by Liora Blake
My body comes alive, knowing that we can lock the door and feel each other again, all night. I pull out a bottle of champagne, because I’m thinking that standing in the middle of a penthouse hotel suite, wearing only a tiny skirt and knee-high boots, sounds exactly like the storyboard for a rap video. The champagne just adds to the tawdry script of it all.
Rob said not to let watching Trevor onstage get me confused about the man he really is. After seeing him do what he does, though, I feel a little dirty and wrong because I suddenly want Trax . . . more than I’d like to admit. I want Trevor, too, still making it hot, but the idea of playing filthy fangirl sounds like an enticing little diversion to get lost in for a night.
I pop the champagne cork smoothly, congratulating myself for being so awesome at it, and stroll into the living room where a large teak dining table fills the far side of the space. Stripping off my shirt, I slide off my bra next and then pull off my panties, leaving all the jewelry on because I like how the necklace falls down between my breasts. Big enough to seat twelve, the dining table is rustic but smooth. I give it a test shove with my hips. Sturdy. That’s probably a good thing.
Setting the bowl of strawberries down, I start to enjoy a few and wash them down with a couple swigs of champagne. The bubbles coat my mouth and I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut as they run down my throat a little too quickly. The strawberries are ripe and succulent, luscious enough that I have to be careful not to let the juice drip down my chin. I take up another and then hear the door to the suite click shut.
Taking a small bite of the strawberry, I spin around on my heel to see him standing in the living room. The bite is just as juicy as the others, so I take a quick lick off the bitten end and then pucker my lips to suck the fruit a little. He drops the bag he’s holding to the floor and smiles.
“Holy shit. I didn’t mention the strawberries, but it’s a nice touch.”
“I was hungry.” Giving him a sly, dirty smile, I hold the strawberry out toward him. “Want some?”
Stalking toward me, Trevor leans in to take a bite off the fruit I hold between my index and forefinger. Juice runs down my fingers and as he swallows, I lick the sweetness off using just the tip of my tongue. He leans into me and I think he’s going to kiss my neck. Instead, he reaches around and grabs another strawberry out of the bowl.
He takes a bite off the tip and watching his mouth makes my heart beat so fast that I lean back into the table for support. With the fruit gently between his fingers, he draws the ripe, moist end over one of my nipples and I watch the light pink juice trace over the stiff peak, my breath hitching in my throat as the cool sensation hits my skin. When he drops his mouth to lick off the juice, I let my head roll back and rest my hands against the table. The posture shoves my breasts forward, allowing him to take more of the flesh into his mouth. I let out a moan and focus on everything he’s doing, not wanting to miss one second of his mouth against me. Moving to the other nipple, he flicks it with his tongue a few times, then bites down gently before lapping away softly.
Pressing his body into mine, he tears his mouth away from my breasts and kisses me with the same force he had in the dressing room but tempered by the fact that we don’t have a ticking clock working against us. I pull my hands to his chest and feel the contours of his beautiful body under his shirt. When I go to move it off him, he backs up a few inches and shakes his head at me.
“Always so greedy with getting my shirt off.”
I frown and give him a little snarl, and he offers a tiny lopsided grin. “I need you; we’ve been away from each other for too long.”
I want to tell him so much. I want him to know how much he made me feel tonight. All kinds of naughty things, heart-swelling things, and things that make me wild for him. As he pulls his shirt off and starts to unbutton his pants, I whisper meekly, “I want something from you.”
“Anything. Name it. A pony? A yacht? An island? I’ll give you anything you want, just let me be inside you.”
With his words panting and tight, I pull back from him so I have a chance to finish before he makes it so I can’t form sentences.
“You were unbelievable tonight. All of it. You doing what you do. I get it now.”
He leans back to look at my face, a small look of bewilderment across his eyes. “I’m glad you were there. I needed to have you near me.”
“It was just so . . .” Looking down, I run my hands around his waistline.
“What?” He tips his head to the side, his voice laced with worry.
