Revenge: The Complete Series (Erotic Rock Star Suspense Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  Before I can respond to that, the waitress comes.

  Dylan orders for both of us. He gets a bottle of wine and the restaurant’s special tasting menu for two. He asks about the dessert.

  “I am sorry,” the waitress says. “It’s late now, and we are sold out of the tiramisu.” She goes on to tell us about the special gelato they have, and other cakes, but I can tell Dylan is disappointed.

  After she leaves, he sips his water and stares up at the sticky bug strips hanging from the ceiling fans.

  “Does Chet like this place?” he asks.

  I frown at his tone. “It’s three blocks from the hotel. I told you we could go somewhere else.”

  We sit there in uneasy silence for a few minutes, then the waitress returns with our wine. She asks where we’re from and makes polite small talk as she fills our glasses. To her, we’re just typical American tourists.

  This isn’t enough for Dylan, though. He turns on his brilliant charm, looks her in the eyes, and says, “You don’t recognize me, do you? I’m a singer. If you were American, you’d know who I am. You’d have all my songs.”

  She laughs. “Maybe.” She turns to me. “Is this true?”

  “Yes. My boyfriend is very famous.” My left hand rises, almost with a mind of its own. I flash my engagement ring at her. “Actually, he’s my fiancé. We’re getting married.”

  She catches my hand in hers and strokes my fingers. She turns her body, angling away from Dylan and toward me. As she gazes into my eyes, I realize why she wasn’t fawning over him. It’s me she prefers.

  “He is a lucky man,” she says. “Very lucky.”

  My body starts to tingle, the longer she holds my hand. I’m speechless. The young Italian men are all so gorgeous and charming, but some of the Italian women really take my breath away. They exude so much confidence and sensuality.

  The waitress gives me a playful wink, then lets my hand go by slowly slipping my fingers over hers. She turns and walks away, her hips swaying.

  I can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I giggle and reach for my glass of wine.

  “Interesting,” Dylan says. “Chet’s not the one I have to worry about, is he?”

  I look up, worried about what kind of mood Dylan’s in. He’s smiling now, which puts me at ease.

  “Don’t be silly,” I tell him. “I come here for dinner because the food is good. Not because I want to kiss that waitress.”

  His dark eyes twinkle. “She does have beautiful lips, but not as beautiful as yours.” He sips his wine. “Confession time: I’m a bad boy.”

  I sit up straight. He’s a bad boy? I brace myself for the worst.

  “How bad are you?” I ask.

  “I’m picturing you kissing our waitress. I’m imagining your soft lips against hers. Your hands up each other’s skirts.”

  My eyes widen, even as heat spreads through my body.

  I lean in and whisper, “I would never do that.”

  “That’s why it’s so fun to imagine,” he says. “It’s safe, because I know you wouldn’t. Does that make me bad, that I like to imagine you doing things?”

  I cross and uncross my legs, feeling uncomfortable, but not in a bad way.

  I slide my chair in even closer, then whisper, “She has beautiful lips, and such silky-looking hair. I’d love to run my fingers through her hair.”

  Dylan’s pupils widen, making his eyes look almost black. “While you kiss her neck. And you slowly unbutton her blouse, kissing your way down her cleavage. She smells like perfume. It’s a perfume you’ve never smelled before, and you can’t get enough of it.”

  “That’s right,” I murmur, playing along. “I unfasten her lace bra, and I kiss her all around her breasts, all around her nipples.”

  “And then what?” He takes another sip of wine, never taking his eyes off me.

  I glance around to make sure nobody is watching. There’s a tablecloth on our table, which gives us some privacy. I slip off my shoe, then bring my foot up and rest it between Dylan’s legs.

  He moves his chair in closer to the table, grasps my foot, and presses it against his hardness.

  “And then what?” he urges.

  “I take her beautiful, firm nipples into my mouth and suck on them.”

