Wild Open

by Bec Linder

  He got off the couch and walked toward the back of the bus. The bunks were all empty, and the door to the back lounge was open, and Andrew wasn’t in there. Everyone was out somewhere. He grabbed his laptop from his bunk on his way back to the front.

  Leah watched him curiously as he sat down and opened his laptop. “Your secret’s that you have a laptop? I already knew that.”

  “You need to come over here,” he said. “So I can show you.” His heart was pounding. He shouldn’t trust her with this; it was too uncertain, too volatile. It would cause too many problems if anyone else knew. But he had this stupid feeling that telling her would somehow justify their growing intimacy. If he told her, and she didn’t tell anyone, then he was right about her, and it wasn’t weird that he was falling for a women he’d known for less than two weeks.

  She obediently rolled off the couch and joined him, sitting with her chin on her knees, her feet tucked beneath her. Her toes were red with sandstone dust.

  “I’m working on an album,” he said. “This is a big secret. Nobody knows.” He opened up his editing software and played the first track for her. She listened in silence, leaning against his shoulder. Her toes wiggled in time with the beat, which he took as a good sign. He wanted her to like it.

  The song ended. She said, “You write all of the music for the band, right?”

  He nodded, and resisted the urge to demand that she tell him what she thought of the song. “Andrew and James give me feedback, and of course Andrew writes all of the lyrics.”

  “This doesn’t sound like music for the band,” she said. “When you said you’re working on an album—”

  “Solo stuff,” he said. “A side project. It’s all instrumental. I’m not sure if—”

  “It’s amazing,” she said. “O’Connor. Of course it is. You’re so talented.”

  “Thanks,” he said, embarrassed, but immensely pleased that she liked it.

  “So this is your backup plan,” she said. “If Andrew totally melts down. Right? You can keep making music no matter what.”

  She knew him too well; or else the situation really was that obvious. “That’s the idea.”

  “I don’t think it will come to that,” she said, but they both knew it was an empty platitude. It probably would come to that, and sooner rather than later. After Andrew’s screaming fit after the show the night before, O’Connor thought they were probably on a pretty short timeline.

  “Well, anyway,” he said. “That’s my current major life secret.”

  “Can I listen to the rest of it?” she asked. “How many songs do you have?”

  Every man wanted the same thing in life: the admiration of a woman. There wasn’t a chance in hell that O’Connor would pass up an opportunity for Leah to tell him how wonderful and talented he was. “A few more. I can send you the tracks.”

  “I would really like that,” she said, and maybe she was just stroking his ego, but he would take it.

  He closed his laptop. “Now you have to tell me a secret. It’s only fair.”

  She tapped her chin, looking thoughtful, and then grinned at him. “I’m not wearing any underpants.”

  “Holy shit,” he said, newly in awe of what a devious, manipulative creature she was. “You wore those little shorts on purpose.”

  “Maybe.” Her eyes twinkled. She was pleased with herself.

  “I am going to do things to you that you can’t even imagine,” he said. “How fucking long do I have to wait until I can get you in bed?”

  She looked at her phone. “Seven or eight hours.”

  An eternity. He groaned and went back to his bunk. If he spent any more time near her bare legs in those shorts, he was going to fuck her on the floor of the front lounge and get busted by Rushani. Eight hours. His heart was going to explode. He was going to die.

  He couldn’t wait to see her naked.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They arrived in Las Vegas right around sunset, which made for a thrilling drive up the Strip to their hotel, but it was unfortunate timing in that everyone immediately wanted to go out for dinner. Rinna was having some sort of problem with her boyfriend back home, and she asked Leah to go to dinner with her so they could hash it all out, and Leah couldn’t turn her down; so it was close to 10:00 by the time she made it back to the hotel and went up to her room.

  O’Connor had texted her an hour ago: Room 1108, whenever you’re back. And she had spent at least five minutes in a sex haze before she could focus on her conversation with Rinna again.

  She took a quick shower and shaved her legs, but other than that she didn’t bother with making herself look pretty. She pulled her wet hair up into a knot on the top of her head, moisturized her face, and called it good. O’Connor had seen her in every possible state of disarray—sweaty, half-asleep, grumpy, drunk—and she didn’t see the point in trying to impress him. He knew what she looked like makeup-free and just out of bed, and he seemed to like her anyway.

  And she didn’t want to waste any time. She’d been waiting long enough.

  She did put on the one skirt she’d brought with her on tour, sort of as a nod to the idea of feminine beauty ideals.

  And then she walked down the hallway to his hotel room.

  Her heart was beating so quickly that she felt a little nauseated. She stopped outside his door and took a few deep breaths. This was her last chance to turn back—but of course she didn’t want to; she had been waiting for this moment since the first time she saw him. It was just sort of a big deal. This was no random tour hookup. She had feelings for him, and sleeping together would solidify the light-hearted flirtation they had enjoyed up until now. Sex would make things real.

  But she wanted that. She wanted real.

  She knocked on the door.

  He answered so quickly that she knew he had been twiddling his thumbs waiting for her, and she was laughing when he opened the door.

