by Virna DePaul
“You could say that again,” he added, pulling his hand away and hunching his shoulders. Staring out to the water, Tucker focused his attention there as if he were searching for a lifeline.
It felt harder to breathe, as if something were squeezing my chest hard. Sitting down on the railing, I was seized again by that crazy urge, just like on my balcony yesterday. If I cheated death again, then anything that came after, even explaining myself to Tucker, couldn’t be any harder. Failing that, I’d fall into the Seine, and even if I didn’t make it out alive would that really be that bad…?
But that was crazy talk.
I couldn’t very well climb onto the railing in front of Tucker. I couldn’t become addicted to what was clearly a dangerous habit. And I couldn’t allow thoughts of death and dying to become an iota more alluring.
I just needed to channel my energy in a healthy way. I had a show coming up. I had to focus. I’d accomplished so much with my designs. The ticker tape and the finish line were looming, and I wasn’t going to just throw myself into the Seine out of desperation.
Maybe if my show bombed, I could revisit that idea.
“Sometimes, when I’m scared, I act a little crazy. And I’m scared, Tucker,” I admitted, my voice as small and quiet as it had been as a teenager. It was the meek tone I used under my mother’s interrogations, the voice that was mostly about surrendering. It was all about the weak side of myself that I despised.
His eyes met mine and his expression softened significantly. “Of failing?”
“Of you. Of how good, how grounded, you make me feel. How much you make me want to believe the wonderful compliments you give me. I know I shouldn’t. You’re a guy who wants in my pants. And you’re so young…”
“I’m not a child.”
“No, but you’re still a few years younger than I am. I usually date men fifteen or more years older, established guys…men you can settle down with.”
Tucker snorted and I wasn’t sure if I’d cleared things up or wounded him more. Knowing my foot-in-mouth disease, I’d probably done the latter. I never had luck with anyone, but especially men.
“We just met, Nikki. We’re about having fun, not settling down.” He side-glanced at me. “Right?”
“Of course. Of course. But that’s my point. We’re not about commitment or long-term or forever, Tucker. But I want to believe what you say. I need to. So what do I do when you walk away? How can I believe anymore?”
It took forever for him to sit down next to me, and I was terrified during those long minutes that he wouldn’t, that he’d tell me to fuck off and leave me sitting alone by the Seine. Tucker didn’t. Despite his tattoos and bravado, despite his rock star reputation, he was a good man, and I felt like I needed him. That somehow he could get me through the next two weeks and whatever tortures and vindictive reviews that my mother had waiting for me.
He reached out then and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I was grateful for his support, even if I’d already managed to take him for granted. “Doesn’t Hermes make you believe?”
I blinked. “How do you know his name?”
“I bumped into him at your apartment. I went to see you last night since the opening didn’t really go well for us. So tell me, he doesn’t make you believe?”
“He doesn’t.”
“That’s because no one can. I can’t either, Nik. You have to believe. And even though we’re not about forever, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy our time together. And that I can’t do my damnedest to make you believe in a way that sticks.”
“And how do you think you’re going to do that?”
“By making you see yourself the way I see you. As one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met.”
I snorted and looked back out at the water. “Oh please.”
“No, I’m deadly serious. Nik. You’re talented, smart, hot, a go-getter, not to mention beautiful…who wouldn’t want to hang with you?”
As I stared at him, what I’d suspected became utter certainty in my mind.
There was something to the rocker, something deeper about Tucker Benning than the world who loved Point Break knew about. A man this comforting had a deeper, more honest soul than he was letting on. The leather jacket he toted around was his armor, protecting a kind and sensitive heart underneath. I could feel it.
I kissed Tucker long and hard, my tongue threading with his, my need for him raw and naked between us. “I’m damaged. I’m screwed up. You should run away from me right now. But I don’t want you to. I need you. I need you so much, and if you let me, I’ll suck you dry, Tucker, and probably not in the ways you want.”
