“You are a greedy girl, aren’t you?” He presses a kiss to my abdomen while he tucks three fingers into me. “Knowing that makes me so fucking hard.” He closes his lips around my nipple and sucks. His fingers move in. Out. “Makes me want you so fucking bad.” He licks a line up my chest that connects with every nerve within. “Makes me want to show you how you taste for me.” He slants his lips over mine, his tongue slipping between, so I can taste the sweet tang of my own arousal.
This man is doing things to me—physically, emotionally—and he hasn’t even pushed into me yet.
“We’ll taste more of that later,” he murmurs against my lips and stands despite my hands trying to keep him against me.
“Quit teasing me and just fuck me already,” I demand.
He pats my clit with a bit more force this time. A reprimand I want to be punished for again. Anything for his touch. Anything to sate the sweet ache he keeps feeding.
“I’ve waited a long damn time to fuck you, Shug. Years and years. I’ve thought about what it would be like. What it would feel like. What you would look like lying beneath me. Don’t mind me, but I think I’ll admire this pretty pussy of yours for a second more before I punish it to pleasure.”
He runs the head of his cock up and down, spreading my wetness around. My muscles tense with anticipation and need and greed and a whole lot of want. With his tip resting just at my entrance, he runs his hand up and down the length of my inner thighs causing goosebumps to chase in their wake. His thumbs brush over my clit as every nerve ending begs for more friction. For more of him.
He gives it to me. At a leisurely pace when I want fast. A press here followed by his chuckle. A rub there complemented by praise.
Pressure builds, my body riding the high of the moment.
He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and pushes his way into me ever so slowly. I swear his groan rattles the walls, but I can’t be sure because I’m too blinded by the pleasure washing over me.
He goes slow. Inch by inch. The sweet burn of my muscles adjusting and accepting him.
“You’re a strong girl. I know you can take me all in,” he coaxes when I reach my hands out to press on him to give me a second. And he gives me that time, but then he takes my hand pressed against his hip and moves it to where we’re now joined. “Wrap your fingers around the base of me. I want you to feel me. To feel us. To guide me in until you can’t take any more of my cock.”
I encircle him. The hardened base. Note how I feel stretched around him. How wet I am. It’s a major turn-on. Even more so is the look in his eyes as he stares at me. As he watches when he bottoms himself out in me.
I tense my muscles around him. A silent demand to give me what we both want. What we both need. What we’ve both waited years for.
The tendons in his neck grow taut as his hands tighten on my thighs. His restraint’s being visibly tested, and I love that I’m the one doing it.
I squeeze him again and watch his eyes roll back in his head.
“Look at you.” His chuckle is strained, his breath becoming labored.
“Mm-hmm. Look at me,” I murmur as his eyes meet mine. “I’ve been a good girl, Vince, now make me yours.”
Restraint snapped. Desire unleashed. Feral groan emitted.
When he begins to move, we both know there is no turning back. He drives us toward the edge, calling out my name over and over like an oath he’ll forever keep.
I know there’s no way in hell one night with Vince will ever be enough.
I lied. To him. To me.
I lied, and I know never having him again will be the price I’ll pay for it. But it’s a price worth paying.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Vince
Seven Years Ago
I grab my jeans off the floor and pull them on. Each button on the fly harder than the last one to fasten. Every button done means another second closer to walking away from her again.
She deserves better.
She deserves more.
A man who can be there every night for her. A man who is worthy of her love. A man who won’t disappoint her.
I pull my shirt over my head and then touch the bracelet I still wear. The piece of her I’ve kept with me all these years.
Four years is a long fucking time to wonder if what we had was real.
Now I know.
It was.
And as I stand here and stare at her, every reason I ran before comes back with a vengeance and then some.
I have to go.
It’s for the best.
I lean over and press a kiss to her temple. It’s her lips I really want—one last taste of the only real thing I’ve ever had in my life—but I can’t risk waking her. If I do, the next steps I have to make will be even harder.
“Goodbye, Shug,” I murmur against her skin and breathe her in one last time.
My throat feels like it’s collapsing as I walk the few feet to the door. One last look over my shoulder at my teenage fantasy and my adult downfall.
It’s her.
Hasn’t it always been her?
I left before because I loved her and thought I wasn’t enough for her.
I leave now because I know I love her, and I’m still not good enough for her.
“I love you. I always have.”
The pain hits the second I shut the door at my back.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vince
The beat courses through my veins. My fingers manipulate the frets as I close my eyes and get lost in the only thing I’ve ever been able to control—music.
My fingers fly. Fast and furious. Full tones emphasized with a touch of treble. The house band switches it up, and I welcome the challenge to adjust, to improvise, and to contribute to the fucking killer music they’re making.
The Viper Room is packed. It always is. But I don’t feel any pressure from the audience’s stares. I don’t feel the heat of the stage lights beating down on me. I don’t feel the burden of having to produce an album that will succeed.
It’s just me. It’s just my guitar. It’s just an off-the-cuff invite to jump onstage and play a little with the house band.
To remember how hungry I used to be for this feeling. For this freedom. For the lack of expectation from anonymity and the adrenaline hit when you know you’re absolutely fucking killing it.
No vocals required.
No front man shit expected.
Just me and my instrument and a fuck ton of inspiration.
I open my eyes and almost expect to see Hawkin at the mic, Rocket beside me, and Giz behind me on the drums like the old days.
Like how I want them to be.
I pour my anger into my playing. I add the hurt onto it. It’s the only way I know how to cope.
The only way I know how to sort through my confusion.
The only way I know how to survive.
? ? ?
“That was fucking awesome, man.” The lead singer of the house band fist-bumps me and then pats my back. “Honor of my life to get to share the stage with you.”
“I appreciate the invite.”
“Normally I’d play it cool, but, dude, it’s fucking you. I mean, me and the guys saw you walk in. We wanted to ask you to play with us but were so fucking nervous we had to play Rock, Paper, Scissors over who was going to do the asking.” He chuckles and gives a flick of his cigarette.
“I’m glad you did. It felt good to just jam without expectations.”
“Isn’t that the fucking best?”
I lift my bottle of beer to my lips and peer into the crowd around us. Women are everywhere—tight tops, short skirts—making come fuck me eyes each time I connect with them. Then again, they are always everywhere when you live my life.
Typically, I’d pick one for the night. Use them to help chase the high performing onstage gave me. But no one piques my interest tonight.
The one I’m looking for isn’t here.
“It is.” Let’s see how fast word spreads on the Internet. I give it twenty minutes until Xavier calls.
He won’t be pissed that I did it. He’ll be pissed that it wasn’t his idea. That he wasn’t in control of it.
And I need to leave while I can before word spreads and people flock here.
“I’m out.” I shake his hand again.
“Come back any time.”
I jostle my way through the crowd. In an attempt to not be a complete asshole, I stop every few feet and give a half-assed smile for someone’s selfie or picture. I’m ushered to the backstage area and out the back door.
The paps are there. Fucking knew they would be. Flashes go off like fireworks in the dark alley. My sunglasses help save my eyes.
But with the flashes come the barrage of rapid-fire questions. One after another as I try to push through the crowd to get to my car.
“Vince. Over here.”