Finding His Redemption

by Melanie A. Smith

  Still, he uses only his mouth, his tongue tasting every inch between my legs. Swirling over my most sensitive spot. Dipping into me teasingly. Setting a mad pace between the two.

  He pulls away. “Maxi, look at me.”

  I lift my head and our eyes meet. His eyes don’t leave mine as he slides two fingers into me. As he begins to pump them. As he reaches up with his other hand to apply pressure to my clit just so …

  And I’m coming. I throw my head back as my orgasm explodes through my center, the energy spreading quickly through my entire body. I hit my peak and let out a sigh, cresting back down languidly as he withdraws.

  As he pulls off his tie and shucks the rest of his clothing, I scoot back to the head of the bed and watch. I’ve seen pictures of West with his shirt off before, but I’ve never seen it in person. So when he removes the jacket, vest, and shirt, I’m treated to a pleasant surprise. He’s more cut than he ever was in his younger years, though not bulky. His biceps, though … I didn’t realize how huge they were. I’m definitely staring at him as hard as he was at me.

  “Careful or you might set me on fire with that look,” he says with a teasing note in his voice.

  My eyes flick up to meet his. “I’m not sorry. You’re fucking hot, West.”

  He laughs and crawls over the bed to me, capturing my lips with his. I pull at his unlatched belt, freeing it from his pants. As I work at the button on his slacks, he pulls back.

  “I’m going to say this now, because I’m pretty sure once you get these off I’m not going to be up for talking,” he teases.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?” I don’t admit how much the implied promise makes my toes curl.

  He smirks down at me, balancing over me in a way that makes his biceps that much more defined. God, I just want to lick them.

  “I haven’t had sex with anyone in over two years,” he admits. “And STDs were, thankfully, one of the few things I managed to avoid. You?”

  I pull a surprised face that he doesn’t miss but also doesn’t comment on.

  “It’s been a year. And I’m clean,” I reply.

  He grins. “Good.” He leans in and kisses me chastely. “Are you on birth control?”

  “Yep. Shots. But I’d still prefer to use condoms. You okay with that?”

  West leans in, running his nose down my neck. “I just basically heard you say you’re ready for me to fuck you,” he murmurs in my ear. “So I don’t care if you want me to wear a fruit roll-up, there’s no way I’m saying no.”

  I laugh and lean toward the nightstand, fishing out the box of condoms that’s probably gotten dusty, it’s been in there so long. I check the date, hoping that they aren’t expired.

  “Oh thank god, there’s a good month left on these,” I say with relief.

  “Are you sure? Because I can always go get more,” he teases, pretending like he’s about to leave.

  “Just get over here and fuck me,” I reply impatiently.

  He grins and climbs onto the bed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  And as promised, he stops talking and removes his pants in earnest.

  When he turns back to me, I get a full view of exactly how ready he is for this. But after more than two years, that’s not exactly surprising. Still. The sight of him hard for me is just … mind-blowing.

  He reaches over me to grab a condom while I’m busy staring at his cock, then lets me keep watching as he rolls it down his length.

  As he settles between my legs, I continue to watch him in disbelief. He stares down at where our bodies meet, carefully rubbing himself over me. I throw my head back. It feels so damn good. And as he presses at my entrance, easing himself in slowly, I almost lose it.

  “God, Maxi, you’re so tight,” he says.

  And then he moves and holy shit.

  I gasp and open my eyes to find him watching me. I bite into my bottom lip and he goes harder. I nod and he tips his head back, clearly enjoying this as much as I am as he goes even faster.

  Watching him fuck me is the sexiest thing I have ever or will ever see. The tight muscles of his stomach contract, his dark eyes are hooded, the low rumbling in his chest beyond turning me on.

  I move with him, encouraging him to keep building. And as he does, the beginnings of an orgasm start to swirl in me again.

  “Maxi.”

