by HELEN HARDT
“Everyone has to start somewhere.” I smiled. “Bryan Cranston once did a commercial for hemorrhoid ointment.”
That got a laugh out of her.
“Hey, he was acting.”
“Yeah, he was. He did what he had to do to make it to the top, just like you have.”
I was starting to get a little uncomfortable. I’d had a lot of help along the way, and I entered into a terrible agreement to get there—something I was rapidly seeing hadn’t been worth it.
“I’m certainly no hero in that regard, Heather.”
“But you kind of are. You’re not doing opera. That doesn’t mean you won’t someday. Right now you’re making enough money so that later, you can pursue opera. I always wanted to write for the big screen. I wasn’t willing to settle for anything less. But where has that gotten me? Working my butt off as a waitress, getting my ass pinched—”
“What?” My ire rose. “You get your ass pinched?”
“This is LA, Jett. You know how it is here.”
“You need to quit that job.”
She arched one eyebrow. “I need that job. It’s how I pay my bills.”
“What if you no longer had to work? What if I…” I couldn’t finish.
“What if you what? Paid my bills for me? In exchange for what? Sex?” She stood.
“Heather, no. That isn’t what I was going to say.” In truth, it had been exactly what I was going to say, minus the payment in sex part.
“Well… What then?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. But I will take care of anyone who pinches you from now on. You just let me know.”
“I don’t actually get all of their names, Jett.”
Jett. Coming from her lips, my name sounded as fake as it was. I wanted to be Jeremy to her. I wanted to be myself, not Jett Draconis, rock star extraordinaire.
“I don’t like it, Heather.”
“I’m not actually crazy about it myself, but the pinchers are at least usually good tippers. Besides, I’m seeing now that some of it is my fault.”
“Are you crazy? None of this is your fault. No one has the right to touch you without your consent.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way. What I mean is… I’ve been afraid of selling out. That if I didn’t hold out for the big screen, I would be settling. But you’ve helped me see that that’s not the case. I could be writing for TV, or digital entertainment. I could be writing webinars. I could be doing a lot that would flex my writing skills and also make me money. I’ve been kind of blind, I think.”
“It’s not a bad thing to not want to sell out.” God, how I knew that. Though I enjoyed my life and the music I created, the devil’s bargain I’d made with Alicia was quickly becoming the bane of my existence.
“I’m not saying it’s bad. I just think I could be using the time I spend working at the diner doing some writing that would actually make money. That way I could at least be practicing my own form of art, just the way you are.”
Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me with something extraordinary—almost veneration. I certainly didn’t deserve that honor.
“I think it’s amazing that you found a way to make money doing what you love.”
“Honestly, baby, it’s just as hard for rock stars to break into the scene as it is for opera singers. Maybe harder.”
“But you did it, Jett. You did it, and you have this amazing career.”
“But I might be ruining my voice for future endeavors.”
She laughed at that. Actually laughed. “You already told me that you know how to keep your voice healthy.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Then why did you just say that?”
Why had I? Because I was damned uncomfortable with this conversation. I would still be a nobody in LA without Alicia Hopkins and the deal I’d struck with her.
That was something Heather Myles would never know about. She was as pure of soul as I’d come across since I moved to LA, and I didn’t want to taint that.
And that was when I knew I would take her to bed again.
I had to be with her once more. First I’d see if she’d let me bind her, to show her how I liked to make love. Then, after that, I’d take her in the most basic position—her lying on her back, knees curled up, and me on top of her, driving my hard cock into her wet pussy while we gazed into each other’s eyes.
I needed that last memory of this perfect woman.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Heather
He didn’t answer my question about why he had said he might be ruining his voice for opera work. Instead he met my gaze, his eyes alight with flaming intensity.
He didn’t speak. He simply rose, took the wineglass from my hand, set it on the table, and then pulled me out of my chair and into his arms. He laid me gently on his bed and released me from the towel covering my middle. He discarded his own towel as well and joined me on the bed.
I lay on my back, and he lay next to me on his side, supported on his shoulder, still gazing down at me with burning passion. He trailed his finger over my forehead, pushing my hair out of my eyes and then gliding it down my cheek and over my swollen lips.
“Jett—”
“Jeremy,” he said, his voice a rasp.
“Jeremy, I love your touch.” I fought the desire to tear up. This truly would be the last time we were together. I’d had more time with him than I’d ever dreamed of when Janet had suggested her scheme. It had turned out better than I ever expected.
But now it would be even harder to let go.
“I love your touch too, baby.” He brushed his lips softly against my cheek.
He had kissed my forehead, the top of my head, and now my cheek. Those were a lover’s kisses, not the lustful kisses of someone who just wanted to fuck.
Perhaps he felt as much as I did.
I forced that thought out of my head. I couldn’t go there. Not when I knew it couldn’t possibly be. He was just attracted to me. We had this intense physical thing on both of our parts. He was getting me out of his system, and I should be doing the same.
