as I suck on him.
The ache between my legs tightens. There's something about having Drew in my mouth. It makes me all the more needy, all the more desperate.
I take him deeper.
"Kara," he says my name like it's his favorite thing in the world. "You're so fucking amazing."
He bites his lip. He groans.
I slide my hand from his hip to his ass, digging my fingers into his firm flesh, relaxing the muscles in my throat to push him deeper. Yes. There. I have almost all of him and he feels so good. He tastes so good.
His grip tightens in my hair.
He thrusts into my mouth. I grip him harder. I'm so keyed up, and the sounds escaping his lips are perfect.
"Fuck," he groans. "I'm gonna come."
The muscles of his stomach and thighs clench.
"Kara."
And then he's coming, tugging at my hair, gnawing at his skin.
I press my palm against his stomach to hold myself in place as he fills my mouth. When he's done, I swallow. It's not even a consideration. It's Drew.
He reaches for my hands and pulls me next to him. There's the calmest look on his face, like he can barely remember his own name.
His fingertips slide over my cheek. He stares at me with a mix of appreciation and need. "How the hell did you get so good at that?" His finger hooks on my lower lip, pulling my mouth open a centimeter or so. "Don't tell me if it's anything besides blind intuition."
"I'm not, I... thanks."
His lips close over mine. He kisses me hard, more desperate than he ever has. When he releases me, he's breathless. "You fantasize about that?"
"Only with you." I hold eye contact, attempting to maintain my confidence. He's gooey with post-orgasm affection. There's no reason to be shy. "I think about anything two people can do together."
"You're fucking amazing." He pulls me into another hard, desperate kiss.
"You can have any woman you want. Must be a line of fans ready to drop to their knees. Who would beg you—"
"I only want you." He teases my nipples until I groan. "I fucking love that sound." He pulls my pajamas to my feet. "You still game?"
"You really want to watch?"
He nods, his eyes wide with enthusiasm.
"I've never had an audience before."
He rolls back to his elbow. His fingertips trail over my breasts. "If you get too self-conscious, I can take over." He pinches my nipple. "But I hope you don't. I fucking love watching you come."
"Okay." I settle into the bed, positioning myself like I would if Drew wasn't here. But he is here. There's no sense in pretending I'm alone, masturbating while I think of him.
I touched myself while we were fucking, but this is different. This is a show.
Nervous energy passes through me. It fades away the second our eyes connect. He's lost in anticipation. He's still at my mercy.
I hold his gaze as I slide my hand down my stomach. I spread my legs wider to give him a better view. It's dark in here. He won't see my scars in high-def.
I go slow, teasing myself with light, long strokes over my outer lips. I stare into his eyes. His attention is on my movements, his mouth hanging open like he's watching his favorite movie.
It's magic. It makes it impossible to go slow. I forget about teasing and bring my fingers to my clit. I need to come. I need to show him how much I want him.
I rub myself. Soft then harder. Then just right. Drew sighs with pleasure. He brings his hands to my cheek and presses his thumb over my lower lip. I groan. Him touching me makes this better. I thrust my chest toward him. It's enough direction. He brings his hand to my breast and toys with my nipple.
Fuck yes.
Pressure builds between my legs. I've done this plenty. I know how to make myself come quickly. But with his eyes glued to me, with his hands on my body, I want to revel in how good it feels.
Every brush of his fingertips sends a pang straight to my sex. The knot pulls tighter and tighter, until it's too much to take. I find just the right spot and keep my pressure steady. There. Almost. My eyelids press together. I groan, arching my back and shifting my hips.
The orgasm is intense. Bliss spreads through my pelvis then my torso then all the way to my fingers.
When I blink my eyes open, Drew is still staring at me with rapt attention.
"Better than I imagined." He presses his lips to mine.
"You imagined that?"
He copies my words. "Not a million times." He pulls my body into his. "But pretty fucking close."
***
The light falling over the bed casts Drew in a dreamy glow. It's bright enough that it must be well into mid-morning. I brush my teeth, fix a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea, and sit down with my textbook. There's a lot of weekend left and I want to spend it without schoolwork hanging over my head.
By the time Drew joins me at the table, I'm done with my finance homework.
He kisses me good morning. There's something normal about it. Like we're a regular couple who goes around using the words boyfriend and girlfriend.
He unlocks his phone and shows off his 15 Missed Texts notification.
