BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

  No, not fully, I realize as I shift back to regular consciousness. His jeans are shoved down to his knees. I can feel them behind me.

  But from thighs up, we’re naked together, and between our bodies, his cock rises. Thick and hard. Curved nicely, and there’s more of that delicious pre-come forming on the tip.

  I make another hopeless sound as he covers it up with a condom, but then his hands on are on my hips, and he’s urging me up and onto him.

  Oh my God.

  I feel like a teenager again.

  Maybe that’s because the last time—

  No. Not going there.

  But yeah. This…I don’t do this.

  “I don’t either,” he mutters, and I bite my lip.

  What else did I say out loud?

  He holds me above him, just circling the tip inside my slit. I’m so sloppy for him he could probably just slide in—I’m sure of it. Until he actually starts to slide in, and I have to take a deep breath, because holy shit.

  I mean, I’ve had him in my mouth. I know he’s big.

  But there’s nothing quite like this. His gazed glued to mine. His hands, branding my hips with a bruising hold as he rocks into me. Up. Up. Up.

  Each pulse pressing inexorably deeper.

  Tearing my heart in two.

  “Wilson,” I breath.

  “Right here with you,” he grinds out.

  I wrap my arms around him, giving in to my need to touch him, to taste him. I kiss his mouth, his jaw, his neck…he tastes like a fearless spring wind, salty and warm, but there’s a coolness, too.

  Like he really doesn’t do this. Like he’s used to this being mechanical.

  Dirty.

  I know all about that.

  He palms my ass, one cheek in each hand, and I press back against his touch. Encouraging him.

  He touches me there, stroking everywhere, and I roll my hips. Back into his touch. Forward and down onto his cock. Faster. Harder.

  As I rise on my knees to get more leverage, he nuzzles my chest, and I cup my breasts for him. I offer myself to him, and he looks at me first.

  We hold that for a moment, another pause before more dirty.

  And oh, then it gets so dirty. He sucks my nipples deep, first one, then the other, and as he pulls them to aching, puffy peaks, he pinches them hard.

  I swallow moan and moan until he slaps my ass and tells me he wants to hear it. “Don’t deny me those sounds,” he growls, and I can’t. I scream his name as he drives his cock into me, ruthlessly now, holding me in place as he strokes in and out. His pace is whipping me towards a second orgasm so fast I don’t know what to do. I’m a vessel for him to come inside, to hold and plunder and fuck and consume.

  Inside, I’m lit up in technicolor wonder. Outside my body, I can feel him, hear him, and taste him as I sink my teeth into his delicious shoulder, but beyond the points where we’re touching, nothing else exists.

  It’s just me and Wilson, and he’s playing the most beautiful music with my body. His lips return to my breasts, licking and sucking there as I crest the highest wave I’ve ever ridden, then his mouth crashes into mine as he joins me in a stuttering, explosive finale.

  It takes us a lot longer than a minute to detangle this time.

  I flop over, and he gets rid of the condom, then joins me.

  We kiss and touch for longer than I’d ever expect—again, am I acting like the teenage girl who never got to neck in her parents’ basement? Am I reverse rounding the bases?

  And why does this still feel so damn good? The sex is over. I should be in a scalding shower right now, scrubbing my skin and waiting for the melatonin to kick in so I can pass out.

  But I don’t want to pass out. I never want this night to end.

  He’s playing with my hair when I finally get up the nerve to ask him about something he said during sex. “What did you mean, you don’t do this either?”

  He leans over and picks up his shirt, helping me into it. He takes his time before answering, filling the silence with a very thorough worship of my breasts again. When I keep looking at him in amusement—because he’s clever, but so am I—he sighs. “That’s maybe a conversation best left for another time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to fuck you again, and if I admit that I only ever pay for it, you’re not going to let me.” He glances up at me from beneath the dirty blond flop of hair that I find so irresistible, and I laugh.

  “Really?”

  “Shut up, I’m being honest.”

  “Hookers?”

  “Call girls.”

  “Gross.” But I say it without any heat, because I secretly like that he doesn’t date. I mean, it’s gotta be expensive, but so is hiring staff that will fuck me, so I can’t judge. I pick up his hand and press it to my chest. “All the time?”

  He shrugs, then nods. “Not frequently, either.”

  That is a shame for vaginas everywhere, except again, I secretly like it. His beautiful cock is all mine.

  Or was. For tonight.

  Reality slams back into me and I roll off his lap, holding his shirt closed around me.

  “You look good in my shirt,” he whispers, gently pushing me onto my back.

  I grin up at him. “You look good without it.”

  “Perfect.”

  We fall asleep at some point, after making out and using another condom in the shower. When I wake up, I pull his shirt back on and pad out to the kitchen to get a smoothie. No clue what Wilson’s going to have for breakfast, but maybe he likes kale.

  If not, I can make him toast.

  It’s as close as I’ll ever get to a domestic scene, so I’m going to cling to it as long as possible.

  “Took you long enough to wake up,” Grant drawls from the couch and I scream, dropping my smoothie as I whirl around.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Good morning.” He gives me a cold look that says he knows I spent the night with someone.

