As You Were (Rising Star Book 2)

by Lee Piper

  Warmth spreads through me. The thought of having this much power over a man like Zeke is headier than any aphrodisiac I’ve ever known. It’s not something I’d ever take lightly though, and I promise myself never to take advantage of his weakness.

  Okay, maybe a little. But only because I’m horny.

  My fingers skim the side of his face. “Then why did you stop?”

  “Because you’re sick. I’m not going to fuck the living hell out of you when you’ve got a virus.” Shaking his head, he mutters, “Thank fuck the doctor said it’s not contagious.”

  “But I’m feeling better.”

  Zeke levels me with a flat stare.

  “I am,” I insist. “I’m rested, fed, and so freaking turned on it’s borderline painful.”

  He smirks. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not fucking you until you’re 100 percent recovered.”

  “I am recovered.” Grinding against his still hard cock, I moan, “And I’m so close.”

  “Already?” His pupils dilate. “Jesus.”

  “Yes, and you’re”—I wiggle, he groans—“right there.”

  “No.” He untangles me from his waist and props me back on my feet. “Not until I say so.”

  I huff. “You’re such a tease.”

  He snorts.

  My arms wave in agitation. “Now what am I going to do, huh? I’m all revved up with nowhere to go.” Narrowing my eyes, I poke him in the bicep. “This is all your fault.”

  He grabs my finger, raises it to his mouth, and bites it. Watching his teeth nip my skin is enough to make me light-headed.

  “Let’s go to the studio,” he suggests, kissing away the sting I didn’t even notice was there. “There’s some mixing I need to finish on the last track, and you can play guitar while I do it. Two birds, one stone.”

  “Fine.” Though secretly I’m ecstatic at being able to play music again. “But you owe me an orgasm.”

  His expression turns carnal. “Not one, little siren. As many as you can handle.”

  I’m the only person in the studio. Zeke’s in the production room, pretending to focus on whatever the heck he’s doing while casting heated looks my direction every two seconds. His gaze teases the sliver of skin between my cropped T-shirt and denim cutoffs. It caresses the indentation left on my shoulder from the guitar strap digging into my flesh. And it sparks when I stare back, daring him to bridge the divide and come at me with everything he’s got.

  He doesn’t.

  His willpower is stronger than mine—it’s beyond frustrating. So choosing to focus on something other than jean-clad temptation, I glance away.

  My fingers slide up and down the fretboard, the calluses on my left hand softer than they were four days ago. It won’t take long for them to toughen, but until then, the steel strings cut into me, reminding me with every note that I haven’t picked up the instrument in days.

  Closing my eyes, I count myself in. Boom. Music surrounds me, flows through me, bleeds from deep within me, and calm descends.

  I have no idea how long I play. Time passes in a passage of well-crafted notes, the minutes marked in complex riffs. Eventually, the last soundwave fades through the speaker and I close my eyes, smiling.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to the Mousai, goddesses of music, before placing my guitar back on its stand. With a bounce in my step, I head to the production room, pleased the virus didn’t affect my ability.

  Bounding into the small room, I grin. “Did you hear the final bar of my song? I did what Kai taught me and it—”

  Yikes.

  Zeke’s eyes are dark, so dark. They’re several shades darker than I’ve ever seen them. Sitting in the office chair with his back to the console, he stares at me, his gaze hungry. His strong thighs are parted, the material of his jeans taut. It takes everything I have not to step between them, drop to my knees, and release his cock from the confines.

  What the hell am I thinking? Zeke’s not going to let me put his cock in my mouth.

  He made it perfectly clear we’re keeping our distance until I’m completely recovered. I pause, a small smile playing about the corner of my mouth. He’s obviously rethinking his rule if the tic in his jaw is anything to go by.

  “Are you okay?” Husky. Nailed it.

  Hands clench into fists, his forearms and biceps rippling with each squeeze of his fingers. I love his strength. I love the barely restrained, animalistic—

  No.

  Blinking, I shift my gaze away. Instead, I focus on the myriad of dials and buttons on the console behind Zeke. Not nearly as beautiful, but a much safer option.