“Hot. The crazy, wild, make-me-wet kind of hot.” Turning my face back up to him, I watch a devious smile cross his face. “It made me want very dirty things. I feel like I’ve been plucked out of the audience to spend the night with Trax.”
He bites his lip before letting his eyes hood while watching me. “You want to be my little groupie tonight? Is that the kind of dirty thing you had in mind?” As his mouth curls up in another small, dangerous leer, his words are cautious yet eager.
I dip my head and take a deep breath. “Yes.”
Letting his lips fall open, he gives a small whispered groan. “Baby, you’re in luck. The way you left me frustrated earlier, I need it dirty, too.”
Finishing the work on his pants, he lowers his boxers and starts to stroke himself. As I watch his hand move up and down his length, my hips begin to writhe in tiny movements because I want him so much.
“You looked so fine out there in the crowd tonight. I would’ve had them bring you backstage to me, even if I didn’t know you. I would’ve wanted to slip my hands up this skirt, feel how wet you got, and have my way with you. You’re so fucking hot, baby.”
Moving forward, I pull my fingernails down his chest. With enough sincerity and just a little sarcasm, I shake my head and smile at him. “I’m your biggest fan.”
Pulling his lips together in a perfect smirk, he leans in to give me a small kiss on one shoulder.
“I think you know what happens next, right?”
Grabbing my hips, he spins me around and I drop my hands to the table, bending over at the waist. Expecting him to plow right into me, I’m thrown a little when he pushes up my skirt more, ensuring that it’s fully up around my waist, and then starts to drag his fingertips over my bare ass. The feeling is gentle for now, but every trace of his fingers is loaded with tension. Closing my eyes, I hope and pray it ends with his hand between my legs. Then he lands a single, just hard enough, smack on my ass. I toss my head up in surprise and yelp.
He growls out, “Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
He spanks me again. “You want who?”
As he draws his hand over the tingling skin, the sting still humming there, my arousal starts to build like a bubbling cauldron. “I want Trax.”
Another slap rings out, even harder, and the choking moan that comes from my mouth sounds like a goddam animal. Gritting my teeth, I try to hold back.
“Beg me for it.”
Another spank.
“Fuck me. Please fuck me.”
“Again.”
One more, but this time he takes the other side. I can’t hold anything back, and words tumble out of my mouth in raspy cries.
“Oh God. Please, now. I can’t wait any more.”
I’ve never experienced this kind of erotic swell, the sting and the frenzy all crashing into each other at a hundred miles an hour. I let my head fall forward and then back up, keening and bucking up at him, begging with my body and my words for more of whatever he wants to dish out.
Before I can regain my equilibrium properly, he’s pressing against my ass and grinding against me. I push back and spread my legs more. Then he grabs one hip roughly and drives himself into me, sliding in effortlessly from the combination of his being so hard and my being so wet. Grabbing both hips now, he starts to move, hard and deep thrusts that force me to grab the table edge so I don’t collapse.
Nothing happens mildly or gently, no movement restrained o
r slowed to make this remotely tender. Because what I asked him for was something else. I asked, then basically begged, for the rough, ego-driven part of who he is. The part I thought I couldn’t like, the part he asked me to look beyond. Yet we’re both plunging headfirst into it right now, for real and for play.
“God, you’re so ready. You love this, don’t you? Acting like a filthy groupie. Fuck, I love that it made you crazy, baby.”
He doesn’t let up as he growls at me, continuing to slam into me over and over again. I groan out an affirmation and rotate my hips in response to his thrusts.
“Tell me how much you wanted it. How bad my sexy, sweet good girl wanted this.”
My answer comes out garbled, broken up by moans and screams. I manage to sputter out, “I wanted it in the dressing room. I wanted it all night watching you onstage. I needed it.”
“Yeah? Did you think it would be this good? A rock star fucking you this hard?”
