Anyone But You

by Jerica MacMillan

  After a second, she wraps her arms around me too, and we stand like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence, my arms around her, hers around me, my chin resting on her head.

  Soon enough I need more, though, and I tip her face up so I can claim her mouth. Just like always, she responds immediately, her lips opening to grant me access, her tits rubbing against my chest.

  Because I’m a greedy bastard, my hands immediately start tugging at the hem of her shirt. I want it off. I want all her clothes gone. Mine too. And I want to be on her, in her, tasting her everywhere.

  I wasn’t lying when I told her I could eat her pussy all night. I totally could. And one day maybe I will. But she hasn’t let me, always stopping me after one orgasm and demanding my cock inside her.

  And who am I to deny that request?

  She helps me get her shirt up and off and immediately takes off her bra. While she’s busy doing that, I strip off my own shirt, more than ready to be skin to skin with her. God, it’s my favorite sensation. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it.

  Almost of their own accord, my hands slip down her back, kneading her ass, and she chuckles into my mouth, pressing her hips into me. I drag her onto my thigh, grinding her against me the way that I know she likes.

  Then, when she’s panting and I know she’ll start begging me to get her naked and fuck her in just a few more seconds, I shift my stance and hoist her up.

  She breaks our kiss, letting out a surprised little shriek as she clamps her arms and legs around me. I don’t usually pick her up and manhandle her, but I guess something about everyone recently trying to warn me off her has the caveman in me coming out.

  She’s mine. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it until she decides she doesn’t want to be mine anymore.

  Carrying her to the bed almost ends in disaster when I bump into a chair, provoking a loud round of giggles from Viola that has me laughing almost as hard.

  Then we’re almost stymied by the mostly-closed door to the bedroom, but Viola saves the day by reaching behind her with one hand and pulling it open.

  I stumble through the door, gently laying her on the bed without letting go of her. With my hands still gripping her ass, her legs still wrapped around my hips, my mouth works its way down her throat, over her collarbone, mapping the swell of her breast before sucking her nipple into my mouth.

  She arches beneath me, her hands tangled in my hair as I suck harder, giving her just the edge of my teeth and making her moan. She grinds on me, the heat of her pussy calling to me through the fabric of our remaining clothes.

  Guh. Whatever plans I had about eating her pussy might have to wait, because I’m dying to be inside her, to feel the reverberations of every arch, every moan, every soft cry I wring from her. We can shower and then I’ll eat her pussy for as long as she’ll let me.

  Yeah. Good plan.

  Loath to let go but eager to get inside her, I carefully disentangle her fingers from my hair and unclamp her legs from my waist. She glares at me, her lower lip coming out in a cute little pout, and I bend down and nip it with my teeth before slicking my tongue over it and into her mouth.

  Before she can wrap her legs around me again, though, I start tugging at her pants. Catching on, she takes over, and I break off the kiss so I can stand up and get rid of my own pants.

  She kicks hers off and away while I’m still trying to get my shoes off, and she flips over, giving me a decadent view of her ass. With my pants around my ankles, I lean forward and grip that ass with both hands. Our relationship is so new and we mostly fall into bed together at the end of a long, exhausting day for both of us that I haven’t had time to really explore her body as thoroughly as I’d like.

  She’s stretched out across the bed, reaching for something, but all I care about is the beautiful lines and curves and dips of her body. The round swell of her ass in my hands. The way she has one leg bent up under her for leverage, exposing the sweet petals of her pussy to my gaze. The flare of her hips, the nip of her waist, the long, curved column of her torso as she reaches with one arm.

  When I pull her cheeks apart, she lets out a little squawk and brings her arms back down, trying to twist around, but my hands hold her in place. I lower myself to my knees, still holding her open for me, and lick her pussy from behind.

  She gasps as my tongue spears inside her opening. “You taste so good,” I murmur against her pussy, and she shivers against my mouth. “I really could eat you all night.”

  “But I want you inside me,” she whimpers, her toes curling against my chest as I circle her clit with my tongue before driving it back inside her.

  Something scrapes against the comforter, and I glance up to see her handing me a condom. Ah, so that’s what she was getting. Makes sense. And if I’d been less singularly focused on her nakedness, I might’ve realized it immediately.

  As it is, she short-circuits my brain in all the best ways.

  “Please,” she gasps when I lick her again. “Please fuck me now.”

  And just like always, I can’t deny her when she asks so politely. The juxtaposition of the prim and polite please with the filthy words that follow gets me so hot every time that I feel like a mindless animal needing to unleash my lust on her.

  Good thing that seems to be her goal too.

  Standing, I finally extract my feet from my pants, grab the condom packet from her fingers, rip it open and roll on the protection. Then I hook my fingers under her hips and pull her up on her knees before climbing on the bed behind her. I run one hand up and down the curve of her spine while I use the other to rub my cock over her juicy slit. “You ready?” I ask, my voice barely more than a guttural rasp.

  She nods and gives me a breathy, “Yes.”

  And with one firm thrust, I’m as deep inside her as I can get.

  “Oh my god,” she breathes, and I have to agree with the sentiment. This is as close to a holy experience as I think I’ll ever get.