  “Look at me.”

  If I gaze into his eyes and see need reflected back, it’ll be all over. I’ll be unzipping his fly with my teeth before he’s even blinked.

  “Willow,” he growls. “Look at me.”

  Butterfly wings tickle my stomach. It’s time to woman up. The man wants me; I want him. It’s really freaking simple.

  Our eyes meet.

  “I’m not okay. Not even fucking close,” he growls.

  Sweet Medusa, I’m stone. Well, stone on the outside and molten lava on the inside. “Let me help you.”

  He snorts. “Unless you can travel through time until you’re 100 percent recovered, you can’t.”

  I take a step closer, not at all caring when my T-shirt slips further down my shoulder. “I can’t do anything about time travel.”

  His piercing stare is consuming, the pupils so dilated they appear black. “Then you’re no use to me.”

  “I’m useful. You’ve got a limited imagination, that’s all.”

  “Nothing wrong with my imagination.”

  Tilting my head, I raise an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

  Zeke considers my challenge. The power behind his gaze is equal to the strength of a wildfire set to incinerate my very existence. After a moment, he gives a short nod. “Fine.” His voice is low, deep, an order and a caress rolled into one. “Take off your shorts.”

  I pause, hoping to Hades I’ve heard him right.

  “You heard me. Take them off.”

  I glance over my shoulder at the studio. Yep, my guitar is still perched snugly on its stand, a testament to the fact I’m not dreaming. And yet, in the time it took me to move from that room to this one, I might as well have been. Hera knows I threw everything into my music because I needed to exorcise my demons—the ones desperate to jump Zeke’s bones. And yes, I was going to make a move when I saw the want in his expression. But if I’m truly being honest, I never expected this would be the result.

  “I’m a man of my word. I’m not going to fuck you.” There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’m going to watch you finger fuck yourself.”

  Aphrodite, Venus, and Juno. I’m lost.

  “You’re going to tease that sweet cunt until you scream my name. I might even let you wrap those lips around my cock until my cum shoots down your throat afterward.”

  …

  …

  “Oh.”

  Yep, my intelligence is reduced to a soft exhale.

  “Watching you play guitar makes me hard. Watching you play difficult riffs makes me harder. And watching you close your eyes while hitting a note just right makes me want to fucking come.” Readjusting himself, his teeth scrape against that full bottom lip as he stares at me. “So I’m gonna fucking come.”

  My eyes shift to his pants, then widen. There’s a distinct bulge in his jeans, a distinctly large bulge. The thought of pumping his thick shaft while working him to orgasm makes my mouth water.

  I lick my lips.

  He growls.

  “Take. Off. Your. Shorts.”

  Trembling fingers fumble with the top button of my denim cutoffs. The low hiss of the zipper is the only sound aside from my erratic breathing.

  “Good girl.”

  His deep rumble calms my frayed nerves, and with a deep breath, I shimmy my hips. Shorts fall to the floor. Zeke’s jaw tics. After stepping out of them and my sandals,
I kick everything to the side and hook my fingers into the waistband of my barely there G-string. The one Zeke chose.

  “Stop.”

  Pausing, I wait.

  His expression softens. Not a lot, enough to hold an unspoken question.

  Quirking my lips, I give a small nod. “I want this.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

  I jut my chin. “Who says I want you to?”

  Zeke’s eyes flare, his concern morphing into carnal want. “Touch yourself.”

  Happy to oblige, I flatten my palm against my stomach, slowly lowering my hand. My eyes are trained on the man in front of me. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way awkward or embarrassed about my sexuality. I’m proud of my body; every curve, every peak, every damn freckle tells a story. It’s just I never thought I’d be sharing it with a man like Zeke.

  My fingers dip beneath the elastic.

  “Ah-ah,” he chastises. “Over the top.”

  Narrowing my gaze, I do as he says, even though I’m beyond impatient. I trail my hand over the silky material, an involuntary gasp escaping when I realize how turned on I am.

  “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

  I nod.

  “Show me. Sit on the couch, spread your legs, and show me how wet you are.”

