Hard Rock Heat

by Athena Wright

  He placed a soft kiss on my lips as I continued to take in lungfuls of air. I returned the kiss before slumping against him, resting my head on his shoulder.

  "You're insane," I told him, still breathing heavily. "We're in public."

  "We're alone in the middle of a dark tunnel," he corrected.

  "Is this what I have to look forward to?" I asked. "Exhibitionism and public sex?"

  "It's not my main kink," he said with a shrug. "But you haven't invited me into your bed yet, so here we are."

  I snorted. "Ridiculous, insane, immature asshole."

  "Straight-laced, uptight, good girl," he immediately replied.

  "I just let you finger me on a carnival ride," I said. "We need to reevaluate the uptight part."

  "And you need to rethink the asshole part," he said. "I haven't done a single asshole-ish thing tonight."

  "True," I agreed. "Maybe I can downgrade you to a lesser insult. Jerk face or something."

  He laughed and hugged me to his side as the tunnel began to light up. We were reaching the end of the ride. He helped me climb out, like a perfect gentleman.

  "How about we try that maze of mirrors next?" he suggested. "Those are always fun."

  "You sound like a carnival connoisseur," I said. "Do you go to a lot of them?"

  "As many as I can," he said. "I'm just a big kid inside, remember?"

  The maze was a lot more crowded than the tunnel of love. Damon held my hand tight to keep us from getting separated as people bumped into us.

  "At least I know there's going to be no more inappropriate behavior," I said. "There's too many people around."

  Damon quirked an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

  "No," I said firmly.

  But he still brushed his thumb back and forth along the back of my hand, like he'd been doing all night. Somehow that small touch inflamed me much the same way his intimate touches had. More so even, because of the tenderness it showed. It wasn't all about sex with Damon.

  He leaned in to murmur in my ear. "Wouldn't it be hot to watch ourselves fucking against one of these mirrors?"

  Well. Some of the time it wasn't all about sex.

  We spent time standing in front of the distorted mirrors, making fun of ourselves as our reflections turned us squat like hobbits, then eerily tall like some creepy Slenderman.

  "I like this one," Damon declared as he found a mirror that made his chest and shoulders look three times as wide. "I look like He-Man."

  "Gross," I said, coming to stand in front of it. "You look like a grotesque ogre. Me, on the other hand…" I turned this way and that. "This makes my boobs look like they're Goodyear blimps. I bet you're loving that."

  "Remember what I told you?" he said. "It's not about the size."

  I flushed as I remembered the rest of the words he'd said. And the tone of voice in which he said them. Deep, low in his chest, seductive.

  I cleared my throat and moved on quickly, not wanting to see if Damon would continue along that subject. I didn't want to have that kind of conversation surrounded by kids and pre-teens. Carnivals were supposed to be family-friendly events, after all.

  I must have walked too quickly because I soon lost sight of Damon. The distorted mirrors were arranged in a maze. I found myself alone and trapped in a corner. No matter which way I turned, I couldn't find an exit. At first it just irked me. I was annoyed at myself for having gotten lost.

  "Damon?" I called. "Where are you?"

  Damon didn't appear. The longer I stayed trapped, the more flustered I became. The more flustered I became, the more the irritation turned into something else. I was stuck and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find my way out. My heartbeat pounded in my throat. I hated the slight panic welling in my chest. I hated that I couldn't control my reaction.

  "Damon?" I called again. "Are you there?"

  It began to feel like the walls were closing in. My breathing turned heavy and labored. I looked around, taking in all sides, but everywhere I looked I only saw my own reflection, eyes wide, face pale.

  "Dammit." I squeezed my eyes closed and forced myself to take in a slow breath. Calm and steady, I told my myself. Breath in. And out.

  Strong arms wrapped around my waist. I yelp and jumped.

  "Hey, it's okay," Damon said from behind me. "It's just me. I've got you."

  I exhaled sharply. He turned me to face him.

