After another quick nip to her neck, he pulled away long enough to dig around in his pocket, his knuckles brushing her thigh. He undid his trousers, fiddled with the condom he’d fished out, sheathed his cock, then lifted her. With her legs around his waist, she was almost breathless with anticipation. Five years. Five long, horrible, unsatisfying years spent with characters having way more sex than their author.
He rammed inside her with desperation. A loud groan built in her throat, a mix of the pain and pleasure causing her vision to blur. Shutting her eyes, she concentrated on his thrusts and the sweet pressure building in her core. She clawed his shoulders, wishing to rip off the fabric still covering him, eager for skin-to-skin contact.
His scruffy cheek brushed her neck, his hot breath puffing on the sensitive area. For once, she truly understood what her characters experienced in all those steamy scenes she’d written. She hadn’t been doing them justice, but at that point, her confidence in her ability to appropriately convey the connection of two souls didn’t exist. Every time he moved, euphoria threatened to steal her breath. The closer she came to climax, the more aware she grew of every touch, ragged breath, and needful sound her rock star made. She fought the rising tide, desperate to prolong their connection, have more time to enjoy it, but she simply couldn’t. With her body trapped between him and the unforgiving wooden door, she gave in to her need, and the last five years evaporated.
After a couple more pumps, Ty came with a hoarse grunt, shivers wracking his entire body. Claire wiped his hair from his sweat-sheened face while he struggled to catch his breath. With a smile on his swollen lips, he lowered her to the floor, but before she could speak, he covered her mouth with his and she opened to him.
She hadn’t been kissed like that…ever. Certainly not by Neil, who had won the Wet Dishrag award several years running. The tide of desire rolled over her again, but Ty backed away before she drowned and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Definitely not the way I’d planned that.”
“I’m not complaining.” She chuckled.
Jesus H. Christ. He already wanted round two with Miss Romance Author. He’d sworn off quickies, but with the way she’d looked at him in the bar, he’d had to have her the second they were anywhere near privacy. And how she looked at him right now, round two was not far away.
Taking her hand, he led her to the dinette and pretended he could still be a gentleman in her presence by pulling out her chair. Then he headed to the mini-fridge and grabbed a couple of beers. He offered her the longneck. Her disheveled look killed him in the best fucking way. Still eyeballing him, she wrapped her lips around it and took a deep gulp, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. If there’s a God, her mouth will be doing that to my cock later.
“Mind if I ask a question?”
“Sure thing.” He’d tell her whatever she wanted.
“Why music?”
He grinned. “Why writing?”
Understanding softened her face. “Touché, rock star.”
“Seriously, though, if you want an answer…it’s pretty much all I’ve ever been good at. I didn’t go to college. Went straight for my dream.” He shrugged with what he hoped was nonchalance. Claire was smart as fuck, so admitting he’d never done the college thing made him feel about three inches tall.
“I respect that. Trust me, you didn’t miss much, except maybe a few keggers at frat houses and a ton of student loans afterward.” Despite the casual conversation, desire swam in the ocean of her gorgeous eyes. “And between you and me, you made the right choice.”
“Glad you think so. Sleeping Angels isn’t complaining.”
“What is the name of that song…‘Something-Summer’?”
“‘Seize the Summer.’” He took a swig. “I still can’t believe I wrote that shit. I think I was drunk at the time. Or maybe it came from Mad Libs. Either way, alcohol was involved.”
She laughed, the real, genuine laugh captured in her profile photo. Briefly, he recalled his mission to hear the sound that came with the smile. Mission accomplished.
“It’s…catchy?”
“Catchy is all it takes these days.”
“It sells. Sometimes you have to put aside your true dreams to pay the bills,” she said.
Interesting…. “So romance wasn’t your first choice?”
“Nope. It kind of happened. I love it—don’t get me wrong—but my first love, my true love, is science fiction.”
“Like Star Trek science fiction?”
