One Kiss from the King of Rock (The One Book 2)

by Ainslie Paton

  “Do you think they’ve ever vacuumed?” Jay ran the tip of his boot over the carpet in the dressing room. It was an indescribable color. It might once have been green, or maybe that was mold.

  Abel wiped a finger to the wall and it came up black. “What?” He rubbed it on his jeans, “And spoil the ambience created from the desperation of hundreds of bands who’ve come to play here, not knowing if they’ll win or lose, earn respect or—”

  “Get out alive,” said Isaac.

  “Or have their gear stolen out of their shitty broken-down van,” said Oscar, in what was the longest sentence he’d spoken in Jay’s hearing.

  “Sucks,” Isaac said. “Evie is the worst for suggesting this.”

  Evie was an evil genius and a sexual temptress and Jay could hardly wait to see her. “I love it. This is where we decided we wanted this life. And where we proved we had the right stuff to go for it.” That last comment was a risk. It could easily return some dig about how far Jay had gone alone.

  Abel nodded. “I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad you’re back. Fucked if I understand why you quit on us.”

  And that was about as deep as it was going to get. It was forgiveness and it’d come because foul carpet and nostalgia were powerful incentives and Jay would lay money down on Evie knowing that. He’d lay at her feet if she’d let him kiss her lips and get in her pants tonight.

  Ah hell, he’d lay at her feet just to have her be mean to him. Who knew nostalgia and the idea of checking her for other tattoos and piercings would be such a turn on?

  They were all on the same page when they hit the stage—pumped, until Abel did the intro and hit a wall of who the fuck cares. It was like being dumped into an ice bath. It stung the crap out of them. It ripped their egos into bits, all the pretense. It rocked them right back to their beginning in a way that not even shitty ambience could achieve. This time they had the skill to take that indifference and convert it into wild applause.

  They were lit.

  They set the place to stomping.

  And all the time they were on stage, Evie was there recording them. Jay sang for her as much as for the pub patrons. Telling her how much he wanted her in the best way he knew how, hoping she was listening to everything between the chords and notes.

  They played the set, two encores, and with the whole pub singing along, raised the roof, coming off stage hungry, elated and family again.

  Into mayhem.

  There were record company execs to glad-hand. There was mention of drinks, getting merrily wasted. Errol had organized transport back to the city for the Lost Property team and Jay had Hassan waiting. There was security everywhere, and barricades holding back fans who’d worked out where they were and packed the street. The cops looked pissed about the traffic snarl. Grip was signing some woman’s boobs. Abel was taking selfies and doing it carefully. There was a lot of shouting. There was no sign of Evie.

  Jay sent Mum off with Hassan, telling her he’d catch a ride with the boys and then shook hands and high fived and grinned at held-high phone screens until fatigue started to fray his edges.

  That’s when Evie found him. A tap to his shoulder and two seconds later they were in a dark corner, away from the crowd, and she was holding a key in front of his face.

  “Here?” he said, surprise trouncing delight for a second.

  “No one is going to be looking for you here,” she said.

  Yeah, it was perfect. He wasn’t tired anymore, he was highly motivated to fuck. It meant crowding her into a rough brick wall was allowed. Cupping her face and kissing her cheekbone, her temple and when she angled her neck, sucking on that spot behind her ear that made her groan. Everything he’d fantasized doing to her, with her, it was all allowed except for the things he wanted most.

  Her mouth on his. His cock inside her.

  Evie back in his life.

  That was only a dream but he clung to it anyway as he palmed her pierced breast and wedged his knee between her legs, giving her something to grind on, while he nibbled along her jaw. They’d had sex in places like this where they could get noisy but the threat of discovery was still real. They’d had sex in cars and on picnic tables in parks and once in the sea at a crowded beach, but that was when they were sure of each other and there was nothing sure about this. Also she’d worn skirts then, not pants so slicked to her skin they might be fused on.

  “We should talk,” he said, lips at her throat.