  Stroking every inch of her skin I can reach, I begin to move. Slow, tiny movements at first. I’m enjoying this—her—too much to let it end too quickly. If I could drag this moment out forever, I would. Everything about this is perfect. She’s perfect. And I’m so glad that our relationship is out in the open. That I don’t have to worry about whether I can touch her or kiss her in front of the others. That she’s not ashamed of me, and she knows I’m not ashamed of her.

  I’ve had enough shame heaped on me as a kid to last several lifetimes. I vowed not to keep my life or my feelings a secret when I left home at eighteen. I might’ve reconsidered, might’ve been willing to keep us a secret if that’s what she wanted, but I think it would’ve tainted my soul like a poison and eventually ruined this thing growing between us.

  Instead I get to touch her. Run my hands all over her body in private, and sit with her in my lap in public, and no one can do anything about it.

  Sure, Aaron and Blaire have both warned me not to hurt her. But that’s because of my history, what they assume about her, and ultimately the fact that they care about her.

  I can handle the protective instincts of my friends.

  She moans as I lengthen my strokes, my pace picking up despite my best intentions. I always have good intentions, but all too often reality doesn’t quite match up.

  At least this time we’ll both go down in a blaze of blinding orgasms.

  Leaning over so my chest is flush with her back, I plant one hand on the bed to hold me up. My other hand still roams freely, plucking and twisting her nipples till her breath turns ragged then sliding down over her belly till I can tease her pussy with my fingertips.

  Parting my fingers, I rub them over her, spreading her wide, sliding against my cock as it pumps in and out of her welcoming heat. Matching my leisurely pace, I circle her clit lightly, grazing more than rubbing, and her pussy tightens around me.

  “Yeah,” I mutter into her shoulder. “You like that, don’t you? You like it when I fuck you deep
and slow and rub your hard little clit until you come.”

  “Yesssss,” she hisses out.

  I love that she answers me when I talk dirty to her. That she treats my questions like they’re serious and not just filthy rhetorical questions during sex, even ones like this one that I’ve asked several times before.

  My hips move faster, my fingers still keeping pace, and her pussy flutters around me again as she drops her head and moans.

  The thread of my control is fraying quickly. She’s so responsive, and it just makes me want to do more, harder, take everything she’ll give me right fucking now.

  Each thrust pushes her forward, and she bounces back against me on trembling arms. I’m not sure how much longer she’ll be able to hold herself up, and while I don’t have a problem following her down to the bed and fucking her while she lies on her belly, that’ll restrict my hand, and I want her to get off before her arms give out.

  My fingers move faster, no longer the lazy grazing circles that serve as the prelude, but fast rubbing that I know will take her to the climax.

  Her fingers curl into the comforter as I drive into her over and over, my lips mapping the curve of her shoulder. All her muscles seem to be pulling impossibly tighter beneath me, and I can’t wait for the moment when the bands snap and she goes all loose and fluid.

  She’s so fucking sexy that it takes all my willpower to hold back my own orgasm. Yeah, if I blew first, I know I’d have no problem getting her there after me. But that’s not how I want this to go. I need to feel her gripping my cock with her pussy, that sweet, hot friction my favorite way to come. The pleasure of release amplified by knowing how much pleasure I’m giving her.

  And it happens. She lets out a small cry, almost like she’s surprised by her orgasm, and her pussy clenches around me as I ride her through her orgasm, my fingers never stopping until her arms finally give out. First she goes down on her elbows, but even that’s too much effort, and I withdraw my hand so I can hold her hips up with my arm hooked under her, my own orgasm waiting in the wings.

  Seconds later that same bliss washes over my body in a wave of heat as I empty myself inside her. We stay locked together for a few more seconds, but my own muscles are ready to give out, drained from my own orgasm, and I let her slip out of my arms. She sort of slow-mo flattens onto the bed, and I collapse next to her with a chuckle.

  She turns her head to face me, a shy grin on her lips.

  My own smile stretches across my face, and I open my mouth, the words, “I love you,” ready to slip out. But I come to my senses before I give them voice. Instead I roll onto my side and kiss her, then lever myself up with one arm to give her a playful slap on the ass.

  “Shower time. I’ll get it started, but if you’re not in there by the time the water warms up, I’ll come get you.” I lean down so my mouth is close to her ear. “And then I plan on trying out that plan I mentioned last week.”

  She pulls back and gives me a quizzical look. “What plan?”

  I give her my best wolfish grin. “The one where I eat you all night.” Before she can do more than give me that shocked look I find so adorable when I say something she finds outrageous, I climb off the bed and head for the bathroom.

  Neither of us might get much sleep tonight. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Viola

  Collapsing on a greenroom couch, I take a much-needed break. The guys are finishing up another sound check in another city, Mason’s been extra interested in keeping me up all night lately, and we’ve only had one rest day in the last two weeks.

  I’m exhausted, but there’s still dinner, meet and greets, a concert, and more meet and greets before Mason makes me come at least twice and I can finally let sleep overtake me for a few hours.