“Star Trek, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, Firefly. Whatever my brain can fit itself around. I love it. I love all the potential.” As she spoke, her face lit with the same passion he felt for music. “It’s just too bad I’m better at romance.”
He never would have pegged her as a hardcore sci-fi lover. Should have figured when she’d said her favorite Bruce Willis movies were The Fifth Element and Surrogates. No one ever picked those. He caught himself before asking about the research she did. Instead, he asked, “You could combine the two, right?”
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. “I threw a few science fiction elements into my last series, but it didn’t work. My ideas never had romance in them. I feel like it always falls flat. Someday, maybe I’ll get back to it. Right now, I’m having fun with the romances. I love my Chicagoland Chronicles series.”
Ty lifted his drink. She stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind until he said the only thing he remembered from any English class. “How about a toast to dreams deferred?”
Note to self. English references work like magic on sexy authors. Claire had chugged the last bit of her beer, placed the bottle on the table, and grabbed his tie, using it as a leash. Destination? The bed. He couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. Round two was on.
Still holding onto the makeshift lead, she maneuvered him onto the oversized bed, clutching the tie as she straddled him, like he’d go anywhere else. He liked the playfulness, though. Seeing that side of his demure date turned him on, almost as much as her plea of, “Fuck me.” Blood rushed south at the thought of doing just that.
He threaded his fingers through her dark hair and brought her mouth to his. But, this time, he intended to slow it down, touch, tease, and taste every part of her, the way he’d planned, but failed, before taking her against the door. While hot, it hadn’t given him the same satisfaction that this would.
Plus, she wore nothing under her dress. His mouth watered thinking about it, and his cock saluted. After unzipping the dress and pulling it down her torso, he coaxed her onto her back. He wanted her completely naked. Now.
Slipping the fabric the rest of the way down her legs, he prayed he’d hold off long enough to give her the experience she deserved because all he wanted to do was insert tab A into slot B. Over and over. He’d have to stay clothed, though. Otherwise, it would last as long as the door sex. Not long enough.
“Damn,” he said. His version of perfection lay naked beneath him. Soft curves, supple skin, not one of those bony chicks who had always thrown themselves at him after shows. He still couldn’t figure out how men found that attractive. Settling between his wordsmith’s thighs, he covered her body with his, then kissed her again, unable to get enough of her sweet lips.
She smiled. “You’re wearing too much.”
“There’s a reason for that.” His lips hovered above hers. “If I take off my clothes, I’ll have to fuck you.”
A larger grin spread across her face. “How awful for you,” she teased.
“Terrible.” He nibbled her jaw and cupped one of her breasts, running the pad of his thumb across the hard nipple. “Horrible, even. You’re the author. You come up with the right words.”
“Mmm.” She tangled a hand in his hair. “Right now I don’t even want to think.”
“Good.” He took in the view of the beautiful woman laid out before him, tamping down the desire to flip her onto her stomach and fuck her like an animal. Though the fantasy, with Nine Inch Nails’, “
Closer” playing in the background almost had him busting a nut. That would have been embarrassing. Instead, he tried to keep it like slow jazz, seductive and enticing, but with the absolute 100-proof lust flowing through his body, he had no idea how long it’d be before he surrendered to his inner Trent Reznor.
Judging by the way her nails raked his skin and the noises she made at every touch, it wouldn’t be much longer. Almost desperate to hear her beg, Ty waited for the magic words. She would beg. And she’d love it when he gave in. In theory, he could hold out. Concentrate on her, dumbass. Taking in the view again, he decided he could definitely do that.
She squirmed beneath him, urging him between her legs. He stroked her inner thigh to her swollen pussy lips, watched the look in her eyes grow more intense. Sensual. Without taking his gaze from hers, he spread her and covered her clit with his mouth. No warming her up—no need.
This woman. Goddamn. He could get addicted to the sounds she made, the way she tasted, how her body moved in response to pleasure. As he slipped two fingers inside her soaked entrance, she bucked. More than ready, more than willing. Say it, Claire. Come on.
