“From what I’ve learned nobody ever is.” She touched his chest as he leaned forward, stroked him and he melted with pleasure. “But it’s okay. No hassle.”
“No.” The reality forced his decision for him. He didn’t want that. Like his work he preferred fate to take a hand in this. “If you’re okay with this I’d like to wait and see.”
The realization forced him into a decision. What shocked him the most was that the thought didn’t fill him with dismay. In fact the thought of Cyn big with his child turned him on so his cock started its merry way toward erection again. Not that he’d get her pregnant just to see her that way, but still—he knew what he wanted now.
“Yes.” Her smile held approval, although he didn’t know if she realized she’d let that much out. Just as the intense expression in her eyes the minute before she came told him something that put him in a spin. He knew that look, though not from her. Maybe he had eight and a half years ago, before he left for Paris.
Would she shy away this time, turn her back and close him down, or would she say something? It became important to him that she said it first. Not because he doubted his feelings but he didn’t know if she’d have the courage to follow through this time. If she didn’t would she always hide her feelings from him, keeping them separate? Because that would kill what they had for sure and certain. Rather than that he’d let her go, hurt for a little while instead of for years.
This—this was something else. If she was pregnant he’d force the issue and make her face her fears, instead of watching and waiting, letting her take her time and recognize the inevitable.
Too intense. He’d given her the light meal so she could have a nap before getting ready but time had disappeared, melted away and they had to dress and leave. Five already. He didn’t want her rushing to dress and hurting herself as a consequence.
“You still want to go?”
“We can’t tell them no now.” She snorted. “Are you trying to chicken out?”
“Maybe.” He grinned back at her. He spent more time smiling with her than he did with anyone else. He had a reputation in the media for broodiness, mean and moody like Elvis, but sometimes a happy face seemed too much of an effort. Not with her. She made him smile all the fucking time. “You’ll ruin my public image,” he pointed out, reaching for the conditioner.
“You’ll ruin mine. We’re going to smell the same, you know that?”
“That’s the idea.” She always used his toiletries but he’d seen her collection of bottles and sprays when he emptied her apartment. He’d wanted to give notice to her landlord there and then but he knew she’d probably not thank him for doing that, more likely rip him a new one. Still, she wasn’t going back there. Never, if he could help it.
“You want to smell like me?”
She touched her pussy, spread her lips and slid a finger down to her opening. Scooping a few drops of juice, she tasted it. Just like that he was rock-hard again, watching her lick her finger as if she was tasting the greatest delicacy in the world.
“Fuck, Cyn, all the time, sweetheart.”
No way could he say no. Never to her, whatever the consequences. He grabbed another condom from the nightstand, vowing to replace the ones in the bathroom. She eyed him as he sheathed himself. “We’re still doing that?”
“Just because we had one accident doesn’t mean we should throw protection out the window. But get back on the Pill, hmm?”
“Sure.” Her smile broadened.
He had her on the bed this time. He placed her carefully. Her body on the mattress, her legs propped up beside her, in an effort to cause the least stress to her poor bruised torso. And to give him the best view in the world. He took his time, grabbed some pillows to kneel on to bring him to her level and watched her face as he entered her. “You are so wet,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Yes we should. We don’t have to take long.” He wanted her again, to stop her withdrawing emotionally from him. And just because he fucking needed her. She jerked and bit her lower lip.
He wanted to kiss her but to do so meant he’d have to lean over and risk hurting her. This restraint was killing him. Probably why he needed to fuck her so often. No, he’d want to fuck her anyway. He couldn’t imagine this urge wearing off anytime soon. Rough or gentle, restrained or wild, he wanted her.
“You are so good at this.”
“I know.”
Her eyes shot open and she laughed up at him. Last time he’d needed her with a desperation that verged on insanity but this time he wanted to make her happy. He watched her as he slid in and out, changed his angle then swiveled his hips. “You’re my experiment,” he said. “I’m going to drive you insane. Make you addicted to me.”
“That’s not very kind.” Another small cry when she lifted her chin, her head and shoulders lifting her body off the bed.
“I’m not trying to be kind. I’ll wear you out.”
“I’m not forgetting what we’re doing later. We’re going.”
He laughed. “I haven’t forgotten.” To be honest he’d be happier on the other side of it. Then he’d get her back here and coddle her. Caring for her had its own particular pleasure and since he’d never experienced it before he wanted to explore it some more.
He took it slow, watching his cock disappear into her lush depths, her inner walls clasping him in a lover’s embrace, before he eased out to do it again. He bent, then lifted and pushed in, nice and slow. “That good for you?”
“It’s all good.” She reached out and he clasped her hands, smiling but he took care not to pull too hard. Otherwise he could have used it to drag her closer and fuck her harder. They didn’t need that, not all the time. Just each other and closeness.
Ah shit, he was getting maudlin. Just looking at her made him want to cherish her. He watched her breasts move as he took her, marked every nuance, every twitch of her lips when she cried his name, sighed or moaned. He loved the way her breath caught in the back of her throat when she was close to coming, just like now. Her juices flowed more freely and he dropped the hand on her injured side to rub her clit, the small ridge hard under his thumb. Then he pulled it away and dropped her other hand. “You do it.”
