I reached into his boxers and took him in hand. He groaned as I palmed him and worked him from root to tip. The tip of his cock was wet. I was curious enough to roll onto my knees and lower my head to his length. Its girth matched his brawler body.
It would fill me up—might even break me if I was lucky.
I relaxed my jaw and took him as far as I could. On the way up, I cupped my tongue along his shaft and ended with a twirl along the domed head. He was the perfect blend of salty and clean. And bless him, he was well trimmed.
I didn’t mind a good reciprocal bit of head when a man took care of himself. And Johnny Cage certainly kept things all tidy. Enough that when I went down for another swallow, my nose brushed his muscled belly and there was no boy funk.
I was used to that. A gym full of males was always funktastic, but not him. Ivory soap and heat. I hollowed out my cheeks and almost gagged when he shuddered against me. I looked up at him. His fingers hovered over the top of my head, then fisted as he brought them up to clasp at the back of his head.
Fuck yes.
I twisted the base of him and sucked more strongly. My hand slid between my legs again and I hummed around his shaft. God, so close and yet I could barely touch myself. It was like my clit was trapped in a ring of freaking thorns that kept holding my freaking orgasm at bay.
Did he put some hoodoo bullshit on my damn clit?
He curled his fingers under my jaw and gently drew me back off his dick. “I want you, not your mouth.”
I rose up on my knees to face him. I braced one foot on the floor of the car for balance and to get a little height. He was so freaking huge. I don’t know how we fit in the back of his car. The GTO had been built for a different time. It was the only explanation that I had.
He dragged my sad excuse for a top all the way down to my waist and cupped my tits. They were sort of small for a girl, but too big for a fighter. I watched him brush his thumbs over my nipples again and again. I wasn’t really a breast girl. They were more of a nuisance than an area of pleasure, but my entire body was so overstimulated I arched to get him to do more.
“Lick them or something.”
He wrapped his arm around my lower back and dragged me up against him. “Always with the orders. Can’t you just sit back and enjoy?”
“No. I want to come, and you keep stopping.”
“When you come, it’s going to end in a scream. I told you that, remember?”
“It’s going to be a scream from me murdering you,” I said on a growl.
He grazed his teeth over my collarbone, then my neck. He stopped for a moment and I stilled.
My scar.
I tried to twist away, and he stopped me. He curled his fingers around my neck, his thumb learning the edges of the ragged scar that climbed up from my collarbone to my jaw. Instead of saying anything, he brought his mouth down to it and lightly sipped from the skin there.
He hushed me as he lightly stroked and kissed me there.
Too much.
Too intimate.
I didn’t want this.
I tensed, then he swung me around so that I was on my knees. Dizzy from the emotional onslaught and the orgasm denial, I gripped the side of the door. The tear of plastic and the snap of a rubber made me push back.
Yes.
Yes, this.
Not the other.
I wanted just his cock hollowing me out. I wanted him to push all my bullshit to the back of my mind. Where the scars didn’t matter, where only pleasure lived. He shoved my legs apart. I stretched one leg back and pressed my knee into the seat with the other.
Good thing I did.
Because he slammed into me with no warning. I screamed, “Fuck.” I held on and took every battering thrust of his cock. I arched my back and held on through the jackhammer fucking. I screamed out a yes to the empty quarry behind whatever building he’d taken us to.
Reward or retribution, I didn’t care. I just wanted more.
I pushed back on him until his hips slapped into my thighs, and there was nothing but his grunts and hisses of pleasure syncing up to my groans. He gripped my hips and leaned into me until I was crushed against the side of the car.
He pressed his forehead into the center of my back and sank his teeth into my skin. I whimpered. I couldn’t let go of the door and get down to my clit. I was holding on for dear life against the brute force of this man.
