His tongue delves deep inside my mouth, and I spiral mine around it, heat building in my core at the sensation, reacting to his energy. He tweaks my nipples in his fingertips, and I push harder against his hands, wanting more, always more.
His cock swells between us, and I wiggle my hips, repositioning my body to give him better access, but he breaks the kiss and glares down at me. “How dare you, Rachel.”
“What?” I blink, brain hazy with confusion and lust.
“How dare you treat yourself like you’re worthless? Don’t you fucking realize how talented and special you are?”
A blush roars up my chest and down my face. Dylan and Alex both see this as devaluing to me. Have I been so wrong? I saw this plan as adding value to my life. I try to look away, but he brackets his hands on the sides of my face and forces me to return his gaze.
“Don’t you understand that you’re worth so much more than that? Than being in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life?”
“It’s not for the rest of my life. It’s for the next five years.” And a child, so maybe more like an eighteen-year-long commitment at the very shortest. I’ll love the baby, of course I will, but who has a baby knowing full well they’ll be raised in a broken home?
“What else is it you’re not telling me?”
I hate how he can read me like a simple melody. “The deal involves a child as well.”
I expect him to spring from the bed to get away from me, but he holds me tighter.
I relax in his arms. “I give him five years and a kid, and in exchange, I get away from my father and get a place on an extremely coveted orchestra.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not doing it. That’s not five years; it’s a lifetime deal. Giving up your life is one thing, but involving an innocent kid like that is supremely fucked up. Who the fuck is this guy, if he can’t see that?”
“I think Blaine’s driven by too much ambition to see any potential damage. And I agreed.” I shrug. “At the time, it seemed like a small sacrifice to make to get my dream position. To make my family proud.”
“You mean your asshole father who parades you around to the functions you hate? You wanted to make him proud?”
I bite my lip. It’s sick. It isn’t right, but… “I shouldn’t care about his opinion, but I think a part of me always will.”
“I hate that they’ve done this to you.” He lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to my lips, leaving them tingling.
I sigh. “Too late now. I can’t do anything about it.”
“Maybe you can’t… Come with me.”
“What?”
He smiles. “You heard me.”
“Right now?” I’m confused.
He kisses my shoulder. “No. Come with me on the road. Screw those assholes who are demanding way too much from you, and be with me instead. Get away from it all. Put this whole thing out of your head.”
Running away isn’t a solution. “I need to work, Dylan.”
“I’ll find things for you to play.” He cocks an eyebrow at the obvious double entendre.
“I have bills.” And a signed contract.
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll take care of you monetarily if that’s an issue. Have you seen my place?” he jokes. “I’m doing okay on that account. Besides, we’ll be on the other side of the world. Hard for your father or director to find you when you’re there with me. We’ll stay in the best hotels, eat in the best restaurants, and play music on the Thames and the Seine and the Danube.”
God, it’s tempting. To go with him and lose myself in his music when he’s on stage, lose myself in his arms when he’s off it. Run far from this mess I have made and see the world. “I’d be in the way,” I play coy, wanting to hear him insist I come even though it’s impossible.
A boyish enthusiasm tugs his lips into a smile. “I’d love to have you with me, to share that with you. To come back to your warm body instead of a cold bed.”
Like he’s ever come back to his cold bed without a warm body.
“Is that all it is? I can’t tag along with you as your groupie.” I push him off and sit up against the headboard, reality seeping into the moment. Is going from fake wife to real groupie a step up?
Hell no.
“That’s not what I meant. It’s an offer so you can get away. I like being with you.”
Maybe he does, no, I know he does, but so what? What about after? Where’s this going? Just like I had told myself over and over, it isn’t real. It isn’t sustainable.
“And I certainly can’t let you take care of me financially. I have more self-respect than that. I’m not a kept woman.”
“Hate to point it out, but yes, you are.”
Ouch.
My hurt feelings must show on my face because he sighs and takes my hand. “That came out badly. It’s not like you did this for money. You did it so you could have your dream job and make other people happy. You’re truly a good girl. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Maybe not, but I’m still not going to be a burden on him or be his on-call groupie. If it’s not about me just being in his bed all the time, why else would he ask? Does he feel sorry for me? “I don’t need an invitation out of pity, Dylan.”
“What if it’s not pity? What if it’s something else?” His voice grows impossibly soft.
“Like what?” The implication of his words kicks me in the heart. I hold my breath, struggling to keep a neutral expression on my face. Is he going to say he loves me? Do I want that? Fuck yes, I want that. I want him so much.
If he does say those words, I’ll go with him. I’m pretty sure Alex is right about the contract—how can it be defendable in court? With Dylan at my side, I don’t even care about the potential scandal on my family. I’ll forget about my father and his image and go find the life I want with Dylan. For the first time in ages, I’ll be content. I’ll be happy.
“What else could it be?” I ask as my heart gives an excited little flip in my chest.
He kisses my hand. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not pity.”
My happy feeling deflates like a balloon. Any image of him and me touring around the country as a couple—as a team—dissolves with his avoidance. I can’t change my plans for “I don’t know.” I can’t give up this huge opportunity for someone who can’t decide—or admit—how he feels. This plan isn’t perfect, but it’s mine and it’s for the best.
