Claiming Atlas (Completely Rocked Book 1)

by Jessalyn Jameson

  I narrow my eyes, then sigh. “Let me guess. Since there are two of them, they’ll only hang out if you bring a friend.”

  Her lips pull into a wide smile and she releases my arms as her hands start to go a mile a minute, trying to keep up with her words. “Yes, oh my gosh, the one, his name’s Brandon, and oh, Kayla, he’s so gorgeous. He wears a suit like no one I’ve ever seen before, all snug and”—she shivers—“and he’s tall, with dark hair and these pale blue eyes. He’s only in town for a few days, but his friend—he would be your date—is only in town tonight.” She flips her hair and pulls in a breath of air. “And they really want to have a good time, but Brandon doesn’t want to ditch his buddy, so I said I’d bring you.”

  “Me?” Shaking my head, I hold her gaze. “You already told them it was me?”

  “Well, yeah, I mean...” She lowers her gaze to the floor. Smart girl. “You’re Kincaid Summers, babe, of course they’d want you to come.”

  I plop down on the bench. It’s cool on my ass cheeks, reminding me that I’m in nothing but a thong. I jump up quickly then step into my dress before sitting back down.

  Scar watches me, waiting for me to give in. Which I will. Because I always do.

  I sigh loudly, overdoing it so she knows just how annoyed I am.

  She squeals before I’ve even voiced my acquiescence. “Thank you! Thank you!” She rushes toward me and throws her arms around my neck, pressing her bare chest against deep red sequins. “Ow, shit.” She pulls back, rubbing her nipples. “Babe, I’m not into pain play.”

  I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You love me.” She teases her nipples a bit before releasing them and shaking her breasts at me.

  Ignoring boobs I’ve seen more than I’ve seen my own, I pull my red wig on and tuck any loose strands of brown hair up into it, then secure it with wig pins. I do love her. And, truth be told, I’d do anything for Scarlet. She’s the sister I never had. Family. “Is my guy at least cute?” If I’m going to have to shoot the shit with him all night, I’d at least like to know that he’s easy on the eyes.

  “Oh yeah, totally your type.”

  Oh, so, unavailable and emotionally damaged. Gotcha.

  Add a wedding ring and we have the trifecta.

  Des comes back through the black curtain and steps down the stairs into the dressing room, winking as she passes me. “Big tippers front and center. Go get ‘em, girl.” She slaps my ass gently.

  I look at Scar. “Your guys?”

  She grins, nodding vigorously.

  With a quick shake of my head, I laugh. “I’m going to regret saying yes to you, aren’t I?”

  “Let’s hope so!” She laughs, then pulls an outfit from her locker so she can get ready to make the lap dance rounds. “The best regrets start with something really, really naughty.”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a few deep breaths and I step up to the curtain as our DJ starts hyping the crowd. I crack my knuckles, then pull each foot up to my ass in turn, to stretch my quads. Never can be too nimble. When he announces me, the crowd goes wild, and I close my eyes, absorbing the applause. It’s not like I’m not going to miss this.

  After a few long seconds, the first chords of Why Don’t You Do Right start up, the applause dies down, and I make my way out onto the stage. My stage.

  Until Friday.

  Chapter Three

  Atlas

  Following her to her seat in first class is torture. She walks like she knows her ass calls to me, like each sway of her hips is intentional, each step saying, “Fuck me, Atlas.”

  Yes, ma’am.

  She stops at an empty seat and turns toward me, so I lift my eyes from her hips and meet her gaze. A slow smile spreads across her face as she trails her fingertips back and forth over her chest, following the delicate curved tops of her breasts. She extends her hand toward her seat. I look down at it, then at the one just beyond, and wonder how I hadn’t noticed her before finding her in the bar, when our seat assignments were right fucking next to one another. All I had to do was be a bit less self-absorbed and look past the divider, and I could have been hooking up hours ago.

  Idiot.