Finally, he reached around and his thick fingers pinched along the sensitive knot and I did scream. My thigh shook and I couldn’t hear or feel anything but a cosmic black hole of calm. For a moment, there was nothing but the pure bliss of perfection before my body lit up like the hundred-year-old merry-go-round at my favorite park in Cambridge. Pulsing and bright. Filled with excitement, whirling colors, and then there was nothing but a calamity of music and screams.
The music was actually in my reality as Johnny’s stereo came back into my consciousness. I’d been the one screaming. I could tell from my raw throat. He was draped over my back, both of us slumped against the seat.
“By the weeping angels.”
“They were weeping all right, because you were screaming.” He bit my ear. “Loud.”
I elbowed him. “Shut up. Get off me.”
He curled his arms around me and dragged me back against him. “Even angels like bomb-ass orgasms, English.”
I really tried not to laugh. Like a lot. Truly. But how was I supposed to hold out against that?
He flicked his tongue along the back of my ear. Just a tiny brush, not a slobbering dog like some guys. Enough that all my goosebumps came out like porcupine quills. I tried to move away.
The itch was scratched.
Delirium eased.
I could get back to my life.
“Come home with me,” he rumbled into my ear.
“Yes.”
Bollocks. I was so dumb.
NINE
Getting undressed in front of him was a whole lot easier than doing it in reverse. Half my clothes were in the front seat. I wasn’t exactly modest, but climbing over bucket seats in a convertible GTO in the dead of night with my arse hanging out seemed to push the limits of hella-wrong meters everywhere.
Especially since Johnny hadn’t even gotten all the way undressed.
He buckled up his pants and hopped out of the backseat to the ground. He twisted and cracked his back and I caught a glimpse of his chiseled belly, thanks to his ancient concert tee.
“I can’t believe I fucked a guy with a Bon Jovi shirt on. I didn’t even do that in primary school.”
He paused mid-twist. “Primary?”
“Are you questioning my moral compass?”
“Kinda.”
I laughed. “It’s more like early high school for the American school system.”
“Oh.” He shrugged and opened the door. “I popped my cherry at thirteen.”
I laughed. “Of course you did.”
“Girls dig dimples.” He reached over the seat to the floor and handed me my jeans and boots. “Got you naked, didn’t it?”
I pursed my lips and wiggled into my jeans. My underwear was long gone, but at this point it wasn’t wearable anyway. I lifted my hips, grinning at him when his gaze followed my every move. I stuffed my feet in my borrowed boots before crawling across the bench seat. “Your dimple was a factor. Mostly the way you filled out jeans though.”
“Ditto,” he answered.
I laughed. “Good thing it wasn’t my top.”
He tucked his finger into the stretchy material of my top and tugged it down. “You have perfect tits.” He drew a lazy circle along the slight curve of the underside of my breast before he tapped my nipple.
I drew in a sharp breath and fisted my fingers in his shirt. “Watch it.” The light slap made my pussy clench, but I wasn’t telling him that. He was already cocky enough as it was. “Would you like me to slap the top of your cock?”
He grinned and lightly grazed my nipple. “So stiff. The only thing
that tastes better is your cunt.”
I lifted my chin. My eyeballs were not going to roll back into my head, dammit. They were not. It’s like he knew that cunt was a trigger. In the U.K., it didn’t have the same taboo as the US. But the way he said it… That was the part that was going to end me.
He pinned my nipple between two knuckles and tugged.
I forced myself to stare back into his eyes. The little pulses around the tight bead and the way he pulled became a matching rhythm to the pulse of my pussy. I was wet again like I hadn’t just had the best sex of my life. If it didn’t feel so good, I’d be cursing his name.
I had a feeling I would be by the end of the night.
Hell, within the hour.
But I wasn’t going to break. Not this time.
He drew a light curlicue design along the skin of my belly as he kept up that insane rhythm. Endlessly patient to the point of maddening. I shivered, but I didn’t break.
“Fuck. You have no idea how hot this is.” He dropped his gaze to my chest. “I can’t wait to get to my house and see you in the light. To fuck you until we don’t have sweat left in our bodies.”
