by Penny Wylder
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, hovering over her and not biting back my disbelief.
“I could ask the same,” Lucy says and she’s so stiff. I've seen her turn into stone, but no gargoyle could heat me up like she does. Our back and forth was bordering on flirting—for me, anyway—in spite of her attempts to get under my skin. I thought she was actually trying to upset me.
And maybe that was fair. I'd invited the groupies here, knew she'd see them, and I'd done it hoping it'd make her mad. I didn't know why I wanted to piss her off, I just . . . did. Seeing her so furious over me was exciting. It made my cock into steel, my mouth watering to taste hers.
Lucy is fucking me up from the inside out.
I love it.
“You were fucking jealous,” I say with a rough laugh. I lean against the dressing table, eyeing her up and down before leveling a smug grin her way. “You didn’t want those girls around so you could have me all to yourself.”
I'm barely teasing. I'm sure I've figured her out. The way she looks at me . . . the way she blushes and tries to act like she's better than me. I suspected from the first sound check when I caught her ogling me.
She shakes her head violently. “I need you alone so I can do my damn job.” Her stiff facade cracks a little to show the fire underneath.
“And I suppose it was your job to admire me this morning in my sleep?” My smirk is unrelenting.
“I—” she sputters, shaking her head in abject denial. “It was an accident!” There’s the real person underneath all the bullshit. That’s the person I’ve kept around, the person I want to know, the person who gets my engine revved if I’m honest with myself. I really, really want to rev her engine in return.
“Not what it looked like to me.” I push off the dressing table and saunter closer. “In fact, to me, it looked like you were getting a good, long look at the nice thick cock you wanted a taste of.”
She’s red, cheeks not just dusted but flaming. I want more of it, more of the human woman I know is in there. "You're wrong."
“You saw something you wanted.” I step in closer, taunting. And even though we’re several feet apart, Lucy takes a slight step back. "Admit it."
Her fists clench at her sides, she looks as though she wants to tear me apart. “You only wish, Avery. You pegged me for a groupie the moment you laid eyes on me and were more than happy to invite me to your dressing room. So I’m pretty sure you were the one who saw something you wanted.”
“And if I did?” I move closer still, but this time, she stands her ground. She’s still several feet away, a distance I’d love to close.
“Then you’re going to be wanting for a long time. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” There’s a haughtiness to her tone, that same curtness I’ve heard so often and want to break down.
“I’m not the one eyeing you naked.” My anger has turned into something far more passionate. I love seeing her get so worked up.
Her eyes dart from mine to my mouth. I pointedly lick my lower lip. She's whispering now, her eyes wild with a quiet distress. The air is boiling with heat, and I know it's not just my own. “But you would.” It’s not even a question.
“Of course I would. Why would I pass up seeing a beautiful woman naked?” I eye her up and down to emphasize the point. “But I wouldn’t break into your hotel room to do it.”
“I did not break in!” Lucy practically screeches, clearly seething. “I have the damn key. For emergencies like, oh, you haven’t called into your fucking interview. Because I’m your goddamn manager! And for your information, I was actually concerned. Like an idiot, clearly.” She huffs, shaking her head. “You know what? Screw this—I don’t have to take this shit.” Lucy turns on her heel; I grab her wrist, pulling her back around.
My voice is low as I look down to her, as I hold her wrist. "You said you could take anything I had. You're not going anywhere, I kicked those girls out for you." There are mere inches between us, and I can hear how rough and shallow her breaths are, hear her swallow thickly, feel the goose bumps on her wrist beneath my fingertips.
“What is it you need from me then, sir?” she asks, mocking me.
“Well, for starters.” I pull her closer to me—her eyes flash, lips parting. “I’m wondering why you hate my fan girls so much when you are one.”
“I’m—what? How could you . . . ? I mean—” Lucy shakes her head firmly.
“So you’re saying you don’t listen to my music? Never listened?”
She’s scarlet, eyes going wide in something like horror before they narrow. I'm on to something here. “So what if I own a few albums?”