  There’s no point pretending that’s not an exceptional event.

  “You need to leave.”

  I opened my mouth to say it, but it wasn’t my voice. From behind me, Wilson’s voice vibrates with authority and he steps forward, blocking me from Grant’s view.

  Oh, shit.

  I can’t see Grant anymore, but I don’t need to. He probably gives Wilson an amused look here. “I do?”

  “Tabitha will call you when she’s not busy.” I wince at the heroics. That’s not going to land well. Not that Wilson can’t take Grant—I had a repeated tour of his body last night. I know just how muscled he his, the power he hides on that apparently lean frame.

  Nothing lean about him once you strip off the clothes.

  And since I’m still wearing his shirt…

  Grant would be an idiot to mess with Wilson.

  That’s the problem. He’s always been an idiot, ever since he he flashed a smile and a business card at me and got more than he ever bargained in return.

  Or maybe he’s not an idiot. Maybe this is his revenge, a decade in the making. Because the first time I allow myself to feel happiness since the night I lost Keegan, Grant’s here to take it away.

  I know what he’s going to say. I lift my hand to touch Wilson’s back, to somehow hold on to the connection that Grant’s about to blow to smithereens.

  “You think I’m the one who’s going to leave here?” Grant snorts and I try to say something, but my voice doesn’t work. I’m already retreating inside the broken shell I call Tabitha Leyton.

  “Look man, I don’t know who you think you are, but there’s a thing called common human decency, and right now you’re not really exhibiting it.”

  “You don’t know who I am?”

  Wilson sighs.

  My heart breaks.

  Grant wins the day with the hollowest of victories. “I’m her husband.”

  NINE

  Wilson

  I can feel Tabitha behind me, shaking like a leaf. I want
to turn to her, but I can’t give this guy my back.

  And I need a minute before I look her in the face and see that it’s true.

  Because I know it is. All the pieces slide together.

  She doesn’t have much of an identity because Tabitha is an assumed identity. Which means she’s also someone else, and as that someone else, she had a baby and married this man, for reasons that might be connected, but the key is that I don’t know them.

  I’m nobody to her.

  I’ve bought into yet another layer of lies.

  Grant smirks at me.

  I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a response.

  “Hope you wrapped it up, anyway,” he tosses off as he walks to the first bedroom like he owns the place. “She’ll let anything stick it in her.”

  I’m across the room before he puts his hand on the door. I slam into him, shoulder first, and the crunch isn’t nearly satisfying enough as we tumble into the bedroom and spin around. I slam my fist into his guts twice as I back him up against the wall inside the door, two quick shots that’ll make him pee blood, then I get my forearm under his chin and I press.

  Hard.

  “I’m your new worst enemy,” I whisper, spitting in his face as I do. I’m shaking with white-hot rage, the likes I haven’t felt in years, and if he moves, I will kill him.

  He freezes.

  “You think a casual insult scares me off? You think I’m under any delusions about not being used by your wife?” I nudged his legs apart with my knee, lifting him higher up on the wall so his toes just dance helplessly above the ground. He knows what’s coming, and I make him wait for it.

  It’s only when doubt starts to swirl in his eyes—maybe I won’t do it?—that I jerk my knee up, driving his balls hard into his body.

  More blood to piss out.

  Asshole.

  I step back and let him crumple to the floor, then I back out of the room, closing the door behind me.

  There’s still the small matter of Tabitha to deal with. She’s staring at me, eyes wide, mouth covered with her pale little fingers.

  “Don’t—” I stop and shake my head. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “I’m not…” She gives me an incredulous look. “I’m not afraid of you, Wilson. But why did you do that?”

  “He said—”

  “You think that’s the first time he’s called me a slut?” She laughs hysterically. “That’s a regular good morning around here.”

  “That fucking shit doesn’t fly with me.”

  She gives me a look of disbelief. “So?”

  “I’m not going to let him talk about you like that.”

  “You don’t get a say in it. We are not a thing. You need to leave.”

  My jaw clenches so hard I think I may have fractured something. I don’t fucking care. “We are not done.”

  “He wasn’t lying. It’s a secret, for kind of stupid reasons, but it’s true. We’re married.” Her chest rises and falls in sharp, stuttering jerks. She thinks that’s enough to push me away?

  I prowl towards her, and her eyes widen. Pleading…for what? To tell her it’s going to be okay? That I’ll keep her secret?

  I will.

  But I’m not letting her go.

  Because I know the truth. I stop a foot from her—close enough to pull her into my arms.

  I don’t.

  Close enough to share her breath and see the pain in her eyes. I look at her long and hard, letting her see that I see her. “Why are you married?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Your pussy wrapped around my cock says otherwise.”

  “You have a very old-fashioned way of looking at fucking, then.”

  “Never did until last night.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “For your husband. Not for you, and not for me.” I flick my gaze to the door and the asshole on the other side. I need to remember that whatever fucked up situation Tabitha is in, she was in it before I stormed into her world. And she’s a grown-up. Sort of. “Are you safe with him?”

  She laughs. “Yes.”

  “I can’t leave you with him.”