  I glance across the way and meet Red’s questioning gaze, then smile and nod toward the hot piece of ass I just found. My security guard shakes his head as he slides his eye mask over his eyes. He hates flying, and landing is his least favorite part, so he always tries to fall asleep at the one hour ‘til arrival mark.

  He makes a decent salary following me around and keeping my ass out of trouble, but I owe him a little something extra for ditching the tour bus with me and hopping on a plane.

  Stepping into the small area, I take the seat near the window, then watch as she sits down just as gracefully as she walks. Pure torture. I want that perfectly round ass bobbing up and down on my dick, not sitting in a goddamn airplane seat beside me.

  She hands me the champagne flutes and pours a little into each glass, then sets the bottle back into the bucket when the steward secures it into the locked position just inside our little cubbyhole. He doesn’t leave, so I look up at him, letting my irritation with his presence show in my expression.

  He gives me a fake smile, then leans forward. “Sir, the captain has put on the fasten seatbelt sign overhead. Please return to your seat.” He looks blatantly at my assigned seat.

  “I’m good.”

  My new friend doesn’t even acknowledge his existence, just sits turned toward me in her seat, champagne glass in hand and eyes boring a hole through my head.

  The steward holds my gaze for a long time, then huffs.

  “Bro, everyone is asleep. Don’t make a scene.” When it’s clear he won’t budge, I pull my wallet out and slip him a hundee. “We good?” The guy glares at me, but eventually nods. When he turns to walk away, I flip him off and finish the glass of champagne in one gulp. Does he know who the fuck I am? I turn to her and she’s smirking. “What?”

  “You’re used to getting what you want.”

  I nod. You bet your ass I get what I want.

  She leans forward and undoes the top button of my black shirt, trailing her fingernail down my chest to the next button. She undoes it while keeping her eyes locked with mine and suddenly it’s not a question of whether or not older women are where it’s at. This new revelation is a goddamn fact. She knows what she’s doing. Every move is calculated. She watches me with eyes that dare me to argue, dare me to try to stop her. Her lips are slightly parted, a hint of wetness that dares me to taste them. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath, the slow breathing of a woman who knows what she wants, not someone who is nervous and looking to me for guidance.

  I hit the jackpot with this one.

  She reaches across me and presses the button to recline my seat, then leans forward and pulls my shirt apart to expose my chest. She trails a fingernail over the tattoo on my left bicep. “A compass.”

  “Always trying to find my way, I guess.”

  She pauses, her brows furrowing just slightly as she brings her gaze up to mine. “What’s the name of your band, Atlas?”

  I tilt my head at the change in subject. I should ignore the question, like she’s ignored all of mine, but with her nails on my chest and that hungry look in her eyes, I’d tell her my deepest darkest secrets. “Banging Cade.”

  Plus, I never pass up an opportunity to see that look on their faces.

  Her lips fall open on a soft gasp, and she quickly covers it up by licking her lips. Yep. That look. “Hmm,” she whispers, “turns out I have heard of you.”

  “You’ve hear of me... or the band?”

  “The band.” She winks, then leans forward and places a kiss on my collar bone. “But they’re not really my style.”

  I chuckle, then my breath catches as she grazes my nipple with her teeth. “Am I your style?” I whisper. Shaking my head, I squeeze my eyes shut. What a fucking tool. You’d think I’d be used to pretty girls by now, but when I’m this close to ge
tting my dick sucked, I revert into a fucking idiot every single time.

  Too bad Red only keeps me physically out of harm’s way. If he could monitor the shit that comes out of my mouth, we’d be golden.

  She crawls in between my legs, and I reach up and turn off the light above the seat, then grab the blanket. Looking down at her, I hesitate. Covering my lap with the blanket could keep us from getting in deep shit with TSA, but then I won’t be able to see her face bobbing up and down on my dick.

