Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians

by Chase, Deanna

  The grin that spreads across Shane’s face makes my pores tingle. It’s almost…predatory. His thumb moves from my wrist up and along the veins on the inside of my arm.

  One eyebrow raised, he murmurs deeply, “I thought you said you couldn’t handle it?”

  With my free hand I gesture between the two of us. “I can’t, but I can’t handle this, either. So why deprive ourselves when it’s going to hurt either way?”

  Shane sucks on his lower lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then we won’t hurt each other,” he says with a determined look in his eyes as his face hovers inches from mine.

  “Okay, it’s a deal, then,” I say backing up a bit, thrusting my hand out to him and laughing out of nervousness. “Nobody gets hurt, and we both get to enjoy some incredible no-strings sex.”

  Shane doesn’t breathe a word while he shakes my hand, his gaze growing dark with thoughts and need. In the back of my mind I know what I’ve just said is the most untrue statement of the century, but I need to fool myself into believing this is a solid plan. Kind of like when you convince yourself to eat that slice of chocolate cake, since you’re going to be starting a diet in the morning; in a tiny corner of your mind you know the diet’s about as likely to happen as Brad Pitt walking through the door and declaring his undying love.

  With my hand in his, Shane pulls me into his body so that our chests slam together and we’re both breathing quickly. He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, just a whisper of a touch, and yet I feel it right in my core.

  “I didn’t say we have to start right away,” I rasp as he trails those lips from my mouth over my cheek to the line of my jaw.

  “Just a taste,” Shane mumbles against my skin, and my entire body breaks out into goose bumps. “I want to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it almost every day since we first met.”

  A small chuckle escapes me as I watch him kiss his way down my neck. “You little pervert.”

  His hand glides along the outside of my thigh to the inside before skimming up to the apex of my legs. He rubs lightly through my jeans and says in a voice that’s deliciously lustful, “I want to suck on your clit until you scream.”

  Wow. My sophisticated concert violinist has a dirty mouth, and it thrills me.

  “Jesus, Shane…”

  His hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip before dipping inside my mouth. I gasp and then touch my tongue to it, sucking hard. He groans.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes on me the entire time.

  “I’m a sure thing, you know. You don’t have to butter me up with flattery,” I joke, my voice strained.

  He stares at me for a long time, slowly shaking his head. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says firmly, each word enunciated sharp and precise, like he’s sending a message. Reaching up, he unbuttons my shirt to expose my bra. He trails his hand over the lace before pinching my nipple through the fabric. I let out a little whimper, and he grins full-on, moving down to undo my jeans. I lie on his couch, transfixed, unable to bring my attention away from him as he casually undresses me. It’s like he’s been doing it all his life.

  Soon my jeans are gone, thrown onto the floor. He licks a line across my abdomen, nipping and kissing my belly. I gasp softly when really I want to scream for him to take everything off me. I’m hardly taking part in this at all, too fascinated by how sexy he is, so focused and attentive. I think it’s true what they say about the shy ones being the complete opposite in the bedroom.

  Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness.

  Shane’s got this subtle confidence in his sexuality that can’t be taught. I’m totally at his mercy. His teeth graze the edge of my knickers, teasing, hinting at the fact that he could probably rip them off me if he wanted to. Instead he slowly pulls them down, exposing me inch by agonising inch. I’m breathing like I just ran five miles, heaving, obsessed with how his golden eyes drink me in.

  He kisses my mound, and for a second I’m relieved I keep everything neat and tidy down there. Then I’m not thinking at all. I’m only feeling his tongue as it flicks over my folds, soft and feather light, almost like a question. His warm hands push my legs farther apart, and he looks up at me, gaze hooded, as he goes deeper. Every time he licks me, so carefully, so skilled, a spark of pleasure rips through my system.

  Groaning, he parts my lips and finds my clit, rubbing circles into it with his thumb and making my body shake. Then he moves fast, his mouth going to the tiny bundle of nerves and sucking hard. Before I can think another thought, he thrusts two fingers deep inside me, and I let out a moan so loud I actually feel like blushing. Me. Blushing. Has the world turned upside down?

  How have I survived this far without knowing the pleasure of having this man worship me with his mouth?

  “You’re…really…fucking good at this,” I gasp, letting my fingers drift into his hair.

  I can see him smiling, but his mouth is far too indisposed for a response. His fingers start to pump hard and fast as he begins to swirl his tongue around my clit. Jesus Christ, but he knows what he’s doing.

  His other hand moves up my body to squeeze one of my breasts. I practically cry when he drags his mouth from me and pulls me up to sit.

  He seems to see the question in my disappointed gaze because he replies, “We need this off, Bluebird.”

  I understand then as he unclips my bra and throws it onto the floor with the rest of my things. I’m suddenly aware that he hasn’t removed a single item of his own clothing, so I make quick work of disposing of his shirt. Before I get the chance to take off his trousers, he’s moving back down my body, his mouth doing all sorts of amazing things to my most intimate parts. He reaches up and pinches my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he begins moulding my breast with his hand.