That makes me laugh. "A few?"
“I—yes? I mean, it’s not like you have that many solo albums, and—” The tension in her shoulders loosens; she's been cornered and she knows it.
I can’t help the smug smile, I really can’t. “How many, including Fever Dream?”
Her eyes drop, and there’s still anger but there’s also something else to her flush, something suspiciously like embarrassment. “Um, twelve?” Lucy fists her skirt with her free hand as she raises her eyes. “Thirteen if you count the Red Rocks concert I downloaded. You were really on that night.”
“Thirteen?” My tone is skeptical. Fever Dream made five albums. I’ve soloed three. The numbers don’t add up.
She chews the corner of her mouth. “I maaaaay have a few of those bootleg demo albums.”
It’s my turn to be speechless. I just stare for a moment. “Thirteen. Demo albums.” I suddenly make the connection; Lucy isn’t just a fan, she’s a fan.
I focus on her, as if seeing her for the first time. Her chest rises, her breasts toying with me under her shirt. "Drew?" she whispers nervously.
I run my thumb over the inside of her wrist and hear her whimper. “I didn’t realize you were such a big fan, Lucy.” I draw out her name like a delicacy.
“I was,” she says, and I see her swallow again. “But that was before I realized what a jackass you are.” Her fists are clenching her skirt so tightly now that her knuckles are white.
“You don’t think I’m a jackass,” I say, grinning down at her, leaning closer. “You think I’m charming. You wanted to be like one of those girls earlier, sitting on my lap.”
She pushes at my chest in response, but my hold is as solid as ever. “Why can’t you just—just—” she sputters, clearly flustered.
“Keep things professional?” I ask, pulling us together so that our chests touch. The electric spark startles me; I was in control, but this rush of lust is blinding.
“Fuck off,” she growls, and I can feel her breath near my neck. I love that she doesn’t cower at my proximity; I don’t expect her to.
I can see into her pupils—how wide they are. Black pools that shake with a million emotions. “What is it you do want, Lucy?”
Her eyes are green fire. I've got her wrist, but she digs her fingers into my shirt along with her other hand. It's like she wants to throw me to the floor, or slam me against her. Maybe she doesn't even know. Her stare moves to my mouth for the second time and it triggers something in me, something deep and primal. I ache for this woman like I’ve never ached for anything, anyone.
“I want—” she says, wetting her lips. “I want—I should—go. It’s—”
I reach my hand out to cup her chin.
“No more lying,” I say, my voice low and needy. “I bet you're soaking your panties right now at the very idea of me.”
“I—” she begins, but before she can say more, I lower my head and press my mouth to hers. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s forceful and needy and I half expect her to push me away. But she doesn’t push, just pulls me closer with her hands clinging tightly to my jacket. I want to taste her, so I push my tongue between her lips and groan lightly at the feel of hers; warm, wet, and just as insistent.
As I kiss her like this, feeling her body against mine, I want more. My hands are greedy; this woman has been driving me crazy for
ever, so distant most of the time, acting like a frantic teen with a crush the rest. I need to know how much I’ve affected her, how much she wants this, so my hand slides up her thigh under her skirt.
I finger the edge of her panties. They're drenched, like I guessed they'd be. My cock strains painfully; finding proof she wants me is hotter than I'm ready for.
"You are soaked," I chuckle into her ear. She whimpers, it's another bolt of lust right to my cock.
This woman. This fucking woman. My grip on her hip tightens as I continue to stroke the lace of her panties, eliciting the most delicious moan. She’s so wet, so fucking wet, soaking through thin fabric to coat the tops of her thighs. I want to feel her, fuck do I want to feel her, to slide into her perfect pussy, to feel the fire I see in her eyes around my dick as I take her hard and deep.