  Her hands were claws on his shoulders; she rolled her pelvis. “You guys were amazing tonight.”

  He pulled back. “I meant about us.”

  “There is no us.”

  He should be smarter about this. Like all dreams, they were different to reality. Smarter would require not having just come off stage and being hyped on his own invincibility and clearing his head of Evie’s caramel scent and the thrill of her riding his thigh. Not going to happen. “All right then. Let’s go wreck each other.”

  Security gave them free and easy access to the hotel. He trailed behind Evie, eyes on her arse, on the heavy messenger bag over her shoulder that bumped on her hip with every step. She hesitated for a moment at the door to one of the rooms. There was a beast of a bike parked outside, but the motel lot was otherwise deserted. There was a pile of old mattresses and flattened cardboard boxes stacked near a dumpster which was promising. His scalp pricked, déjà vu making him shake his head. They’d gotten the last available room that first night, so it wasn’t that.

  He took the key from her hand and jiggled it in the sticky lock, the tumbler spinning before it caught. “Was it this room?”

  She laughed. “I was wondering the same thing. This is cheesy. We don’t have to stay.”

  He shouldered the door open, kicked it closed and reached for her, so fucking needy he was dizzy with it, so close to kissing her properly on the mouth that he stumbled as he pulled her inside, his calves hitting the bed, momentum dropping them both to its surface, which was surprisingly firm and bounce free.

  “New bed.” She slipped free of her bag and patted the cover. “Costco’s best linen.”

  He held her by the hips, nicely mashed against his cock. “We got lucky.” Everything else in the room looked worn and knocked about, not dirty exactly but used up. How lucky could he be?

  “Haven’t changed your mind about the rules?”

  She rocked against him. “Have you?”

  He choked a groan back, but it ratted him out by rumbling in his throat. “I don’t remember you being such a fucking tease.” That could get him into trouble. This, whatever they were, was unstable, volatile and not to be trusted.

  She flexed her pelvis, a rolling motion that emptied him of any last-minute concerns. “I don’t remember you being such a god on stage,” she said, pushing on his chest to sit across his hips. “You are a genuine fucking big deal and I might be a little in awe.” She slowed the grind, but the pressure was more intense from her direct weight. He needed out of these clothes, yesterday.

  She read his mind, going for his jeans button, opening the zip, thrusting her chest out and lifting her chin. “I’m not changing my mind. I hate myself for it.”

  Nothing like a dash of hate to spice up a hand job. Jesus suffering fuck. Evie’s hand was hot and her grip firm and when she pushed up his shirt and bit his chest he knew he wouldn’t last. She used his own pre-cum and a lewd lick of her palm to jerk him to a jarring, vision-spangled finish on his chest, looking godawful smug when he unstuck his closed eyes and squinted at her.

  They hadn’t gotten to turning lights on. She sat over his thighs, backlit by the glare of the motel sign through filmy curtains and slats, hair all pulled out and mussed. He must’ve done that to her. Her eyes were dark wells of mystery and her smile was monster-killer happy.

  “You okay down there, rock star?”

  He pushed up on his elbows and dragged his shirt over his head. He should be kissing her, mouth to mouth in the pleasure drift. “You have no idea.”

&n
bsp; “Oh, I have an idea.” She twirled a finger through his splodge. “You needed that.”

  He needed her. Naked. Squirming. Pulling his hair. Coming on his tongue.

  “Give me five minutes to shower and I’ll show you what I need.”

  He took six to wash off the show and the orgasm and dry himself with a towel that wasn’t anyone’s best, and it was too long. She’d turned down the bed and curled up on top of the sheet wearing only a tiny pair of undies and a skimpy top.

  Relaxed in sleep, she might have been his Evie from ten years ago and he might’ve been that out-of-his-depth boy who was starstruck by her fire, her fearlessness and her fierce belief in him when everyone else thought he was a try-hard who didn’t have the goods.