  "Are you scared?" he asked, concerned. "Are you claustrophobic? I'm sorry, I didn't know. I shouldn't have suggested a maze."

  "I'm not claustrophobic," I said, feeling slightly abashed. "Not really." I smoothed my hair down, fidgeting and trying to find a way to explain it that didn't make me sound crazy or high strung. "I couldn't find an exit. I started to get annoyed and angry. And then I got upset that I was getting angry. It was so stupid. This is a kid's maze. I shouldn't have gotten so upset. I hate…" I trailed off.

  "You hated that you freaked out, which freaked you out even more?" he guessed.

  "I'm supposed to be the calm and collected one," I said. "I shouldn't have gotten so worked up."

  "You don't always have to play it cool, Faith," Damon said.

  "Yes I do."

  Damon examined me closely before pulling me to his chest. "Why don't we call it a night?" he suggested.

  I readily agreed, more than happy to go home. I still felt upset and ashamed.

  Damon lead me out of the fairgrounds and to the car, his arm around my shoulders. When we arrived at my building, he walked me to the door. I opened it and stepped through.

  "I'm not inviting you in," I told him, hand still on the knob.

  He quirked a knowing smile. "Not even for a cup of coffee?"

  "I know exactly what a cup of coffee leads to," I said. "I don't have sex on the first date."

  "We already had sex," he pointed out with a sly smile. "Twice, depending on how you define sex."

  I placed a hand on his chest and leaned forward. I turned my head at the last minute and pecked him on the cheek. The look on his face as I swung the door closed was amused.

  "Does this mean you're up for more public sex?" he called through the door.

  "GOOD NIGHT DAMON," I said loudly.

  That man was ridiculous, insane and immature.

  But he was also charming. Confident. Not to mention hot as hell.

  I'd found a man who had all the qualities I liked.

  That man just happened to be womanizing rock star Damon Drake.

  I leaned my back against the door with a sigh. My first instinct way back at that first client event had been right.

  I was in a world of trouble.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Delivery for you."

  I glanced up from my laptop, startled, as a fresh bouquet of flowers was shoved in my face. Katherine peeked out from behind the flowers.

  "Someone's trying to impress you," she said in a sing-song voice.

  I took the flowers from her, nonplussed. "Do they say who it's from?"

  "There's a card, but I didn't read it," she said. "I wouldn't invade your privacy like that."

  From the eager look on my intern's face, I could tell she was hoping I would read the note out loud so she could get the scoop herself.

  I set the flowers — a bouquet of twelve irises, half blue and half yellow — on my desk and picked up the card, skimming it. The message read, A lovely gift for a lovely woman. It was unsigned.

  "Do you know what those flowers mean?" Katherine asked.

  "You immediately googled it, didn't you?"

  "Of course I did." She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "Blue irises symbolize hope and faith. Yellow irises symbolize passion."

  I burst into laughter. Katherine only looked confused.

  "Of course they do." I shook my head and plucked one yellow flower from the bunch. "He's certainly not subtle, that one."

  "Are you dating someone?" she asked before putting her hands up. "No, sorry, that's too personal, you don't have to tell
me anything."

  "I'm… sort of dating someone." I paused. "I think. Maybe. It's complicated."

  Katherine's eyes went wide. She clasped her hands to her chest and let out a quiet squeak. "There're from Damon Drake, aren't they? He's always calling and emailing and asking about you."

  I couldn't help the faint flush that graced my cheeks. I nodded silently, pretending to examine the flower in my hand, waiting for a fangirl freak out.

  When nothing happened, I looked up. Katherine had a concerned look on her face.

  "I hate to say this, and I know this isn't very professional of me but…" she trailed off, hesitant, before powering on. "You might want to be careful with him. He's with a different girl every night of the week. I don't think he's ever been seen with the same woman twice. He's known for flirting and seducing but I don't think he ever takes any of it seriously."

  A tiny piece of my heart broke. Katherine was right. As a fan, she knew Damon's reputation. Everyone knew Damon's reputation. I went back to looking at the flower. "I know."

