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

“I can’t have your mouth, that’s what’s wrong.” The room was still mostly dark. She’d closed the blinds and curtains and turned on a night-light that gave out a rusty glow. The only place he could hide was in loving her.

He relaxed his hold and lowered his knees allowing her to turn over, skating his hands over her body and using her movement to get his mouth to her shoulder, her throat and finally her forehead.

“Are you okay?” she said, hands on his face.

“Need to see you.” Need to get out of my head. “Need to make you come.”

“I’ve got no complaints with that plan,” she said as he lowered his head and dragged his lips down her neck to the edge of her cami top.

He pushed the skinny strap off her shoulder and sucked on her skin before tugging the cotton away from her breast, the sensitive one, and latching on to her nipple, drawing it into his mouth and flicking his tongue across the raised bead, making her gasp and half a minute later, complain with a whimper, when he pulled off.

She whimpered again, but it wasn’t a complaint, when he slipped his hand between her legs and used the side of his thumb to rub her through her undies. She did most of the rubbing, her forehead pressed to his, her eyes closed, her hips rocking. She was deep into this and it was only the warm-up.

Other men got to kiss her, come inside her. He would make her see stars explode and form black holes and create alien life if it was the last thing he did tonight. She was wet already. He could smell her arousal. He’d make her soaking, flood the sheets with her cum. He slipped his hand inside her pants, flattening it on her hot body, feeling the smooth, hair-free skin of her mound and sliding his middle finger through wet folds to insert it inside her.

Her hips jerked and her exposed breast wobbled, calling for his mouth.

“Oh God, Jay,” she said, ranking her nails over his scalp as he fingered her slowly, adding this thumb to the mix, circling it lightly over her clit and sucking hard on her tit.

He didn’t find any more piercings, but it was fun checking, made her wetter, made her breathing erratic and her pelvis twitch as she searched for more friction.

The flutter was still in his chest, he felt light-headed, but Evie’s hands on his shoulders grounded him. She’d get her more when he stripped her, kissed every pixel of her he could see and put his tongue where he couldn’t. But she wasn’t going to get it quickly. He was going to take his time, lose his remaining wits over her and then maybe when he rocked her world, he wouldn’t still feel like he could cry for the world he’d lost.

ELEVEN

It was the memories, the motel, the room, the build-up. The rock king who had his mouth on her breast and his hand in her pants. What other reason could there be for Evie to feel like she’d not had sex for the longest time and her reactions were outside of her control.

Jay made her shiver and tremble and moan like she was auditioning for a porn flick. Anyone else she’d have hurried along a little, gotten to the main event faster and free-fallen into the pleasure zone without having to be shocked by where Jay put his hands and how he kissed longing and history and punishment into her skin.

Should’ve just let him have your lips.

Jay did things other men had done, but he did them with a kind of deadly intensity that was so callously soft and purposeful that she felt a little bruised and she was still mostly dressed.

He’d been upset when he laid on the bed with her and annoyed she knew it and this was the meanest, sweetest payback ever. Either that or she was losing her grasp on what was real before she even got off.

She didn’t know what had upset him but the coming orgasm was going to knock her life off its axis.

“This has to go,” Jay said, pulling the other strap of her cami off her shoulder, his eyes flashing wider when he saw the nipple cuff. “That’s so fucking hot, Evie.”

He had so much to learn, though she forgot about that when he took the metal in his teeth and tugged, put a little twist into it and added a second finger inside her. Oh God, yeah.

She was watching his face when he noticed the ink, the way it curled over her breast and met the cuff. He shifted higher on his elbow to roll her cami down her ribs, revealing more ink. The further he rolled it, the more ink he got to see until he’d settled the roll of fabric over her hips and the full design was revealed.

He sat, swinging a knee over her thighs, utterly, wondrously naked, erect and fascinated. He traced the lines on leaves, the shape of petals, the tangle of vines that grew up her torso, over her ribs and trailed across the side of her boob.

“It’s beautiful.”

She’d wondered what he’d say. He was ink free as far as she could tell. No one’s cliché of a rock star.

“Must’ve taken a while.” He circled a flower center. “And hurt. It suits you. Like you were born with it.”

In a way she was. Reborn. She’d started it, the first blood rose in a bed of thorns, the month after Jay left her and quit the band and it was clear he wasn’t coming back.

It was a dense, complex, lush jungle now, mostly on her ribs and side, but he’d find vines and butterflies on her back when she turned over. If he ever let her. He had her pinned down under his hands, under the heat of his lips as he went exploring.

Most men said cool or awesome, licked the colors, asked who the artist was. Jay made a feast of every flourish of ink. He made her feel like she was prized art, worshiped, beloved.

Until he’d quit on her, he’d always made her feel known, understood and treasured and it had been a long, long time since she’d felt that way.