  “She cries out for more. You want to give her more. You suck her nipples, and you slip your fingers into her panties. She’s wet. You’re confused at first, and you don’t know what to do, but she’s panting. You let her guide you, and you give her pleasure while you keep sucking on those gorgeous breasts, until you can’t think about anything but hearing her cry out.”

  I don’t have anything to add, so I finish my glass of wine.

  “That’s how I feel with you,” he says. “That’s how you intoxicate me.”

  The warm feelings from the wine and our fantasy flood my body. He keeps massaging the top of my foot in his lap, keeping me connected to him. It’s only my foot, but I can feel him all over my body.

  “That’s a good story,” I say. “We should tell each other stories more often.”

  “I can think of a few other things you might do in my imagination, Jess. But only there. Only in our stories.”

  “I’ll do anything for you.”

  He smiles. “Let’s have dinner first.”

  I hear the waitress coming back with our food. I quickly yank my foot back out of Dylan’s lap, even though she probably can’t see it there because of the tablecloth.

  As she sets down our food, she looks deeply into my eyes, like she knows everything. I pull my gaze away from her beautiful brown eyes and look down her shirt. She’s unbuttoned her blouse, and I can see her bra and cleavage. I inhale, taking in the scent of her perfume.

  She walks away, and I say to Dylan, “You’re right. She does have a nice perfume.”

  He grins. “But you’re going back to the hotel with me, not her.”

  I turn and watch her curvy hips sway as she walks away. “Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking up ideas for our stories.”

  “You’re a bad girl,” he says huskily. “You make me wish I’d come to Rome sooner.”

  “Good,” I say. Maybe I am a bad girl, after all. He definitely should have come to Rome sooner. But he’s here now, and we’ll make the best of it.

  Chapter Eight

  After we finish dinner, we take a walk. We don’t stray far from the hotel, but make a large loop around it.

  The boutiques have all been closed for hours, but we stop and admire the windows. We walk past a club playing live music, and Dylan asks if I want to go in.

  Instead of answering, I stand on my toes and kiss him. He kisses me back and presses his body against mine. People on the sidewalk just walk around us, like this is the most normal thing.

  We keep kissing. His lips taste so good, and the rasp of his five o’clock shadow is reassuring. He’s here. I love him, and I love this. Kissing on the street. Not worrying about who might take our picture, or what the headlines might say.

  An image suddenly pops into my head and I pull away.

  “Dylan, I have to ask you something. Promise you won’t get mad.”

  He licks his lips, like he enjoys the taste of my lip gloss as much as he does kissing me.

  “What do you want?” he asks jokingly. “For me to take you into that alley? Because I will. Just say the word.”

  “Be serious. I need to know something, because I feel like I’m going crazy. Was there a picture of you on the internet?”

  He gives me a funny look, like I truly am crazy. “Jess, there are lots of pictures of me on the internet.”

  Shaking my head, I take his hand and lead him off the busy street, toward a small courtyard with a fountain and benches. We take a seat on the bench. During the day, old men are often here feeding the pigeons, but it’s just us right now.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, sounding concerned.

  “I got an alert on my phone, and there was a picture of you. Naked. It was a selfie t
hat you took, and it was in our bathroom.” My voice is shaky, and my hands are trembling in my lap. I feel like I’m accusing him.

  He frowns. “You saw this on the internet?”

  “I don’t know. It was something that came up on my phone.”

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

  “Dylan?”

  “Hang on,” he grunts.

  He turns, so his back is to me.

  “It’s not on the internet anymore,” I say. “You won’t find it.”

  He only grunts in response, still focused on his phone.

  My heart sinks. He’s here beside me, but he’s far away. I shouldn’t have asked him about the photo. I should have pretended it never happened. We were having such a beautiful evening together—a perfect night in Rome. Now I’ve ruined it.

  “Was it this?” He turns back and thrusts the phone at my hand. His eyes are so dark when he’s angry, so dark here in the courtyard under the street lamps.

  My heart starts pounding, and I’m short of breath.

