Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty 3)

He watched, avidly, as she followed his instructions. “That’s good. Fuck, that’s perfect. Spread your thighs a little more so I can see. I want to watch you finger fuck yourself. I want—” He broke off as she did what he asked, spreading her thighs so wide they burned. And then she was thrusting her finger in and out of herself, fucking herself the way she wanted him to fuck her.

“Fuck, yes. God, baby, you look so fucking hot. Fuck. Now add another one.”

She whimpered as she did what he asked, sliding her fingers in and out of her drenched sex in the same rhythm he was sliding in and out of her mouth.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart? Do you like that?”

Her only answer was a high-pitched whine that came from the very heart of her.

He was deep in her throat and she felt the cry go through him like an electric shock, his body stiffening and eyes going wide. In response, he thrust even deeper, faster, harder.

She sucked at him as best she could, but his hand was back in her hair and he was in control now, fucking her mouth with a blazing intensity that she knew would leave her sore later. Not that she cared about being sore. How could she when she was on the brink of an orgasm that threatened to consume her whole?

“That’s it, baby. Oh, fuck, that’s it. You’ve got the best mouth, sweetheart. You take my dick so good.” As he spoke, he never took his eyes off her wet, swollen sex. “I just want you to do one more thing for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”

She didn’t know. She was drowning in sensation, drowning in a razor-sharp pleasure that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. But she nodded anyway, determined to give Wyatt whatever he wanted. Whatever he needed.

“Good girl,” he told her as he tightened his fingers around her nipple just a little more. A shock of electricity slammed through her and she jumped. Squeaked. He laughed a little, a low, dark sound that had her eyes falling shut and her body climbing even higher. “Now pinch your clit between your thumb and index finger like I’m pinching your nipple. Squeeze a little harder, a little harder… Fuck!”

He broke off as she whimpered, a high pitched, broken sound that resonated all the way through his cock. And then he was thrusting wildly, fucking her mouth, his rhythm shot to hell as he drove himself closer and closer to orgasm.

She was right there with him, though, ecstasy sparking at the very heart of her. Pleasure shooting along her every nerve ending. Fire racing down her spine, tearing through her limbs, engulfing her every sense.

“Fuck, baby, I need you to come with me. I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—” Wyatt groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as he tried to pull her off. But she was teetering on the edge of her own orgasm, and there was no way she was going to deny herself the feel and taste of him on her tongue.

So she sucked him hard, sucked him deep, one more time. And then he was going over the edge, his release shooting onto her tongue and down her throat in a series of powerful pulses that had her own climax rising up like a wave to swamp her. To pull her under.

Her last coherent thought was that she wanted to see, and she blinked her eyes open just in time to watch Wyatt’s skin flush and his sharp eyes turn blurry as he gave himself over to a pleasure so intense that for a moment she feared it would tear them both to shreds.

Chapter Eleven

When it was over, Wyatt dropped to his knees in front of her.

Wrapped his arms around her.

Rested his forehead against her own.

And then they just breathed, their exhalations mingling in the hot summer air.

Poppy counted his breaths and his heartbeats, reveling in the sound of them, the feel of them. Reveling in the knowledge that she had brought this sexy, beautiful man to his knees—in the most delicious way.

r /> He was wrapped around her now, their limbs tangled together, and though she knew it wouldn’t last—knew it couldn’t last when his life was such a mess, when she was lying to him every minute they spent together—she let herself sink into him, too. Let herself enjoy these last few moments before real life intruded on fantasy. Before all the reasons this was a bad idea once again reared their ugly heads.

It didn’t take nearly long enough for Wyatt to recover—or for the real world to intrude—and when he finally stirred, Poppy expected it to be like the night in the alley. For him to just pull his pants up and go back to the mess he’d made with the band like none of this had ever happened. Or, more accurately, like it didn’t matter that it had.

And why would it? He was a rock star, for God’s sake. He probably couldn’t even count how many women had gone down on him in his life.

And she was okay with being just one more, she assured herself. She really was. After all, sleeping with Wyatt was the worst possible thing she could have done for her own career, so the less fuss anyone made about it, the better. Especially when they had much bigger things to deal with—like figuring out how to keep him in the band.

That wasn’t to say she regretted what had happened, because she didn’t. First off, because who in her right mind could ever regret that kind of pleasure? And two, if being with her helped Wyatt fight his demons for even a little bit, then the way she’d screwed up her own plans was worth it. Because he was worth it.

Except Wyatt didn’t give her a chance to play it cool, didn’t give her a chance to show how okay she was with things going down that way. Because he didn’t walk away.

Instead, he pulled up his jeans, then steadied her as she yanked on her own jeans, sans the underwear that lay in tatters at their feet. She tried to straighten herself up, but there wasn’t much she could do, considering she was certain her hair looked like a rat had nested in it after a bomb had gone off. Still, once her jeans were more or less back where they belonged and her blouse was buttoned again, Wyatt settled back against the trunk of one of the nearby trees and lifted her into his lap.

She went because she didn’t know what else to do—he’d caught her off guard and she wasn’t prepared to resist—and because there was a part of her that really, truly wanted to be cuddled after the most spectacular orgasm of her life. A part of her that wanted to be held and stroked and comforted. The fact that Wyatt Jennings—one of the baddest of rock’s bad boys—seemed to understand that even more than she did, destroyed the last of her preconceptions about him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, nuzzling against her cheek. “I was really rough.”