It wasn’t working, though. The more time I spent with Jett—Jeremy—the more time I wanted to spend with him. He had already taught me so much about following my dreams. All this time, I could’ve been flexing my artistic muscles by doing something other than what my ultimate dream was.
“Jeremy, I need to tell you something.”
“No, you don’t.”
Hmm. That was strange. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated for a moment. Then, “I don’t mean anything. What do you want to tell me?”
“Well…you changed my life. Really.”
He opened his mouth, but I placed two fingers over his lips.
“Let me finish. I’m not going to say anything to freak you out. I promise. What I mean is, you taught me that it’s not selling out to take a different path to your dream. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to give my two weeks’ notice at the diner tomorrow.”
Those last words actually surprised me. I hadn’t made that decision until just that moment. But it was the right decision. I would find a way to make money from my writing. People were always looking for freelance writers and editors. I would find something, and I would make it work, while still holding on to my ultimate dream of writing for the big screen. Plus, I had the contact with Laney for the paranormal TV series. Sure, nothing could come of it, but maybe something would.
“You should know, Heather, that I did have help on my way up.” His voice cracked a little, as though he was nervous.
“No one gets to the top on his own. I know that.”
“But I had…” He paused a moment. “I don’t want to talk about that now, not when I have a beautiful woman in my bed.” Again he ran his finger down my cheek and this time down my neck, my shoulder, over the swell of my breasts, and to my nipple. “I want to make love to you, Heather.”
Make love. That was just a euphemism for fucking,
as far as he was concerned, but I liked the words nonetheless.
“Please, Jeremy,” I said, a note of pleading in my voice. “Please make love to me.”
He rolled on top of me, bracing his weight on his arms and legs, and lowered his lips to mine. He teased me at first, licking my lips, nibbling them. When I stuck my tongue out, hoping he would take the hint, he sucked on the tip of it for a moment and then went back to tiny kisses on my lips, cheeks, and neck.
My nipples hardened instantly, and I strained forward, aching for him to kiss me deeply.
But he seemed determined to go slowly. So I would savor it. After all, this would be the last time with Jett Draconis.
The only time with Jeremy Gustafson.
I closed my eyes, forcing the tears not to form. Crying wouldn’t let me savor this experience. I vowed to concentrate on what was happening now, to be in the moment. The tears could come later, when I would never see Jett again.
He was still raining tiny kisses all over my face. When his lips softly pressed against my closed eyelids, I let out a soft sigh.
Another thing no man had ever done to me. It was so sweetly sexy, so endearing yet such a turn-on at the same time.
When he had covered my face with kisses, he moved to my left earlobe and tugged on it. “My lips are going to touch every inch of your flesh, baby. Every fucking inch.”
I exhaled softly. This would be torture. Blissful torture. I would be so ripe by the time he got to my pussy that I would be ready to fall off the vine.
His lips traveled over my forehead to my other ear, where he tugged on the lobe again and then ran his tongue over the outer edge, making me shiver. He darted his tongue inside, and a tickle landed between my legs. He thrust his tongue in and out of my ear, as if emulating what he would do to my pussy later.
I’d had no idea the inside of my ear was so sensitive. I squirmed beneath him, moaning, sighing, saying his name.
Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy.
When he was done torturing my ear, he slid his lips over my neck to my shoulder. Sweet Jesus, such sensitivity. He left goosebumps in his wake, repositioning himself on my side so he could kiss down my arm all the way to my hands and then my fingertips. He turned a hand over and planted several wet kisses against an area of my palm that was more sensitive than I had known. He kissed each finger, sucking the tips into his mouth as he went.
My body quaked on the bed. With my free hand, I reached across my body and stroked his forearm, relishing the muscle, the sinew, the warmth of his skin. I trailed my fingers over the lines of his Celtic lion tattoo. I had meant to ask him the story behind it, but I’d gotten sidetracked.
His stage name meant dragon. His surname was Swedish. But he had said his mother was German and Irish. Irish… Perhaps there was a story behind his tattoo, one that had to do with his heritage.
But then those thoughts fled my head as he kissed up my arm again, over my chest, and took one hard nipple between his lips. He sucked and tugged, and I squirmed beneath him, wanting more, needing more.
When he dropped my nipple, I whimpered.
“I want to continue kissing you all over, Heather,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But I want to tie you down. I want to tie your wrists and ankles to my bed. Do you trust me? May I do that?”
My heartbeat surged. He wanted to…
“What?” The words left my lips and seemed to echo throughout the room.
“It will be good for you, baby. I promise. But if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll just keep kissing you the way I am, moving my lips up and down your hot body, tasting every part of you that you have to offer me.”
“What?” I said again.
“Have you ever been bound before? Bound for your own pleasure?”
I bit my lip and shook my head.
“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said. “I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because it will be amazing for you, and I want you to remember this night. I want it imprinted on your memory so that you’ll never be able to forget what we shared together.”
