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

by Ainslie Paton

  And he wasn’t wrong when he flipped her limp body over to her knees, growled possessively over her butterflies and slipped his cock between her legs, dragging it against her wetness but making no attempt to enter her.

  “Want this more than I want to sing another note, Evie,” he said, biting her shoulder, making her elbows buckle. “Missed you so fucking much. Hated you for too long. Give me your damn mouth.”

  His gruffness made her moan. Between them they were dripping onto the sheet and she could barely remember what year it was, but she’d hated him too and that was too close to loving him and she needed to make new mistakes, not repeat old ones.

  “This is all we get.” She used one hand to balance and the other to bracket his cock against her vulva, feeling his shudder right up her spine as he started to move.

  “Jesus, Evie.” He lifted away from her back, took hold of her hips and jerked his. “How is this so fucking good?”

  Not hate, not love. Some limbo in between like the sex they were having, built on lust, spiked by denial and respect, and pushing all the limits of pleasure.

  “Come, Jay,” she said squeezing him, hand slippery, eyes down to watch, enjoying the bite of his fingers on her hips.

  He came with a roar, filling her hand, spilling onto the sheet, dripping sweat onto her back. She had a moment of hoping the motel had added a mattress protector to the new bed before he pulled her onto his lap, arms banded around her, one at her waist, one between her breasts, hand against her throat to hold her head to his shoulder.

  “You okay,” he said, smoke in his voice, possession in his hands, the heat of his chest against her back, luscious. She could feel his heart thudding, his lungs laboring.

  She ruffled his hair and rubbed her face against his. “I’m very okay.” She managed to sound as if she hadn’t needed him more than air.

  He kissed her shoulder. “You make my head spin.” Rested his lips there.

  “In a good way?”

  “Hard to tell,” he said, kissing her neck, which she gave him more access to by dropping her chin, sighing as he shifted her hair and nibbled along her sweaty hairline. He made her feel floaty, as if she might drift to the ceiling if he wasn’t holding her down.

  As if she’d been drifting the whole time he wasn’t in her life, holding her.

  But she couldn’t tell him that. She closed her eyes and leaned into his strength and when he rearranged them so he sat, leaning against the headboard, his legs outstretched, she sat between them, lounging back on him.

  “A, D and E?” He took her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the notes inked between her fingers.

  She could easily pretend that wasn’t a question in his voice and give it a non-answer. “Your basic three chord classic rock combo.” Had that ink done the night after she slept with a man who wasn’t Jay. Not in celebration for finally moving on. In grief.

  “You make my heart sing.”

  It might’ve been another common enough phrase like you make my head spin, but she knew better and he didn’t need to know. “It’s just three chords.”

  “That what it is?”

  She would’ve pinched him for the smug tone but he had her back to the bed and was on top of her, elbows braced either side of her ribs before she could get a shriek out.

  “I don’t know why you think you can hide your feelings from me, Evelette Violet Tice. I don’t know why you think I’ve forgotten any little thing about what we were together. You probably think I wrote songs about other women. Oh, I took other women to bed. I’ve loved other women in the moment, but all those hit singles, over all those years, if they’re a love song, then they’re about loving you, losing you, never getting over you.”

  She went to protest, anything to stop him talking, breaking her with his words, but he put his face close and she stopped breathing as his lips hit her chin. What was she supposed to do when he said things like that? What was she supposed to do if he kissed her lips? She ached for him to do it, to take the decision from her. To make it easy to remember he broke promises and to let him go.

  And then he put his hand over her mouth.

  “What was the first song I learned to play with three chords?” he said.

  Squirming only made him lean harder on her and she couldn’t get her arms free to claw his hand from her face.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right, Evie. That would be ‘Wild Thing’ by The Troggs. And what would those three chords be?” Oh, he was a bastard. She tried to bite his fingers making him laugh.

  “Why yes, A, D and E. And what was it I used to call you when you did something to take my breath away?”