He reached up and stroked my cheek. “We’re all damaged goods, Nik, and I think I’ll take my chances,” Tucker finished before plundering my mouth with his tongue.
That was all the motivation I needed to follow him back to his hotel.
* * *
Once we were back at his place, Tucker suggested a shower. At first, I stared at him, all too aware that while we’d gotten each other off, we hadn’t been fully naked in front of each other. Hadn’t even had sex yet. Where was the lead up? The foreplay?
Then I saw the fire in Tucker’s eyes and I understood. We’d been engaged in foreplay since virtually the moment we met, and he didn’t want to wait any longer. Neither did I. I didn’t need lead up. I just needed Tucker.
Turning around, I walked toward the bathroom, stripping my clothes off as I went, grinning as I heard Tucker hiss or stifle a groan as I exposed more and more skin. I glanced over my shoulder at him at one point, and his gaze was focused firmly on my ass.
“Don’t be long,” I said before stepping into the bathroom and turning on the shower. I slipped under the spray, reveling in the feel of the hot water running over my skin. The heat on my flesh mixed well with the flames that felt as if they were burning through me, flaring out from my gut.
A few seconds later, Tucker opened the shower door and stepped in. I swallowed hard and stifled my own moans upon seeing him. The ridges of his eight-pack abs, the gorgeous way his lean hips bones jutted out just so, and the hardness of his cock towering from between his thighs, already covered with a condom—they were enough to leave my clit throbbing and every conceivable part of me wet and ready.
Despite the confined space, somehow he gave the impression of sauntering toward me with slow, predatory movements, almost mesmerizing in their scope. Then he leaned down and wrapped his mouth around my right nipple, flicking his tongue in a fast, sensuous rhythm over the rigid peak. I moaned, then sighed when Tucker straightened and kissed me passionately, his tongue twining with mine in an intricate dance. As we kissed, Tucker played with my breasts, squeezing softly and pulling at my tight nipples. I buried my hands in his hair, tugging hard, making him grunt. In response, his hand slid down my taut belly and his fingers ran through my folds before he found my clit. He massaged around it, his touch gentle at first, then becoming more urgent.
My breathing became more frantic and I shuddered as the feeling of pleasure became overwhelming.
Arching my back, I thrust my hips, urging him to rub harder. To penetrate me. “Please,” I finally gasped out, and it was as if that was what he’d been waiting for, for me to beg, because he immediately slid two thick fingers inside me. Curling them, he found my G-spot and tapped, and my legs almost collapsed beneath me.
Swiftly, he wrapped his other arm around my waist.
“Spread wider, princess,” he urged, and I obeyed his command. He worked me like that, alternating between soft and hard touches, alternating between kissing me and sucking my nipples, until with a high cry I came hard on his fingers.
He gave me a moment to recover, and then he pulled back, breathing hard, his eyes reflecting his hunger. “I need you, Nikki. I want you so bad.” Urgency edged his voice, and I felt it, too, the need to feel him inside me. Now.
“Take me, Tucker. Don’t wait. Please. Do it. Fuck me. Fuck—” I squealed when Tucker moved fast, pro
ving how wiry and strong he really was. He picked me up as if I weighed nothing at all and steadied me over his rock hard dick, the tip of it nudging against my labia, tickling and teasing it. I was still tingling from my orgasm, my flesh extremely sensitive, and the feel of his cock was almost unbearable. But bear the pleasure I would. I wanted all of him.
He backed slowly to the tile wall and leaned against it for support. “All you have to do is ask, Nik, and I’ll give you everything you need.”
“I need you,” I said, leaning down and kissing him, trailing my lips over the line of stubble on his jaw before teasing his ear lobe with my teeth. “Need to feel you inside of me.”
That was enough to convince him. He brought me down over his shaft in a quick motion. I hissed when I felt the fullness of his girth inside of me, the sweet completion of his cock within my core. He bucked upwards and the motion hit against my clit, and I moaned.