Maybe he’s one of those guys all too happy to keep things physical but will run when emotions come into it because he can’t handle it. I could be left in a strange hotel in a strange city on the other side of the world with “it’s not you, it’s me” in my ears as he runs away from what we could be.
And I’d be left with less than nothing. Where would I even go? Back to my father for his help?
Does Dylan really expect me to give everything up for “I don’t know”? Or is it that a part of him doesn’t want me to give it up at all? Maybe his ego was ruffled when he thought I was another man’s and he offered me a safe place to run away to, to appease that primal, competitive part of him; to get me to say yes like it’s some kind of pissing contest instead of my life, and now he regrets saying it.
I’m sure he cares, but it’s not love, not reciprocated the way I feel for him. My limbs tremble with how close I came to giving into temptation and burning my life down to the foundations for someone who cares but doesn’t love me. At least not enough to admit it to me—maybe not even to himself.
I wrap my arms around my knees. “Well, I appreciate your faith in me and my abilities, but I’ve made my bed. I need to lie in it.”
“It just seems like—”
“I signed a contract,” I snap, hurt about his emotional distance and wanting to slam the door between us shut and lock it.
His eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Yeah. So, this is it. If this is all we can be, this is it.” It’s a sort of ultimatum, and I shouldn’t have said that, but every cell in my body tenses. Tell
me you love me, and I’ll give everything up to stay with you. I plead with my eyes, though I just told him the opposite.
“I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye to you, Cello Girl.”
You don’t. But I keep my mouth shut. I nod and let him unwind my arms from my legs and wrap them around his neck instead, needing to replace the sting of emotional rejection with something physical. He insinuates himself between my legs again, tracing his hand down my side, dipping back to my hip.
I should resist, stop him now, but this is goodbye for forever and I want to wring every last moment I can from this to make enough sexy memories to sustain me for the next five years.
I trace every ridge in his spine, every corded muscle in his arms, while he nibbles my neck, sucking deeply, sharp edges of pain tingling the pleasure into something perfect.
I pull his hair, provoking him into giving me more of that roughness. I don’t want to remember his sweetness or his care. I want to remember the way he pounded into me, the fierceness of his body and soul. The way his music is exactly the same, all passion and fury and unrestrained ego.
I could be his groupie, but I’m his equal. We’re different shapes cut from the same cloth, and being less than that would crush my spirit. I need to be more, and he’s not able to give it.
I can only take what he offers, but when he doesn’t even offer me his heart, the only thing I can take is Blaine’s offer—the one I already agreed to.
I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to think of that now. I need to forget, need Dylan to make me forget. There’s one other thing he can offer, that I can take, to help me block out life for a little longer. “Remember that time in your hotel room?”
“Which time?” He grins.
“When we stood and you…”
“Oh, yeah.” He flips me over onto my belly, pausing to stuff a pillow beneath my hips so my ass is in the air. “Mmm, baby.” He caresses my ass and backs up, cool air hitting my crack when he parts my cheeks for better access. His warm, flat tongue laps at my clit and takes a long swipe up to my pussy, continuing up to probe my puckered hole.
God, it’s dirty and naughty and feels so fucking unexpectedly good I squeal in shock that he’s doing that.
He licks faster and shoves a finger into my pussy, curling it to hit my g-spot while he lavishes my ass with attention. I want him there, inside of me. I want him everywhere, and I squirm against the pillow, grinding against it, frustrated by its lack of resistance.
He grabs my hips, stilling them. “Sh, baby. I’ll take care of you. Relax.” He rubs the tip of his cock all over until it’s covered in my wet arousal and I’m losing my mind.
“Please, I need you.”
He shoves his cock into my pussy on one fluid motion. “I know what you need.”
I spread wider and brace my hands against the headboard.
Then he pushes the finger, still slick with my pussy, inside my anus, and my arms give out. As he fucks me, he keeps his finger sheathed, but presses down, increasing the amount of tissue his cock strokes with every thrust.
Everything between my legs is an erogenous zone, throbbing in a slow, deep pulse he directs with his thick cock and the wicked finger he starts wiggling inside me.
The fullness, the completeness, the overstimulation of it all makes my head spin and my nipples tighten into hard buds. Dylan strokes my back on the way up to my hair, where he wraps it in his fist and tugs. Hard.
“I want you to pinch your nipple with your left hand,” he grunts as he plunges in and out.
I do.
“Mmm. I forgot how tight you are, baby. Now finger your clit with your right hand.”
Oh, God, I can’t. It’s too much.
“Yes, you can.”
I said that out loud?
He inches closer, rubbing the backs of my thighs with his quads. He lets my hair trickle over my back and down my sides, touching there too.
He’s everywhere at once, and as soon as I touch my clit, I shatter around him, my pussy clamping down on his cock, my asshole seizing around his finger. I feel my cum drip down to my clit, soaking it, lubing my fingers like warm honey.
I still and sag against the pillow.
He pulls my hair. “I don’t remember saying you could stop.”