With every question, I give up something, anything, just so he won’t stop or slow down even a tiny bit. He grabs a fistful of my hair and jerks my head back up, just forcefully enough to make me even wilder. Somehow, he manages to step closer to my body, and the change in position pushes him against the front wall inside me with each drive forward. Letting out a strangling moan, my brain starts to get hazy like I might pass out.
The onslaught of all of my senses on high alert engulfs me. The sound of our voices wrangling together, the smell of sweat beginning to salt the air, seeing my breasts moving beneath me, the faint taste of strawberries in my mouth, the way our bodies writhe against each other in some kind of naturally frenzied orchestration.
“You better come, Katie. I won’t last like this. Give it up for me, make it loud so I know how much you love it.”
A little part of me hates how much command he has over my orgasms. The way he tells my brain what to do and my body follows through without the slightest pause. Instead of that holding me back, it just forces everything forward, tearing through me, and almost simultaneously, Trevor pulls his cock from inside me. I shove back toward him, wanting the fullness again. With one of his hands still clutching on to my hip, a loud guttural groan erupts loudly from his throat as he spills onto the bare skin of my ass. A piercing tingling feeling falls through my limbs until it settles numbly in my fingertips and toes.
Trevor falls against my back, his breathing heavy and stuttered. My legs start to shake, my knees wanting to buckle under the tension and relief. I’m sure he can feel it and knows I’m not so adept at these kinds of antics. Apparently, my body can’t quite handle Trax.
Then I start to feel a tiny tremble from where his hand still grips my waist. Gently, he snakes both arms around me, pulls me upright, and wraps us together. He kicks out one of the dining chairs and pulls our intertwined bodies to it. Once we’re safely sitting down, the rest of him begins to quake and I lazily turn my head to see him. His head is resting against the back of the chair and he’s smiling broadly, a silent laugh coursing through him.
“Mother of God, woman. You’ve wrecked me.”
I silently thank the universe. At least it’s not just me.
20
My head is fuzzy and when I open one eye, all I can see is the ceiling of the room, covered in gilded, stamped ceiling tiles reminiscent of some opulent castle. I shove the pillow off my head from where it covered half of my face and look up. The memories of last night come crashing down and instantly I reach out to pat the mattress space beside me. The rest of the bed is empty; the spot where Trevor slept is rumpled but bare. Rolling my head around, I consider it might actually be possible to experience a hangover-like effect from too much sex.
Not just ordinary sex, but feral, reckless, dirty stuff. While I don’t have a screaming headache, my tongue is dry like suede, and my sense of balance feels oddly off, even lying down. Maybe I had a little too much champagne. There were the few swigs before he got here, then a few more when I needed some kind of hydration between rounds. Trevor might have had more than me, though he consumed it in a nontraditional way. You tend to lose at least half of the product when you’re pouring it over someone’s naked belly or their arched back and trying to lick it off. Yup, that totally happened. It was messy and awesome and a little hilarious.
Crawling out of the sheets, I hear Trevor’s voice in the other room. I drag my wonderfully sore body up and grab his shirt off the floor, slipping it over my head and inhaling more deeply than a rational adult woman should. With my feet padding noiselessly over the thick carpet, I slowly pull open the door to slip out to the living room. Assuming he’s on the phone, I figure I can slither out and at least get a morning nuzzle in before devouring whatever food I can find. Before I can even see him, I hear his voice again, stiff and low.
“No. I don’t have to explain this to anybody. My personal life is not up for a press release. Never was before, nothing’s changed now. Period.”
Stopping in the small hallway between the bedroom and the living room, I listen and hear a deep, gruff voice responding.
“You’ve never been with someone this way before. She needs to know what’s coming. If you two aren’t on the same page, they’ll eat her alive. Is that what you want?”
“She’s strong and smart enough to handle things. And I’ll sue the shit out of any motherfucker who tries to hurt her. Or us. But for now, we don’t even know if it’s an issue or not. Some music reviewer writes a couple of crafty-ass sentences and you’re ready to schedule an interview with Oprah.”