She blinked at him and he saw the moment his words registered. With a smile that promised much she stroked down her body, emphasizing every sweet curve before she slid her fingers between her legs.
She touched where they joined and caressed his cock, making him shudder. Then, the smile still firmly in place, watching his face, she pressed down, just as he had, before taking her clit between finger and thumb and massaging it hard.
He watched to learn.
“The most efficient or the best orgasm?” she asked.
“Can be both,” he said.
Her voice, low again, stirred his senses. He felt it right at the base of his balls and tension tightened his sac. He held on, barely, still working her in a slow, steady rhythm, ensuring he drove in deeply every time. Bliss to feel her like that, even better to see her.
“I can’t do much more.” In fairness he had to tell her.
“Neither—can—I.”
He increased the tempo as much as he dared, their bodies slapping against each other. He grasped her upper thighs to pull her closer and she shuddered against him in the throes of orgasm. He could hold on no longer.
Her hand stopped working her clit but she didn’t take it away, instead moving down the deep-pink slit to his cock. In a movement he hadn’t guessed, she gripped the base as he slid it inside her then released it and gripped it again when he moved out of her. She did it with a regularity that had him waiting for it, expecting it with every thrust and she didn’t disappoint. Except the last time, when she gave one, vicious clasp before releasing him so suddenly the essence surged up his cock. He held on as he emptied himself inside her. She took it all and he longed to give her everything.
He was in deep in more ways than one.
They had to hurry but in an hour they were ready. A bit more for him. Cyn looked utterly classic, her gleaming golden hair swept into a high chignon, the black dress unadorned except for one of her necklaces, a design that looked as if it had washed up on a beach. He touched a crystal. “Diamonds? Rock crystal?”
She grinned. “Glass smoothed by the sea. Isn’t it lovely?”
“You are.” He snatched a kiss before turning to the bathroom mirror to apply his eyeliner. Some people called it guyliner. They were scared of their feminine sides as far as Riku was concerned. He’d chosen matt-black clothes with a flash of white at his throat, a midnight pirate vibe with an asymmetrical coat that reached his ankle on one side and his upper thigh on the other. Pewter buttons, no two alike, dotted it, though he didn’t fasten it. He let it hang free, the tassels and pendants fastened haphazardly swinging around him when he moved. Paired with an extravagant black poet’s shirt, a pair of black pants with thin silver stripes down each side and a white scarf at his neck, he thought he’d do.
“You’re going as Blackbeard Riku, are you?”
He ignored her until he was sure his lip paint was on straight. Red and deliberately artificial it would probably wear off quickly but it created a cool effect. He’d gelled and sprayed his hair, teasing it into hard spikes. To finish he found a classic, expensive Swiss watch, wafer-thin, platinum, to add contrast to everything else and suggest he knew what he was doing. One long earring and a collection of tiny studs in his other ear, all stars, a constellation of ear jewelry.
He stepped back, coolly examined the result and declared himself ready.
“Wow. So you want people to notice you?”
He shot her a grin. “Showtime.” He had a particular reason for dressing like this tonight but he didn’t think he’d tell her. She might object. Let her think he planned to face his press prepared. Half the answer, anyway, he told himself, trying to work out his decision to dress so elaborately for a dinner with his family.
For once he wanted them to see. They might not understand but they could at least see Riku the rock musician.
They took a cab to the restaurant and he held her hand loosely, slouching against the side of the car so he could watch her.
“What does your family usually call you?” she asked.
“I was Ri-Ri to my sisters when I was a baby. I’ve been Rye-ku and Riku. I answer to them all.” He found his name a source of amusement sometimes but at least they hadn’t called him something complicated that he had to spell every time.
She fixed on one. “Ri-Ri?”
“Yeah, well.” He waved his free hand negligently. His huge, faceted obsidian ring flashed in the light of the street lamps. In this city it never got truly dark. “When I was a baby I called myself Ri-Ri and my sisters did too. My brothers did it to annoy me more than anything else. I towered above them far too early.”
She laughed. “I can see that. You’re what, six two, taller?”
He nodded. “A freak to my family.”
“Not to a basketball player.”
He grinned. “Okay, you got me there.”
He’d let her see the incipient fondness between his siblings without showing her the way his parents quashed it. Time to disabuse her. “My parents made the kids practice until they got my name right. No nicknames allowed. We all went to school early.”
“All kids do.”
“Not boarding school.”
A small silence. She turned her head to stare out the window, not letting him see her feelings. She must know he could read her fairly well by now. He enjoyed watching her curls tamed into the style that made the most of her graceful neck. Already he wanted her again. He’d always had a healthy libido. It was working overtime with no sign of settling anytime soon.
The car drew up outside the restaurant and Riku, who was nearest the sidewalk, exited first. He opened the door to screams and yells but ignored them to reach in and help her out.
She winced but he’d taken care not to disturb her injuries. He murmured in her ear. “It’s okay. Our security’s here.”