But not yet, fuck, not yet. No. No. I want this to last, want to make her scream again and again, my name on her lips as she shrieks her pleasure. I want to kiss every last bit of her, mark her, map her, taste her skin and her sweat and her pussy. Especially her pussy. I want to feel her arousal on my tongue as she writhes beneath me, want to taste what I do to her.
Oh yes, I want to taste her, then feel her, then claim her. I want to pound into her, want to fuck her into submission, this beautiful, infuriating, amazing woman.
A wave of possessiveness hits me, crashing down and sweeping me into madness. I don't just want to get off, not like with every other woman I've been with since high school; I want her, want to break down every wall between us, every barrier she's been erecting since we met.
I want her to be mine.
And she's going to be.
Chapter 5
Lucy
I couldn't have expected my angry, impulsive banishment of groupies to end with his mouth insistently devouring my own, but here I am.
Drew tastes like whiskey and smoke and, somehow, I can't bring myself to care. On him, it's just right, as right as his ass looks in denim, as his hands feel on my hips.
My brain short circuits entirely as his talented tongue makes me breathless, sliding against my own sensually as his hand inches its way up my blouse to cup one lace clad breast. He growls his frustration into my mouth, squeezing almost painfully before moving down to shove up the bra roughly, his hand resuming its place with nothing to shield my flesh, hot and screaming for his touch.
I gasp at the rough feel of his calloused fingers as he gives a hard squeeze before pulling one taut nipple. He is not gentle as he caresses then tweaks, and I find myself panting and mewling and then downright moaning when his other hand finally finds my ass and squeezes.
Startled, less at the action than at how much I enjoy the hard, unforgiving squeeze, my hands fly from gripping his shirt to tangle in his hair. I need to ground myself, to give myself a chance to think, to breathe through this sensory overload.
He doesn't let me.
When Drew pulls me flush to him just after, my own gasp is masked by a groan, low and throaty. His cock strains within the confines of his jeans, pressing tightly against the lower flesh of my belly. Screw grounding myself, hell, screw breathing. As a hot pang of sheer want spreads quickly from where he’s pressed against me straight down to my swelling clit, there is nothing left but how much I need this. The close proximity, the banter and heated exchanges and long repressed attraction has brought me here and now, and there’s no going back.
I don't want to go back.
My hands pull at his hair as my hips push forward into him, seeking. I want, but I might have known this is too good, too easy as his mouth is suddenly gone, as the hand on my ass vanishes, as his hand stills on my tit. I nearly whimper at the momentary loss, but I don’t have time to mourn as his mouth is suddenly hot against my ear, his breath far more even than mine, as his free hand finds the hem of my skirt for a second time and dives under, his fingers stroking the lace of my panties again briefly, too briefly, before one slides beneath the edge to find my clit. His finger stops short of stroking me, resting just there, and this time, I do whimper, loud and involuntary, at how much I crave his touch. I’ve never wanted a man like I want Drew and it's dizzying. I feel like I'm spiraling out of control, and I hate it, and I love it, and I want it, no, need it.
And then his lips are moving, his low voice rumbling against my skin, and his words are a drug, dangerous and addicting.
“You're desperate, aren't you?” Drew says lowly, thrusting his fingers against me. “You want this.”
I don't answer, can't, as his fingers stretch me out.
“Want it so much you couldn't fucking stand the thought of those girls getting it instead, could you?” Another thrust of his hand, another languid stroke, and I cry out in pleasure. This is his show, and just as when he takes the stage, he's completely in charge. Just in this moment, he owns me, and I want him to, want him to do with me as he will, need more of him than his slow touch and the stilled hand on my breast.
“Tell me you want it," he demands
His finger makes a harder stroke, his hand on my tit pulls the nipple roughly, and I gasp, not because it hurts, but because it feels good, that mix of pain and pleasure, and because he's right, because I need this so damn much.
“I—”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
Another pull, another stroke, this time longer, more sensual as Drew’s finger circles my clit several times and then moves over it lightly, once.
My tongue is lead, words lost to his warmth and his hands and his insidious words. Always, always, words have come easily, have been my weapon and my shield, but now they scatter before his touch like so many meaningless letters, useless, my mind a hot press of sheer want.