  “Something funny?” he asked. “I hope you aren’t laughing at me, because you know my ego can’t—”

  “Oh, shut up,” she said. She stepped forward, pressing her body against his, and tilted her head back to look up at him. “Why don’t you close that door?”

  His eyes darkened. He seized her around the waist and tugged her into the room, and kicked the door closed with one foot. She laughed again, happy and excited, and still nervous, and he said, “You have got to quit this giggling,” and bent his head to kiss her.

  And this was the kiss she remembered from that night in her bunk: deep, possessive, overpowering, and with an urgency that matched her own. He ran his hands down her body and beneath her skirt, and groaned when he encountered bare flesh.

  “You slutty little—where are your underpants?”

  “I didn’t put any on,” she said, blinking up at him, trying to look innocent. “I thought they would just get in the way.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, and kissed her again, squeezing her ass with both hands. “Look, I know I’m supposed to take this slow, and be gentle with you—”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t want gentle. I don’t want to wait.”

  He look at her, breathing hard, his pupils dilated, and yeah, she was a little scared, but it was a good scared. She felt safe with O’Connor, who respected her, and wanted to please her, and it was really turning her on that he wanted to fuck her so badly. She wanted to make him lose control. He muttered a curse and slid one hand between her legs, and of course she was soaking wet; and he swore again, and manhandled her over to the bed.

  The first time was fast and rough. He bent her over the mattress, yanked her skirt up around her waist, and entered her in one deep thrust. She moaned aloud at the feeling of him inside of her, the thick hot press of his cock, and when he started moving, the friction was better than she remembered, better than she ever thought sex could be. He thrust into her fast and deep, and she came after only a few strokes, too worked up from the endless days of waiting to hold out any longer.

&nbs
p; “Shit, Leah,” he said, and stopped moving.

  “No, keep going,” she said, gasping, still shuddering through the last of her orgasm.

  “I can’t,” he said tightly. “I’m going to lose it.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “I already did.”

  “Pride,” he said, and started moving again, very slowly, but even so it wasn’t very long before he groaned and went still above her.

  He pulled out and staggered into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Leah turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling sated and very happy. O’Connor came back out a minute later, having finally shed all of his clothing, and Leah blatantly ogled him as he walked toward her. She’d seen him shirtless many times, but a fully naked man was a special treat, and O’Connor more so than most. He was lean and muscular, not too hairy, and she spent a few long seconds admiring the way his waist tapered down to his narrow hips. She was already game for round two.

  “I see that look,” he said. “You need to give me at least fifteen minutes. I’m not a young man anymore.”

  “You’re twenty-four,” Leah said. “That still counts as young.”

  “Okay, ten minutes,” he said. He stood over her, one hand on his hip. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

  He “helped” her undress, which involved more groping than Leah thought was strictly necessary, but she enjoyed every second of it. When he had stripped her out of her skirt and T-shirt and bra, he settled her on the mattress and lay down beside her, propped on one elbow so that his right hand was free to explore her breasts and belly.

  “Good Lord,” he said. “It’s even nicer than I thought.”

  She laughed, pleased and flattered. “You’ve already had your hands all over it.”

  “Seeing is different than touching,” he said. “Mmm. We’re going to have a good night. Do you always come that fast?”

  “No,” she said, blushing. “I was a little—I guess I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

  “You and me both.” He bent to kiss her shoulders and neck, and she closed her eyes and sighed happily, one hand in his hair, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on her skin, and of being utterly relaxed.

  She didn’t stay relaxed for long. He moved lower and began kissing her breasts and sucking on her nipples, and soon she was squirming beneath him and tugging at his hair and saying, “O’Connor, O’Connor, come on.”

  The second time was slower than the first, but just as toe-curling. O’Connor kissed his way down her body, focusing his mouth on places that she had never considered as erogenous zones: the skin just above her navel, the shallow point of her hip. She was quivering continuously by the time he ran his hands up her thighs and spread her open.

  He spent a while just looking at her, and touching her gently with the very tips of his fingers, curious and a little scientific, detached. She felt like a bug on a pin, splayed open there for him to investigate; but when she tried to squirm away he held her hips against the mattress and wouldn’t let her bring her knees together again. “I’m looking,” he said.

  “Haven’t you seen one before?” she asked, a little annoyed that he wouldn’t just get on with it already.

  “Sure,” he said. “But I haven’t seen yours.”

  Men. Leah was tempted to kick him out of the way and take matters into her own hands, both figuratively and literally, but then he finally—oh—bent his head and put his mouth on her.

  But still he wasn’t done tormenting her. He moved his lips and tongue in slow, exploratory gestures that didn’t seem designed to give her pleasure. He was doing what he wanted, tasting her, opening her with his tongue, and any enjoyment she got out of it was purely incidental. His mouth was slick and hot and almost where she needed it, almost, always a bare inch away, and no matter how much she tilted her hips and tried to shift beneath him, she couldn’t get him there.

  When at last he slid two fingers inside her, she cried out and arched her back, so sensitive from his endless teasing that the touch was almost more than she could bear.

  “Noisy,” he murmured, and with a last kiss to her hip pulled away and sat back on his heels, gazing down at her, his fingers working inside of her. “I like it. These walls are pretty thick. Make as much noise as you want.”

