Oops! I Married a Rock Star

She makes a small noise in her throat that sends a shock through my system. My heart beats faster, pulse racing. All I can think is how much I want to devour her right now.

Except we’re in a freakin’ hall. With some asshole lying on the floor and moaning.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say. Her gentle, rapid breath fans against my wet mouth. Lust heats my blood.

I have it bad. But this one kiss with her is more potent than any sex I’ve ever experienced. I don’t ever want to let her go.

She blinks a little, her violet eyes hazy with desire. Her throat works as she swallows, then she nods. “Okay.”

Elation unfurls, and I have no idea why. Even before Axelrod hit it big, I could almost always get chicks to sleep with me. Just pheromones or something. But somehow it’s different with her. Everything’s different.

I take the phone out to call for the limo the band hired for the short drive between here and our hotel. But there’s a text from the guys saying they’ve taken it because of some incident involving red wine.

No prob. It’s New York City—there are plenty of taxis.

I link my fingers with hers. It feels right, having her palm resting, pressed to mine, all warm softness.

Once we’re in a cab, I kiss the back of her hand. I can’t seem to behave during the short drive, even though my brain warns me not to do anything that will shock her.

But she buries her face in my neck and licks the skin there, sending heat streaking through me.

“You keep that up, we’re going to give the cab driver something to talk about,” I murmur into her ear.

“Yeah?” She pulls back a little. The lights from the city show flushed cheeks and shining eyes. “What’s stopping us?”

“Hey, I’m trying to be good here.” I tilt my chin in the driver’s direction. “Don’t want us to be on somebody’s social media feed.” I actually don’t care one way or the other. But she might if some asshole takes a photo and uploads it somewhere.

“Ah.” She runs her hand along my thigh. “And once we get to wherever we’re going?”

“The kid gloves come off—along with everything else.”

She caresses my upper thigh, moving her hand up and up until she’s only an inch away from my cock. I swear my penis can feel the warmth from her fingers, and now it isn’t just hard, but aching.

Finally the taxi stops in front of the hotel. I hand the driver a couple of twenties and wave away the change.

Uniformed staff rush out and open the door. I climb out, adjusting my jacket to cover the hard-on, and extend a hand to help her out.

We power-walk through the glittering lobby. My normal control seems to have vanished. All I can think about is how close I am to the privacy of the suite where I can have her.

We slip inside a waiting elevator. I hit the close button repeatedly, not wanting anybody else to get on. The hotel has five other elevators they can use.

I stick my room key into a slot and press the button for the forty-second floor.

“We should at least know each other’s names,” I say, even though she doesn’t need an introduction to know who I am. But it seems unfair I don’t know her name. I don’t know why that matters so much, but it does with her.

“Mmm.” She considers for a moment.

What’s the reluctance for? Is she a daughter of one of those TV pastors?

“Call me B.”

“B?”

She nods. “Stands for Bad.”

I laugh. “You must’ve hated me calling you a good girl, but it was a compliment. I promise.”

“A good girl wouldn’t be in this elevator with you.”