He says, “Tell me you want my cock as much as all those groupies you turned your nose up at.”
His hand slides back, one finger circling my entrance slowly, teasing, as his other hand, another finger, circles my hard nipple.
I'm making noises but it's all I have. What are words? I'm not sure I know anymore beyond his words, his touch. His fingers move so lightly, it's maddening. His lips trail my neck for a few moments, sucking then scraping his teeth in a way that makes me moan loudly, makes me feel warm with embarrassment and sheer desire, before moving up again to suck briefly on my earlobe, both hands still teasing my needy flesh. As I shiver at his touch, he groans.
“Tell me,” Drew speaks again, voice firm and low. “Or this stops.” His fingers freeze, his hand between my thighs slipping out from under my panties. He brushes my clit just once as he passes. “Tell me how much you need my cock.”
His hands leave my body entirely and I crack. It’s pathetic, but I need this so much, and my words tumble out in a gasp, throaty and raw. “I need your cock!”
My whole body goes hot with mortification at mouthing such words, mouthing them to this arrogant, difficult man of all people. I cease to care as his hand slips once more beneath my panties, plunging fast and deep inside me. The sheer filth of begging for him heightens my overwhelming need.
“How much?” Drew says against the skin of my throat as he crooks his finger inside my pussy in a way that has me seeing stars.
“So—much,” I pant out. “Please.” I practically sob the last, his finger beneath my panties unrelenting.
“All those girls wanted this.” His voice is soft and steady. “Every last one. And since you couldn't stand that, couldn't stand someone else having my cock, you’re gonna have to handle it now, taking every last bit they would’ve gotten.” I whimper at the command. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
I gasp out, “Ah, fuck me.” His finger moves again, and my next words leave my lips before I even know I mean to say them, my pleasure making me nearly delirious, “Please, please, Drew, fuck me.”
Suddenly his finger is gone and I whimper at the loss, but I don’t have time for more as he pulls me across the room with a growl. He hoists me onto the small dining table to one side of the dressing room. His eyes are dark wit
h need, and I can't help it, I shiver.
His lips find mine, greedy and forceful, kissing me breathless again as his hands work at my shirt, popping open buttons before sliding it off. He makes quick work of my bra just after, and then his mouth is moving down, down, down, sucking and licking and biting my tender skin as he goes.
I can already tell he’s going to leave marks, black and blue and vibrant. I’m going to need a high collar to hide what he’s doing to me. But it feels too good to stop him, so I don’t, mewling and writhing as he trails down to a breast. He swirls his tongue around one pebbled nipple before sucking lightly. Waves of electric heat run up my spine.
He dips down to swirl his tongue in my belly button, causing me to squirm before finally moving lower. He drops to his knees, pulling my ass roughly over the edge and tearing my panties off. There’s heat in his gaze as looks up at me.
“Always wondered if you’d taste as good as you look.”
Shit. Shit.
With a feral grin on his lips, he moves in to kiss my inner thigh, ending with a little nip before he moves up farther, farther. Drew has me panting and squirming with anticipation. I haven’t come yet and I need to. I want his cock, but at this point, I’m desperate for any part of him, every part of him. His tongue is long and hot and I want to feel it.
I expect him to tease after how he made me beg before, but Drew just dives in when his kisses reach the place where my thighs meet like he’s found his next meal, and maybe he has.
His tongue is even better than I’d imagined it'd be in my teenage fever dreams. At first he’s careful, exploring and circling, finding out just where and how to lick to make me scream, but once he’s discovered how to get me panting, shaking, he does it relentlessly.
“Drew, fuck, that's so good,” I gasp as my hands find his hair.
And that’s when he stops.
I whimper, “Keep going, please?”
His pupils are blown wide. “Keep telling me how much you want it. I want to hear.” The rough tone of it makes me shiver again and he moves back to continue his attentions.
