by Amber Lin
She bolted through the crowd, pushing flailed limbs out of her way like tree branches. They tried to stick to her clothes, her hair, but she pushed harder, faster, until she was right up on him. She brushed against him, snagging his wrist as she went. Then they were outside, breathing sour back-alley air and panting against the rusted metal wall.
“What was that?” she managed to ask. “The song.”
He looked annoyed, but he wasn’t leaving anymore. He scanned the packed parking lot before tugging her farther into the shadow. “I didn’t mean to light into you. Not on your birthday.”
An apology. He wanted to write that song off as an apology, when she’d wanted it to be foreplay. But she had built her whole life out of fantasies and glitter. She could make this happen too.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of her. He didn’t resist. His body loomed over hers, exactly where she wanted it.
“Then make it up to me.”
Chapter Four
Krist planted his palms on the cold metal behind her and leaned over, blocking her body with his in case they had an audience lurking in the shadows. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. If someone got a picture, they wouldn’t be able to tell for sure who was under him. Unless they’d gotten one as they exited the building. In that case it didn’t matter.
None of it mattered; they were already linked together now. But that didn’t mean he had to play along. “You’re too much. You manipulate me into singing at your party, something that’s probably already buzzing on the gossip sites, and you want me to make it up to you?”
Her head fell back, exposing the long column of her neck, her breasts rising and falling as she laughed. A throaty laugh, almost mournful. “Yes.”
“You weren’t happy with the performance? You wanted an original composition?”
“‘Broken.’” Her eyes widened as soon as the words were out of her mouth, like she’d surprised herself with the admission.
That fucking song. That goddamn fucking song. The only song he sang lead. The last song he’d written on his own. The least popular song in their whole catalog. And she wanted him to sing it. Either she was trying to earn some fan cred or she really did want to make a fool of him. He couldn’t tell. “Never gonna happen.”
She licked her lips and nodded, sliding her hands over his stomach and chest, trailing heat up his body, until they rested on his shoulders. “Then one kiss. A real one.”
His laugh tore at his throat, rustier than the wall they leaned against. “Is that all you wanted? You didn’t need to orchestrate a video shoot and a fake engagement to get another kiss, princess. All you had to do was ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
She asked him with her whole body. With her hands kneading the tense muscles of his shoulders. With her thigh wedged between his legs, pressing against his crotch. With her breasts thrust toward him, dangerously close to spilling out of her top. With her mouth, wet and open, a breath away from his. Every inch of her working toward this goal. Working him.
Energy crackled between them, different from what they’d shared onstage or in the club. This felt raw and real, even if he was certain it was another page from her playbook. Maybe it was the harsh wall behind them or the smell of the dumpster wafting over from a few feet away. They weren’t celebrities on the job, watching and being watched. They were just two people, turned on from too much skin-to-skin contact in a club, looking to scratch an itch.
He could lie to himself when he needed to, when he had an itch.
He took a step back, and she gasped, disappointment spreading over her face like a haze. He replaced it with shock when he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up. She wobbled, but her body was strong, a dancer’s body, used to being hoisted and tossed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hooked her arms around his neck, and then they were all tongues and teeth. More clash than kiss. The naked heat of her scorched his belly. No panties.
He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nipped. He wanted to nip more. To bite and suck and sink his body into something warm and wonderful. He spun them around and leaned his back against the wall. If only this could be anonymous, like they really were just two people who met in a club. “I’m not going to fuck you, princess.”
He hated how cruel he sounded. Lock’s voice rang in his ears. If I wanted to fuck you, I’d have done it already. God, that had hurt. She didn’t need to be hurt like that, not on her birthday.
“You keep saying that, maybe—”
He cut her off. Maybe he could make it up to her. “Maybe you should be quiet while I finish giving you your birthday kiss.”
Before she could tug her dress back into place, he was crouched low between her legs.
“Oh. Okay.” She splayed her fingers over the top of his head.
He anchored his hands on her ass and looked up the line of her body. Her dancer’s body. Used to being hoisted and lifted. “Hang on. We’re going up.”
And then he pushed off, lifting her into the air again. A dirty piggyback ride with his face buried in her pussy.
*
Maddy had fantasized about Krist Mellas’s mouth since she’d first seen him singing and playing bass and rocking his cold black heart out on Half-Life’s debut. That album had gone platinum twice, cementing their role as music legends when she’d still been doing jam commercials.
She had played the innocent, the wide-eyed daughter, the naive little sister. Jamby’s is the sweetest. Just like me, she’d announced with a well-rehearsed smile. Her entire fake family had laughed as the scene cut.
Between takes she would do what every other twelve-year-old girl was doing: turn on the MTV music video countdown and drool. That’s all she was, really.
Just another fangirl.
Except she had those lips pressed against the inside of her thigh. She had his palms supporting her ass and his fingers digging into her flesh. She had him exactly where she’d always wanted him to be, so why did the hole in her chest feel even bigger now?