  She said, “Kiss me and get this over with,” but it came out as angry garble and trying to knee him didn’t work either. If he was trying to split her heart open, pull out the stuffing and leave her with only sawdust then he was more than halfway there.

  “You were always doing something to make me wonder how I’d survive you. How I’d live without you.”

  If he made her cry she’d find a way to make his life miserable. She’d hack his social media and screw him over big time. If she closed her eyes, maybe she wouldn’t hear him say it. Her lashes were down a second and he had his mouth by her ear.

  “If I recall, that would be ‘Wild Thing.’” He took her daith piercing in his teeth and tugged. “Lie to yourself all you want, Evie, but don’t lie to me and expect to get away with it, because sure, they’re just any three chords you had tattooed on hand. You are still my wild thing. Always will be.”

  He let her go abruptly, siting up, eyes avoiding hers. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. Super thirsty too. How do we order food?”

  The shift in temperature made her shiver. She struggled up to find her phone, to click on an app. She was the wild thing, but Jay was hungry, and after all, he’d kept his promise of wrecking her.

  TWELVE

  They showered. Separately, because all of it; the sex, the honesty, Jay’s frustration, Evie’s resentment was a lot. They ate pizza, two kinds, and Jay drank his own body weight in water. They talked about the industry as if they were colleagues, and then dozed, pretending to be two people sharing a bed because there was no option, lying side by side, not touching.

  It would’ve been funny if he didn’t know Evie was struggling, needing to protect herself from him. It had been easy, almost natural for him to put his heart in her hands all over again.

  In sleep, Evie turned to him and they became one tidy bundle of tangled limbs, shared breathe and soothed souls. He should’ve been out to it, post-show, post-sex-fest, but he was oddly energized.

  Nah, it wasn’t that odd. He had the woman he loved, still loved, never stopped in his arms. She who inspired songs of longing and frustration and joy and he didn’t want to miss a minute of being with her. And every minute was stolen from her decision to keep him at arms-length.

  It’d taken a superhuman effort not to take her mouth. Consciously or not, she’d kept turning her face to his, her lips within easy reach. As much as he wanted to sink into her kisses he needed her to want that. Lips were her line, carefully drawn, and he dare not cross it. And much as he wanted to come inside her, he knew if he did, he’d lose all sense of what was allowed and tempt Evie’s decision away from her.

  Ironic that was why he’d left his wild thing in the first place. Not wanting to take her decision to shine away from her.

  And she did shine. His stalking had led him to discover how. She had her own social media management empire. She had a roster of local bands in her stable, including Lost Property. She employed media handlers, a designer, a video editor, a copywriter, an advertising manager. She ran a virtual office that was open whenever and wherever she was. Her website was a work of art. Her sponsorship deals were legendary. Her recommendations were kick-arse. She was killing it and he admired the hell out of her.

  It looked like all she did was work. She had little to no personal social presence that wasn’t linked directly to her business.
No cute couple shots, no envy-making holiday snaps, no amazing food or goofy pets. And she worked all the time. No wonder she’d fallen asleep waiting for him to shower.

  He twirled a piece of her hair between his fingers. If she was disappointed to be management instead of an artist in her own right, it didn’t show, but it was still a gap in his understanding. He watched her sleep and wondered if she regretted not making it, not even trying.

  It was some time later, sunlight streaking under the door and through the blinds and curtains when he became aware of Evie’s hands and lips on his chest and fractured images from dreams in his head: his home in Seattle, but dark, cold and empty, a recording studio beside a beach, no place he’d ever been, and Evie at a microphone.

  It took a few seconds to remember where he was and no time at all to wake to the possibility that he was about to get fucked in the nicest way as the girl from his dreams kissed across his abs and down, down, over his hip bone, along his Adonis line and right to a wake-up call with purpose.

  He was well and truly awake when she took him in her hand, licked lightly over his head and said, “May I?”

  His groaned, “Yes,” was way too morning-voice husky and needy. Her may I was on the cusp of too late to call and too promising to deny. She laughed and he slung his arm over his eyes. “It’s early. Be gentle.”

