Badass In My Bed: Badass #2

by Rae Lynn Blaise

  He bites his lip again. “Music saved my life.”

  “It did?”

  He nods. “Where I grew up, it was shitty. I was poor. I think if I hadn’t had music to focus on, I’d have ended up overdosing or getting arrested like a lot of my friends did.”

  Our lives are so different. That people so different could connect is amazing, but guilt flows inside my veins. My life’s been so easy compared to his—

  “Stop it.”

  I frown. “Stop what?”

  He crosses his arms. “You’re doing that thing again where you think you’re a bad person.”

  “How did you—”

  “Who was the douche you were with at the concert?”

  “Why do you care?” Sudden coyness rolls through me. Something makes me want his jealousy, even though I shouldn’t taunt him—or myself—like that. There’s no way he likes me for more than casual sex. Is there?

  He leans back on his hands, showcasing those taut abs. “Who says I care?”

  I shrug. “You asked, so it must matter on some level.”

  “Forget I did.” But there’s something between us, a crackling electricity, and he’d never mention Paul if he wasn’t interested.

  He’s lying. He’s lying because he cares and I want to roll in this feeling and smile for days.

  Dylan stands in front of me and reaches out. “Give me the guitar.”

  I hand it over, excited to get a private show from my favorite musician. “Are you going to play something?”

  He sets the guitar down and takes my hand. “Yeah. I’m going to play you.”

  This time, I give in to his suggestion, letting the blanket fall away as I stand. I’ve let him, begged him, to do such things to me, but the question burning through my mind makes me shy. I shouldn’t ask because it doesn’t matter, it can’t matter, but I can’t stop the words from leaving my mouth. “Did I really taint you, like the song you sang tonight said?” The thought of hurting him somehow, even inadvertently, makes me feel bad.

  “Not tainted or corrupted.” He closes his eyes and breathes his next words against my lips. “But you tilted my world.” His lips brush against mine, soft and sweet, a delicate cotton candy kiss that gives me a rush and makes me crave more. “When I saw you sitting in the audience, I hated you for lying to me and pretending to be someone you weren’t in Chicago. I thought you’d been a groupie the whole time, getting your kicks on the back of my ignorance.” He nips my lip when I try to protest. “I know now you really had no idea who I was. But there you were tonight, looking like a wet dream—with some other asshole—and I wanted to stop everything and take you away, get you alone, and get the truth.”

  Hearing this, I can’t breathe, can’t think, too wrapped up in him.

  He presses my body closer. “I didn’t know whether to hate you or fuck you. I did both, I guess. But now you’re here again and you’re exactly the person I originally thought you were, that woman I wrote the song for. Tonight’s felt like one of the longest nights of my life.”

  My heart pounds with his words, but they’re leading into dangerously emotional territory, so I divert him by tightening myself against him further. “And when you pulled me into your dressing room?”

  His cock hardens immediately, swelling between us. “You’re lucky I let you leave. I wanted to do so many dirty things to you in that room.” His eyes darken, but his hands caress my hips, velvet touches that send shivers across my skin.

  I lean close to whisper in his ear, “I’d have let you do all of them.”

  “You still will.” With one swift movement, he scoops me up and tosses me to the bed. He climbs on top and savages my mouth while he roughly insinuates himself between my legs, spreading my legs with his hips, and I will, I’ll let him do anything he wants because when it’s him doing it, I want everything he’ll give me and more.

  Dylan uses one hand to pin both of mine above my head, and I shiver beneath him. What’s he going to do to me this time? Am I in for another delicious, disorienting tumble? He slows down, pulling back like he’s trying to memorize me just like this. I want that too, to memorize every moment of our time together, burn it into me, brand me. With deliberateness, he dazzles me with a slow, deep, thorough kiss that leaves my body limp.

  It’s not right that he can be dark and dangerous and domineering, but sweet and gentle as well, confusing my body about what exactly it wants from him.

  It just wants more.