I read the one in the notification.
Tom: Let me know if you killed anyone. I'll need to start early to keep that out of the news.
Drew shakes his head and taps a few replies. I find my phone and check the da
mage. Just a few texts from Meg.
Meg: You're gone. Take it things went well? Let me know when you're done fucking Drew.
I keep my reply short and sweet.
Kara: Very well. Will let you know if I'm ever done. I have lots of plans for the weekend. Brunch Sunday?
Meg: Only if we're actually studying. I'm way behind.
Kara: Deal.
I take the last sip of my tea. "Anything bad?"
"Wish they'd mind their own business." He shoves his phone to the other side of the table. His lip corners turn down. He shifts like he's shaking off his funk. "I want to take you to the beach. It's supposed to be ninety today. I know you—"
"I don't go to the beach."
"What if you got a swimsuit that covered your thighs? Not that you should. I recommend one of those Brazilian thongs."
"You'd punch every guy who looked at me."
"I can control myself."
My voice drops. "No. I can't... not yet."
"We don't have to do it today. But if you visit on tour, I always want to get away. We're stopping at a lot of cities near the ocean."
"I don't know."
"I'll go shopping with you."
"You're volunteering to shop?"
"If I get to see you try on swimsuits, fuck yes."
I do miss swimming, and there are options. Long board shorts or swim skirts or somehow channeling all the don't-give-a-fuck in the world and wearing a regular, scar-revealing bikini.
But I'm caught on something else. Drew wants me to visit on tour? He can't deal with talking to his friends about our relationship status and he wants me to visit him on tour. No fucking way.
"When are we telling our friends that we're together?" I ask. "We don't need a label for it. Just... hey, this is a thing. It's not like they don't know."
His eyes go to the floor. "I don't want to invite their commentary. It will only fuck things up."
"You need to tell them before the tour." I press my palm against the table. "It's about a month away, right?"
"Yeah."
"You do realize that everyone knows what's going on, right?"
He shrugs like he finds it plausible that Miles, Tom, or Pete has no clue that Drew and I are more than friends.
Maybe he's right. I'm sure everyone knows we're fucking. But that could be it. It's not like rock stars avoid no-strings-attached sex.
"I put them through hell with Vivian. I don't want them thinking it will be the same with you." He shifts, his expression softening. "After your midterms. That's two weeks, right?"
I nod.
He scoots closer. Runs his fingers over the inside of my wrist, tracing the faint scars. "You don't have to hide these, you know. They're not that noticeable."
"I'm not interested in your opinion on how I should cover or not cover my body."
Drew's lips curl into a smile. "How can you make telling me to fuck off sound so charming?"
"Practice."
He makes eye contact. "I do want to be with you. For a long time."
I push off the table and find my purse. "You don't have to say the word boyfriend. You have two weeks." I slide into my canvas sneakers. "After that, I'm not going to be patient."
"Deal." He shifts to his feet with a nod and follows me out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
For some bizarre reason, Drew parks in the corner of the empty fourth floor of the garage.
The thought of heading to the beach in a bikini is enough to send me into full blown panic. I push everything else aside so I can focus on staying calm. I'm not committing to anything. I'm just trying on swimsuits.
The tile floor squeaks under my rubber soles. There are two department stores with swimwear sections, but I head straight for the specialty shop on the first floor. The woman at the counter is in her forties. She looks at me maternally, like she's going to warn me to wear sunblock.
She studies Drew as if she's trying to place him, then turns back to me. "Are you looking for something in particular, Miss?"
"Do you have anything with a skirt?"
She looks at me funny, like it's strange for someone my age to want a swim skirt. Thankfully, she makes no commentary, instead pointing me to a section in the corner.
It narrows my options considerably. There's one style and the skirt is only barely long enough. It's a lot of fabric, sure to cause enough drag to make swimming difficult. I allow myself a minute to imagine the possibility of wearing a regular swimsuit. Is there any world where I can care so little about the angry red marks that line my thighs?
Drew gives me space, hanging out by the register and making conversation with the saleswoman. She smiles at him, charmed by his personality, his looks, or his potential for commission.
I pick out a reasonably cute purple halter top swim skirt combo and motion to the dressing rooms.
She waves me over. "You sure you don't want to try anything else?"
"How about that one?" Drew points to a tiny black bikini. "Unless you'd rather skinny dip at our place?" He smirks.