  “It’s late and you don’t like it too gentle,” she said, blowing hot air on him and making all the hair on his body prickle, either from her attention or that she remembered how he liked it.

  “I want you to come with me.” She closed her mouth over his head and he almost lost the ambition. “Want to be able to reach your clit, make you come on my hand while I come on your body.”

  She hummed as she opened her mouth and took more of him inside. She liked that idea. He liked the vibration and the way she used her tongue. He propped up on his elbows to watch. If she kept up, he’d have nothing left to share. When she pulled off, closed her teeth and rubbed them against the underside of his head, the sensation was so good he pretty much sang her a song, a string of nonsense garbled lyrics, before grabbing her under the arms and hauling her up his body.

  “I wasn’t done,” she said, tongue darting out to lick his chin.

  He clamped both hands down on her arse. “You will be. Go hold onto the dresser.” It was a built-in affair, attached to the wall made of dark wood grained Laminex. It was ugly and indestructible. The mirror above it was positioned perfectly for maximum erotic viewing pleasure.

  She licked his chin again. “Bossy.”

  “Is that a problem?” The way she was shifting against him, it’d be a surprise if it was.

  “Not if you can make me see fireworks.”

  He’d make her think it was the stroke of midnight, New Year’s Eve. The weight of her body in his arms was one of the ingredients of happiness he’d been missing for a long time. “Right about now, it would be fucking fantastic if I could kiss you.”

  Her hair flicked his cheeks as she shook her head. “Not a chance. Also, morning breath.”

  She had a point. He didn’t come prepared to spend the night like she had. No toothbrush. The shadow in her eyes told him that wasn’t the real problem.

  “Tice Social. Reputation management from the wild side,” he said, quoting her company name and motto.

  “Who told you? I’m going castrate Grip.”

  “I do all my own Googling.,” he said with an eyebrow waggle. “I should’ve looked you up years ago. You’re incredible.”

  Her shrug said no big deal. The tiny smile that twisted her lips said, where’s my parade? Jesus, fuck, he wanted to kiss her.

  Until the act of kissing on the mouth had been denied him, he’d never realized how much he craved it, needed it to say what his voice, hands and body couldn’t, what Evie refused to hear. Everything else about sex was brilliant when you had chemistry with someone but kissing their lips was a whole extra level of connection.

  Lips against lips said hello, pleased to see you, I missed you, I trust you, I don’t want to leave you. Sinking into someone’s mouth said I want you, I admire you, you do it for me. You couldn’t say I love you and not back that up with a kiss in the moment, in memory or a promise to come.

  “I make bank and I love what I do,” she said.

  Worth the risk. “You don’t miss singing?”

  Her weight lifted as her knees sank into the bed and she pull away, sitting with her back, vines and butterflies, to him. “Don’t ruin this.”

  “How am I ruining it?” He scooted up behind her, legs either side of her crossed ones, almost touching her everywhere.

  “This thing between us isn’t some repeat of when we were young. We’re not those same two people anymore.”

  “I’m just supposed to fuck you according to your rules and I can’t be interested in your life?” Did he sound pissed? He itched with it.

  “I’m not the one who said no penis in vagina.”

  “No, you’re the one who said you wouldn’t survive my kisses. What the fuck is that about?”

  He caught her as she was about to shift off the bed. Not worth the risk of scaring her away. A hand to her shoulder to slow her, a leg over her hip when she didn’t shake him off.

  She leaned into him with a resigned sigh. “Morning breath.”

  He could have her body, but not her heart and mind. “That’s not your problem, you’re a scam artist.”

  “It’s more on my wild thing brand than seamstress for the band.”

  “That was cruel.” He buried his face in her neck. “I wanted to hurt you.” He turned her chin so they were eye to eye. “No excuse. I’m sorry.” If only telling her that made a difference.

  “Should’ve seen your face.” She stroked a finger down his nose and placed it on his lips. “You thought I was going to do the nasty with Grip in the corridor of the tour management company. I mean, that would’ve been seriously out there, it wasn’t even lunchtime. Tells me you’ve seen things on the road and been scarred by them.”