She pulled away. “You knew?” Stared at him, her mouth slightly open, astonishment in her clear gaze. “You arranged this, didn’t you? Let people know where you’d be.”
“I might have tweeted to Beverley before we left,” he admitted. “Forgot to make it a private message.”
Two burly men stepped forward to flank them. Riku nodded to them. “Is the restaurant clear of fans?”
“Yes. You have a large table in the middle. You could have had the place to yourselves.”
“It’s okay, I didn’t want that.” He didn’t. No privacy allowed, no chance for his mother to berate him or his father to express his disappointment. They wouldn’t do that in public. Appearance was everything.
“Bastard.” That was Cyn, moving close to speak into his hair so nobody could lip-read. She was learning fast what it meant to be in the public eye.
Looping his arm loosely around her waist, he rested his hand on her hip, partly to avoid her bruises and partly to demonstrate her position with him. Her importance. He remembered other times, other restaurants and scenes of madness. Unlike the women he’d escorted then, Cyn gave every impression of dislike, her face stiff as a poker, her stance carefully graceful. Her stage face. He hadn’t seen it for a long time. Over eight years. She’d always looked like this before a performance.
She realized it before he did. Heedless of the spectators she faced him. “You arranged this. You didn’t tell me. Why not?”
He watched her stand up to him in front of all these people and recalled the one who had attacked him last night. “It’s complicated.”
“A bit like throwing me in at the deep end?” Her mouth curled in a sneer. She obviously didn’t think much of that idea.
“That’s part of it.”
“And the other?”
“I’m a public figure. I can’t stop them.” He wouldn’t tell her he hadn’t planned on so many. Just a few and some photographers. Yet again, he’d misjudged the band’s popularity. He still found it hard to believe. There must be a hundred people here, standing behind the barriers. He knew this restaurant could cope with celebrities and the rich. “When they picked this place they wanted to show me I wasn’t so popular. Entertain me on their ground, control the situation.”
Her expression softened slightly. “But you played up to them.”
“What else can I do? Turn up in jeans and a cheap T-shirt? I could have done that but nothing would have changed. They’d still be standing here.” He loved her turn of phrase. She’d turn him Brit if he wasn’t careful. He already used some of her curses and phrases, calling freckle-faced redheads ginger and talking about teatime. She made him smile but he never underestimated her. Part of her Britishness was pure marketing shtick, like his clothes and the moodiness. Although he’d certainly felt moody when he first played with the band.
“And that’s what you meant by ‘show time’. You should have told me, Riku.”
He raised a freshly shaped brow. “You’d have come still?”
“Y-yes.” He spotted the moment she realized. She’d have been nervous, would have behaved more circumspectly, might have worn something other than the freaky, gorgeous necklace festooned with found objects and precious carvings. Another more considered piece maybe. He didn’t want that. He’d have given her his necklace if she’d refused to wear one.
After the attack nerves could have taken her far worse than they were now and she might have refused to come, or used the back entrance of the restaurant. As it was she exited the taxicab straight into their arms and Chick had assured them the attacker was just one guy with a stupid idea. It was as safe as it would ever be.
“We have to do this, Cyn. Not hide away.”
Abruptly he turned, placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her inside.
The door opened and Riku nodded to the man holding it before he saw the maître d’ calmly waiting for them. With a pr
ofessional smile as good as Riku’s own he guided them into the main room and to the table in the center. There, uncomfortably waiting sat his family.
They stared. At him. He coolly ignored them until he’d helped Cyn to sit. At least they’d seated them together. He wouldn’t have put it past his mother to put them at either end of the table. Not that he’d have allowed it to happen.
He shook hands with his father and sat, sweeping the long part of his coat aside like a Regency gentleman.
“Nice to see you all. How long has it been?” Riku asked.
His mother uttered the magic number. “Eight years. We’ve all been so busy.” She gave an artificial laugh. “Your guest—”
“Cyn.”
His mother frowned. “I refuse to call anyone Sin. What’s her real name?”
Cyn spoke before Riku could. “My full name is Cynthia. Nobody calls me that, not even my mother.”
“Then I shall be an exception.” Riku’s mother gave her a frosty smile. “A pretty name. A shame to distort it.”
Oh yes, he understood this ploy. The criticism. He remembered it well. Not what she said but how she said it and what she meant. “I like it,” he said.
His mother turned her chilly gaze to him. “I’m sure you do.” Her mouth smiled but her eyes did not. “However, I believe rock stars are allowed their foibles.” With an indulgent smile, she dismissed him as if he were a child. She returned her attention to Cyn. “Let me introduce you.”
Ten other people sat at the table. His two younger sisters and their spouses, his parents and his two brothers with their wives. All safely married, all the women sporting solitaire diamond rings slotted over gold bands. They wore expensive but safe clothes, although his sister Tae wore an acid-green blouse under her staid business suit. He picked her out once introductions were done. “You look great, Tae. You’re what, nineteen now?” So young to marry and further the family’s ambitions.
Her husband Maxwell, a financier he thought his mother had said, gave her a sweet smile. “I told her she did. Time she wore something she actually liked,” he said.
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