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

This wasn’t what she wanted at all. If she was going to be with Jay she wanted every shuddering, gasping, lip-biting sensation pushed moment of it, with, let’s be honest here, none of the emotional responsibility. He was being a bastard. “You think I’ll compromise to get your dick in my vagina.” Any kind of sex with Jay would likely be good, but not worth trashing a principle for.

He uncapped his water. “Evie, I have no idea what you’ll do. Seems like I never did.”

Could he manage to sound more weary and put-upon? She’d offered him no-strings sex that he’d already tasted tested and knew he liked. This just wasn’t going to work. Why had she thought it would? He’d lust drugged her with his rangy body and ruffled hair, with his low, deep voice and his raging jealousy over nothing.

She crossed her legs and her arms. “Looks like we’ve hit a wall.”

He shrugged. “Sorry we couldn’t do a deal here.”

She swiveled the chair so she didn’t have to watch him leave, forgetting the wall behind her was all mirror. There was a damn good reason she’d spent a decade avoiding any sight or mention of him. That didn’t account for why she thought she could trust him to work with her in a deal where both of them would benefit. How could she have forgotten he was driven by rampant self-interest and if he didn’t get his own way, it was the highway?

Seething, she watched him chug the remains of his water and place the empty on the counter. The sooner he left the room, the sooner she could start forgetting about him all over again.

But he didn’t open the door. He stepped up behind her and put his hands to the back of the chair. His lips looked wet; his eyes looked hot. She rammed her folded arms harder against her body.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said. “Under the terms of this deal of yours, I can touch you everywhere, kiss you anywhere except your lips.”

“That was the proposition.”

“You don’t think it will work for you without my cock’s participation.”

“I’m an all or nothing kind of girl.”

He harrumphed. “So I remember.”

“Then we’re done here.” She really needed him gone, like ten years ago.

“I’d like to test your theory.”

“No.” But he wrapped his hand over her messy bun and she stopped breathing.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Evie. Stop me if that’s not on.”

Options. Two. Stop him or show him how little his kiss affected her and send him off to regret his decisions. She angled her neck to give him access. “Bring it.”

He lowered his head and put cold lips to her neck, making her flinch at the contact. Up so close, his scent filled her senses. He made an approving sound, and in the mirror, she saw him smile, right before he kissed her again, using her hair to move her head where he wanted it, sliding his kiss up her neck to a sensitive little place behind her ear, where he sucked for a second before doing that sequence again. Lip contact, slide, suck. Oh my God.

She unfolded her arms and gripped the chair and he did it again, this time, biting her earlobe lightly and then moving to the other side to repeat the routine. Lip contact, wet slide, suck, bite and a tug on her daith hoop which zinged right through her body to her clit, making her gasp. Back to her neck, but now his hot lips slid across her collarbone, moving her baggy boatneck T-shirt out of the way to kiss her shoulder, soft and so tender.

Her eyes rolled up. She groaned. Couldn’t help it. It was an agonized, pent-up sound of longing. No one kissed like this. She was a fool for forgetting exactly how devastating Jay’s attention could be. If she let go of the chair to touch him she’d give everything away.

His eyes came up in the mirror, they were laughing at her. Kisses all over her shoulder and up and down her collarbone. She waited for him to call her on her bullshit and all he did was grind her into a mushy paste of wet longing by kissing, nipping, sucking and licking every inch of her neck, using her hair to aim his attacks on her most sensitive spots, and drawing waves of pleasure from every nerve ending to the surface of her skin.

He traced her hairline and kissed her eyes, he nudged her nose and smoothed his lips over her temple. In one moment of complete surrender during the raid on her sanity, because that’s what this was, she offered him her mouth, open in a gasp and he tugged her head further back, bent over her and kissed her throat instead.

She’d made a grave error. She’d let hot and dirty wishful thinking out of the box. It was running wild. Unrecoverable.

If she died right here, in a hairdresser’s chair in a TV studio makeup room while work waited, with Jay’s kisses dancing, glancing, making her shake with need, it would be an epic death, worthy of a legendary, chart-topping love song.

And she could live with that.

EIGHT

Jay wanted Evie’s mouth fiercely. He wanted to lock the door, haul her out of the chair and into his arms, sweep the clutter from the countertop and take them both beyond kisses, out to the place where only pleasing each other mattered and the world and all its demands could go fuck itself while they got busy making stars rain down.

When he’d kissed, licked, sucked all over the smooth, caramel-scented warmth of Evie’s neck, shoulders, and face, he pulled the band from her hair, shook it out and raked his fingers over her scalp. Then he gathered it up in his fist and started all over again.

This time around, he slipped his other hand down her body to cup her breast over her shirt, fondling, using his thumb to tease her nipple. She slammed her feet on the floor and arched against the chair back, surging into his hand.