When he grunted against her flesh like a fucking animal, when her sex clenched in anticipation… It was her every dirty dream come true, so why was her throat too thick to speak? Pinpricks pressed against her eyes, and she had to close them. Had to knock her head against the broken bricks behind her, the pain easing her way.
“Stop teasing,” she managed to say.
He kissed the line where her thigh met her hip. He kissed the top of her mound. “What do you want, princess?” he muttered.
Her groan was pure frustration. “Fuck me with your tongue.”
He smiled against her skin. “Just a little payback.”
She laughed, breathless, hopeless, because she’d never teased him. Only offered herself on a platter, and now he’d finally sat down to eat. “You do know how to do this, right?” she taunted.
His gaze locked on hers, more amused than angry. “Think I can’t make you come?”
Maybe it was cruel, going after him where he already had a wound. The paparazzi vultures had attacked him after that video came out, the one with him and Lock. But she wanted the truth more than she wanted to be nice. Was he only into cock? If so, the pink dildo she stowed in her carry-on wouldn’t be enough for him.
Or did he swing both ways like she did?
Sure, he had his face between her legs, but maybe this was part of his act. The way her platinum hair and bubblegum sound were part of hers. This was what it took to be famous. It took being someone else.
“Make me come,” she muttered, her hand clenching his hair. She directed his mouth where she wanted it. If he didn’t already know, she’d teach him. She’d choreograph his every move, but it was up to him to pull off the show. His passion.
He had to want it. He had to want her.
Then he closed his eyes, and she almost came. Just the shock of wet heat against her core and the sight of his blissed-out face was enough to make her jerk in his arms. He didn’t need skill or desire, not really. He just n
eeded to keep those lips against her body, and she’d rub herself on him, using his face like a pillow between her thighs.
She pulled, yanking his hair to the point of pain, and he moaned. She couldn’t hear him, not with the thump thump thump from the club, from her pulse, from the pounding in her sex, but she felt him. He vibrated right against her clit, sending shocks all through her body, racing to the top of her spine and down to her toes.
Long licks from the base of her sex to the top. No finesse, just hungry slides of his tongue. Then he dipped into her core, drawing out her moisture, moving it all around until she felt impossibly slick and oiled and sopping against his mouth.
He was taunting her, she realized. This was his payback, to make her come with the slow, casual licks—the easiest thing in the world.
She wasn’t going to let him win, though. Not Madeline Fox.
But her hands were already grasping his skull like it was an anchor. Her ankles were already digging into his back. Her breasts already heaved above him, and he looked entirely too composed, as if he was savoring her. So she used the only weapon she had left, her secret weapon—her words.
“I love that tongue,” she murmured. It was almost a song, the way she whispered to him in the alley, a filthy melody. “Love how it tries to fill me up. Tries to reach that place inside me, the one that would make me come. It can’t get that far in, though, can it? Try for me. Fuck me with it. Yeah, like that. Faster.”
He obeyed with a groan that told her he liked this—dirty orders, cruelly spoken. He might prefer to suck a dick while he got defiled and debased, but he could suck her clit instead. She would make him like it.
“Higher, baby. Lick my clit with just the tip of your tongue. That’s all you can use, the tip.” She laughed softly at the reversal—just the tip—but her laugh dried up when the feeling hit her like an arrow. His tongue made a point, and her clit was the target, radiating pleasure to her body.
So obedient. Her breath caught, and she felt a rush of liquid tickle her folds. He lapped it up, reaching inside for more before returning to her clit.
A moan reverberated around her, filling her eardrums, making her body shudder, as if the whole fucking band was here—Moe on the drums and Lock growling into the mic. They were the ones playing backup to Krist. He was the main attraction, and she was just another fangirl after all.
*
He eased her off his shoulders and carefully set her on her feet. “You’ve got a dirty mouth.”
She leaned against him, sliding her palms up his sweaty chest until they were threaded around his neck again. She tugged, pulling his head down, and kissed his sticky mouth. “So do you.” As if to prove the point, she licked inside, tasting herself on his tongue. “Besides, you like it.”
He did like it when she yanked him around. He liked it too much. And he’d hear that sweet voice in his dreams, lilting and filthy.
He’d felt like a damned god with her up in the air, thighs quaking against his cheeks, juices running down his chin, but he felt more powerful denying her the information. “You have no idea what I like.”
“Then tell me.” She raked her nails down his arms, raising goose bumps in their wake. “We can do anything. You don’t want to fuck me? Fine. I can fuck you.”
His body lit up.
What the hell was wrong with him? They were in a back alley, behind a warehouse club, and he had an image problem. Directly related to being fucked.
It had to stop. He ignored his cock, throbbing in his jeans. That felt good too. Denying her. Denying himself. An aching bass line. He didn’t dare open his mouth to tell her no. His tongue might trip like it was still buried in her slick folds and say yes. God, yes.
He slipped from her grasp and pounded on the back door. Her heels clacked on the pavement behind him, but he didn’t turn to see her face. Hopeful, confused, pissed, it didn’t matter what she was feeling right now. It wouldn’t change what he needed to do, which was leave before he let his dick start running the show again. “Go back to your party, princess. Nobody’s getting fucked tonight.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Chapter Five
Maddy woke to the familiar blare of her alarm. She slid her hand under the pillow—no phone. Blindly, she reached over to the nightstand and came up empty. Ignoring the pounding in her head, she groped the tangled sheets until she found her phone and turned off the alarm. Her groan was pure resignation.