  She shakes her head. “No. You need to. I’m going to call a doctor for him. And I’m never alone with him. You need to go home. This isn’t a fairy tale, Wilson.”

  “You think that’s what I want?”

  “I think…neither of us expected this. Right?” She shifts closer and presses her hand against my cheek. I’m seething, and her touch doesn’t cool my rage. She’s fearless in the face of it, though. “So we need to pretend tonight was a dream.”

  Like her baby? Am I going to recognize myself in a song on her next album?

  I shake my head. “This isn’t over. I’ll see you again soon, Tabitha.”

  She gives me the longest, saddest look, then looks away. And when she looks back, she’s armed with razor blades instead of words. “Think I’ll be fucking someone else when you do?”

  My nostrils flare. That’s not going to work. “Think you’ll fuck anyone else alone between now and then?” I lean in and ghost my lips against hers. “If you do, you let me know. Then we can be done.”

  I want to imagine I see a tear in her eye as I step back. That it’s not glossy fierceness, but actual feelings that I’ve stirred inside her.

  I want to know she’s half as affected by me as I am her.

  I’ll be left hanging on that point forever, because she turns her back on me, not waiting to see me out.

  I stand in the empty living room of a suite in the Bel-Air. Less than a day has passed since I first stormed into this room, not knowing what I’d find.

  Now I’ve lost my shirt, my heart, and my sanity, all in one fell swoop.

  Because the only thought as I stare at the closed door, on the other side of which is my lover and her husband, is…

  Mine.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Sign up for my newsletter to be the first to hear about the next chapter in Wilson and Tabitha's story: http://ainsleybooth.com/newsletter/

  MORE FROM AINSLEY BOOTH

  Stay tuned for more Horus Group stories by signing up for my newsletter at http://ainsleybooth.com/newsletter/

  There will be at least four complete story arcs in this series:

  Hate F*@k - Cole’s story – AVAILABLE NOW

  Love Hate - Tag’s story

  Dirty Love - Wilson’s story

  F*@k Dirty - Jason’s story

  Each of them will be told in their own way. Look for Love Hate in early 2016, told in two parts—like Hate F*@k, that one is going to get worse before it gets better.

  The rest? You’ll have to wait and see. The story of The Horus Group has really just begun.

  ~ Ainsley

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  ABOUT AINSLEY BOOTH

  Mom by day and filthy romance writer by night, Ainsley is super grateful for caffeine, banana and blueberry muffins, and yoga pants. She also writes contemporary romance as New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Zoe York.

  More Than Music

  (Chasing The Dream #1)

  by

  Elizabeth Briggs

  Website | Facebook | Mailing List | Fan Group

  MORE THAN MUSIC featuring VILLIAN COMPLEX ~

  When geeky guitarist Maddie Taylor joins tattooed rock star Jared Cross’s band to compete on a reality TV show, their attraction becomes impossible to resist—but their forbidden romance might tear their band apart and cost them everything.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Readers,

  More Than Music is the first novel in the Chasing The Dream series, which is all about rock stars, reality TV shows, and falling in love while going after your dreams. For a limited time only, you can get the stand-alone prequel novella about Jared’s brother Kyle for FREE by signing up for my reader list – just visit http://www.elizabethbriggsbooks.com to get it!

  Thanks for reading and I hope yo
u enjoy More Than Music!

  Elizabeth Briggs

  ONE

  Tonight was going to be epic, I could feel it. I edged closer to the stage, pushing past emo kids with sweeping black hair and girls in fishnets and combat boots. Julie and Carla followed, our hands linked so we wouldn’t lose each other while I searched for the perfect spot. Not right in front so we looked like obsessed groupies hanging all over the band, but close enough to get a good view of the stage and feel the music vibrating under our skin. After some maneuvering, the three of us wedged into a space in the crowd and clinked our beers together.

  “Here’s to the end of finals,” Julie shouted, over the noise of a hundred conversations going on at once. “And the end of our junior year!”

  “I still have a final tomorrow morning,” Carla shouted back. “What time are they going on again, Maddie?”

  “Any minute now,” I said. “Don’t worry. Kyle’s band only has one album. We’ll be out of here in an hour.” I had a final early, too, and normally I’d be studying right now and then going to bed at a reasonable hour to make sure I got an optimal amount of sleep. But it wasn’t every day a friend’s band got a gig like this in a club on Hollywood Boulevard. Besides, I was a music major. This totally counted as research.

  I rocked back and forth on my feet, full of that intoxicating mix of excitement, anticipation, and longing I always felt right before a concert started. The club was dark except for the spotlights highlighting the equipment on stage, poised and ready for the band to come out. People with dyed hair and tattoos and piercings pressed all around us, and I felt more out of place than ever with my black-rimmed glasses, red flannel shirt, and jeans.

  Julie fit into the crowd better with her knit panda beanie, despite it being approximately the temperature of the sun in here. She’d made the hat herself and on anyone else it would look stupid, but with her long black hair and red lips, she somehow managed to pull it off. Combined with the skater dress with stars and planets that she’d also made, she was really rocking her sexy nerd look tonight. Sort of like an Asian version of Zooey Deschanel.