Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1)

by Diamond, Jaine

  I was hoping it would be enough, that I could get him there like this.

  I knew he was rock-hard, but I barely touched the rest of his dick. I just kept one hand on his balls, my fingers occasionally slithering around the base of his shaft to pull him gently toward me. I tugged on his sac a bit to do the same, gently tipping his cockhead into my mouth if it slipped away.

  He was starting to move beneath me, his hips rolling as I assumed he fought the urge to thrust deeper into my mouth. His cock kept spasming, muscles jerking as I played with him, tensing and swelling as he rode the rising tide of pleasure.

  I dropped down to his base and licked him there, kissed him there, and slid my tongue over his balls. I kissed him and sucked on his sac, then went back to the head. He was panting by now and had both hands in my hair.

  “Danica,” he said, “give me your pussy.”

  Oh, damn… I wasn’t even thinking about myself. About me getting off again.

  Though my pussy was definitely throbbing.

  And Ashley asking for it in that rough, turned-on voice? Demanding it…?

  I suckled on his head as I turned myself around, rearranging myself so I could kneel over his face. Not the world’s most comfortable position. I was trying to be delicate about it, trying to get my pussy in his mouth without feeling like I was shoving my ass in his face. But Ashley had a remedy for that. He simply wrapped his strong arms around my thighs, wrenched me open and slammed me down on his mouth.

  His tongue lashed my clit, his nose was practically up my pussy and there was really no being delicate or polite about this. He splayed his big hands on my ass, spread me open with his thumbs, and started sucking on my clit… and a moan slipped out of my throat.

  I was doing my best to keep sucking on his cockhead, when all I could really register was what he was doing to my pussy… and those strong hands of his, as they started bouncing my hips slightly up-and-down, rubbing my pussy against his mouth as he licked and sucked—and my sudden orgasm scorched right through me.

  I squealed and moaned around the mouthful of his cockhead as my whole body quivered and quaked. I made all kinds of noises that couldn’t possibly be sexy… but I felt his response. His cock flexed and his balls tightened in my hand.

  He groaned, loudly, against my pussy as he started to come—and I sealed my mouth over his cockhead, sucking.

  He was still holding me locked against him, was still eating me out as he spurted in my mouth… his hot come lashing my throat and tongue in long, hot pulses. I swallowed it greedily, desperately, like I was starving for it.

  Yes. Hell yes…

  I sucked on him and squeezed his balls and just hoped to hell I wasn’t hurting him. I completely didn’t touch his shaft, I was sure of that. I swallowed everything, my mouth sealed on him until he was finished and he gasped.

  I let go, kissing his cockhead as we breathed raggedly together.

  Holy hell.

  He’d already come tonight, just a little while ago, while I’d barely touched him… and he’d still pulled that off?

  Of course, there’d been a lot of build-up and tension between us. Maybe it wouldn’t always be this… orgasmic?

  We’d waited what felt like an incredibly long time for this kind of intimacy between us. Our bodies naked and pressed together. Our hands and mouths on each other.

  Making each other feel good.

  Coming together.

  I’d never had sex this hot, with a man this hot… and we hadn’t even fucked yet.

  “How the hell do you do that?” I rasped as I collapsed on top of him.

  “Your pussy,” he rasped back. “Jesus Christ, your fucking pussy…” Then he licked my pussy, thoroughly and like he couldn’t get enough, even though I’d just come in his mouth. He kept licking me until I wriggled away.

  “Can’t…” I gasped. “Oh my God… You’re gonna kill me.”

  He chuckled and sighed. I rolled off him and groped around for my glass of water. I took a sip.

  Then I stared at him, panting. “That was fun.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, and yanked me over to him.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Who the fuck cares.”

  Damn. I took that as a yes… but at least it didn’t seem to bother him. He pulled my face to his and kissed me softly, and I melted all over.

  “You have a nice cock, Ashley,” I told him.

  He groaned. “Go to sleep, Danica. Or my cock is gonna insist on fucking you, and it’s probably gonna hurt, and it’s probably gonna set us back in the healing process.”

  “Fine.” I sighed my frustration and kissed his cheek. “Sleep it is.”

  He slapped my ass, semi-gently, as I cuddled into his side.

  “Can we do that again in a few hours, though?”

  “Maybe,” he said gruffly. And when I looked up at him in the dark, he was smiling.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ash

  The next day, after I’d received a wicked-hot good-morning blowjob from Danica and dropped her at work, I called her. And at the risk of putting myself back in the bullshit friend/client zone, I told her I wanted to show her my house on the island.

  When she made the assumption that I very possibly wanted her to redecorate it for me, did I correct her?

  No.

  Did that make me a dick?

  Probably.

  But my house on the island really didn’t need any redecorating.

  She told me that she really did have professional commitments for the next couple of days that she couldn’t get out of, but she could clear her schedule completely for me on Wednesday.

  “Wednesday it is,” I said.

  Maybe it was for the best I’d have to wait a couple days to get her alone again anyway?

  Hopefully by then, my dick would’ve made a full recovery.

  * * *

  That night, Danica sent me her vortex playlist.

  And what did I do?

