The Complete Rockstar Series

It doesn’t matter why he’s doing it. Just the fact that his velvety tongue is in my mouth is good enough for me. I snake my arms around his waist and grip his tight ass, forcing our hard cocks to rub against each other. The resulting moan Mitch makes into my mouth almost has me coming in my pants.

He tastes unbelievable and being so close gives me a concentrated dose of his scent, masculine and strong.

Much too sudden, it ends. Mitch rips his delicious mouth away, stepping back. His chest is heaving, expanding and contracting under that damn too-tight shirt that shows every single ridge of muscle.

Mitch wipes his swollen mouth with the back of his hand, staring at it as if he’s in shock. His eyes flick back to mine as I remain unmoving against the wall. Mitch’s hormone flushed face blooms into a dark red and… yep, there goes that eye twitch.

“I-I…” He turns away and I see his hands clench at his sides.

“Mitch—”

Inhaling deeply, Mitch spins around and my words die in my throat. His eyes appear dark and conflicted—and they won’t meet mine.

“I have to get back out there, to ummmm, look around and… just… I’ll be in the club.”

Before I can say another word, he’s gone.

Holy shit.

After a few minutes of stunned immobility, I move in front of the sinks to wash my hands. It’s near impossible to ignore the fact that they’re trembling. As I dry them off, I look up at the mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my lips are red from Mitch’s vicious, forceful kiss.

Unable to help myself, I smile and run a finger over my abused mouth.

Straight, sexy, FBI man isn’t so straight after all.

Things just got interesting.

* * *

“Gavin, a word please?”

Oh shit. Talbot Putnam, president of our label, is waiting for me as I return from the bathroom. Rachel Whatley, head of public relations, and Ross are both trailing along. None of them appear to be happy.

“Sure, Talbot. Let me get a drink first.” I need a drink, yes, but my intention is to grab Hawke for back up. I have a feeling I’m about to be ambushed.

“No need.” Talbot holds up a hand and a server appears out of thin air. “What is it you want?” he asks.

“Ummmm, Jack and Coke, I guess.”

The server vanishes to fetch my drink.

“Lets sit, shall we? I have a table over there.” Talbot turns and leaves without waiting for confirmation that we’ll follow. It’s assumed, rightly so, that we will.

Rachel shoots me a concerned look, which I ignore. I know what this is about. She doesn’t have to say a word.

We arrive at the table at the same time as my drink. Talbot unbuttons the jacket of his five thousand dollar custom Tom Ford suit and slides gracefully into a chair.

The three of us take our own seats. Uncomfortable, I gulp my drink, glancing around the room to catch a glimpse of Mitch. He’s nowhere to be found.

He wouldn’t leave, would he? He can’t. He’s been hired to catch my stalker. But after the incident in the bathroom—

“Gavin, you mind telling us what the hell happened today?”

Talbot’s deep voice snaps me from my thoughts. “Happened?” I repeat, feigning ignorance.

Talbot’s perfect Roman features crumple up in distaste. “Don’t play stupid, Gavin. It doesn’t become you. I know you’re smarter than that.” I shift in my seat and throw back another big slug of my drink as I take a quick look around the club. Still no sign of Mitch.

“I’m not playing stupid, Talbot. I guess I don’t think I did anything to warrant the third degree. Why don’t you just say what you want to say?”