  I take the phone from his hand. I’m looking at the photo. It’s real. It’s him, standing in our bathroom. His crotch is mostly hidden in shadows, but it’s clear he’s naked.

  My voice comes out as only a squeak. “That’s the one. I saw it, but now it’s gone. I guess… the lawyers…” Tears come to my eyes, hot and painful.

  “Did you think I sent that to some other girl?” He sounds incredulous.

  “No,” I say, but it comes out like a question.

  “Jess, that picture is from months ago. Look, it’s from before we had the bathroom repainted. Look at the color on the wall.”

  I shake my head and turn away. I can’t look.

  “Are you saying it’s over? Between you and this girl?”

  “It’s not over,” he says. “I love her.”

  I let out a strangled gasp and slump forward. Dylan grabs my shoulders and pulls me to him.

  “Jess, calm down. Breathe. Just breathe, Jess.” He clasps me tightly to his chest. “I shouldn’t joke around. I’m sorry I was joking around.”

  I keep sobbing, and now I’m babbling incoherently. I don’t understand what’s happening.

  “Look at the other photo in the album,” he says. “Look at the one that’s next.”

  He pushes me away, shoves the phone in front of my face, and makes me look. The next photo is one of me, dressed in lingerie. It’s a picture I took of myself. I sent it to him while we were playing one of our games.

  I feel like I’m spinning around, even though I’m sitting still.

  “I remember now. That selfie was a photo you sent me,” I say slowly. “I was home. I was in the next room.”

  “Yes, don’t you remember? I locked myself in the bathroom and I said I wouldn’t come out until you sent me three sexy photos, in three different outfits.”

  I start to laugh, but it comes out as a weird choked sound. I’m relieved, but not ready to laugh over this yet.

  “Oh my god, you’re right. I was so nervous about my photos, and how I looked, I forgot you sent me that one of yourself.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I must have been using a couple of apps at the same time. Or maybe I did that thing, where you pocket-dial yourself.”

  “Possibly.”

  I gasp and hold my hand to my mouth. “Do you think I accidentally sent that photo to someone?”

  “We can check your phone when we get back up to the room.”

  I turn away, embarrassed. First I was blubbering like a crazy psycho, and now it seems I might have pocket-dialed pictures onto the internet.

  “Hey, are you still crying?” he asks. “Everything’s okay, I swear.” He pulls me into his arms and starts rocking us both. “I’ve got you, Jess. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  Chapter Nine

  We get back to the hotel room and immediately check my phone.

  My outbox shows all the photos of Rome I’ve been sending to Dylan and the girls back in Los Angeles, but there’s no sign of me sending the nude selfie of Dylan to anyone. To be safe, I delete everything from my photos folder, and tell Dylan to do the same.

  He’s sitting on the bed, half undressed, and smiling at the picture of me in my lingerie. “I really hate to delete this,” he says. “It keeps me company when you’re flying all over the world for your career.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Please. This is the first time I’ve left the country, and you know it.” I point to his phone. “Now delete that photo, and I’ll show you the real thing.”

  “Five more minutes,” he says.

  “Fine. But get ready for the real thing. I’m going into the bathroom to get changed.”

  He unbuttons his jeans and slides them off. He lays back on the bed, stretching out, but still looking at my picture on his screen. “I’ll be ready.”

  I go into the washroom and freshen up, then slip into the pretty camisole and matching panties I brought for our first night together in Rome. I take a few more minutes to put on some scented, edible body lotion Dylan likes, then brush my hair so it’s tangle-free for his fingers.

  When I come out of the bathroom, his eyes are closed, and he’s very relaxed. I do a sexy walk around the room, turning off the lamps, then I climb on top of him.

  He keeps his eyes closed. I straddle his lap and lean forward to plant soft kisses all along his jawline, his lips, and his neck. He barely moves.

  I lean forward and nibble his earlobe.

  He lets out a moan, then mumbles, “Trying to sleep.”