The saleswoman plays a strong poker face.
"That would never hold my boobs." I turn back to the dressing room.
"You could try it. See if you like it." He pulls it off the rack and hands it to me.
"No."
His expression softens. "Are you going to hide forever?"
A crick develops in my neck. "You don't get a say in what I wear."
"Maybe something more supportive." The saleswoman points to a not so T&A-revealing black-and-white polka-dot bikini. "This brand has a few different cuts you can try." She pulls a huge handful of tops and bottoms from the rack and leads me to the dressing room.
In the locked stall, I strip to my underwear. Drew is too fucking pushy. He's always like this. It's usually more endearing than it is frustrating, but right now I can't deal with the extra stress.
The purple swim skirt is just long enough to keep me covered. The waist is too high and the top sits funny on my shoulders. It's not the most flattering and it's certainly not the most youthful, but it's a swimsuit I can wear without a panic attack.
That's something.
The mirror in here is too small for a really good look. I fight a sigh as I step into the main area. It's right at the back of the store, in view of Drew, the saleswoman, and anyone walking past us.
Drew makes eye contact immediately. "You look great." He shoves his hands into his pockets like he's on his best behavior.
I don't look great. The bottoms gap at the waist and pull at the hips. The top is too big and too tight all at once. The only good thing about this swimsuit, besides the color, is its ability to cover my upper thighs.
Drew comes closer. He's still a few feet away.
I turn back to him so the mirror is out of my eyeline. "I look like an old lady."
"Like a MILF."
I laugh despite the sense of dread in my gut. "It's exhausting hiding this all the time."
He moves closer. Much closer than is appropriate in the middle of a store with the saleswoman glancing in our direction.
"She's going to ask us to leave." I lean into his body anyway.
He wraps his arms around me. "Then I'll buy everything you've got in the dressing room and you can try 'em on at home."
"Would you really?"
"Last I heard, I don't get a say in what you wear."
"I didn't mean to be so—"
"I know." He kisses my forehead and steps back to an appropriate distance for the middle of a store. "I love how strong you are, Kara. I love that you tell me to back off when I'm being an ass."
The words I love you, Kara were in that sentence in that order. There were other words between them, but my body is ignoring those other words in favor of going into overdrive.
It's warm in here. Really warm. I lift my hair to fan the back of my neck. Better. I'm breathing okay.
"I'll try that other bikini, but there's no way I'm wearing it in public. Understand?" I put my hand
on my hip in my most confident posture.
"Kendrick, you can say or do whatever you want if you're modeling swimwear for me."
In the dressing room, I change into the skimpiest of all the polka dot options. The triangle top tugs at my neck. So not happening with my bust size. The bikini bottoms are low rise. They barely cover my thong.
My gaze goes straight to the raised red scars on my thighs. They aren't as bad as they are in my mind, but they're noticeable.
I step back until I'm pressed against the wall. I try to look at myself like I'm taking in the whole picture, but I can't see anything but the scars.
Maybe it's better in the mirror outside.
With a deep breath, I step out of the dressing room. I block out everything but my reflection. First above the waist. The cut is a lot more flattering. My boobs look enormous in the tiny top. My eyes travel down. This bottom fits better. It's not digging into my hips.
And then the thighs.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the scars stand out like black tattoos on white skin.
That crick in my neck spreads to my upper back.
Drew comes closer. He looks in the mirror like he's studying my reflection it in. "You okay?"
I shake my head.
"You look hot as fuck, you know."
"Maybe waist up."
"Every inch of you looks hot as fuck." He leans closer. "I'd drag you to the dressing room and rip that bikini off if I didn't think it would get us arrested." He groans. "Even so. Might do it if you stay out here too long."
My cheeks flush. He really does make me feel hot as fuck.
I nod a thank you and return to the dressing room. One of the polka-dot bottoms is a swim skirt with ruffles. It's a lot shorter than the other skirt. It will probably draw attention to my scars as much as it hides them.
I change into it and a bra-style top. The latter fits like a charm. But the skirted bottoms—
They're feminine and adorable and absolutely ineffective at covering the parts I want hidden.
Outside, Drew clears his throat like he's waiting. Okay, fine, I did promise to model for him. I step into the main area and twirl like I really don't give a fuck that my thighs are visible to everyone who walks by the store.
Drew looks me up and down. His eyes go wide. "Your tits look amazing."
Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2) Page 18