  That first night he’d been excited beyond words and terrified of hurting her. Of not having the skill, the control to make their time together good enough. The responsibility of being her first had almost done for him mentally even when he was physically fit to burst.

  She’d kissed the reticence out of him, replaced it with trust and he’d known he wouldn’t fail. If he’d known then he’d fail her in the end, would it all be different?

  He scrubbed the water out of his hair, crawled onto the bed and curled beside her, tucking his thighs under hers and fitting his chest to her back. He was still a little dizzy. It was probably dehydration, but it could be the sense that with Evie in his arms he’d finally come home and no longer needed to apologize for what he’d done and who he’d made himself into. He’d found the only form of forgiveness that mattered.

  The enormity of that fluttered in his chest, vice-clamped his voice box and made his eyes ache until he blinked tears into them. When she stirred, he tucked his face into her neck, pulled her closer and let her warmth soothe that rough realization.

  “Mmm.” She put her hand to his head and played with the damp strands. “I’m not asleep.”

  “I woke you.”

  She went rigid. It wasn’t what he said. She’d heard the crackle of vocal fry he couldn’t disguise, like the emotion driving it. “Jay?”

  She’d have turned, but he held her still, kissed her neck, going for her ear and that hoop and flicking it with his tongue, not ready to be seen.

  “Something is wrong.”

  “I can’t have your mouth, that’s what’s wrong.” The room was still mostly dark. She’d closed the blinds and curtains and turned on a night-light that gave out a rusty glow. The only place he could hide was in loving her.

  He relaxed his hold and lowered his knees allowing her to turn over, skating his hands over her body and using her movement to get his mouth to her shoulder, her throat and finally her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” she said, hands on his face.

  “Need to see you.” Need to get out of my head. “Need to make you come.”

  “I’ve got no complaints with that plan,” she said as he lowered his head and dragged his lips down her neck to the edge of her cami top.

  He pushed the skinny strap off her shoulder and sucked on her skin before tugging the cotton away from her breast, the sensitive one, and latching on to her nipple, drawing it into his mouth and flicking his tongue across the raised bead, making her gasp and half a minute later, complain with a whimper, when he pulled off.

  She whimpered again, but it wasn’t a complaint, when he slipped his hand between her legs and used the side of his thumb to rub her through her undies. She did most of the rubbing, her forehead pressed to his, her eyes closed, her hips rocking. She was deep into this and it was only the warm-up.

  Other men got to kiss her, come inside her. He would make her see stars explode and form black holes and create alien life if it was the last thing he did tonight. She was wet already. He could smell her arousal. He’d make her soaking, flood the sheets with her cum. He slipped his hand inside her pants, flattening it on her hot body, feeling the smooth, hair-free skin of her mound and sliding his middle finger through wet folds to insert it inside her.

  Her hips jerked and her exposed breast wobbled, calling for his mouth.

  “Oh God, Jay,” she said, ranking her nails over his scalp as he fingered her slowly, adding this thumb to the mix, circling it lightly over her clit and sucking hard on her tit.

  He didn’t find any more piercings, but it was fun checking, made her wetter, made her breathing erratic and her pelvis twitch as she searched for more friction.

  The flutter was still in his chest, he felt light-headed, but Evie’s hands on his shoulders grounded him. She’d get her more when he stripped her, kissed every pixel of her he could see and put his tongue where he couldn’t. But she wasn’t going to get it quickly. He was going to take his time, lose his remaining wits over her and then maybe when he rocked her world, he wouldn’t still feel like he could cry for the world he’d lost.

  ELEVEN

  It was the memories, the motel, the room, the build-up. The rock king who had his mouth on her breast and his hand in her pants. What other reason could there be for Evie to feel like she’d not had sex for the longest time and her reactions were outside of her control.

  Jay made her shiver and tremble and moan like she was auditioning for a porn flick. Anyone else she’d have hurried along a little, gotten to the main event faster and free-fallen into the pleasure zone without having to be shocked by where Jay put his hands and how he kissed longing and history and punishment into her skin.