  More of those dizzying licks.

  More of his free hand lazily wandering over my skin, decorating it with goosebumps.

  More of his hips, easing his cock against my clit, sensuously grinding me toward madness, because wanting someone this much can’t be sane.

  I wrap my legs tightly around him. He may be claiming me, but it’s with my full blessing and I want him to know it.

  He smiles like he already does and kisses his way down my torso, steadily moving toward the place I want him most. His mouth pauses just below my belly button, lips curving into a grin.

  “What?” I whisper, wanting to unlock the mischief in those teal eyes.

  Sharp suction is the answer, pain-tinged pleasure, as he leaves another mark. Satisfied, he skips down to where my thigh meets my body and sucks another bruise into the delicate crease there. His hair tickles my clit as he tattoos me, gaze never leaving mine. He wants me to know that he’s doing this, marking my intimate places so if anyone else sees me naked, they’ll know someone else was here. He swirls his tongue in the crease on the other inner thigh and sucks harder.

  That suction so close to my aching pussy is too much, the couple inches feel like miles, and my hand reaches down to grab a handful of his hair and move that hot, devastating mouth where I need it.

  He’s quicker than I am and catches the offending wrist, easily subduing me, but he dips down and swirls his tongue right where I wanted, unleashing a primal, lusty moan from my throat. Instead of sucking hard there, he flicks his tongue over the sensitive nub, teasing me into an even higher frenzy, flickers of electricity lapping my skin in time with that tongue. His finger probes the outer lips of my pussy, circling the hole but not delving deep.

  A few minutes of these teasing touches, and tears of frustration leak from the corners of my eyes. He stops everything to slip on a condom, and I cry out with relief when he shoves that thick cock inside with one brutal, welcome thrust. I’m sensitive and swollen with need after the past few minutes, and his hard length stretches my inner walls, rubbing against parts of me that short circuit my brain.

  I wrap my arms around his back, revelling in his closeness, kneading the muscles right above his ass before grabbing it, wanting to feel that too.

  So tight and hard.

  My gentle touch drives his thrusts harder. His hand braces against the wall and his hips go wild with his cock inside me. Everything tightens, even my hands spasm open and closed on his ass.

  He grabs my face. “Look at me.” His voice is almost angry, and I open my eyes.

  Four more thrusts and I come, unable to look away from his sex-sharpened gaze, dripping with possessiveness that thrills me to the trembling core. It’s a deeper orgasm, maybe because I’m already so sensitive, but the rhythmic clenching of my pussy almost hurts and seems to go forever.

  I never want it to stop.

  He sucks my tongue into his mouth as he stiffens, cock pulsing deep inside as he fills the condom, releasing me with a sigh and one more gentle kiss before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing tight, body still joined with mine.

  We doze off like that, and I wake when he pulls out of me, wincing a bit at the soreness in my hips, now that his weight has shifted.

  Dylan kisses my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I close my legs and rub my hips, encouraging blood flow. “Yeah, but I may need a massage until I can feel my legs again.”

  He chuckles and heads to the bathroom. I roll over, body heat from my back now radiating into my side from the mattress
, relishing every ache in my body. How can I be so sore but feel so good about it? No shock there. Dylan.

  Why couldn’t I have met him even six months ago? Things could have been so different. If only…

  I block that train of thought from leaving the station and thundering toward things that don’t matter now that my life’s heading the way it is. Besides, Dylan’s not exactly asking me to start picking out china patterns. This is—was—only ever going to be sex.

  A gust of air washes across my skin as Dylan spreads the blanket over me and climbs back into bed, nestling at my back, throwing an arm over me and wiggling it until his palm lies flat against my chest, arm between my breasts. Sinking into his heat, I allow myself every silly, warm emotion, every impossible dream to wash over me and drown me in happiness that tugs me back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The sunlight does its best to blind me through my eyelids, and I roll over to get away from the bright, offending rays. My knee collides with something warm.

  “Hey, watch out, there.”

