Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  She glanced at where I clutched the tree and shook her head.

  “Why don’t you put those hands to use?” She shook out her dark curls, her expression wicked and mesmerizing. “Grab my hair and show me how you want it. Take control, Max. I can handle it.”

  Holy hell.

  “Are you sure?”

  She answered by placing her mouth a hair’s breadth from my cockhead, her expression telling me that if I wanted it, I had to take it.

  “I hope you mean it.”

  I wove my fingers in her curls, my palms flat against the back of her head as I took a deep breath and eased myself in her mouth. She was hot, scalding, and sucked me with a tight hold on my dick. She took almost all of me as she tested just how far I could go and still make this good for her.

  Kit’s eyes shone as they watched me, little sounds of pleasure escaping with each thrust and vibrating around me to add another layer of sensation.

  She let go of me, giving me total control of this joining and I set up a rhythm. Not slow. Not fast. Calculated to keep us both on edge, to bring us within sight of the ecstasy but unable to catch it. My body was tight with the effort to make it last, that telltale tingle of warmth in my lower back alerting me to the fact that I was about to lose control.

  I was a great collector of blowjobs. I’d begun early with several girls in the hayloft on my family farm and I loved them. Sitting back and taking my pleasure, the God–like control, the carnal bliss at watching a girl work hard to get me off. I loved it. I was a guy and, like any man, I was a pig when my thoughts turned to how down and dirty it could get.

  But nothing—not a goddam thing—prepared me for the sight of Kit on her knees, her mouth open for me, her tongue tasting every inch of me.

  “Kit, I’m going to come.”

  She moaned around me and her eyes fluttered closed. I looked down and the picture before me finished me off. Kit’s right hand had disappeared under her skirt as she brought herself to a body–jerking orgasm. The knowledge that she got off on this little scene pushed me beyond the edge and I fell into the chasm. My eyes slid shut, my hips thrusting forward as I tried to pull out.

  Kit shook her head and gripped my hips to keep me where I was and I shot. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t slow down. I could only hang on to her for dear life as she brought me down to where no woman ever had before.

  Aw fuck. I was a goner. I was hooked on Kit. She was going to have to beat me off with a stick for the next three weeks now that I knew just how fucking awesome we were together. Damn, it was going to be hard to let her go when our time was up.

  Beautiful. Smart. Talented. A sex kitten in and out of bed.

  If I was smart, I’d keep her.

  I’d never been a smart guy.

  “Goddam. Look at you,” I whispered, my voice rough and harsh to my ears. “You’re gorgeous.”

  I pulled out of her mouth and yanked her to her feet.

  I slid my hand through her hair to cup the back of her neck. She shivered as my lips took a slow slide across her jaw, cheekbones, and barely brushed across her lips. It wasn’t enough.

  I plunged into her mouth, taking the kiss directly to that crazy point where I was ready to forget where we were, strip her down and take her on the ground. My hands shook, groin tightening when I tasted me on her tongue. I let her go.

  She barely contained the protest on her lips as her eyes fluttered open and met my gaze. She swayed a little on her feet. I knew what she was feeling—my world had tilted on its axis, too.

  I shoved myself back in my jeans. “My place isn’t far from here. This party needs to go there now. I’ve got a big bed and I want you naked in it all night. My neighbors aren’t close enough to hear anything and I feel like making you scream.”

  She grabbed my arm and tugged. “Let’s go.”

  I smiled and followed her up the path, deciding to leave my chairs for Dean to bring to me tomorrow. I wasn’t going back to the bonfire because if someone tried to start chit chatting, I’d kill them.

  I overtook her, clasping her hand in mine as I planned our exit. I was so caught up in Kit and the evening ahead that I didn’t notice the cop cars until they turned on the blue lights and hit the siren for a couple of cycles.

  I hadn’t thought anything could bring me down from my Kit–induced high but this was a buzz–kill.

  People scattered, running in opposite directions as they desperately tried to avoid the four police officers. I heard truck doors slamming, engines starting as some lucky bastards made their escape.

  We weren’t so lucky.

  They didn’t cuff us but they wasted no time in assisting us into the back of the police car while the several other people they’d caught were leaning up against the second vehicle in a straight line. We sat in silence mainly because I had no fucking clue what to say. I’d had some crazy shit happen on dates but I’d never been arrested for trespassing.

  The officers recognized Kit and they were just a few steps away discussing exactly what they were going to do. They’d come here expecting to round up a bunch of rowdy underage drinkers and ended up with a hodge–podge of members of the fire department and a woman whose picture was on the cover of this week’s People magazine.

  “Kit. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Her voice was low, tense. I wasn’t dumb enough to say that it was okay when this clearly was not. “I’ll give Ron a call when I get a chance. He’ll clear this up.”

  What she didn’t say was obvious—getting us out of the slammer would be easy but keeping it out of the press wouldn’t be. It would be impossible to keep it from my boss.

  I opened my mouth and then shut it. I really had nothing here.

