Oops! I Married a Rock Star

My mouth on hers, I thrust in and out, angling myself to make sure I’m bumping into her G-spot each time. She’s sobbing and writhing underneath me as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into her. Every cell in my body’s lit up with intense want, and I let out a string of curses under my breath.

Becca, Becca, Becca. She’s the one driving me to this height of maddening pleasure.

I link my hands with hers, pushing them above her head. When she breaks the kiss and cries out my name in another climax, I let go and join her in bliss.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Becca

I open my eyes a little, my body feeling like soggy noodles. It’s pretty dark outside, though, and I can hear raindrops. Hmm. But I get the feeling it’s not my regular wake-up time of seven thirty. I went to sleep very late.

I try to shift, but can’t move much with Devlin’s arm around my waist and his chest pressed against my back. My hair moves away from my neck. His breath fans against it, tickling a little.

He’s as warm as a furnace, which is nice. But he’s also showing no signs of getting up or letting go…which is a problem.

I tap his forearm, right over the tattoo. “Dev, let me up.”

He mumbles something I don’t quite catch.

Ugh. “Come on.”

“We don’t have to go to work,” he murmurs. “Let’s stay like this a little longer.”

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Oh.” He lets go and collapse-rolls onto his back.

I hop off the bed, stifling a groan at the way my muscles protest. I’m not used to exerting myself physically like I did last night. After Devlin came the first time, I thought he was done and we could go to sleep. I came three times, but… Well. God didn’t give men the ability to have multiple orgasms.

Or so I thought. Devlin wasn’t even close to done. He used three more condoms. I have no idea a penis could rise so many times. Certainly none of my ex-boyfriends’ did. I thought men doing it more than once was a myth.

“You look pretty in the morning,” Devlin says. His voice is soft with satisfaction and that edge of something hot that sends delicious shivers down my back.

Oh my God. He wants to do it again?

Even if I’m feeling warm and bothered by his voice, I just can’t. Not right now.

“I really have to go!” I say, then trot to the bathroom and shut the door.

Finally, alone! I let out a small sigh. My body’s no longer on full alert with excess energy and anticipation. I run my fingers through my hair. Without Devlin pressing against me, the morning air feels extra chilly on my back. I don’t know how he can wrap himself around me like a vine and stay that way all night long, but he did, like he was afraid I was going to disappear.

Okay, so I did kind of run out on him in New York, but we’re in Drover now! I have nowhere to go. Actually, I guess I could go to Tasha’s, but that’s next door. Not much of a “run.”

I pee and quickly wash my hands. I start to go out, then note the time on the digital clock. Ten thirty already. I change my mind and decide to grab a quick shower. It should signal I’m not coming out for late-morning sex. I have to work on the Barron Sterling commission.

As warm water sluices down my body, I close my eyes and shake my head as more detailed memories of last night unfold.

Ugh, Becca! What were you thinking?

I told myself not even a week ago that sex would complicate everything. I was going to be firm on limiting it. And if that’s the case, I should’ve held out longer, instead of kissing him back and panting like I’d die if he didn’t instantly screw me.

It’s something in his scent, which really hits me the right way for some reason. Plus the way he breathes when he’s kissing me. It goes all uneven and rough, like he’s having trouble sucking in air because he’s too busy wanting me.

Which is a ridiculous reason to get turned on. But that isn’t all. It’s… Well… It was the way Devlin stuck up for me during the dinner. Sylvie was all over him, even more so than usual. I almost screamed, “Yes!” when he told her she needed glasses if she thought she was prettier. Not because I think I’m necessarily prettier than her. But that’s what any guy who’s with me should say.

I always tell myself I’m not hurt by what Sylvie did with my boyfriends. How she moved in on them and stole them from me. If they’d been worth my while, they wouldn’t have been tempted, even if she dry-humped them during a church sermon.

But maybe I was more hurt than I imagined and needed some sort of victorious vindication.