  My eyes fly open, sleep forgotten as last night comes slamming back to me.

  “Morning, beautiful.” Dylan lies on his back, white sheet flowing over one thigh, cutting off to the side below his waist, like someone with a Greek God fetish but a PG rating deliberately positioned it there. He half-turns, and the sheet gaps open.

  Make that an XXX-rating.

  The man makes me insatiable. I shake my head at myself.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “I’m hungry.”

  His hand trails across his chiselled abs. “I’m starving as well. What do you feel like? I’ll order room service.”

  Glad we don’t have to leave to eat, I grin. “French toast, milky coffee, and an indecent amount of bacon?”

  “Sounds perfect. You can have the shower while I order.”

  I slide off the bed, taking the blanket with me, and head to the bathroom. There’s a train wreck in the mirror. My big curls have turned into something a country music super star from the eighties would have worn, a big bouffant mess. My lips are puffy, and mascara’s smudged all over, giving me a raccoon-chic look.

  Horrified, I grab a facecloth and an expensive facial bar of soap and climb into the shower to mitigate the sex-crazed disaster.

  I can’t believe Dylan didn’t say anything!

  He called me beautiful.

  The thought melts through me while the hot water cascades over my skin, chasing the lather away. I wipe my face, removing all the makeup, and wash my hair. I want to be bare and clean. I don’t want to wear anything but his tattoos. Everywhere I wash makes me think of him and his hands and mouth and cock. Every hickey he put on me turns me on a little bit more.

  Staying deep inside, he ground his hips and moved his finger all the way in and out. “How does it feel?”

  “Like I’m yours.”

  He fucked and fingered me so hard I came almost immediately, spasms wracking my body from so deep inside me it felt like he’d found a direct line to my soul and made it come too.

  God, that felt good. What would it be like if we did have anal sex while he used my vibrator on me like he said he would? Heat pools between my legs, and I’m wet when I clean myself. It would be too easy to close my eyes and picture it’s his hand instead, slippery with soap, rubbing against my crotch, but I’m not getting off by myself when he’s right outside.

  I’d rather he got me off instead.

  Feeling a bit self-conscious about being naked in his shower while he’s waiting, I cut it short and am towelling off in just a few minutes and using the hotel lotion to soothe my skin. A puff of steam emerges from the bathroom with me when I head back into the bedroom.

  Dylan eyes my legs and gives my towel an appreciative grin. “Easy access. I approve.”

  “Very funny. I left my clothes in here.” I pick my way around the various articles of clothing on the floor, eventually gathering all of mine. The panties I subtly kick them under the bed. There’s no way I’m putting them back on as they are.

  “Hey.” Dylan’s arms wind around me, and as surprised as I am that he sneaked up on me, my body turns to a relaxed puddle at his touch. “My jeans won’t fit you, but here’s a t-shirt you can wear home. It covers a little more than what you wore here last night.”

  He holds it against my body. It’s not a Fallen Angels t-shirt; it’s one of his own, some other band I don’t know. A pleasant, gooey feeling takes residence in my chest.

  “Thanks. I’ll make sure I get it back to you.”

  He kisses the back of my neck. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I should be out before the food gets here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He turns me around, gives me a lingering kiss, and stalks into the bathroom, stark naked. My gaze follows him, hating to see him go and loving to watch him leave, as the old phrase goes.

  I slip his shirt slowly over my head, breathing in the citrusy smell. It’s baggy on me, but the fabric is well-worn and soft against my skin. My reflection in the dresser mirror is unfamiliar, the woman there sort of edgy and relaxed like she doesn’t give a fuck what people think of her.

  Sort of badass. I smile at myself, liking what I see. I’m a different person than the one Dylan met already.

  The water starts running, and I shiver. Dylan’s behind that door, naked and slippery with water and the soap I can still smell on my skin. How can I crave more of him already?