  “How are you so good at this?” I breathe as a fire starts to build in me. I’m going to come in seconds if he just keeps circling my clit with his tongue. Unfortunately, I was dumb enough to ask a question.

  He comes up for air and replies low, “Maybe I spent a little too much time imagining doing it to you.”

  Okay, that was the best answer. The. Best. Answer.

  I moan. “Don’t stop.”

  His grin is intolerable, and then his tongue is on me, his fingers are inside me, and I feel like I’m going to explode. I hold onto his hard shoulder with one hand, my other hand gripping a cushion so tight I might rip a hole in it. It’s a good job cushions don’t need to breathe; otherwise, I’d be suffocating the thing.

  “You feel amazing,” he says as he licks me, his words vibrating through my sex.

  I whimper as I feel myself reach my climax, pleasure ripping me apart. I’ve never come so hard with a guy. Never. It’s almost like this has been building up for days. Being around each other and not touching at all is like the most torturous kind of foreplay.

  He keeps on tonguing me, even after I’ve come, and it’s so intense that I have to beg him to stop. He kisses his way up my body until he reaches my mouth and starts nipping at my lips. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him deeply, needing to taste him. It’s a heady sensation, the mix of the two of us.

  He hooks one arm around my back and the other under my legs, and then unexpectedly lifts me from the couch. I slide my arms around his neck and hold on.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper.

  “My room. You’re tired.”

  “I should go home…”

  “You’re not going anywhere. We’re sleeping, Bluebird. Just sleeping.”

  “That’s kind of crossing a boundary, isn’t it?”

  He shushes me, and then we’ve climbed the stairs and he’s kicking open the door to his room. The walls are bare, and the bed is gigantic. He puts me d
own on the mattress and flicks on a low lamp. There’s a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a tonne of book shelves. In the far corner there’s a small couch with a bunch of sheet music spread messily across it.

  I stay sitting on the bed, stark naked, not knowing what to do. He wants me to stay over, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, what are the rules here? Do I return the favour by going down on him? Do I leave early in the morning before he wakes up so there’s no awkwardness? I’ve always felt that ideas seem much better at night than they do in the harsh light of day.

  Will I regret this tomorrow? Probably.

  Do I want to stay here now and let him hold me as I sleep? Most definitely.

  God, this is such a shady situation with way too many grey areas. He pulls back the covers and drags me under with him, curling his body around mine, his arm tight around my middle. He traces shapes over my skin, the soothing touch causing me to close my eyes and drift to sleep.

  When I wake up it’s morning, bright light streaming through the window. Groaning, I stretch out my body, remembering where I am and the exact events that brought me here. Yep, hasty decisions definitely seem better at night. A feeling of dread is forming in my gut, not because I didn’t enjoy what happened between me and Shane, but because I enjoyed it too much.

  We took to each other like we’d been together forever, not like it was only the second time we’d been intimate.

  I’m alone in the bed, but I can hear someone pottering around down in the kitchen. I look about the room and remember that I left all my clothes downstairs, so I grab a clean T-shirt of Shane’s from one of his drawers and throw it on. It hits me mid-thigh, which is just enough coverage to be considered decent.

  When I go in search of him, I find him sitting at the table, topless, a cup of coffee in front of him and a violin in his lap. His back is turned to me, so he doesn’t know I’m there yet. The muscles in his shoulders move as he puts new strings on his instrument. The movement sort of holds me transfixed. I never imagined this would be a strenuous activity, but by the looks of it, it is. His muscles tense up and release as he works.

  I step fully into the room and walk around the table to sit across from him. His hands pause, setting the violin aside, and his eyes come up to meet mine.

  “Morning,” I whisper, feeling strange about being here. Though by the way he’s eating me up with his gaze, I’m thinking he’s not feeling the same way.

  “Is that my T-shirt?” he asks, smiling widely.

  “Yeah, we left my stuff in the living room, remember?” I reply, folding my arms over my chest and shifting uncomfortably as my stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble.

  Shane chuckles. “Do you want some breakfast?”

  I stand up and nod, needing something to do to keep my nerves at bay. His eyes follow me as I walk to the fridge and open it. “Sure. What have you got?”

  I spot a carton of eggs, some bread, milk, butter, the usual mainstays. Then I feel his breath hit the back of my neck and the warmth of his body tingle along my spine. His hand slides across my belly and then dips down under the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing. My thighs drift apart slightly as I gasp and he cups me right between the legs. His lips brush over my neck, causing goose bumps to scurry down my spine. He caresses my sex, and I’m instantly wet for him, so full of need.

  A surge of arousal rushes through me, and then all of a sudden I’m taking the lead.

  I turn around swiftly and push him over to where the kitchen opens up into a sun room extension. I push him again, down onto a narrow sofa before straddling his hips. He watches me as he lies there, mouth open, chest heaving. His eyes glitter in the sunlight, and I’m so turned on I don’t even care that we’re in a room made of glass for all the world to see.

  I reach down and try to get the fly of his jeans open. I have absolutely no underwear on, grinding my sex against him. Once I have them open I pull him free, practically shaking as I run my hand down his length. He’s perfectly long and thick, just what I need.