  A truck pulled up, its high beams temporarily blinding us all. A collective protest went up from the crowd and luckily the driver killed the lights. A farmer hopped out of the cab and made his way over to the cops. He was in his mid–fifties, wearing a ball cap, T–shirt, jeans and boots and an expression that said he was fucking pissed. The cops immediately went on alert.

  “Sir, you need to get back in your truck and leave.”

  “This is my land—”

  “That’s fine, sir, but you still need to go.”

  “I’m sick of all these kids coming here and leaving their trash and messing with my crops,” he boomed out, determined to have his say.

  This wasn’t anything new. For as long as kids have grown up in the country, they’ve partied in barns, hunting sheds, and open fields, and the property owners have hated it.

  “I understand, sir.” The larger officer moved over to the man, exposing us to his line of sight. The farmer peered into the vehicle, curious to see who was in the back of the car. He looked away and then returned his gaze to our faces and I knew the minute he recognized Kit. The cops knew it, too; their bodies tensed as he leaned over and shouted, the thin line gone and replaced with a huge grin.

  “Is that Kit Landry?” He didn’t wait for anyone to answer, taking off his hat as he waved at her. “My name’s Brian Wood. I’m a huge fan. My wife is, too. We have every one of your albums.”

  Kit leaned forward, giving him a small wave and a smile. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.” She turned towards me and gave me the “go along with it” look. “This is Max.”

  I waved, following her lead.

  “You’re that guy who saved her from the fire.”

  “Yes, sir. Nice to meet you.”

  Kit took over the conversation again, stepping out of the vehicle and over to Brian. “I’m really sorry about trespassing. We didn’t mean to.”

  “Don’t you worry about that; just some harmless kids.” He waved off her apology and plowed on as if it was the most normal thing in the world to fan girl all over her while Nashville’s men in blue stood by with people they’d arrested based on his complaint.

  “She’s going to be upset that she missed meeting you. We couldn’t get tickets to your concert here. The cheap seats sol
d out too fast.”

  Kit reached out and touched his arm, giving him an even bigger smile. “I’d be happy to get y’all tickets and VIP passes to that show as an apology for tonight.”

  “You can?” He looked at the officers, nudging them with an elbow and chuckling. “That would be so nice. Very nice.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” She gestured towards the others still lined up against the other police car. “And we can let everybody go?”

  “Oh sure.” He could have agreed to let aliens give him an anal probe as focused as he was on digging his phone out of his pocket. He fished it out and held it up with an even bigger grin. “Can I get a picture?”

  “Absolutely.” Kit took the phone from him and handed it over to the big officer who took it with a smile. I bit back a snicker at how she’d manipulated this entire situation. It was genius. Somebody should have started a slow clap in tribute.

  Brian looped a burly arm over her shoulders and pulled her in tight. Kit’s eyes got a little bigger with the surprise at being manhandled, but she recovered and smiled for the photograph. In between the time to set up the “just in case” second shot, she turned to me and winked. The expression on her face was pure mischief and it looked good on her. Really good.

  I laughed out loud and she joined me. We were both crazy, relieved from dodging the bullet and high on being together. Nothing about this night was what I expected but I was glad I hadn’t missed it. And if I believed in that emotion, I might have fallen a little bit in love in the back of that cop car.

  16

  Kit

  I wasn’t laughing now.

  My hands shook and my vision went blurry as I threw the pictures onto the island in my kitchen and reached for the edge to support myself. My entire body had gone slack, my skin prickly with that feeling that usually preceded throwing up.

  The tabloids were full of my little run–in with the law the night before but the coverage was all about how I’d given the property owner the VIP passes and tickets. Brian had wasted no time sending the pictures of us together to a local affiliate and the story he told was the kind of good publicity I could never buy.

  But this. What I was looking at was the kind of story that sunk careers and sent you to Branson.

  The Daily Scoop had provided the entire package to me and my label as “a courtesy” before they printed them all. I was welcome to provide a comment and they’d be happy to run it. I was going to find this Earle guy at the Daily Scoop and rip his balls off. It wouldn’t stop the story from running but it would make me feel better. My ears were still ringing from the irate telephone call from Liam Connor and the sound of him breaking a vase in his office. I didn’t know which one he’d shattered but I would find out later at my command appearance in his presence.

  Fuck.

  I looked down at the photos and papers on my counter and came up short with any way to make this mess any better. This was ugly. This was likely the final nail in the coffin of my career.

  The pictures were dark and grainy but what was in them couldn’t be denied.

  Me.

  On my knees.

  With Max’s cock in my mouth.

  And as if the photos weren’t bad enough, the accompanying article was ugly. It made me out to be a two–timing slut with Max and Tyler and hinted that I had started drinking again. Just what I needed right now when the label was going to such pains to maintain/fix my image. As Liam had screamed, “America’s fucking Sweetheart does not suck off some guy like a twenty–dollar whore.” I bit back my reply that she obviously did, but I wisely kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t billed as a Pollyanna but this was really over the top and country music sponsors were largely conservative. They overlooked my multicolored hair, the tattoos, and my songs that talked about sex and drinking, but this was going to cost lucrative endorsements for me personally and for my tour.