  Should’ve just let him have your lips.

  Jay did things other men had done, but he did them with a kind of deadly intensity that was so callously soft and purposeful that she felt a little bruised and she was still mostly dressed.

  He’d been upset when he laid on the bed with her and annoyed she knew it and this was the meanest, sweetest payback ever. Either that or she was losing her grasp on what was real before she even got off.

  She didn’t know what had upset him but the coming orgasm was going to knock her life off its axis.

  “This has to go,” Jay said, pulling the other strap of her cami off her shoulder, his eyes flashing wider when he saw the nipple cuff. “That’s so fucking hot, Evie.”

  He had so much to learn, though she forgot about that when he took the metal in his teeth and tugged, put a little twist into it and added a second finger inside her. Oh God, yeah.

  She was watching his face when he noticed the ink, the way it curled over her breast and met the cuff. He shifted higher on his elbow to roll her cami down her ribs, revealing more ink. The further he rolled it, the more ink he got to see until he’d settled the roll of fabric over her hips and the full design was revealed.

  He sat, swinging a knee over her thighs, utterly, wondrously naked, erect and fascinated. He traced the lines on leaves, the shape of petals, the tangle of vines that grew up her torso, over her ribs and trailed across the side of her boob.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  She’d wondered what he’d say. He was ink free as far as she could tell. No one’s cliché of a rock star.

  “Must’ve taken a while.” He circled a flower center. “And hurt. It suits you. Like you were born with it.”

  In a way she was. Reborn. She’d started it, the first blood rose in a bed of thorns, the month after Jay left her and quit the band and it was clear he wasn’t coming back.

  It was a dense, complex, lush jungle now, mostly on her ribs and side, but he’d find vines and butterflies on her back when she turned over. If he ever let her. He had her pinned down under his hands, under the heat of his lips as he went exploring.

  Most men said cool or awesome, licked the colors, asked who the artist was. Jay made a feast of every flourish of ink. He made her feel like she was prized art, worshiped, beloved.

  Until he’d quit on her, he’d always made her feel known, understood and treasured and it had been a long, long time since she’d felt that way.

  She was a trembling, shaking wreck when he rolled the singlet over her hips, under her bum and down her legs, laying a trail o
f kisses as he went. Doing the same with her undies gave her the worst case of what is going on with me. How was that act almost enough to make her come with no stimulation at all?

  When he yanked her down the bed and went to his knees on the floor between her legs, used his thumbs to open her up, she nearly kneed him in the head, trying to what? Get close and get away at the same time.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She snapped her knees closed and sat, and when he lay his head on her thigh and simply stroked over her calf, she folded over him, resting her cheek on his back.

  “Too much?” he said.

  “I don’t know why I’m so—” What even was the word for how she felt? There had to be a word for when you thought you might die of anticipation. When you thought you might cry from too much emotion. It was embarrassing. “You don’t need to stop. I’m not going to pass out,” she said, trying to make this his problem.

  He saw right through that and wasn’t buying. “If it helps, I feel a little out of my depth too. My hands were shaking just then.”

  She kissed his temple, put her nose in his hair. “I want you so badly, but there are so many memories.”

  “For me they’re all good.”

  She tried to get her arms around as much of him as possible. “It can’t be the same.” That was the issue. In her heart, she’d never given him up and now the impossibility of him was a cliff she might plunge over.

  He pulled away, resting a hand on her foot and looking up at her, eyes heavy-lidded, hair standing up all over, cheeks roughed with whisker shadows, and so dear to her she didn’t believe she wouldn’t ruin this.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” he said, moving his hand from her foot to grip her ankle, then opening her leg out, nudging her knee aside. “It can be better.”

  If by better he meant that she dropped back to the bed and surrendered, that she came twice from the devious way he talked to her body, wrangling secrets with his lips, dissecting lies with the gentle pressure of his teeth, and healing over old psychic wounds with delicious sucks on tender flesh—he wasn’t wrong.