  My eyes pop open, though I hadn’t realized they were closed. His dark eyes meet mine, and I can see in their depths why he brought me back. He’s close to the edge.

  I pull him down to meet me, kissing him sweetly before wrapping my legs around him. I tilt with him, hard and purposefully, and moments later he’s groaning out his orgasm, his face buried in my hair. My orgasm sputters, hanging in the balance as he slows.

  I whimper, and his head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine. I see the realization there.

  And he picks up the pace again.

  “Oh,” I exclaim, surprised at how hard he still is.

  “You like that?” he murmurs in my ear, pumping again.

  “Yes,” I admit on a groan.

  He keeps going, somehow still hard. The tightening in my low belly intensifies, my orgasm regaining speed. Knowing he can’t do this forever, I slip my hand between us, swirling a finger over my clit in time to his thrusts.

  He leans up on his arms and watches me as he continues to fuck me. I nod my encouragement. He goes harder. My free hand grips the pillow behind my head and I wordlessly nod, swirling faster.

  He starts slamming so hard it hurts, but it’s exactly what I needed to tip me over the edge. My back bows against the force of the climax that unfurls in my veins. His hand reaches down to grip my hip, joining us as deeply as he can, and it sends pleasure ricocheting through my entire body once more.

  As I relax, I slump back down. I feel totally boneless as I stare up at him. He’s sweaty and panting and a complete surprise. What kind of man comes then keeps going just to get you off?

  I shake my head in disbelief. And gratitude. God, that was hot.

  And then another thought flits through my mind. I just got thoroughly fucked by Kristoffer Westberg. I bite my lip, but it doesn’t stop the shit-eating grin that spreads over my face.

  “Well, you look happy,” he remarks as he pulls out and makes to dispose of the condom.

  “After that? How could I not be?” I murmur happily.

  He slides back into bed next to me. “Good,” he says, placing a kiss on my neck. “Because after we’ve rested, we are going to do that again.”

  “Promise?” I ask with another grin.

  God, I can’t stop smiling. It was beyond good. And the thought of doing it again … well, I don’t dare to hope he enjoyed it as much as I did. Because giving in and believing he really wants me are two different things.

  He rolls on top of me, caging me under him. I slide my arms around his neck. “Promise. I’m just sad we waited so long to figure this out.”

  “Figure what out?” I ask, puzzled.

  “How good we are together.”

  I worry at my bottom lip. He can’t mean what my heart wants to hope he means. No. He surely must mean all the bickering we’ve done could’ve been avoided if we’d simply just hopped in the sack together in the first place.

  “Cute. But I don’t think sex would’ve magically fixed all of our problems.”

  West grins and leans in, kissing me gently. “I’m not just talking about sex.”

  My heart melts. And with those six words, I’m a goner.

  16

  Bad Case of Loving You by Robert Palmer

  * * *

  West

  As I enter band rehearsal on Monday, I’m greeted by a slow clap. And it’s not just the band. There’s actual crew today, which means tour prep has officially begun.

  I grin like a fool, spreading just one arm out since I’m carrying Rosie with the other, welcoming the attention. The recognition that I pulled it off, from the people who really count. It probably doesn’t hurt that I just spent the l
ast two days buried in Maxi either, which was its own kind of reward. Yep. Right now, life is pretty fucking good.

  “Thank you, thank you,” I call magnanimously. “You may all bow and scrape now.”

  Nik approaches and punches me playfully in the gut. “You wish,” she taunts.

  I double over, feigning injury. “Not the thanks I was hoping for.”

  She smirks and picks up her bass, hopping up onto the small stage.

  James walks by and claps me on the back. “Punching is Nik-speak for ‘I’m proud of you,’” he jokes.

  I shoot him a smirk knowing that’s James-speak for “I’m proud of you too.” But nothing is less rock and roll than hugging and sharing your emotions. So I know that’s the most I’m going to get from any of them. Except maybe Ward when we’re alone. Dude’s scarily in touch with his feelings these days.