  I went straight home after having a few drinks with Coop and Xander. They were both in town and Xander was still playing hard to get about joining my new band—which we didn’t bring up in front of Coop. My ex-bandmates were still my friends, but I wasn’t planning on giving them any details about what I was working on, musically, anytime soon.

  Honestly, I really didn’t want to hear about what they were working on, either.

  When I got home, I ignored all the usual messages from people inviting me out to party with them.

  Summer—party at her place.

  Haz—party at the Kings’ clubhouse.

  Janner—drunk somewhere.

  Random people I’d met before I met Danica—at assorted bars and parties all down the west coast and beyond.

  Not interested.

  Instead, I spent the evening in my new music nook with my Sennheiser HD 800’s on—my favorite headphones—listening to music.

  Danica’s vortex playlist.

  As I listened to it, twice through, repeating a few songs more than twice, it occurred to me that Summer was probably gonna love Danica Vola for her playlist alone.

  And maybe I was gonna love her, too.

  That struck me out of nowhere.

  Love.

  Danica.

  Those two thoughts, for some reason, did not feel diametrically opposed… like the very idea of love and every other person I’d met these last seven months.

  Fact was, other people, however attractive at first drunken glance, repelled me as soon as I’d talked to them for two minutes.

  Or, as soon as I’d gotten off with them.

  Couldn’t help it.

  I didn’t want to fall in love.

  I definitely didn’t want to get my heart smashed again.

  This wasn’t some deep subconscious shit. Since Dylan and Amber broke my heart, I’d been very consciously and purposefully hooking up with people who offered me nothing but a party.

  Danica, though?

  She offered so much more
.

  She left me wanting more.

  Always.

  More of her.

  I knew that was one of the many reasons I was so totally into her.

  And I knew that put me in danger of falling for her, hard.

  Maybe I just had to figure out what the hell I was gonna do about it if I did.

  * * *

  On Wednesday morning, I met Danica by the water in Coal Harbour. She was standing on the seawall waiting for me when I walked up, wearing a peach-colored sundress that was tied at the waist and barely hanging on, the flared skirt flapping in the breeze.

  And a low, open V in front that showed off her tits in a way that told me she had no bra underneath.

  She smiled at me and heat flared in my stomach. This girl hit me in all the right places. It wasn’t just about how she affected my dick.

  She was affecting all the rest of me, too.

  Had been for a while now.

  “Good morning,” she practically sang.

  “What’s in the bags?” I asked her. She had three big shopping bags full of stuff at her feet.

  “Never you mind,” she said, with that smile on her face. She bent to pick them up and I got a sweet view down the front of her dress.

  I moved in and took the bags from her, and led her over to Dylan’s luxury ride, the Dirty Deed.

  “The boat’s not mine,” I informed her as we got in. “It’s Dylan’s.”

  “Cool,” she said, looking around.

  The sun was beating down, but we had a nice mix of sun and shade in the boat. I stashed the bags and grabbed a cider for her from the cooler I’d brought. Strongbow. I cracked it open and handed it over to her, which got me another smile.

  “Oh my God, thank you!” she said, like I’d just handed her a fistful of hundreds, or the world’s cutest puppy or something.

  I cracked myself a soda water—I was responsible like that, when I needed to be—and tapped my drink to hers. I watched her take a long pull, her lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle.

  Then I put on some music. Obviously, if I was gonna bother with Dylan’s luxury boat instead of my own non-luxurious one, I was gonna take advantage of every possible perk that might make Danica happy.

  Not that Danica Vola seemed like the kind of girl who’d fuck a guy for playing the right song for her on a boat, but I really wasn’t gonna risk it if she was.

  I turned it up, and when she heard the start of Empire of the Sun’s “Walking On a Dream,” she knew I was playing her playlist.

  She smiled at me, yet again. And yes, I felt pretty fucking good about it.

  I might’ve also sent her playlist to Summer just for the hell of it, and Summer might’ve told me she loved it, just like I figured she would.

  On her musical tastes alone, I approve, were her exact words.

  I liked the playlist, too. It was mostly a mix of alternative and pop, with a definite new wave bent, most of it stuff I’d never really listened to. But she had a good ear. She’d put thought into it, and clearly her tastes reached beyond whatever happened to be on the radio.

  For me, that was a huge turn-on. No way I could really hang with someone, for any length of time, who wasn’t genuinely into music.

  We settled in, and the ride across the water was decently smooth. When we got to Isabella Island, I pulled up to the dock Dylan and I shared, just south of the northeast point of the island. I helped Danica out, then tied off the boat as she stood by, watching me.

  I tried not to stare as I helped her carry her three bags of whatever up to the house, along with the groceries I’d brought. But ladies first. I insisted on it, mostly so I could get a good look at her bare legs and the way the hem of her dress kept flirting with her thighs.

  Fuck, she was sexy.

  When we’d just barely started up the path, though, she stopped.

  “Wow,” she said. Which was pretty much the first word out of everyone’s mouth when they saw Dylan Cope’s house for the first time. “Is that your place?”