  She looks at me, then at the blanket in my hands, and shakes her head, a slow smirk pulling at her lips. She slowly unhooks my belt, then pushes up on her knees to kiss my stomach, following the trail of dark hair down into my pants as she unzips them. She runs her fingers through the patch of hair right above my dick, then smiles as a quiver shakes my body. She’s taking her sweet time, and I love every second of this torture, but we’re going to land soon and I can’t leave this plane with full balls. I reach for my cock, but she pushes my hand away and shakes her head, giving off this naughty teacher vibe that makes me nearly come apart.

  I close my eyes and grit my teeth, then suck in a hiss of air when her tongue grazes the tip of my dick. My eyes fly open in time to watch her twirl her tongue around the head, then slowly slide her lips down around my shaft.

  The captain announces our descent into Las Vegas as a muscle in my thigh starts to twitch. She cradles the base of my cock and cups my balls with one hand, while the other hand is stretched up to grip my chest, her nails digging deep into my flesh as she sucks me off.

  She claims me like my dick already belongs to her.

  As we fly over the strip, the spotlight from the Luxor rises up into the darkening sky and my cock rises to life in her exquisite mouth.

  Chapter Four

  Atlas

  We exit the plane and retrieve our bags in silence. She glances over at me from time to time, but doesn’t say anything, which falls in line with her desire to keep things as impersonal as possible while getting very personal with my dick.

  Speaking of my dick...

  I’m no hopeless romantic like Chris, but if a woman has a mouth like this woman does, you’re probably supposed to marry her before someone else puts a ring on it.

  Not like I’d ever put a ring on anything.

  Maybe a cock ring.

  I chuckle and she glances over at me, so I flash her a smile. I wonder how far her place is from McCarran. Maybe we should head to the Hard Rock instead. The sooner I can bury my dick in her, the better.

  As soon as we step outside, a diamond white S560 pulls up and stops in front of us. I look at Red, but he shakes his head and shrugs. Not my car service then.

  “Looks like my ride is here.” She slowly turns to face me, a smile pulling at those perfect red lips. How her lipstick stayed intact after that blow job, I’ll never know, but I wish more chicks had magical lipstick. She raises her eyebrows; I’ve been contemplating her lips too long.

  “Your place or mine?” I ask. The question doesn’t come out as eager as I feel, which is good.

  Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a laugh. “Mine.”

  “Cool.” I can’t wait to fuck her into tomorrow night so I can get her out of my system. Plus, it’s the least I can do to repay her for the best mouth hug I’ve ever received.

  Her driver jumps out and makes his way around the car. “Good evening, Ms. Rhone. How was your flight?”

  Rhone. Is that French?

  “Hello, Gerard.” She glances over at me. “My flight was quite entertaining, thank you for asking.”

  He gives a curt nod, then grabs her luggage from Red and steps past me to place it in the trunk. He returns to where we stand on the curb. “Will your friends be joining you?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. Just the one suitcase, please.”

  My mouth drops open. The fuck? Didn’t she just say we were going to her place?

  The driver—Gerard—nods once, then opens the back door and steps aside to wait for her.

  She’s not really going to ditch me like this, is she? I usually have to jump through all kinds of hoops to get away from hookups. I glance back at Red, but he looks away to hide his amusement. I should fire his ass for enjoying this so much.

  Wait. I’m a fucking idiot. Of course she’s not ditching me. I’m Atlas Reynolds.

  I smile and stand taller, pushing my bangs up beneath my hat. “You want me to just meet you there?” She probably wants to shower first, or whatever other shit girls think they need to do before getting laid. I drop my gaze; maybe she’s going to clean up down south—

  She laughs, and I look back up into her eyes. She steps over to me and slides my shades down my nose to look me in the eyes. “You’re cute, Atlas, but this was a one-time thing.”

  “What?” I sound like I’m twelve the way my voice cracks on the word. Hell, she just made me feel like I’m twelve. Cute?

  “Honey, I’m old enough to be your mother.” She winks, then places a soft kiss on my lips and turns back to the Benz. “It was fun, but I’m not your Mrs. Robinson.”

  Fun? It was an appetizer. The main course was supposed to come next. At her place. Or mine. Who really gives a fuck where?