  He’d never seen anything as thrilling, as dangerous to his equilibrium as Evie. “Just because I’m not allowed to kiss your mouth doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

  She took her hand away from his face. He could feel her stiffen, see her shutting down and he wasn’t about to lose her. He ran the hand that was sitting on her thigh up her leg, over her hip and ribs to cup her breast, play with the nipple cuff, and when she arched into his hand he said, “Go get ready to smell gunpowder.”

  Evie had more than a toothbrush in her messenger bag, she had lube and a ring finger vibe. It was bright pink and only went on as far as his second knuckle. He put it on the dresser beside her. “Anything you don’t want me to do with this?”

  She closed her eyes and flattened both hands on the Laminex. “I go from hating you to wanting you so fast it makes my ears ring.”

  He could work with that. Make a concert of her, strum her into warm vibrations, tune the rhythm and melody in their bodies up high and give her an encore worthy climax.

  Flipping the cap on the lube made her look over her shoulder at him, eyes wide with expectation. He drizzled it over her tailbone and used a finger to smooth it over her butt cheeks and through her arse crack.

  “Don’t even think about skirting the rules,” she said, muscles tightening under his hand.

  “I’m going to rub between your cheeks and come on your back. I don’t want to chaff you.”

  “Acceptable,” she said, head turned to watch as he slicked himself up, and added a lick of lube to the head of the ring.

  “Glad you approve,” he said, stepping behind her and wiping his palms over her hips, pleased with the gloss on her skin and the way it would feel when he slid against her. But not yet. Not until he’d kissed her neck and shoulders and made her nipples ache from attention, traced the petals and wings on her back.

  He started with her ear, teased the piercing, sucked on her neck, hands travelling, caressing, smoothi
ng, cupping. Possessing. Dipping through the folds of her vulva. Watching her face in the mirror. How she struggled to keep her eyes open, how her lips parted, and her breath stuttered. When he finally widened his stance and leaned into her, she hissed and twerked against him, bringing a hand up to wind around his neck, nails in his skin. Felt fucking amazing. Terrified he might say something he couldn’t take back, he might ask for her lips and get them under false pretense, he reached around her and picked up the vibe ring, hooking it on his middle finger, between his first and second knuckles, the head of it facing his palm.

  Since he hadn’t managed to turn it on, Evie helped out, taking the opportunity of having his hand in hers to kiss each of his fingertips. “I’ve never had anyone use this on me before,” she said.

  “I’ll be gentle.”

  She laughed. “You know I don’t like it too gentle.”

  He lifted the buzzing ring to her breast and cupped it, pressing the slippery top to her nipple. Her head hit his shoulder and she moaned in a way that made him worry how much stamina he had left. He needed to come and her wriggling about on his cock made it a test of will. He took that vibrating ring and ran it up her neck to that sensitive spot behind her ear then down across her chest to the pierced nipple, where he lightly dusted across the distended tip.

  She caught his wrist, pushed his hand down. “Make me come, Jay.”

  This nifty piece of silicon rubber jewelry was his new favorite thing. With his hand tucked around Evie’s vulva, his ring finger was perfectly positioned to flutter against her clit and alternative fuck into her vagina. He wrapped his other arm around her to hold their bodies together and kissed her neck.

  Evie’s body turned to liquid, softening even as her undulations became more purposeful. He fitted himself between her cheeks and met the tilt and rock of her pelvis stroke for stroke in time with his hand.

  How did he ever have the strength to leave her?

  How the fuck was he supposed to win her back?

  His orgasm went from cauldron bubbling to frothing over in a frantic few seconds of bliss. Evie worked herself against his hand, eyes closed, chin lifted, to bring on her own climax and they both shuddered and clutched at each other, lube and sweat and jizz making everything deliciously slippery and cosmically calm, except tuned to the syncopation of their panting was the low-level buzzing of the ring, now pressed into her stomach.