“God yes, just like that.”
Our connection spurred Tucker and me into a rutting frenzy, my lips devouring his, his hand clinging tight to my back and ass, and our hips pounding against each other. He came first this time, and the way he moaned and clutched me was enough to send me spiraling into another orgasm. The force of it hit me hard, and I felt the pleasure spilling out over every nerve—every cell—of my being. It was as if I’d gone supernova.
And I loved him for giving me that chance.
A minute later, as he helped ease me back safely to the tile floor, Tucker kissed my lips and hugged me tight. “Was that worth it then, Nikki? Even though we’re not forever, just fun.”
I grinned and reached down to trail my fingers over his cock, thrilled by the way it responded eagerly to my caress. “Yes. Fun’s what I want. Fun’s all I need and we’re about to have a whole lot more of it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tucker
With Nik, I never know which woman I’m going to get, and that was a huge part of her draw. One second, it could be Dominique Lorenz, the businesswoman living in her mother’s shadow—the one with the faraway look in her eyes, and the shadowed gaze who could smack a photographer then freeze me out. The next it would be Nikki, the fun and flirty girl who’d rocked my world in the airport bathroom and has been one of the best fucks and best times I’ve ever had—and that was true even when she was vulnerable, scared, and telling me I should run in the other direction.
Tonight it was Nikki. She pulled up to the front of my hotel on a motorcycle, one of the sleek Ducati models, wearing leather pants that were practically painted onto her legs and a low-cut red halter top that complimented her amazing breasts. There was no way in hell she was wearing a bra tonight, and I was both grateful and already standing at attention. Her red hair flared out around her shoulders.
I sucked in a breath. My life and its mistakes were legendary, especially on the rock ‘n roll circuit. In that moment, I realized my next one was probably the woman riding through Paris congestion and going about thirty miles an hour—fuck kilometers, I can’t convert—without a fucking helmet. That was the reason I figured she was my next mistake—the very fact I noticed she wasn’t wearing a helmet. And how worried that made me. I imagined her getting into an accident. All that beautiful flesh—her beautiful soul—messed up on the pavement. It freaked me out how much it freaked me out, and I quickly shoved the thoughts away.
I wasn’t her dad, thank God, and if she wanted to be channeling her inner hellion, then I was more than happy to help.
I walked up to her as she idled the bike. “You have a long day prepping for your show?”
Me? I’d spent the day sleeping and then grabbing food at the one McDonald’s I could find. The fancy French cheeses and pastries had gotten old after only a couple of days, and my hung-over ass had been craving fresh grease like crazy. “I wasn’t sure you’d be over.”
“I have big plans, Mr. Benning,” she said, her smile wicked and devilish.
My cock hardened even more at the memories of those full, plump lips wrapped around it. Ask her if she’d rather stay in instead, it whined. But my mind, albeit quite reluctantly, dismissed the thought. If she’d been going over stitching and swatches of fabric and, most likely, directing a bunch of assistants and putting out fires, then she needed some time out in the open night air. Clearly, she was aiming for something wild tonight. No one dressed like that if they weren’t out to party.
“Then,” I said, hopping in front of her and gripping onto the bike. “Tell me the where and how to get there, and I’ll take us over.”
“You ride?”
“What kind of rocker would I be if I didn’t?” I replied.
Of course, I didn’t tell her that the first time Liam and I had ridden dirt bikes, I’d broken my femur. It had taken close to a year to heal and my mom spent most of it threatening me within an inch of my life if I ever rode a motorbike again. Of course I’d been fucking hooked. I’d gotten a hell of a lot better and had a few Harleys back home. Yeah, I knew my way around these babies. In comparison to the thrill of riding the open road with the wind in my hair, booze and drugs could seem tame.
On a bike, I could be anywhere I wanted, answering to no one.
I liked that about it.
Fucking reveled in it.
Especially now.