  "I'm not saying he's not a nice guy," she hurried to say. "If he's sending you flowers he must like you."

  "I know he likes me." Or, at least, I knew he liked to have sex with me. Which wasn't exactly the same thing.

  But he'd taken me on a date. A real date. Yes, there had been some, ahem, sexy times, but for the most part it we'd just had fun being together.

  "I've got something else for you." Katherine left the office for a second and returned with a large cardboard box. "These are the clothes Damon's donating for the homeless kids. He had someone send them over."

  "I'd almost forgotten about that," I said. "There's so many other moving pieces to this event." I opened the box and peered in. "Are you kidding me?"

  "What?" Katherine asked.

  I pointed into the box. A box that contained black mesh t-shirts, leather pants, and spiked, studded belts.

  Katherine covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle. "I think maybe he misunderstood the point of this."

  After sorting through the box to confirm that, no, there were no collared shirts or slacks hidden in there, I grabbed my phone from my desk and jabbed in Damon's number.

  "Hey sweetness," he answered.

  "You're an idiot," I told him flatly.

  "What did I do this time?"

  "Leather pants? Spiked belts? Are you serious?"

  "Oh, the clothes. Yeah, what's wrong with them?"

  "It's supposed to be professional work attire!" I said, throwing my one hand up even though he wouldn't see it. "We're donating clothes so the kids can go on job interviews!"

  "What if some of those homeless kids have a dream of being a rock star just like me and my brother did?" Damon countered. "Wouldn't they appreciate these kinds of clothes?"

  I growled. "Not funny."

  "I'm serious."

  "Don't you have anything appropriate to donate?" I asked. "You wore nice clothes at the first meeting at my office."

  "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "My walk-in closet is the size of my living room and it's a mess. Who knows what else I've got hiding in there."

  I let out a sigh of long suffering. "Do you want me to come help sort through your clothes to find something?"

  Damon paused. "Sure," he said eventually. "I'll text you my address."

  Grumbling, I hung up and began packing up my bag and laptop. "Apparently grown men don't know how to organize their own closets," I told Katherine.

  "You're going over to his place?" she asked, startled.

  "Yeah, why?" I asked, stuffing my laptop into it's case.

  A slow smile crept across her face. "Nothing."

  I hefted my bag onto my shoulder. "I'll still be available on my phone. Call me if anything blows up."

  "Will do. Have fun!" Katherine said with a cheery wave. I glanced at her suspiciously as I headed toward the elevator.

  I drove to Damon's place, following the directions on my phone. I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled up to a tall, fancy looking condo building, all marble pillars and plush foyer rugs. I made a bet with myself that Damon had the top penthouse floor.

  Sure enough, when I entered the elevator I saw that the floor number he'd given me, thirty-three, was indeed the top floor. When I stepped out of the elevator I noticed two numbers doors, one on either side of the long hallway. Only one of them was the apartment number Damon had texted. Okay, so he didn't own the entire top floor, only the left side of it. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Flashy, rich, show off rock stars.

  Then again, compared to the two other rock star mansions I'd seen, a condo apartment was downright frugal.

  Damon answered before I could make more than two knocks on the door. His mouth quirked upward.

  "I thought girls usually waited until they officially moved in to start rearranging their boyfriend's apartments," were the first words out of his mouth.

  My brain fizzled out at the word boyfriend. I stood in the doorway dumbly.

  "Although I guess you're not rearrange my furniture so much as cleaning out my closet," he continued blithely. "I really don't know what you're expecting to find."

  "A few collared shirts and ties would be adequate," I managed to say. "Just enough to say you donated something."

  His mouth twisted, looking thoughtful as he gestured for me to enter. "Collared shirts I've got, but I don't think I own more than one tie for weddings and funerals and stuff."

  I stepped into the apartment and looked around. The decor wasn't ostentatious, not that I'd expected it would be. As wealthy as Damon was, he was more of a down to earth kind of guy. From what I could see, his living room held the standard matching sofa and armchairs, along with a few coffee and end tables. Nothing too crazy.