When I crane my head out from the wall, I see Damien standing near the door, holding a newspaper in his hand and shaking his head at Trevor. Despite my having only met Damien twice, his casual dress today is jarring. He’s always been in a three-piece suit before, dressed impeccably in a way that looks right at home on his large frame.
This morning, in a pair of track pants and a T-shirt, he might easily be mistaken for a high school football coach somewhere. His eyes lock on me and I want to turn and run back into the bed, covering my head in the sheets, which are laced with my adventures from last night.
“Morning, Kate.” He nods at me. He’s like Trevor’s goddam consigliere or something, politely cold with an air about him that indicates he might be able to make me “go away” without ever getting his hands dirty. What’s worse, something in his manner, his way of speaking, lets me know he’s not convinced if I can be trusted or not.
Without moving toward them, I give him a perfunctory greeting back. “Good morning, Damien.”
Trevor turns to me and the corner of his mouth turns up in a tender smile. He stretches out his arm toward me and waves me over to him.
“Morning, baby. Come here.”
As I pad over, I wish for more clothing covering me. Not because Damien is leering or anything, but because he acts like he can see right through me. A flimsy T-shirt provides nothing in the way of armor. Kellan would have made sure I was in a power suit or something more appropriate. Aaargh, WWKD? I should try to answer this question before I ever leave another room again.
When I reach Trevor, he rests his arm over my shoulders and draws me in, kissing my forehead.
“Sorry if we woke you.”
I shake my head no and look down at my toes.
“OK, well, I’m out of here. See you in an hour, Trev.” Damien heads toward the door and goes to leave. Turning back, he looks at me and does the curt-nod thing again. “Kate.”
Mustering a smile back, I wait for the door to click closed. Just before it does, Trevor moves to wrap his other arm around me and pulls me close.
“You don’t need to be up, go back to bed.”
“Come with me.”
He turns me back toward the bedroom, prodding me to walk forward with a bump of his hips against my backside.
“I’ll get you back to bed, but under no circumstances should you try to have your way with me again. I have to get a shower and then I’ve got an in-store to be at in an hour.”
Lett
ing out a pouty growl, I crawl onto the bed and flop onto my back.
“You shower fast, right? An hour is plenty of time.”
Trevor crawls over me and pulls my hands above my head, seemingly so I can’t touch him and make him get under the sheets with me.
“No way. I barely got any sleep before my phone started ringing. I’m going to be worthless as it is.”
Lowering his head, he dots two tiny kisses on either corner of my mouth. “Anyway, what are you even still doing here? Didn’t I give you twenty bucks for a cab last night? As a general rule, I don’t let groupies stay the night.”
His mouth spreads into a giant grin. Taunting me.
“Shut. Up.”
I roll my head away and smile, feeling a blush heating across my cheeks and down my neck. In truth, I was extraordinarily naughty last night. Playing the groupie involves a whole lot of begging, demanding, shrieking, panting, and dirty talk. A whole lot. Not to mention the inspired use of things like balcony railings, my cleavage, his teeth, a private penthouse rooftop pool, and the lanyard on a backstage pass. I can’t dwell on the last one too much because it makes my belly clench just thinking about it.
“I mean, you’re here now, so I guess you can stay for breakfast. But, you’ll need to remind me what your name is. What was it? Kelli? Noooo.” He looks up at the ceiling out of the corners of his eyes and taps one index finger against his lips. “Give me a second . . . Kari? Kathy?”
“Fuck off.”
He lets out a barreling laugh and releases my hands. I promptly use them to grab a pillow and cover my face with it, mumbling through the thick material. “I hate you.”
His laugh trails off and I hear him suck in his breath.
“That’s too bad.” With his hands tickling under the shirt I’m wearing, he slides the material up from where it just covers my thighs, over my belly, and lets the bunched-up fabric rest above my breasts. “Because I thought last night was unbelievable. Spectacular. The best night I’ve ever had. So I was hoping you’d wake up the opposite of hating me. I certainly woke up with a different feeling.”