Still nothing but the sexiest moans he’d heard in a long time. The more aroused she became, the huskier her voice grew. She ground against him, and he sucked her clit between his teeth, flicking his tongue along the sensitive tip. Her back arched and her hips jolted, inner walls putting a stranglehold on his fingers. He kept stroking and sucking, determined to make her see stars. It became a game to him, one they’d both win, and only a matter of time to see who could hold out the longest.
Right then, he was the victor, but not by much. His pants had a death grip on his cock and he’d have to take them off soon.
But…. Abandoning her clit, he concentrated on finger-fucking her. She was so close to coming, and he got so hot watching her. The raw sensuality forced the temperature in the room to skyrocket. With a shudder and a hoarse cry, she climaxed, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Had never seen anything as exquisite as his beautiful wordsmith. Even Dejected’s last show didn’t compare to the joy of knowing how much he pleasured the amazing woman.
After catching her breath, she reached for him, and he went to her, his hunger reaching critical mass. Almost in a daze, he shed his clothes, focused only on Claire, feeling her flushed skin against his. Like he’d wanted to do from the start, he flipped her onto her stomach and tugged her hips up. Shit. His pants had ended up on the other side of the bed somewhere.
“Hold that thought, babe.” Bounding off the bed, he located his trousers then grabbed another condom from the pocket. Once sufficiently covered, he turned back to a jaw-dropping sight. Ass still in the air, Claire stroked her clit while she waited for him, watching him, her mouth curved in a seductive grin. Who is this woman? He would never have expected such wantonness from the woman he’d met in the restaurant downstairs. His cock spasmed as if reminding him to hurry. No more waiting.
He slipped inside her, and the experience was like the Christmas morning so many years ago when he’d unwrapped his first guitar—relief that he’d gotten what he’d asked for, along with total satisfaction. Grasping her hips, he slammed her again and again. Then needing a different angle, he grabbed her neck and pushed her head to the pillows. She canted her hips and the slight tilt made all the difference for them both. Her inner muscles clamped around his cock and he rode her through another orgasm, wondering if he could make her come one more time before his own release.
He did, then he gave in, needing the release more than ever. And fuck, it felt better than it ever had.
“Claire,” he whispered, her name like a prayer on his lips. Begrudgingly, he pulled out of her and removed the condom. Man, he needed to clean up before he even thought about touching her again. She stretched like a cat then curled onto her side. After a quick kiss, he headed to the bathroom. When he slid next to her a couple minutes later, she’d already fallen asleep, a sated smile on her face.
***
Claire rolled onto her back, cursing her small bladder. She hadn’t had much to drink, only the bourbon and Coke, and one beer, yet her body demanded she rise at the ungodly hour of…she glanced at the clock…4:47 a.m.
And she was alone.
Tossing off the covers, she scanned the floor for her clothes, but her tired eyes failed her in the dark. Instead, she grabbed Ty’s shirt—the closest thing she found—and slipped it on, taking time to button it to her waist, for no other reason than modesty, strange since she’d completely abandoned it earlier.
He’d supposedly shut his phone off. If he’d turned it on, left her there in favor of his stupid-ass ex…. What would Claire do? What could she do? He and Joss had a history she had no chance against. Besides, she and Ty had one night. Not like they would last beyond the hotel room door, regardless of the dozens of testimonials she’d read on the 1Night Stand website declaring soul mates and all that other bull. Even as a romance author, she didn’t believe in that anymore.
Also, where the everloving hell was the bathroom? In the dark, the room might as well have been a cave. She couldn’t make out any of the shapes of the furniture and nearly walked into the couch before sounds coming from the balcony registered. Music. And a certain rock star’s soft voice working through lyrics. Wow. Way to overreact.
Shaking her head, she continued feeling her way across the room. Maybe they had hope after all. Maybe a failed science-fiction writer and a former hard rock god could chase their dreams together.