  Bridget and Ron walked over and each took their turn viewing the pictorial train wreck. Their expressions morphed from concern to absolute horror as they saw the photographs. I sat on the nearest barstool, unable to do anything but stare at the shiny silver surface of my fridge.

  Bridget sat down beside me and grabbed my hand. “Kit, honey, this is gonna be okay. Your lawyers are going to stop them from printing the article and it will all blow over.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but I appreciated her effort.

  “This is bad, Bridget, and we all know it.” I leaned forward, resting my cheek on the cool granite countertop. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the label used my morals clause to ditch my contract.”

  “You’ve been thinking of buying it out.”

  “There’s a whole world of difference between walking away and getting kicked out.”

  My door buzzer sounded and I glanced at the clock. It was Max. He’d texted to say he’d be over this morning. I wasn’t the only one whose boss was going to be less than thrilled about our sex life getting front page headlines. This new development was going to get him in serious trouble.

  “Ron, can you let Max in?”

  He cursed, but walked to the door, looking at the video monitor before buzzing him up. When his footsteps got to the door, Ron ripped it open and walked away, but not before giving Max a dirty look. I had no clue what was going on between the two of them, but psychoanalyzing their relationship was the least of my priorities.

  “Lover–boy’s here.”

  “Kiss my ass, Ron,” Max replied as he walked over to me. He didn’t like what he saw because he stopped in his tracks about three steps in front of me. “What happened?”

  I gestured towards the pile of career–ending shit on my countertop. “See for yourself.” I needed to warn him. “It’s bad.”

  He picked up the sheaf of papers and as he progressed I saw his complexion go from tan to shockingly pale. His hands shook, from anger or what, I don’t know, but he was messed up and my heart went out to him.

  We weren’t just fuck–buddies. We were friends and I hated to see anyone brought down because of me.

  “I’m sorry, Max.”

  His eyes were blazing when he looked at me. Anger... it was pure fury. “For what?”

  “You would have never been a target for those vultures if I wasn’t in the mix. They are after me and I dragged you into this with me.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you had to do a lot of arm–twisting for him to let you give him a blowjob,” Ron sneered.

  I turned on him. “Ron, shut the hell up. I know what I did. I know you don’t approve, but it’s done.”

  “You would have never let this happen if it wasn’t for him.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You used to be careful.” Ron advanced on me, his face screwed up with his own frustration. “You used to know what had to be done and you’d do it. You avoided trouble like him.”

  “Kit is entitled to live her life—” Max joined the argument, but Ron cut him off.

  “Oh, what the fuck do you know about it? You can’t even keep your dick in your pants long enough to get through the department Christmas party!” He laughed when Max took a step back, his surprise written all over his face. “What? You didn’t think I had you checked out? I knew you were bad news for her after the deep–throat kissing at the commendation ceremony. I told you to stay away. But what the fuck do you care? You got your rocks off and now this affair is over, so get the hell out.”

  “Don’t act like you know what’s going on between me and Kit.”

  “What? Is this a love match now? Are you going to live happily ever after?”

  I sucked in a breath at his words as my heart did a leap. I locked eyes with Max as we both faced off over the words that still hung in the air like fog.

  Jesus. Why did I wish that Max would answer him? Why did I want him to tell Ron it was different than what he’d said? I was standing on the edge of making a very big mistake when it came to this man and the involvement of my feelings. Every fiber in me screamed for me to tread care
fully and I was listening.

  “I don’t think our status is the issue here. We need to figure out what we’re going to do about this story and these pictures. Now,” I said.

  The silence that followed was complete as we all calmed down. Not even my appliances had the balls to make a sound while we all brainstormed a way to get out of this mess.

  Bridget spoke first, her voice low and cool. The eye of the storm, as always. “You have a meeting with Liam Connor at two. I think you’re going to want to meet with your attorneys and security before that one.”

  “I put a call into the firm and they are looking into a legal injunction to stop the Daily Scoop from printing the pictures,” Ron offered, scrolling through his phone. “I have Mandy at the office checking the Internet to make sure they aren’t out there already. We need to get Earle Foster to name his source.”

  I was still staring at Max so I saw his reaction to the reporter’s name. He jumped and then rubbed his jaw with a large, calloused hand while walking towards the big bank of windows that faced the street, a nerve twitching in his left temple.

  I braced for impact. I’d had enough bad news in my life to know when it was coming.

  “He approached me to get a story on you, Kit.”

  “What?” This was the first I’d heard of any reporter approaching Max. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t think it was important,” he said as he swiveled to face me. “I would never take the money or sell your story and I figured he would go away...” he sighed. “Dean told me to tell you. He told me you’d be hurt if you found out this way.” He clenched his fists at his side in frustration. “We were supposed to be about having fun and I didn’t want to weigh our time down by bringing up all the crap you were trying to forget. I never thought he would find another source at the party. Never.”

  “So which one of your buddies sold you out?” Ron asked.

  Max sighed and kept his eyes locked on mine. I wanted to reach out and touch him, as if a physical connection would help me sort this out. Did I believe him? My track record with men wasn’t great. It would have been no surprise that I’d been fooled—again.