Jesus, he was good at the dirty talk.
Finally, he dropped his hand and reached into the car, lifting me out of the back like I weighed nothing. He set me on the ground in front of him and slowly tugged my top back into place. Then he laced his fingers with mine and drew me around the boot of the car to the other side. He opened the door, lifted our joined hands and nipped my wrist before letting me go to walk around the front of the car back to his side.
I dropped into my seat and tugged my seatbelt on.
The stereo was still playing, though the music faded into the liquid, moody strains of Coldplay. He didn’t say anything else, just peeled out to a network of side streets that led us out of the industrial parks to the heart of the city once more.
He knew the city. I knew it as plainly as I knew my training regimen. The fact that he’d probably banged another chick in this same place didn’t bother me. Well, not too much. But that his brain was a GPS to this city where I still got easily turned around left me with a bit of wonder.
I understood the grid pattern of the city, it was the weird pockets and burrows that always confounded me. I was from England, for pity’s sake. That was like the engineers had gone on a bender and laced a cigarette with LSD before they’d made the final map. But I knew it like the back of my hand.
Even after two years in New York, I was still learning her secrets. The fact that most of my time was spent in the gym didn’t help.
We didn’t talk. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he wound his way around the West End to ancient brick houses. He passed an old warehouse with a discreet brass plaque. Rail Station No. 7.
He pulled around the back into a very narrow parking spot hidden behind a lush quad of leafy plants and a surprisingly full container garden. He put up the convertible hood, leaning into me so he could line up the black canvas and metal frame. I crossed my arms over my waist. When it was obvious he was invading my space to be a shit, I opened my door. He drew his arm across my chest and slammed the door.
“Excuse me.”
“Need to lock this.” He pulled the handle, then dragged it back to snap it shut. “Besides, a gentleman opens the door for a lady.”
I made sure he was done and met his gaze. “I don’t see either of those kinds of people here, do you?” I swung the door open and slid out.
He slammed his door and came around to meet me. Instead of allowing me this little bit of personal space, he took my hand again. His long stride was no match for me, so I ended up trailing behind. I tried to pull my hand away, but he wasn’t having any of that. Evidently, this rock star didn’t sit on his ass all day.
The warm security light near the building turned his hair into a tarnished gold and softened a few of the planes of his face. There was a power to his shoulders and angle of his chin. He was on a mission and he was dragging me into it.
Part of me wanted to shake him off, and the other wanted to hop on and see how wild the ride could get. It was rare for me to be interested in a guy who could actually stand up to me.
There were plenty who could take me out in the ring—I wasn’t insane. I knew this, but I’d also never been interested in those kinds of guys. They preferred little ring card girls anyway. They liked to feel big and powerful, and they didn’t want a scrappy fighter who was always going to be in their face.
Johnny seemed to get off on it.
I had the damp jeans proving how much I enjoyed it. Didn’t like it, but couldn’t deny it either.
He led me to the far corner of the brick building. It had definitely been well taken care of. Huge windows were updated and framed out in jet black paint, but the rest of the building seemed to be true to the era.
He dragged open a massive black iron door. Galvanized bolts were polished to a high gloss and rust streaks showed the true age of the building. He swung it closed and I was on him.
I may have enjoyed our power play, but I was also extremely tired of being the chess piece he kept moving around to suit his purposes. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he rocked back against the door.
I latched my lips on his and moaned in relief when he gripped my hips and kissed me back. I slapped my hand against the cool metal and rolled my hips against his belly. When he tried to push away from the door, I grabbed the small bars of the peephole and slammed him back against the door.
He grunted and tore his mouth from mine. “Fuck. Do you want me bruised?”
I grinned down at him from the slight height advantage I gained from wrapping around him. “There will be many bruises.”