  “Thanks for the permission,” Leah said, hearing her own voice as a stranger’s, ragged and breathless.

  He didn’t reply, but he slid his fingers out of her, and she reached for him in mute protest. He said her name, his voice rich with fond affection, and then he lay down on top of her, gathering her in his arms and holding her close. She felt his hard cock against her belly, thick and hot, but he only held her and kissed her face and neck, murmuring things she couldn’t quite hear.

  “O’Connor,” she said. She stroked her hands down his back to the firm, delicious curve of his ass. Her pulse throbbed between her legs; she was an aching hollow, hungry for him.

  He pushed up onto his elbows and met her eyes. His were dark with lust. He blew out a long breath and said, “Okay. Fuck. Leah, I’m about ten seconds away from losing it and I’m not even inside you yet.”

  She smiled at him. “But we both have poor stamina, so it’s okay.”

  “Poor stamina?” He laughed. “Those are fighting words, woman.”

  “Well,” she said, and wriggled her hips, thrusting up against him. “Consider it a challenge?”

  He laughed again. “Okay. Gauntlet thrown.”

  He rolled her onto her side and lay down behind her, spooning her with their hips nestled close together. She heard the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper, and then he slid one hand between her legs, lifting her top thigh to make room, and the round blunt head of his cock pressed against her. She drew in a breath. Held it. He pushed inside.

  She was conscious, this time, of the way her body made room for him as he slid inside, taking in every last inch of him until his hips were pressed firmly against her ass.

  “Ah, Leah,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

  She did feel good; he made her feel incredible. She knew that wasn’t what he meant, but it was all she could think about—how sexy and sensual and joyful she felt, and how her body responded to his like they were made for each other, shaped out of raw clay for this exact purpose. She arched her back to take him deeper, and he groaned again, his hand clamping tight on her hip.

  They moved together, slow and sultry, in a rhythm ancient as the earth. O’Connor kissed the back of her neck and slid his hand from her hip up to her breasts, cupping and squeezing, tracing the outline of her nipples with his callused thumb. The pace was slow enough and sweet enough that she could have gone all night like that, washed in waves of pleasure, but never quite enough to send her over the edge.

  And that was exactly what O’Connor was trying to do: he wanted to show her that he was a real man who could fuck all night, and he was going at a snail’s pace so that he didn’t come too quickly.

  She laughed aloud when she realized what he was doing, and he pinched the skin along her ribs and said, “What’s funny?”

  “You,” she said, and seized his wrist and dragged it between her thighs.

  He didn’t need any directions; he knew exactly what to do, and he actually did it, without playing dumb or making her wait. He stroked her in time with his thrusts, a steadily rising rhythm, and when she rolled her hips backward against him, trying to speed up the pace, he went faster still.

  Leah squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her lower lip. She was starting to get that feeling, that good, taut, curling feeling that came right before a shattering orgasm.

  “Christ, listen to you,” O’Connor muttered, and Leah realized that she was moaning with every thrust. “How did you stay quiet on the bus?”

  Why was he talking? She didn’t care what he was saying, and she definitely wasn’t going to respond. She rocked her hips forward against his hand and backward onto his cock, her body tensing, tightening, arching against him, almo
st there, and then she tipped over into pulsing, reckless pleasure.

  O’Connor was saying something, but the roaring in her ears was too loud to make out his words. When he rolled her onto her belly she went without resistance, too limp to do anything but lie on the mattress and try to catch her breath.

  “Sweetheart,” O’Connor was saying, “Leah, you’re fucking beautiful, you’re—”

  She turned her face into the sheets to hide her smile.

  His thrusts went ragged, rhythmless. His hands were planted on the bed beside her face, and Leah reached up and slid her palm over the back of one of his hands, stroking his knuckles. “Ah, Christ,” he said, and she felt his lips against her hair, and then he thrust deeply once more and went still.

  They disentangled themselves, sweaty, a little shaky, and lay side by side on the mattress, gazing at each other and grinning like fools. O’Connor stroked Leah’s hair out of her face and then leaned in and kissed her, the sweetest kiss she’d ever had. And part of her wanted to stay there for the rest of her life, the two of them in this little bubble of a hotel room, but another part of her was noticing how sticky she felt.

  She stretched her arms above her head, her toes pointed, and heard something crack in her back. “That was okay, I guess.”

  He smacked her hip. “Unbelievable. Already shit-talking me.”

  “I can’t let you get too cocky,” she said, smiling at him. “Otherwise you’ll get lazy.”

  “I’m starving,” he said, apparently deciding to ignore her attempts to yank his chain. “You wore me out. Let’s get room service. You already ate dinner, right? Do you want anything else?”

  “Maybe a little snack,” she said. “Some fruit or something.”

  He called in the order. Leah went into the bathroom to pee and rinse off in the shower, and then spent a few minutes snooping through O’Connor’s Dopp kit. She was hoping to find some sort of fodder for eternal mockery—expensive eye cream or something—but he didn’t have anything beyond the standard dude arsenal: toothpaste, deodorant, two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. Boring.