I would never forget it anyway. I didn’t need some extrasensory device to make me remember this. But maybe he thought I did. Maybe he really thought this would make it better for me.
The idea of being bound frightened me…but also intrigued me. Intrigued me to the point that the throbbing between my legs intensified.
Could I trust this man? I hardly knew him, yet in a way I felt like we were old souls who had known each other for millennia. Not that I believed in that bullshit, and in my head, I knew we would never be together long-term.
Agreeing to this didn’t make any sense. Just as agreeing to the little show with Janet hadn’t made any sense. I’d agreed to it anyway.
So I wasn’t completely surprised when I said, “All right, Jeremy. I trust you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jett
I closed my eyes for a moment and thanked the universe for this gift. The thought of Heather Myles tied down, legs spread, ready for whatever I was going to give her filled me with joy.
This would be a night neither of us would soon forget. I certainly wouldn’t. I would never forget the fan of her auburn hair across the dark blue of my pillow. I would never forget the softness of her flesh beneath my lips. I would never forget her soft moans as I pleasured her. I would never forget the amazing talks we had shared, the laughs.
My eyes still closed, I imprinted all of it on my memory, even knowing it wasn’t necessary.
I would never forget.
I opened my eyes. “Are you sure, baby?”
Her amber eyes glowed. “I’m sure.”
My cock was hard, and when I stood, it jutted straight out, straining toward Heather. But that would wait. I’d show her the ecstasy that binding could bring her. I walked to my chest of drawers and pulled out the leather bindings that had been perfectly made to fit the dimensions of my head and footboards.
I had used these bindings many times, with Janet, Lindy, many others. I forced that thought from my mind. Right now, these were new bindings, had never been used.
They had been made for today. For Heather.
Heather’s skin paled, and I could tell she was apprehensive. Clearly she had never done anything like this before, and her trust touched me.
“Are you sure?” I asked again.
“Yes.”
“Reach your hands over your head.”
She complied, and I quickly found each wrist, adjusting the length of the straps.
“Now spread your legs, baby.”
Again, she complied, and I bound her to the posts.
Then I stood at the foot of the bed, simply staring at her. A gourmet feast not just for my eyes and my tongue, but for every part of me.
For my heart.
I couldn’t go there. As much as I wanted to, it just wasn’t possible.
But I would give us both something so indelible that it would be a mark on our souls forever.
I walked to the side of the bed and sat down, cradling my fingers over the swell of her breasts, her nipples.
And then I began to kiss her.
I began at her neck and her shoulder, the arm I hadn’t yet kissed that was now bound. I trailed my lips over her soft flesh, kissing, licking, twirling my tongue in figure eights over her smooth skin. So, so sweet. So, so good. She shuddered beneath my touch, goosebumps erupting, soft sighs escaping her throat. I inhaled her scent, raspberries and cream, her flavor salty in comparison to the sweet shine of perspiration. The aroma of her pussy rose in the air—apples, musk, Heather.
Heather Myles was a feast for all my senses. My nose drew in the sweet scents that were uniquely hers. My eyes roved over that beautiful body—her heavy-lidded eyes, her swollen red lips, her plump breasts and hard pink nipples, her flat belly, the trimmed red hair between her legs, and the swell of her clit. My mouth tasted the silkiness of her skin, the sweetness of her mouth, the tanginess of her pussy. My ears adored the soft sighs from her th
roat, the moans, the groans. When she said my name.
Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy.
So sweet the sound of my given name from her lips.
And the sense of touch. My fingers, calloused from guitar playing, roamed over every inch of her. She was soft where I was hard, lighter where I was darker. She was perfect—the perfect woman in every way.
I sucked the tip of her index finger into my mouth, and that beautiful sigh met my ears once more as she tugged at the bindings.
“It feels so good. Want…”
“What, baby?”
“Want to…touch you.”
I smiled against the pale skin of her forearm. “That’s what makes it so good. You want…but can’t have.”
“Not fair. You get to touch me.”
I chuckled. “When I suggested this little game, baby, I never claimed it would be fair.”
She closed her eyes, groaning. “I won’t survive this.”
“But you will.”
“I’ve a mind to tie you up when we’re done. Make you endure this torture.”
I chuckled again. No woman had ever tied me up. I was anything but submissive. But for Heather Myles? I might just allow it.
I trailed my lips down her arm again and then to her chest, where I began teasing her other nipple.
Some women liked their breasts slapped. I was usually happy to oblige. But not Heather. Her breasts were works of art. She was too precious to me to slap.
Boy, did that thought have a lot of connotation. Which is why I erased it from my head and concentrated on the beautiful nipple. Her areola tightened up and was textured under my tongue. My dick was so hard. I was tempted to just shove myself into her and fuck her into oblivion.
But still I worked on her nipple, my fingers finding the other one and pinching. She moaned softly, her hips undulating. And I couldn’t help myself. My hand drifted from her nipple across her soft belly, my fingers entwining through her curls and then dipping into her hot pussy.
And finding heaven.
She was soaking wet.