  The dining room is much fancier than I’d noticed. Then again, last night I’d been more focused on the bedroom. Or rather, who’d be joining me inside the bedroom.

  A large, round table sits in the corner of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides offer a lot of sunlight and a gorgeous view of my new city beyond the balcony wrapping around the corner. It’s beautiful.

  “It looks good.”

  I raise my eyebrows, lifting them even higher at the sight of Dylan in nothing but a low-slung pair of faded jeans, drops of moisture beading against his tanned skin.

  He smiles. “My t-shirt.”

  The longer we stand there, staring intensely at each other, a charge builds between us, nearly palpable in the air. I want to fly into his arms, but I want to draw this unfamiliar sensation out, too.

  A knock at the door breaks the tension.

  Dylan blinks. “The food. I’ll get it.” He frowns and heads for the door.

  On shaky legs, I move to the table and take a seat. Dylan brings a cart over and sets down a cloche-covered plate in front of me. He takes a place a couple seats down from me and angles his chair so he’s facing me.

  The food is perfect, and I dig in, ravenous.

  Dylan swallows a bite of strawberry. “So, I’ve got another show later. Tonight.”

  Ah, here it is. Inevitability. Time to make myself scarce. “Okay. I’ll—”

  “So I want you to spend the day with me until then.”

  “Oh.” A ridiculous grin stretches across my face, one I can’t suppress. I relax and munch on another crispy slice of bacon.

  He steals one from my plate. “You gave me a tour to remember of Chicago. Maybe we can come up with something equally interesting here. See if Beantown can compete with Chi-city.”

  Shit. Reality invades the room. I can’t go out on the town with him. What if someone saw us together? We were lucky our last encounter went unnoticed by the tabloids, and even if we’d been caught in a photo, it didn’t matter as much then. It matters now, and lightning doesn’t strike twice.

  “I have rehearsal first, but after that, I’m yours.” The words slip out with a life of their own, but I don’t want to take them back because they’re true. I want to spend as much time with him as I can while he’s in this city. No matter the consequences.

  The pure happiness in his eyes thrills me more than I can say.

  Breakfast with Dylan runs late—syrup tastes sweeter when it’s licked from his fingertips—and then I had to stop at home to chan
ge and find a new scarf to hide the new marks on my neck. I keep Dylan’s shirt on underneath my cardigan, a secret thrill against my skin I treasure while in the cab, wallowing in memories of last night.

  Dylan standing in front of me and reaching out. “Give me the guitar.”

  Me handing it over. “Are you going to play something?”

  Him, taking my hand, the throb of electricity pulsing where we touched. “Yeah. I’m going to play you.”

  I’m still shivering when the cab pulls up to the practice hall. With the pit stop at home, I rush into practice out of breath but in the nick of time. My second day, an oboist got a blistering rebuke for being three minutes late, and I’m not eager to receive the same. I’m not the last one to take my seat, but Blaine’s already in position, waiting with barely hidden annoyance. He conveys so much irritation with his body language I have to suppress a giggle, turning my head as though looking at my heel.

  If he only knew what had held me up…

  The feeling fades, pushed away by more thoughts of Dylan.

  “Say it, Rachel.”

  “Say what?”

  “That you love this.” He pulsed inside me.

  “I love that.”

  “Beg for it.”

  “Please,” I whimpered. I hated the way he’d taken everything out of me.

  I should feel guilty, remembering this now, here. I should feel guilty for lots of reasons.

  But I don’t.

  “I said beg,” he growled.

  I begged again.

  He filled me again, slow and deep. “Does this feel wrong?”

  “No.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “Like I’m yours.”

  “Hey.” Paul leans closer, killing the remembered fantasy of Dylan, keeping his voice low so only I can hear. “Glad you made it. I’d hate to have gotten you in trouble your first week because I kept you out too late and you played hooky.” He raises his eyebrows.

  I smile, happy to aim my mirth at a less volatile target than Blaine, glad that my turning Paul down for a date hasn’t made things uncomfortable between us.