  Yawning so big my jaw creaks and my eyes water, I pull an energy drink out of my bag along with my tablet. Opening up the email app, I scan the subject lines to see what needs my immediate attention.

  One from the PR company labeled Dates for Mason snags my attention. Clicking on it, I skim the paragraph explaining that they’ve selected a group of candidates they deem appropriate for him to be seen with on the red carpet at the upcoming awards show where they’ll be performing their hit single with Beckett at the end of our concurrent tour schedule.

  I read the list of names. It’s not long. Only five or six “candidates.” The energy drink I just swallowed threatens to make a reappearance, but I force it back down.

  There’s still almost three weeks before this event, so it wasn’t on my immediate radar. Three weeks in tour land is an eternity. But it also seems to fly by, and I know those three weeks will pass in a blink.

  Closing my eyes, I force myself to take deep breaths and calm down. But imagining Mason with some beautiful starlet on his arm makes me want to hurl. Mine keeps reverberating in my head over and over and over, an unending echo of the word that popped into my head as soon as I laid eyes on that list.

  I have to think about this rationally. Mason’s a star. And according to the public, he’s single. Sure, everyone on the tour knows we’re together, but we haven’t appeared in the entertainment news together. As the drummer, he’s less in the public eye than Marcus or even Danny, who’s something of a media darling with his adorable kids and loving wife. Plus we’re in the middle of a tour, so it’s not like there’s the opportunity to go out on a date where the paparazzi might take our picture. And let’s be honest, we haven’t really discussed the parameters of our relationship beyond sex.

  Are we a couple? Like a real couple like Marcus and Kendra or Blaire and Beckett?

  Or are we just friends who fuck?

  Sighing, I consciously release my possessive jealousy. Just because he goes to some event with a PR-approved woman on his arm doesn’t mean anything. He’s with me because he wants to be with me. It’s not like it wasn’t abundantly clear that he could have his pick of women before we got together.

  Or does he want you because you’re convenient? You’re always here and it’s easy. That was why he and Blaire were fuck buddies, after all.

  I’d love to silence the voice in my head, but it continues whispering doubts at the back of my mind, even when I tell it to hush.

  When the guys come in laughing and talking, Mason’s eyes scan the room and immediately snag on me. I offer him a weak smile, and his brows crease as he breaks away from the group to sit on the couch with me.

  “Hey.” He leans in for a brief kiss. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

  “Do I?” I sit up straighter, shaking my head and consciously trying to smooth the frown from my face. From Mason’s expression, I don’t think I succeed. So I shrug, open the email again, and hand him the tablet.

  He gives me a quizzical look before reading the email, his eyes widening as he takes it in. “Well, fuck that. You’re my date.”

  For just a second, my heart soars at his summary rejection of the list from the PR company. He could literally have any of those beautiful, famous women, and he wants me, which finally shuts up that toxic voice in the back of my head whispering that I don’t really matter to him.

  But then reality crashes in. If I’m on the red carpet with him, I’ll have my picture taken. I’ve seen what the media does to the women who appear on the arms of famous men. Hell, I’ve seen what they do to famous women with strong, thriving careers. I’ve scanned past the headlines about my cousin on social media, dismissing the gossip while my stomach roiled. They made her out to be some kind of gold digger, especially when she got together with Beckett.

  What will they do to me?

  I draw in a shaky breath, looking at the tablet as I retrieve it from Mason’s hands. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. It might be better if you go with one of the women on that list.”

  Mason doesn’t respond, and when I look up, I find him studying me with that furrow between his brows. He looks away and rubs his jaw the way he does when he’s consider
ing something.

  I feel like I’m choking as I realize he must be considering which of those women he’d pick as a date.

  His fingers close around my wrist and he stands, tugging me to my feet behind him. I let him lead me out of the greenroom and down the hall to his dressing room, more than okay with having privacy. I feel like I might cry. Between the emotional high of the last few weeks, chronic sleep deprivation, and the gut punch from that email, I’m all twisted up. None of my reactions right now will be pretty.

  Once we’re in his dressing room, he closes the door gently behind us, takes the tablet out of my hand and sets it on the counter running the length of one wall, then sits on the loveseat in the opposite corner, pulling me into his lap.

  He rubs his jaw again, the silence growing heavy between us. I want to say something, but I don’t know what exactly. And it seems like he has something to say as well, and nerves make my heart race. I have no idea how this encounter will end up, but it seems like it will be important.

  When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, barely louder than a whisper, but firm. “Let me make one thing clear—I have zero interest in attending an event with a date who isn’t you.” He meets my eyes, holding me captive with his unflinching stare like he’s willing me to understand how serious he is. “If you don’t want to be my date, that’s fine. I’ll go alone. But I’m not taking someone for some kind of PR stunt.”

  “But the email said you need a date since the other guys all have significant others.”

  He lets out a long sigh, and his arms cinch tighter around me. “They always say that. I even fell for it a few times. But really it’s just a way for them to up the clout of the women on that list. I’ve done it enough to know that I won’t do it again. I’m tired of being used. And I definitely don’t want to date some random woman who only wants to be seen with me to make herself look better when I’ve got you.”