As Nikki leaned in to whisper the directions before we departed, her full, pert breasts pushed flush up against my back. Tonight, I’d have my tongue all over them, laving at them and giving them the attention they so richly deserved.
“You got it or do I have to help?” she purred.
Grinning, I looked back and stared into her gorgeous eyes. “Trust me, Nik. I’m in control here.”
* * *
When I pulled up to the valet, I snorted at the bar’s name—Sacre Bleu. Seemed kind of old school for what I’d figured would be a hot club.
“So, this place is the shit?”
Nikki chuckled and licked her lips, making them seem even redder under the lamplight. “It’s a place for expats. The name’s sort of the joke. It’s not authentically French or authentically anything for that matter. If you want to party, hear good jams, and drink then this is the place. I’ve been coming since I was fourteen and it’s epic!”
I tossed the keys to the attendant and whistled a bit as Nikki slipped him a huge wad of bills. I knew very little about French currency, but I could tell that a lot of bills were in that wad, and that the bike was definitely going to be cared for well. Slipping her arm through mine, Nikki led me to the front of the line and grinned back at the massive mountain of a man serving as the bouncer.
“Joe, how are you?” she asked.
The man spoke with what sounded like some deep Southern accent. Alabama or Louisiana maybe? “Hey there, kitten. You have a new guy? Oh hey! Aren’t you the drummer from Point Break?”
I grinned, always happy when a guy, and one in his twenties at that, appreciated our music. We’d started out with an edgier sound. In the beginning, Liam wouldn’t have known one string instrument from another, so fuck writing songs for them, but our sound had definitely evolved. Hence the reason we’d hired Abby in the first place.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, reaching over and shaking his hand.
“Then even if you weren’t with Nik here, we’d let you in, man. Have a blast. The band on tonight isn’t that good but the one we had bailed last minute for a gig.”
My smile stiffened a little. “Isn’t it a bitch when rockers change their plans last minute?” Like when he cancels a fucking world tour to spend time with his little Asian Persuasion? “If they let me give a few licks on the drums, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Definitely, man, save us from mediocrity,” he finished, lifting the velvet rope. “Have a good time.”
“Always plan on it,” I said.
Nikki winked back at him and laid her palm flat on my chest. “How can anyone have a bad time with me, Joe?”
“Scratch that then. Don’t do anything a sane person wouldn’t do, Tuck
er.”
“Well no one ever got that out of me before but thanks for the good advice,” I added, stepping into the club and wincing.
He hadn’t been wrong. The band on the stage was okay. Mostly a wannabe punk band that tended to hit a wrong note or have too much reverb about every third line. People were dancing a little on the tiny floor space provided, but most were lounging on the car seats scattered throughout the club. No, not those ones for little kids either, not like booster seats. Leather benches out of old classic cars, huge monsters like from classic Chevys. There were street signs and even hazard lights. The interior of the club looked like a mix of a classic car lover’s wet dream and like an explosion had rocked a city street. Fast and furious with an apocalyptic vibe.
“Whoa,” I said, my tone appreciative.
Nikki smirked back at me and made a bee line for the bar. “I told you this place was awesome. Most of the patrons totally speak English, not that most places can’t in a city like Paris, but this place encourages it. No attitude needed. Like I said, expats. They’re the nicest people on freaking Earth,” Nikki continued. I followed after her, admiring the view of her ass and appreciating the massively high stilettos she was in. They were normal black heels so I assumed she was wearing something she hadn’t designed. She grinned at the woman with the electric blue hair behind the bar. “Tilly, it’s been forever!”
“It’s been six months, girl,” the bartender answered back. “We missed you. What will you have?”
“A bottle of your finest tequila and two shot glasses.”
If the woman recognized me from Point Break, she didn’t say. That made sense. Paris was like LA or New York. A big club like this was going to get famous people (and if Liam’s vacation tanked our band in three months I’d be a lot less famous). The long timers and bartenders or staff who knew how to stay employed were the ones who knew how not to make a big deal out of things.