She stretched and froze. Her foot slid along smooth skin. Her heart in her throat, she peeked one eye open. Then sighed in relief. Paige.
Her assistant lay sprawled on the other side of the king-size bed, undisturbed by the alarm or the light through the blinds. At least Maddy wouldn’t have to call her PR people to disclose another one-night stand. She snorted. That was risqué behavior. Sex with her assistant? Look the other way.
Unfortunately, she didn’t think she’d had sex with her assistant—not after getting back from the club. She winced, remembering a few snippets of drunken conversation.
Krist’s name had come up. Frequently.
Shit.
“What’s going on?” Paige mumbled, her eyelids fluttering. The girl had gone to sleep when Maddy did, which had been four hours ago. It was five thirty now.
Paige’s hand curled under her chin, childlike.
Maddy felt a strange tenderness—and an even stranger guilt, for corrupting her. “Go back to sleep,” she said softly.
She tucked the blanket over her assistant’s body, ignoring the allure of the 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton. Maddy had a schedule to keep, the same schedule she had kept for two years. For an international celebrity on a world tour, her life was surprisingly routine.
Except for him.
The night rushed back to her with dizzying speed. His angry accusation. Her agent’s crazy plan. And her birthday kiss—one she’d never forget. She also wouldn’t forget his rejection of her, but damn, she could try.
Her gym had been set up in one of the guest rooms of the penthouse. She ran on the portable treadmill while the tiny powerhouse speaker worked its magic. Her foot landed wrong when Half-Life’s “Beast” came on, and she almost ate rubber, but she managed to right herself.
An hour later her trainer arrived and beat her up with his usual mix of Pilates, kickboxing, and resistance training. She was desperate for caffeine when he left an hour later.
“Paige?” she called, wandering back to the bedroom.
Paige mumbled something that sounded like, “Five more minutes.”
Maddy gave a rueful glance to her sweat-drenched sports bra and yoga pants. It was down to the twenty-four-hour Starbucks for her, hoping the paparazzi were all sleeping it off after crashing her party last night.
Luckily the café was mostly empty except for the one woman who had commandeered three tables and spread her laptop, tablet, and a shitload of paperwork across them. Maddy got a grande chai and plopped down across from her agent.
“What. The. Fuck?”
“Hmm,” Ward said, clearly distracted by the twenty-seven electronics hanging off her, earpieces and wires and handhelds.
“What the fuck did you tell Krist Mellas?”
That got her attention. “Where is that new assistant of yours? I’ve been calling her phone. It goes straight to voice mail.”
“She’s running some errands for me. Now can you please explain why Krist got his panties in a twist yesterday? He said something about you wanting him for more events. And he seemed to think it was my idea.” Actually he’d said more than that, but she didn’t want to even mention the word engagement, much less think it. “Why would he think that, hmm?”
“We talked about his image, Madeline. And yours.”
Ward’s shrewd eyes focused on Maddy in that way that always made her fidget. Not this time. This time she was pissed.
“My image is none of his business.”
A smile may have shadowed Ward’s lips, but then it was gone, so quickly Maddy wasn’
t sure it had been there. “Maybe not, but it’s my business. This is what I do, Maddy. This is why you pay me the big bucks.”
“I thought I was contractually obligated to pay you the big bucks.”
“That too, but my job is to make sure the contracts keep coming. That won’t happen if you keep hitting the mags with a new scandal every week.”
Maddy pressed her lips together. “Scandals sell albums,” she said tightly. “So I don’t see why they care.”
“Really? You don’t see why?” Ward looked impatient. “They recruited you fresh from KidMania with that twinkle in your eyes and a megawatt smile. You were the teenybopper next door.”
“And they dressed me up in a string bikini with stars and stripes for the Fourth of July. Don’t bullshit me, Ward. I know what I bring to the table. I know what I’m here for.”
Her agent raised an eyebrow. “Orgies in the back of the limo aren’t what you’re here for.”
Maddy rolled her eyes. It hadn’t even been an orgy, really. More like her making out with a girl while the girl’s boyfriend watched—and jacked off—from the opposite seat. A little harmless fun. But pictures had been snapped when they had all stumbled from the limo, and next thing she knew, Ward had gotten a phone call from some corporate white shirt from her record label.
“If a guy had done it, no one would care,” Maddy said.
“That’s not exactly true,” Ward said.
Maddy blinked. “You mean Krist.”
“You’re right. If he’d been with two girls in the back of a limo, no one would care. But he wasn’t, was he? He was in an elevator…with his bandmate…”
On his knees. Her mind filled in the blank. A surge of protectiveness coursed through her. Which was annoying as hell, really. She shouldn’t care about him, or about Paige, but something had broken inside her—ever since that kiss—and made her start to give a fuck.
