“I literally had a moment when I thought about telling them I couldn’t go to Tahiti so I could go to the show.” She shrugs, her cheeks going pink with embarrassment. I pull her to her feet and lead her to the stairs.
“Well, that’s just crazy.”
“I wanted to go.” I look back at her, following me up the stairs, and her eyes are on my ass. “Besides, your drummer is hot.”
I round on her when we get to the landing. “Excuse me?”
“The drummer. You know, the guy who sits behind the big round things that make noise?”
“Yes, I’m aware of what a drummer is.”
“Well, yours is hot.”
“You like Eric, do you?”
“Oh, is that his name?” she asks innocently. Little brat.
“You know it is,” I respond and pin her against the wall. Her breathing increases, eyes go wide, and fall to my lips, to my piercing.
It’s funny to me that the lip is what turns her on.
I drop my lips to hers and kiss her long and slow, thoroughly, press my cock against her belly as I lift her off the floor. She moans and wraps her arms around my neck, sinks her hands in my hair and pulls on my metal with her teeth.
I lower her back to her feet and turn away toward the bedroom.
“Hey!” she exclaims.
“What?” I glance back with a raised brow.
“What was that for?”
“For teasing me about my band. You can never meet Eric now. I’ll have to kill him, and he’s too good to replace.”
She laughs her raspy, throaty laugh, and follows me into the bedroom.
“So, back to the original subject.”
“Yeah, back to the kissing.”
“No, sweetheart, the subject before that.” I laugh. God, she’s funny. I pull a gift bag out of my closet and hand it to her nervously.
Maybe this is a stupid idea.
Her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning at the sight of the red gift bag.
“For me?” She asks and bounces on the balls of her feet.
Note to self: she likes presents.
“I don’t see anyone else here, baby.”
“Gimme.” She extends her arms, wiggling her fingers, her sweet face all happy and glowing and she looks like a kid.
I hand her the bag and stuff my hands in the pockets of the jeans I threw on before heading downstairs.
“Why are you nervous?” She tilts her head to the side, watching me.
“I’m not.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Uh huh. Sure.”
She knows me too well already.
“Open it.”
She tosses the white tissue paper on the floor and pulls the soft white t-shirt out of the bag, snaps it open and stares at the front, her mouth gaping open.
“It’s a Nash t-shirt,” she whispers, her eyes traveling over the photo of me and the guys on the front.
“Yeah, you were in Tahiti.” I shrug.
She immediately strips out of my shirt and pulls the tee over her head, looks down at it and back up at me with a wide smile. “I love it.”
“Good. I love seeing my name on you,” I whisper.
She launches herself into my arms and kisses me soundly. “It’s really soft,” she murmurs. “Do you have a sharpie?”
“Probably, why?”
“Will you sign it?” She’s bouncing again, like a fan, and it makes me still for just a moment.
I don’t need a crazy fan-girl as my girlfriend.
And then I remember; this is Sam. She’s no one’s fan-girl.
“Why?” I ask again.
“In case I want to sell it on eBay.” She bats her lashes at me and my stomach loosens. I dig around in my computer bag and pull out a black marker.
“Where do you want me to sign it, smart ass?”
“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. She’s so getting spanked. “On my boob!”
“On your boob!” I pinch the bridge of my nose and laugh.
“Like you’ve never signed boobs before,” she smirks.
“Oh, I’ve signed my share.”
“I figured. So mine shouldn’t shock you.”
“I love your boobs.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. She has great tits.
“So sign them.” She steps back and thrusts her breast toward me and my cock immediately strains against my jeans.
I slowly sign her shirt, right over her breast, my eyes on hers. She bites that plump bottom lip of hers and sucks in a breath, her eyes dilate.
God, she’ll be the death of me.
“All done,” I whisper.
“Thanks,” she whispers back, and then blinks, pulling herself out of the sexy trance. She pulls the shirt over her head, folds it carefully and places it back in the bag and walks over to her clothes.
“Stop,” I order her.
She glances at me with surprise. “What?”
“Come here.”
She frowns and stands in front of me again.
“I’m not done.”
“You signed the shirt.”
“Yeah,” my eyes follow her curves, her lines, and her nipples pucker under my gaze. “But I’d like to play.”
“With the Sharpie?”
I shrug.
“You want to draw on me?”
“You are a beautiful blank canvas, sunshine.”
She blinks at me, mulling the idea over, and then smiles slowly. “Okay but then I want something too.”
“What would that be?”
“I want to lick your stars.”
“You don’t need my permission to do that, you know.” My stomach clenches at the thought. When her little lips and tongue touch my hips I about go out of my mind.
She just shrugs happily. “That’s what I want.”
“Done. Come stand by the mirror.”
“I don’t get to lie down?” She pouts.
“Hell no, you get to watch.” I grin and lead her to the full-length mirror that hangs on the bathroom door and turn her so her back is facing the mirror, but she can look over her shoulder to watch.
I uncap the marker and start on her shoulder blades, drawing clouds and birds, a sun, and she gasps, bites her lip and watches with fascination.
“You’re good.”
“I like to doodle,” I murmur and keep focused on the task at hand. Once I turn her and start working on her breasts and sweet stomach, I’ll lose my concentration.
I continue to move the ink over her skin, adding an ocean and palm trees, sand, starfish. Along the bottom, across the top of her ass, I draw a music bar and add the notes to one of my favorite songs that I wrote called Wrapped In You. It’s a ballad, and one she’d know. We play it at every show.