He grabbed my ass and my vise-locked leg on his hip, then swung me around to the stairs. I wanted to throw him off-balance, but I didn’t want to take a tumble down the stairs. Iron stairs, no less. Yeah, that would hurt.
He reached for the railing and headed down a staircase without thought. I gripped him harder and reached out for the brick wall. “I can walk.”
He buried his mouth in my neck as we hit the first floor of his living space. The corner of the wall knocked the breath out of me as we made it into the hallway. He kicked off his shoes and backed me into the wall.
I didn’t want to get pinned.
I was tired of being the passive participant.
I climbed up his body, the unfinished brick scratching the hell out of my back.
“Jesus, you’re going to…” His words came out in a whoosh as I knocked him off-balance and we crashed to the hardwood.
The breath had been knocked out of him. He tried to roll me, but I straddled his thighs and went for his belt. I wanted to rip his damn skin off. I wanted him naked. I wanted to see if that smooth gold skin was everywhere.
I reached into his jeans and he dragged in a breath as I fisted his cock. He groaned into my chest and closed his mouth over my breast through the material. “Fuck, yes,” I panted. He was so hot and hard, filling up my palm until my fingers couldn’t easily touch. “You’re damn girthy, Cage.” I grinned down at him. “Fill me up so good.”
His army-green gaze was direct and a little wild. “Damn right I do.”
I inched down his thighs to his knees, dragging his denims down with me. I twisted the base of his shaft and sucked at his sac.
His head hit the floor and he arched. “Fuck.”
I liked him lost to me. Giving head was like learning the finite pieces of a man’s sexual puzzle. My pussy revved in direct reaction to how hard he liked my touch. He lifted his head to look down at me. The hallway light was bright and there was no hiding the way his muscles tensed up as I got closer to his head.
I licked the underside of his shaft to wet him, and shuttled my hand up and down until he slapped the floor.
I breathed over the tip, lightly brushing my tongue over the silky, tight skin. He was my captive audience. I was the one who brought him here.
His pupils were blo
wn, his Adam’s apple bobbing with jerky swallows.
Fuck yes.
The power of it was like bottling lightning and rubbing it all over my body. The sensation raged and buzzed until I could barely stand it. I was dripping wet just from teasing him. Every single sense was maxed out. His musky scent mixed with mine from our earlier fantastic fuck. The heat of his skin and the delicious lines of him aroused me, and his ragged breath escaped like bellows as I hovered there.
It was only a moment, but it felt like forever. A drop of pre-cum made a lazy trail over my finger. Instead of taking him in my mouth, I licked it off my skin and closed my eyes. Exquisite.
Power, man, lust.
Bottle it and it would sell more than any of his records combined.
He was the fantasy.
I didn’t have rock star fantasies, but I had wanted a man who made this skin-on-skin action worth the time and the effort.
He was.
I squeezed him at the base and sucked his head and the top of his shaft into my mouth. He pulsed under my tongue, the blood surging in reaction to my heat and my hold. He slapped the floor again and tried to inch away from me.
I pulled him free with a pop. “Oh no.” I grinned around him and took him back inside my mouth. Our gaze held for a moment before I flattened my hand on his lower belly, taking his cock deeper. I opened my throat and drew a slow breath through my nose as he gripped my hair.
Yes.
He was trying to treat me like a lady again.
Trying so hard not to revisit that animal I’d unleashed in the car.
I wanted that back. I didn’t want an apartment fuck. I wanted to treat this hardwood like it was gritty pavement in an abandoned warehouse. I wanted to fuck him like our skin was never going to be the same after this. When his grip edged into painful, I took more.
My throat worked him, my tongue massaged him, my thumb and forefinger wouldn’t allow him to blow, and my weight kept him where I wanted him.
He tugged at my hair. I wanted his cum. If anyone had asked me yesterday to swallow their load, I would have spit it into a tissue, or possibly down their own throat. But tonight, I wanted his cum filling my belly and swimming in my veins. I wanted a piece of this madness to take with me.
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 56