  With a chuckle, I unzip the gig bag and get Rosie ready for rehearsal. “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble teasingly. “West took one for the team, whatever.”

  “Hey, we played our parts,” Michael protests. “I mean, I can’t say it wasn’t fun hearing you grovel, though.”

  I snort. “Too bad it was all for the cameras then, huh?”

  I’m looking down as I tune Rosie, but when eerie silence falls after my words, I look back up.

  Everyone is staring at me.

  “What?” I ask innocently.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ward pipes up.

  My head swings toward him standing at the mixing boards with one of the techs.

  “Uh. No. You all knew it was just for show.” A bunch of shocked faces stare back at me and my heart drops. “You didn’t know?”

  “Uh. No,” James mocks. “Seriously, West?”

  I set Rosie down carefully, because I just went from zero to pissed in two seconds flat, and I don’t want to hurt her. “Seriously. I signed up to do what was asked of me. Nobody ever said it had to be real.”

  “That was kind of the whole fucking point, though, wasn’t it?” Nik says. “I mean, why even do it if you didn’t mean it?” She shakes her head in disgust.

  “You guys can’t be serious,” I insist. I gesture at Nik. “You’re the one who said, ‘Just go with it.’” Then I fling an arm Michael’s direction. “And you were the one who told me if I didn’t do it, we were done. So I fucking did what I had to. Nobody ever said it had to be real.”

  “And I said not to be selfish,” James points out. “That you weren’t done making this up to people.”

  “I humiliated myself on a worldwide broadcast seen by hundreds of millions of people,” I seethe. “A broadcast, that I might add, once it was edited and narrated bore little resemblance to what actually happened anyway. It was all a PR opportunity mashed up with placating the masses. Even if there had been any truth in there, it would’ve been lost in editing.”

  Ward shakes his head as the techs skitter out the door, clearly realizing this shit isn’t going to get better and not wanting to get caught in the middle.

  “What about your own conscience, man?” Ward nudges.

  “My demons are my own. The only people whose opinions I care about are in this room,” I insist.

  “Yeah, and what about us?” Ward presses, now the clear voice for the group as everyone else has fallen silent. “Was your apology to us bullshit too?”

  I press my lips together, and if looks could kill, Ward would be six feet under.

  “Don’t go there.” I shoot glares at each of them. “Look, you guys may be pissed off at me, but I really thought you knew. Either way, this absolutely does not leave this fucking room unless you want to undo everything I worked for. Because whether the apologies themselves were real or not, I just went through a whole ration of shit to get us back on track. I swear I thought I was doing what you guys wanted me to. So please, don’t throw me under the bus now. You’d just be fucking yourselves over.”

  Nik snorts. “We’re not stupid. Of course we’re not going to say anything.”

  James stares at me sadly. Then, after a minute offers, “I’ll talk to the techs too.”

  My gaze flips back to Ward.

  “All right. What about Max, then, West? Don’t think I don’t know where you slipped off to on Friday night. Where you’ve been all weekend.”

  “Oh, so you’re stalking me now, are you?” I throw at him accusingly.

  Ward shakes his head. “I’m just looking out for you, bro. Things have clearly changed between you two. How’s Max going to feel when she finds out?”

  “She’s not in this room, is she?” I snap back.

  By his expression I can tell he gets exactly what I mean. I hadn’t planned on telling her, even though I’m pretty sure she already knows.

  But then, I thought the band knew too.

  And clearly Nik gets my meaning too, because she can’t keep herself from jumping in and offering, “This is the chick who hated you? You’re with her now?” She snorts. “Yeah. Lying to her seems like a great idea.”

  “What is this, thank-West-by-making-him-feel-like-shit day?” I snap. But deep down I’m irritated because I know they have a point. About Max, at least.

  If she doesn’t already know like I thought she did, how will she take it? Will she be furious? Or will she understand that I was doing what I had to?