  Throwing my head back, I drown in his delicious command, feeling more alive than ever before.

  “Eyes on me.”

  Straightening, I focus on Zeke. His expression is fierce. “Don’t look away. Every moan, every gasp, every look, every whimper as you beg me to let you come is mine. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, needing to park my ass before I collapse from sheer want.

  He gestures to the sofa. “Sit.”

  Thank Zeus.

  After lowering myself onto the soft leather, I adjust my position. My backside is perched on the very edge. It’s not overly comfortable since the frame digs into my flesh, but damn, it’ll be effective.

  “Open your legs and show me that cunt.”

  I shift first one, then the other knee apart while Zeke’s eyes remain transfixed on my face. Skimming my hands along the inside of my thighs—a deliberate dance on heated skin—I give a coy smile.

  “Willow,” Zeke warns, shifting in his seat.

  Emboldened by the intensity in his gaze and the whites of his knuckles, I continue. My movement is gradual, teasing, an attempt at summoning the storm in his eyes. When I reach the apex of my thighs, I pause.

  “Swear to fucking God, woman.”

  Smiling, I tuck my fingers beneath the lace, raise an eyebrow, then slowly, purposely shift it to one side.

  Zeke swears under his breath.

  “Is this what you want?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow. “Touch yourself. Shove two fingers inside then hold them up and show me how dripping wet you are.”

  A delicious shiver tingles my spine. Zeke’s dominance is so freaking hot that a fresh gush of warmth escapes from deep within me. Parting the slick folds, I follow his instructions. Two fingers skim downward before delving deep into my channel. I gasp, the intrusion oh so good.

  “Motherfucker.”

  After gently retrieving them, I hold the digits up to Zeke. They’re shiny with my juices, clear evidence of his effect on me.

  “Lick them,” he rasps. “Pretend they’re my cock. I wanna see what I’m working with.”

  A salty yet sweet tang bursts on my taste buds as I eagerly place my fingers in my mouth. My eyelids flicker closed. I remember what Zeke said about every reaction belonging to him, so I open them again. With my gaze trained on his face, I trail my tongue along the length of my index finger before swirling it around the tip. Hell yes, I’m imagining it’s the head of his cock and I’m lapping up beads of precum. How can I not?

  He hisses. I grin.

  Watching him watch me is addictive. And when he unbuttons his jeans, unzips the fly, and strokes his length, I redouble my efforts, desperate for more. But his cock is covered by black boxers. Thankfully the shape is clearly defined, because I want to know everything about it—about him. It’s long, thick, oh so freaking hard. The head tries its level best to peek from beneath the elastic waistband, but Zeke readjusts himself, keeping it from sight. Not gonna lie, I’m disappointed.

  “Tease your clit, then show me how you fuck yourself.”

  This man is my every filthy fantasy come to life. Who would have thought the temperamental music producer could be so dominant, so dirty?

  “I’m waiting.”

  And I’m about to come.

  Licking my fingers a final time, I revel in his expression as it grows more intense the closer I travel to my center. And when I circle my clit, an involuntary moan filling the heavy silence, it’s enough for Zeke to mutter a string of expletives.

  “Zeke,” I whimper. I’m already swollen and on edge, the pleasure acute.

  His eyes dart between my pussy and my face. “You’re close.”

  It’s not a question. It’s an irrevocable truth caused by his words, his cock, and the pulsing energy between us.

  “How the fuck can you be so close already?”

  “I can’t help it. You’re….” My fingers move faster, spiraling me toward the release I crave. “Oh, shit.”

  He shifts in his seat. “Your clit’s fucking throbbing for me. It’s screaming for my tongue, my teeth, me.”

  I whimper, my hand a whir.

  “Fuck, I want to lap up all your juices and then bite down on your clit. I want to shove my cock so deep inside it splits you in two. I want you sore, bruised, covered in my cum. I want you to remember, with every painful step, that it was me who fucked you. Who fucked you raw.”