  And who’s Mrs. Robinson?

  She glances back over her shoulder. “Actually, what are you doing Saturday night?”

  I’m sure my sexual frustration is written all over my face, so I try to play it cool. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”

  She smirks and inclines her head. “See that you do.” She starts to climb in—

  “Wait! I never got your name!” My last ditch effort to keep her talking sounds just as pathetic out loud as it did in my head.

  She looks back over her shoulder once more, smiling as she climbs into her car. “And you never will.”

  Gerard closes the door, and she’s hidden behind tinted glass as black as night. He shrugs as he steps around the car. “Have a good night.”

  Fuck off, Gerard.

  I sigh as they pull away into airport traffic. “Well, shit. That’s a first.”

  Red laughs and I shoot him a glare.

  I tighten my hoodie around my head and pull out my cell phone to check my texts. “Did you order a car, or were you too busy watching me flail like a fucking idiot?”

  “You mean, you’re not going with her?”

  I look up at Red and shake my head. “You do know I pay your salary, right?”

  Red laughs, then waves as a black Escalade pulls up to the curb. “Is that what you’re calling it? A salary?”

  Red takes our bags around to the back, so I climb into the back seat and dial Chris. He wanted me to check in as soon as we landed. Can’t a guy take off for a few days without the whole world wondering if he’s having a mental breakdown?

  He answers on the second ring, even though it’s two in the morning where they are. “Atlas,” he says, the word muffled like he’s got his face smashed into the pillow. “You good, bro?”

  “Yeah, man.” I pause as Red climbs into the front seat. “I just met the hottest woman alive.”

  Red snorts.

  “Nah, man,” Chris says. “That’s impossible. I’m lying next to her right now.”

  “Hi, Atlas,” Trinity whispers into the phone.

  The driver and Red both turn around to look at me. “What?”

  Red grimaces. “What hotel?”

  Why does everyone hate my favorite place? “Hard Rock,” I say, then raise my eyebrows at Red.

  Chris groans into the phone. “Bro, there are so many legit hotels out there, and you’re still stuck on the Rock.”

  I laugh. “Memories, you know?”

  “Yeah. And the titty bar across the street.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You do know that Las Vegas has other strip clubs.”

  I frown. “Other than Top Tier? Why even bother?”

  Chris laughs. “Good night, man. Call us tomorrow and tell us about the hottest woman ali
ve.”

  “Will do. Give our girl a kiss for me.”

  “You wish.” Chris ends the call, so I slide the phone back into my pocket. Trinity’s a cool chick, and she’s been around Chris & Cade longer than I have, but... I don’t know, seems kind of boring to fuck the same chick night after night after night.

  I lean my head back and watch the streets roll by outside the window as we make our way to the hotel.

  Chapter Five

  Kayla

  My cell rings as I open my locker. I’m in no rush to find it because Scarlet is the only person who would call me this late, and she’s out on the floor making her rounds. I retrieve the phone from my purse and look at the screen as the ringing stops and a text comes through.

  It’s Collette, with one single emoji: the brunette with her hand raised.

  My brow furrows. Collette is not an emoji kinda gal. She’s called every day for the past week; I should have known that’s who was calling this late.

  I can’t imagine her argument has changed, but I type in a quick text anyway.

  Me: At work.

  Collette: Call me.

  Me: The answer is still no. My dancing shoes will be at Goodwill by Saturday. ;-)

  Collette: You can be barefoot.

  Collette: Call me back.

  I roll my eyes with a sigh. Maybe I’ll just send her another winky-face emoji and turn off my phone for the night. Collette is relentless when she wants something, and she almost always wants something. This time I’m what she wants. Well, not me, exactly.

  She wants Kincaid Summers.

  But after Friday night, Kincaid is history.

  Me: Can’t. I’m at work.

  Collette: Work? You mean that strip club you’re ditching in a few days? It can wait. This can’t.

  My phone beeps again with another text as I wait for her to go away.

  Collette: It has to do with a certain rock band you love.