  Raising myself up, I position his cock right at my entrance and then slowly lower my body down all the way. I can feel every inch of him as he fills me, and a loud moan erupts from the back of my throat. Shane lets out a guttural groan, his hands fisting at my hips. Then I start to ride him, pushing myself up and down on his cock slowly, seeking pleasure from his body and giving him a show in the process.

  He grips the hem of my T-shirt and drags it up over my head, my long hair falling through it and my breasts bobbing free. His eyes are glued to my chest as I ride him, and I feel his cock hit every sweet spot inside me. If I thought standing up was good, it had nothing on being on top. This is the deepest he can possibly get, and it’s maddening. All my inhibitions fall by the wayside as my sounds fill the room.

  “Incredible,” he rasps. “We fit so well together, Bluebird.” His hand moves up along my hip to my ribcage.

  Those words momentarily break my lusty haze. They’re too romantic, have too much meaning, and they make this something it’s not supposed to be. Now I’m no longer lost in the sex. Unprotected sex, might I add. Completely my fault, too, since I practically jumped on him without thinking of the consequences. I’m on the pill, so pregnancy’s not an issue. Diseases aren’t really an issue, either. We’re both mature and responsible enough to keep track of those kinds of things.

  It’s the intimacy that’s the problem.

  Being skin on skin. No barriers. It creates an emotional, almost soul-deep connection that’s not supposed to happen between friends with an “arrangement.” But God, it feels so good to have him inside me, to be able to feel all his hot, silky skin, that I almost don’t care about the implications. Almost.

  He reaches up and grips my neck, pulling my mouth down to his for a deep, earth-shattering kiss. Now I’m not the one riding him anymore; the pleasure is so much that my body has gone limp. My bones have turned to mush. Now he’s moving his hips from his position below and pumping up into me.

  “Babe,” he murmurs as I drag my mouth from his so I can bury my face in his neck. It’s warm here, and nice. This way I don’t have to look into his beautiful, deep eyes and feel things I’m not supposed to be feeling. Hands clutching my hips again, he starts to pump faster, and I rise up, all of my insides tightening with impending release. Now we move together, fast and frenzied, coaxing each other to that perfect place where for seconds that feel like hours there isn’t a single thought in your head, there’s only the feeling of coming.

  So in tune with one another’s bodies, we orgasm together, my walls pulsing around his cock, milking him dry. He swears profusely under his breath, because swearing is the only way to express how amazing this feels. I swear, too, because I know this is bad, really fucking bad.

  Anything that feels this perfect needs to be vocalised with a couple shits and fucks.

  We stare at each other for a long time, me above and him below. Absolutely connected, having a conversation without words.

  Yeah, we’re both completely screwed.

  Once my breathing has started to slow down, I lower my body to his and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands pet at my hair, as though trying to reassure me that everything is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I drift off for a while, half asleep, half not, and then finally I move off him.

  “Can I use your shower?” I ask.

  He nods. “Go ahead. I’ll cook us some eggs while you’re showering.”

  I grin. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

  “It’s more of a ‘not having time to cook’ issue than not being able to. I get by,” he says, and then pats me playfully on the bottom.

  I go into the living room to collect my discarded clothes from last night. Upstairs I turn on the shower and then step under the hot spray, almost feeling sad that I have to wash Shane’s smell off me.

  And that right there is why this whole thing is on
e big old bad idea.

  Can I back out of the arrangement now that it’s been… consummated? Perhaps since we’ve fucked each other’s brains out a second time, the need will have dissipated. Though even as I’m thinking this I can already feel the hunger for him re-fuelling. This is scary, and not something that’s going to go away after one or two sessions.

  Sometimes I wish my brain didn’t always have to warn me about things. Stupid people seem to live such easy, carefree lives.

  Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off with a towel and wrap up my wet hair. Then, like any decently curious human being, I go snooping. God forbid I actually ask for a tour. No, I’d rather be nosy in private, thanks very much.

  It’s a four-bedroom house, but only two of the rooms have actual beds in them. The other two are sort of office slash practice rooms, full of stuff I assume he’s accumulated over the years. There are lots of music books. You know, those old thick cream ones with pages upon pages of sheet music and music theory inside. There are also several violins, some shiny and perfect, hanging in cases on the walls, and others battered and bruised. Clearly these are the ones he practices with. He doesn’t have to care about breaking cheaper instruments.

  For some reason, I see more life and spirit in the cheap violins than I do in the pristine ones in their sealed protective cases. On a stool there’s a bow with half the fibres broken off. I pick it up and run my hands along the snapped horse hair, imagining the demons Shane worked out as he sawed it into the violin so hard it broke.

  Because I know he has demons. On the outside he’s like his polished, perfect violins, but on the inside lies a battered and broken one. I need to know what happened to him. He told me about Mona and the abortion, but I sense more. It’s probably hypocritical of me to want to know, since I’ve got demons I never plan on revealing to him.

  In the corner of the room there’s a black leather trunk; the lid is open, and inside there are a bunch of paintings in fancy frames. He must not have had the chance to hang them yet, which makes me wonder just how long he’s been living here.