Chapter Five
Ty wracked his brain to find the right words. What he’d written in his head at the bar turned out to be the bridge, and the rest eluded him, though the melody played a loop in his brain. Awesome. A melody, a bridge, and uncooperative verses and chorus.
For once, he had too many ideas. Writing “The Song” hadn’t been this difficult. Of course, that had been penned by a boy with a boy’s thoughts and desires. The new song demanded far more from him.
Plus the damn guitar app on his phone sucked balls.
He’d drawn bars and staff on hotel stationary and tried to fill in lyrics and notes, but between the lyrics fighting every step of the way and the mild headache the app gave him, he hadn’t gotten far, spending more time cursing the stupid phone under his breath than actually working.
“Thought you could use this.”
He jumped. Claire laughed lightly behind him and handed him a glass of water. Quickly, he covered the page; not because he refused to let someone see a project until he had finished it—in fact, he probably could have used her vocabulary—but because it belonged to her.
She deserved something like that. Unknowingly, she’d changed everything for him by being herself. Maybe someday he’d write something for himself again. Maybe not.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked. And she was wearing his shirt? Not that he would complain. She wore it better than he did.
He shrugged, trying to stay cool and collected, wanting to surprise her with the finished product. “Working on some music. Didn’t want to wake you.” Her lazy smile warmed him, made his heart beat faster. Leaning toward her, he fingered a strand of her silky hair. “Go to bed. I’ll be there soon.”
Nodding, she kissed him with more passion than he’d expected. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, rock star.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, wordsmith.” He sent her back in with a playful swat on the ass. “And ditch my shirt. You look too good in it.”
In response, she threw it on his head.
If the muses hadn’t been singing so loudly, he would’ve followed her in and capitalized on the little game, but he had a song to finish. Once she heard it, she’d understand.
It might be his best one yet.
***
Daylight had crept through the trees and above the buildings before he finally packed in the phone and notepad, the latter ending up in his overnight bag. Still zonked out, Claire had the covers pooled around her waist. For a few seconds, he stood and
watched her, taking in every inch of exposed skin, then disrobed and joined her, placing the phone on the nightstand as he always did. He lightly pressed his lips to her shoulder before shifting her hair from her neck and nibbling on the skin. A breathy moan hit him straight in the cock, and she rolled onto her side, her sleepy, sexy grin getting him to half-mast with no effort at all. He hungered for her like a man on death row looking forward to his last meal.
Dinnertime.
He kissed her, slowly, sensually, but all pretense of legitimate lovemaking crumbled when she gripped his erection. She pushed his shoulder, and he obliged her by rolling onto his back.
Shedding the covers, she straddled him, and in the early dawn light, he made out the silhouette of her body, the curve of her breasts, and the waves of dark hair cascading down her body and brushing his stomach like fine strands of silk. Goddess, angel, everything. She eased down to lap the head of his cock. When she took more of the shaft into her mouth, his body clenched. And the pressure, sweet God, the pressure while she sucked him off was just as intense as being inside her. How the hell had he ever thought he’d be able to let her walk out of his life in a few hours?
Claire caressing his balls brought him to the here-and-now. He couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t. Fuck that shit. “God, Claire.” She purred in the back of her throat, and the vibrations almost killed him. “Babe, I’m gonna come.”
As he did, she sucked harder. Is that even possible? She swallowed everything he had like a champ then kissed him. After a cat-like stretch, she curled next to him, head resting on his chest. “I don’t want this to end, rock star,” she said, sleepiness coating her voice and slurring her words.
“Me neither, wordsmith.” Maybe it doesn’t have to.
***
The all-too-familiar strains of “Cold Hard Bitch” intruded on an amazing dream about Claire and the private beach behind his house. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone. The voice on the other end of the line took him by surprise, even if he should have expected it.
Complete Me (A 1Night Stand Story) Page 3