  “No,” Michael mutters, going back to adjusting his kit. “Apparently this is bitch-smack-West-with-reality day.”

  “Great. Consider me bitch-smacked,” I reply sarcastically. “Can we just rehearse already?”

  Michael shrugs noncommittally. Everyone else stays silent but goes back to setting up, except for James, who I can only assume is going to talk to the techs before bringing them back in.

  Great. Just fucking great. A few minutes ago I was high on life. And now I’m debating whether I should play it safe and keep my mouth shut or risk it all so see if I’ve started something with Max on a foundation of lies.

  As I finish tuning Rosie, I let out a heavy sigh. Because I know what I have to do. It’s what I should do. It’s what the me of a few years ago would’ve never done. I’ve got to talk to her.

  God, I hope I was right in the first place. I hope she already knows.

  But my decision just proves how bad I’ve got it for Maxi Marshall. Because the last thing I want to do is break her heart by lying. But to be the guy she deserves, if I’m wrong, I may end up breaking her heart with the truth.

  17

  You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi

  * * *

  Max

  What’s the best way to cap off one of the best weeks of your career as a rock music journalist? Sex. Definitely sex. With a rock star. Which I’m very much looking forward to when West gets here … oh, any minute now.

  I imagine most people would want to go slow. I mean, we just got together a week ago. Or maybe have dinner first. And sure, I’m hungry. But all week, I was sent messages about the show. Fans wanting to know if we’re going to share more content online. Band managers asking me to feature their acts. The owners of the magazine personally gushing about what a great job I did.

  Sure, I’m proud of myself. But every bit of praise made me think of West. How none of it would’ve been possible without his stubborn ass tracking me down. And how far he’s come since then. How far we’ve come.

  It didn’t hurt that he spent most of last weekend showing me all the ways he knew how to use those talented fingers of his. Plus, you know, the rest of him.

  And the pillow talk. Good lord. I forgot what the beginning felt like. Fresh and exciting and … well, pretty much a lust fest.

  And I’m ready for Lust Fest Part Deux.

  Dressed in skintight black jeans and a low-cut Sex Pistols tee, I definitely look groupie-level hot. So I’m pretty confident he’s not going to care about skipping straight to the good stuff.

  He’s only fifteen minutes late when there’s a knock on the door. I’d call that progress.

  I swing the door open with a g
rin, ready for seduction … only to find, in place of the smoking hot sex god musician, there’s a broody tired-as-fuck-looking hot mess of a man leaning against my doorframe.

  “West?” I say, bemused.

  His eyes search mine. All of the warmth and playfulness they usually hold is absent. A pit forms in my stomach.

  “Can I come in?” he finally says.

  I step back. “Sure, of course.”

  As I close the door, he walks in, kicking off his shoes and settling onto my old, tan leather couch. Well, sitting. He’s not particularly settled as I take a seat next to him. More like perched on the edge of the cushion. And one finger is drawing circles on his knee. Shit.

  “Rough week?” I ask tentatively.

  His eyes flick up to meet mine.

  “I have to ask you a difficult question,” he hedges.

  Something about his tone makes the pit in my stomach grow. “Okay,” I reply slowly.

  He looks down and his finger continues to work clockwise on his dark jeans.

  “The apology tour,” he starts. “Did you …” He looks up at me “…did you believe it?”

  My brows scrunch together.

  “Are you worried that it seemed fake?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No. I know the public ate it up. I’m asking if you believed it.”

  I lean back, unsure quite how to answer that. “Um. Yeah? I guess. I mean, you probably remember that I gave you shit at the beginning because your apology with Ward seemed too easy. And, you know, we both know the one with your dad was fake as fuck. That’s not to say I blame you in the least. But other than that … of course.” I pause, trying to work out what’s bothering him. “Did someone else call bullshit? Is that what’s upsetting you? Because I’ll totally kick their ass.”

  He huffs a small laugh at the joke. “So if the other apologies were fake … would you blame me?”