  “Oh, are you sleepy?” I whisper.

  “Tired.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” I slide my hands down the muscular sides of his torso as I shift my body down as well. The room is so dark, I can barely see that his eyelids are still closed.

  My body feels hot, electrified. I grind against him, with only the fabric of his underwear and mine between us.

  “Tired,” he says. “Don’t stop.”

  “Shh,” I say. “You just sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Mmm.”

  I roll off to the side and quickly pull off my panties. I leave the camisole on, because the soft fabric feels sexy against my breasts and back, especially as my temperature rises.

  Next, I work on Dylan’s underwear. He’s thick and hard, so I pull his underwear down with care. He’s either asleep now, or doing a very convincing job pretending to be asleep. His legs are heavy, and I’m starting to get very warm from the effort of just getting him naked.

  Now he’s ready for me, most of his body completely relaxed, except for one part. I lean forward and give him a loving kiss, and then a lick. He stands ready at attention, that part of him feeling no jet lag at all. I take him in my mouth, savoring his taste and the scent of his skin.

  I can feel my pulse between my legs, my insides trembling with every heartbeat. In the dark hotel room, there’s no space between us. I can hear only the rustle of the sheets, and our breath. Dylan’s breathing speeds up as I shift my body up and straddle him.

  He’s in the center of the bed, so I have plenty of room to move. I grab his length in my hand and guide him into me. I can sense his desire to move, to lift his hips and plunge into me, but he holds still, pretending he can sleep through this.

  As I lower myself onto him slowly, I reach down and touch myself with one finger. This gentle pressure only makes me feel Dylan more. Each stroke makes me tighter and more sensitive. Everything is connected, and my network of nerve endings act like a lasso, wrapping around him.

  He’s quiet and still beneath me, sharing his urgency only by changes in his breathing. I press my free hand on his hot chest as I lower myself until I can’t go any further. I grip him tight inside me and rock. The movements are slow at first, then get bigger. I’m riding him, rising high and lowering, like I’m on a bucking horse.

  He can’t pretend he’s sleeping any more. His hands are loose on my thighs, moving up and down. His hips rise and fall, but
he’s careful to match my rhythm. He’s patient, until I come.

  I fall forward, gasping, stars and fireworks flashing behind my eyes.

  My body goes limp. I’m spent, feeling too good to move.

  He rolls us over together, and then drives into me with urgency. I wrap my legs around his waist and cry out as he lets go, groaning. He grunts my name, and then he swears, like he sometimes does.

  I smile and tilt my head up. He growls and swears some more, saying my name like he’s angry at the name itself, like it’s a curse… like I’m a curse… the one who keeps him up all night when he’s jet lagged and needs to be sleeping.

  After we’re done, I let him sleep for a few hours, then I wake him up and make him curse my name again.

  Chapter Ten

  In the morning, it’s Dylan who wakes me up.

  We’re on our sides. He’s behind me, gently spooning me. He’s erect and sliding lengthwise between my legs. I keep my eyes closed and pretend I’m still sleeping, but he knows I’m not.

  He keeps gliding back and forth, getting more slippery with each stroke. I lengthen my torso with a stretch, tip my hips back, and press down just enough to catch hold of the tip as it passes by.

  Dylan responds by thrusting up and entering me. I gasp at the fullness. I’m swollen with excitement for him, and he feels even bigger than last night. He bites my shoulder and then nuzzles my neck.

  “Good morning,” he murmurs.

  I moan and keep my eyes shut, pretending to be more interested in sleeping.

  “Oh, now you’re tired,” he says. “Not last night, when I wanted to sleep.”

  “Do your worst,” I say, teasing. “I was having a good dream about that pretty Italian waitress from last night. I’m going to see if I can get back into that dream.”

  He’s stiff inside me, practically throbbing at the mention of me and the waitress.

  “Tell me about this dream of yours,” he says huskily.

  I giggle. “It’s personal.”