  “Oh, hell.” As though possessed, I delve frantic fingers inside my pussy, the squelching of my arousal deafening as my hand retreats only to enter again. But I’m not ashamed of my body or its functions, and Zeke isn’t either. In fact, he pulls his cock from his boxers and works the shaft, transfixed by my movements and the sounds they make.

  I moan at the sight.

  Zeke’s hand pumping his length, his eyes on my swollen clit, is the hottest vision I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m going to come,” I whimper, my fingers a blur. “I can’t… oh, fuck.” Throwing my head back, I cry out. It’s loud, tortured, euphoric. My body convulses around my hand as tremors flood my insides and every last molecule is shaken.

  When the exquisite torture is over, I slump against the couch, exhaling a shaky breath. “Wow. That was….” I shake my head and smile lazily. “That was hot.”

  My eyes zero in on Zeke’s hand, still pumping his shaft. The soul-shattering orgasm is soon forgotten because a familiar tingling starts in my lower stomach. My tongue darts out to lick dry lips, my voice a husky murmur. “I want you.”

  He grunts.

  “I want you in my mouth, my pussy.” I pause, my thoughts fragmented, yet so clear. “I want you everywhere.”

  He stills. “Jesus fuck.” Zeke’s grip tightens, the head of his cock beading with precum. Then, as though collecting himself, he swipes his thumb over the tip and slows the pace.

  He gestures to the floor in front of him. “On your knees.”

  Pushing his boxers down, he cups his ball sac, rolling it in his palm. I’m so transfixed by what he’s doing, I can’t think, let alone formulate words.

  He groans. “Get over here before I take you right fucking now.”

  Mesmerized by his dark threat, I remain motionless.

  “Willow,” he warns, his pupils almost taking up the entirety of his eyes. “When I fuck you, I’m gonna worship every inch of your incredible body. I’m gonna take my time. But a man’s only got so much restraint, and so help me, if you don’t shut your legs and get the hell over here, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll need an ice bath afterward.”

  Right, then.

  I s
tumble to where he sits and plonk myself between his parted legs. There’s every chance I’ve given myself carpet burn, but I have no cares to give.

  The corner of Zeke’s mouth quirks in a sardonic grin that soon disappears. In its place is a possessive smirk. “Open your mouth. You’re gonna take every inch of me. You’re gonna work my cock until my cum shoots to the back of your throat and you swallow me down. Got it?”

  Squeezing my thighs together, I nod, impatient to taste him. After glancing at his hard cock and then his face, I quirk an eyebrow. “May I?”

  “Please.”

  Please. Of all the moments he’s chosen to use his freaking manners, it’s after telling me to suck him off until he blows in my mouth. Typical.

  Forcing back a smile, I lean forward, part my lips, and get my first taste of Zeke Danton.

  I groan.

  He groans.

  This is what nirvana must feel like.

  Zeke sounds like winter and tastes like rain. Similar to when I play guitar, time no longer exists. Or, if it does, progresses in moans and muttered curses, systematically interspersed with appreciative grunts. I have no idea how long I lick, suck, own this man. I can’t say when he first brushes hair out of my face and clasps it in his fist. All I know is that his pleasure becomes mine, his throbbing shaft mirrors my pulsing clit, and we both give ourselves over to this pleasure-filled moment.

  “Touch yourself,” Zeke commands as I flick my tongue on the underside of his cock. “You’re gonna come with my cock in your mouth.”

  Before he’s finished speaking, my fingers circle my clit, the sensation so acute I’m ready to explode.

  “That’s it,” Zeke rumbles, thrusting his hips. “Touch that sweet cunt.”

  My fingers move faster, a ball of sparking energy growing each time his cock hits the back of my throat.

  “Pinch your clit.”

  Following his instructions, I gasp as pain-laced-pleasure shoots through me.

  Thrust. Groan. “Slap it.”

  Smack.

  I cry out. So close.

  Thrust. Groan. “Slap it again. Harder.”

  Smack.

  Detonation.

  I shudder, tremble, my body coming alive as wave upon wave of pleasure bowls into me. The world turns black, sound recedes, and all that’s left is the pressure of Zeke’s hand tangled in my hair.