  I glanced at his roof, just visible above the high fence and trees above us. “Yeah. ’Cause I’m just rolling in platinum albums. I’ve got a gold-plated pool in the yard. Hope you brought a bikini. We can go for a dip before we drink all the Cristal.”

  When utter silence greeted me, I glanced at the woman standing next to me. She hadn’t laughed at my joke, so I guessed the bitterness kinda glared through.

  Dylan’s boat wasn’t the only thing that was better than mine.

  Sometimes I was pretty sure I only kept my old boat to make a point about it. Like, Make no mistake, I’m just a regular guy.

  Like I wasn’t even gonna try to compete with him or something.

  “Um, I didn’t mean anything by that,” Danica said softly. “I’m sure your home is lovely, Ashley.”

  Great. I’d made her feel bad.

  You know, because I had small dick syndrome when it came to measuring my successes against my best friend’s.

  Smooth.

  “That’s Dylan’s place,” I said, avoiding the overly-empathetic look in her pretty eyes.

  And now I’d made her feel sorry for me and my small dick syndrome.

  God, was I fucking this up? I liked this girl.

  I could probably fucking love this girl.

  She was so damn feminine. And she was cool and kinda goofy, sweet and sincere, serious but soft. And the way she kept looking at me… Damn, it was gonna do me in.

  “You guys live close to each other?” she said. “That’s so cool. Like me and Taylor.”

  Yeah, I’d already discovered that her best friend, Taylor, lived in the apartment right next to her. When “Master of Puppets” woke us up through the wall, early on Monday morning.

  At least I’d gotten that blowjob shortly afterward. Not such a bad way to wake up.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” I said. “Come on, my place is just up the path.”

  Danica glanced up the path, but no, you couldn’t see my place from here. It was just a single story, unlike Dylan’s soaring two-story palace with the cathedral ceilings and all the gleaming skylights.

  I led her up the path, which wound up to Dylan’s property. At the gate into his yard, we took a left, following the path around his fence and up through the trees. We made our way into my smaller yard, where we passed the other gate—the one in the fence between our side yards, connecting my back door to his back deck.

  “That’s the BFF gate,” I told her as we passed. “Easy access.”

  “This is amazing,” she said, like it really was. “You’re next-door neighbors?”

  “We are. When we’re both home.”

  “So cool. Just like Taylor and me,” she said again.

  I doubted that.

  Yeah? Did you fall in love with her, then kiss her, then get rejected by her?

  I didn’t ask.

  “Come on in.” I unlocked my back door and held it open for her. We set the bags on the island in the kitchen, then I showed her around, giving her the quick tour.

  Two bedrooms in back, master and guest. En suite bathroom off the master bedroom. Guest bathroom in the hall. Utility room. Open concept living room/dining room, kitchen open to both with the small island in the middle.

  The place was kind of rustic-looking and polished at the same time. It was custom built by a carpenter who’d truly loved it and lived here for just over a decade before I bought it off him. Lots of gleaming wood, walls painted in deep colors, some plaid here and there that made it feel warm and casual without making it tacky.

  Just like my other home, it was pretty sparse in terms of stuff.

  The only bright room in the place was the kitchen right in the middle. Even though there were lots of windows, the house was surrounded by trees that blocked most of the natural light. But it didn’t bother me. If I wanted light, I’d just go outside.

  Most of the time when I was over here, I was on my mountain bike or my boat anyway. Or at Dylan’s place next door.


  “So what’s in the bags?” I asked Danica as we came full circle back to the kitchen.

  “Oh, just a few things I brought for you. No big deal at all.” I watched as she pulled one of her aunt’s blue bakery boxes from a bag.

  And Christ… I’d seriously never thought I liked the nice girls. But this girl was super fucking nice, and it was doing something to me.

  It was warming over my cold, broken heart.

  “Jesus,” I said, “are you always this giving?”

  Danica looked kinda stricken. “I mean… I’m not even sure why you’d say that,” she said as she pulled out two more bakery boxes and set them on the island.

  “I wonder.” I watched her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Hey, Danica. What’s in the boxes?”

  “Just some lemon wedges, Ashley. And croissants and Danishes,” she said, as she started laying the boxes open.

  “Three boxes’ worth? There’s two of us.”

  “Well… your neighbors might be hungry.”

  “Uh-huh. See what I mean?”

  “Really,” she said, “if I’m bringing a few, I might as well bring a few more, right?”

  “Right. And then there was your overly generous free consultation—”

  “Those are pretty standard.” She threw me a sidelong look that was probably meant to shush me.

  Didn’t work.

  “With the amount of work you put into it? I doubt that.”

  “Doubt away,” she said cheerily. But I knew I was right. She’d definitely gone overboard on the consultation and follow-up, before she had any financial commitment from me. Hadn’t even billed me yet, either.

  “And your candles…” I added, as I watched her unpacking some from one of the bags.

  “Not a big deal,” she repeated.

  My eyebrow rose steadily as she kept pulling them out of the bag like clowns from a clown car. “Seven of them?”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure how big your house was, and I thought at least one per room is nice…” She threw me a glance, and bit her lip when she found me staring at her. “They’re just candles. I had some extras kicking around.”