  Then I turned around and gaped. The entire far wall of his apartment was decorated floor to ceiling with vinyl records, face-out to show the cover art.

  Damon noticed me staring. "You like my collection?"

  "How many are up there?" I asked. "There have to be a dozens."

  "I lost count after a hundred, actually," he said easily.

  "So you play guitar, drive vintage cars and collect vinyl records." I turned to stare at him. "Are you competing for the title of coolest guy in the world?"

  "Aw, you think I'm cool?" Damon smirked. "I thought I was just an immature asshole."

  "You've been downgraded to jerk face, remember?"

  He laughed. "Come on, I'll show you the disaster zone that is my walk-in closet."

  I thought he had to be exaggerating. When he opened the closet door, I missed a step and stumbled.

  "This is…" I started to say.

  "It's a bit much," he agreed, surveying the mess of clothes. Piles and piles of clothes, just tossed on top of one another in mountainous heaps. The hangers and shelves were practically empty and unused.

  "…gross," I finished. "How do you find anything?"

  "I just kind of get in there and toss things around until I find what I need."

  "Are these clean at least?" I asked.

  "Everything in the closet is clean," he said. "I put my dirty clothes in laundry hampers."

  "Thank god for small favors," I said. "Why don't you hire a laundry service? The kind that washes and folds for you."

  "I do," he said. "When it's delivered, I try to put everything away nice and neat, but then I start looking for one thing in particular and I forget to hang things back up and then…" he shrugged helplessly. "So if you want business clothes, we're going to have to do some searching."

  Some searching turned into two full hours of tidying, folding and sorting clothes. I found a couple suitable outfits and set them aside. I continued helping Damon put the rest of his stuff away, just because I couldn't leave someone to live in such a mess. It was sad and pathetic.

  When the last pair of pants was placed on a hanger, I thumped down on his bed and pretended to wipe the sweat off my brow.

  Damon sidled up to me and put
his hands on my thighs. It was just like the first time at that boring corporate event. My reaction was exactly the same. Heavy breathing, flushed face, rapid heartbeat. But this time, instead of feeling overwhelmed and out of sorts, my hips rolled forward, encouraging him.

  He spread my legs wide and settled his hips between my thighs.

  "Thanks for the help," he said. "I know it wasn't too much fun."

  "I'm exhausted," I said. But my heavy breathing had nothing to do with exertion, and everything to do with the hardening length pressing against my thigh. "As far as second dates go, this one has to be the weirdest."

  "Second date?" He leered. "Sweetness, a real second date will leave you exhausted for completely different reason."

  I raised an eyebrow. "So there's going to be a real second date? I didn't think you did those."

  "I usually don't," was all he said. "But here we are."

  He tilted my head up and capture my mouth in a blistering kiss. I opened my mouth, letting our tongues brush and glide against one another.

  He crawled over me, pressing me down into the mattress. His length burned into me, even through his jeans. I reached down and cupped him, feeling the outline.

  My heart jumped at the size of him, even as my insides melted at the thought of him inside me. Heat pooled in my stomach, flowing to my core, dripping down my thighs.

  There had been too much teasing. Too much foreplay. I needed more.

  I needed this man inside me.

  With my eyes locked on his, I popped the jeans button and slowly pulled down the zipper. His gaze seared into mine, heat flaring up.

  I pulled him out and wrapped my hand around him gently. I looked down. I swallowed hard. He was even more impressive than I'd expected. With soft, experimental strokes, I examined the shape of him. Thick and hard, with a visible, pulsing vein. His cock jumped in my hands. He let out a hiss.

  He reached into the side dresser and pulled out a square foil packet. With expert skill, he rolled on protection.

  He pressed his mouth to mine in a wet, messy kiss. I opened my thighs wider, urging him in between them. He lowered himself onto me, keeping his weight from crushing me with his arms on either side of my head. His cock brushed my inner thigh. My insides ached with want. With need.