Blackness clouds the edges of my vision. Can you pass out from coming too hard? But I smile into the mattress as I start moving my hand again.
In the candlelight, Blaine’s cashmere sweater is the same shade of Dylan’s eyes. My heart squeezes, and I take a deep sip of wine and focus on my plate until I can breathe again.
Three weeks later and the pain of our last goodbye still hasn’t faded, echoing inside the emptiness inside my chest like it’s a hollow cavern. If he’d only said he loved me… But he didn’t, I remind myself. This is my life now, and I have to get used to it.
“How is the duck?” Blaine takes another bite of his squid-ink pasta.
“Fine, thanks.” I put another bite in my mouth, barely tasting the dish he ordered for me. I hate duck, but what does it matter now? The flavor’s gone out of my life. Everything fades to background noise with nothing to focus on.
These show dates are the worst. We get dressed up and go to the fanciest, hippest places in the city to be seen together. While I doubt anyone’s actually paying attention to us, Blaine’s convinced we’re under the microscope, so every motion is painstakingly choreographed to make it look like we’re a young couple in love.
It’s tough to fake something like that when I’ve forgotten how to smile. I’m drowning in this new, exhausting life, but I’m too numb to care, so I let myself be carried along in Blaine’s wake. It’s easier to do what he says.
The only things that make me feel alive are when I’m playing music or listening to Fallen Angels, but hearing Dylan’s voice sends shards of pain like glass straight to my heart. That’s not what I want to feel, so most days, I’m happier to be numb.
But in the cold hours of the night, when I remember the warmth of his body beside me, below me, inside me, I give in and gorge on his music, aching to feel one scrap of connection to the man who let me walk away.
Blaine leans closer. “Are you feeling all right?”
I nod. “Just tired.”
“I imagine it will be worse, once we start… you know.”
IVF. Blaine decided it would look more authentic if I get pregnant before we get married. He’s agreed to wait until mid-season. At least that way I’ll have time to finish one season before the baby comes.
Even with full-time nannies, it will be another year before I can rejoin the orchestra.
I swallow more wine, drenching the panicky feeling in my gut.
“Porter!” Blaine warns me with his eyes while shining a smile at Porter Lofthouse, ambling toward our table. “What a pleasant surprise. Care to join us?”
Porter shakes Blaine’s proffered hand and shakes his head. “I’m just here for a meeting with a grants committee. If all goes well, we’ll be able to upgrade the lighting. How are you?”
“We’re fine, just enjoying a nice meal.”
Porter looks at my plate. “How’s the duck? I always mean to try it then end up going for the lamb instead.”
“It’s delicious,” Blaine answers for me.
“Oh, looks like that’s my group over there. Have a good night, you two.” Porter saunters off toward another table.
Blaine’s already rigid posture gets more severe.
Spikes of annoyance drive right through my temples. Father did the same thing, parading me around at his events, but God forbid anyone actually speak to me or listen to my opinion.
“Can we skip dessert? I’ve got a headache coming on.” I massage my temples for effect, though a headache is appearing, strong and fast.
“Sure.” He leans closer. “It will make it look like we were… eager… to get home.” He motions for the check as I finish my wine.
Blaine’s hand dips inappropriately close to my ass as we pass Porter o
n the way out.
Porter winks at Blaine, enjoying the show.
I seethe.
The valet brings Blaine’s Range Rover around, and he opens my door, waiting until I’m nestled in the seat to shut it for me.
This whole thing is making me feel less and less like a capable adult. He chooses what I wear, what I eat, where we go. It’s all for show, not because he actually cares.
I turn on the radio and punch the pre-set buttons—only classical stations—so I fiddle with the dial, wading through static until a rock song comes on. The crunchy tones of the guitars cut through my numbness a little, and I bob to the bass line. The unfamiliar singer weaves through the rhythm guitar, making an interesting counterpoint that—
“How can you listen to this noise?” Blaine kills the radio, buckles up, and pulls the vehicle away from the curb.
“Some of it’s pretty interesting if you’d give it a chance.”
He derisively snorts. “You could hand a five-year-old a guitar, and they’d accidentally play something just as ‘complicated’ as that. You know what they say about monkeys and Shakespeare. It’s the same concept.”
The city lights go by, a blur in my window. Was I that snobby once? Will I become that way again if I stay in this world with Blaine?
Numbness creeps over me once more like a blanket, and I welcome it.
It isn’t until we pass the gates to his community that I realize he’s not dropping me off at home.
I sit up and turn his way. “Why are we at your house?”
He pulls into the driveway and shuts the engine off. “I think you should come inside.”
“Can we do this another night? I’m really tired and just wanted to go home.”
He actually looks sincere. “I’m aware this is tough on you. I can be demanding, but it’s going to benefit us both, you know.”
“I know.” My voice comes out with an edge. “Sorry. I really only wanted to go home to bed.”
He removes the keys from the ignition. “I understand, but we’re supposed to be young and in love and out on the town. If we’re going to spend the next five years pretending to be in love, it’s probably a good idea for us to actually get to know each other for real. Spend some time together really talking.”
Badass In My Bed 3 (Badass #3) Page 4