Wycked Crush (Wycked Obsession Book 1)

by Wynne Roman

  “Yes. Oh, God, A.” My breath tumbles from my lungs. “I love—want—everything you do to me.”

  He does it again, pinching a little harder this time. I like it even more. When he does it again, hard enough that it almost hurts, I don’t care. It shoots some kind of pure, sharp desire straight to my pussy, and I scissor my legs over the mattress. I’m even wetter than before.

  “There you go, baby,” he mutters against my mouth, taking a quick kiss while his fingers tighten over my nipples. I squirm against him, my body begging for more as he makes me a creature of pure sensation.

  “Please, Ajia!” I run my hands over his head, his hair, his shoulders. I try to reach lower, but he’s got me pinned to the bed with his hips.

  “What do you want, baby?”

  “You. Oh, God, I want you. Inside me.” I force my eyes open and to stare into his. “Please.” The words come on their own. “Please, A. Fuck me.”

  The words surprise me. I didn’t think I’d ever say anything like that—and especially not to Ajia—but he’s got me on the sensual edge to nowhere. Everywhere. I can’t describe it. I just know the throbbing in my core isn’t going anywhere without him deep inside me.

  He kisses me long and deep, and then moves between my thighs. I part my legs without thinking, and he rubs one hand up and down the inside of my thigh.

  “That’s it, baby. Spread your legs for me.”

  I open them wider, and he pushes me to bend my knees. “There you go, baby. You okay?”

  I nod, too caught up in the anticipation to say anything. He keeps calling me baby, and even though it isn’t new, there’s something deeper, more caring in it tonight.

  “I need the words, kitten. You okay?” he asks again.

  “No!” It’s a sharp denial. “I need you, A! Please! Inside me.”

  He gives a soft, sensual chuckle, and then I feel his fingers toy with my pussy. He groans deep in his chest and slips one finger inside me. “Oh, baby. You’re so wet.”

  I flex my hips. “For you, baby. You make me that way.” I arch against his hand again.

  He pulls his finger free, moves onto his knees, and then I feel him there. He moves the head of his cock from the bottom of my opening to my clit and back again. He does it again, and then he presses forward just a little. He parts my lips with the head of his dick, pushes in a bit and stops.

  “You good, baby?”

  I remember before that he wanted the words. “Yes.” I can barely get that one out. I’m stretched, wider than I thought possible, and I know there’s more to come. A lot more.

  He pulls out, then presses forward again, going a little deeper. It’s pressure—a lot of it—and a feeling of being full that excites me. He does it again, and then he stops.

  “Jesus, you’re tight.” He blows out a breath. “You still okay, baby?”

  “Yes.” My hips shift. To find a more comfortable position or to get him to move again? Not sure, except I know I want more.

  He kisses me, another of those deep, sensual kisses where his tongue destroys my ability to think. “It’s gonna hurt, baby. I’m sorry.”

  He surges forward, and then he’s all the way in. A sharp stinging tears a soft moan from me, and then an almost overwhelming feeling of fullness follows. It hurts, yeah, but there’s something deeply satisfying knowing that Ajia is a part of me now. Fully.

  He doesn’t move, and my body slowly relaxes to accommodate the sheer size of him. The sting settles to a kind of throbbing tingle, and after a moment, I flex my hips. I want him to move again.

  He brushes the hair from my face, trailing the backs of his fingers down over my cheek. He kisses me softly. “You still with me, baby?”

  “Yes.” I kiss him back.

  “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”

  “Please.” I sigh against his mouth. “Oh, yes, please.”

  I feel his lips smile. He pulls out, pushes forward, does it again. He sets up a slow, steady rhythm that strokes through me and gradually the pain eases. The sting doesn’t completely go away, and yet it’s combined with something else. Something more.

  I shift against him, and then I feel his hands on the curve of my ass. “Up, baby.” He adjusts my position. “Good girl. You’ll like it better that way.”

  Better? Holy shit! He’s so deep within me but still careful with his thrusts. I can feel his control, and yet he fills me in a way I never imagined possible. Along with that comes a slow-building sensation. His sheer girth brushes tight and hard against my inner walls. That special place inside me—my G spot, I guess. My hips flex with his.

  “Ajia. Oh, baby. Please.” I sound like I’m begging, and I guess maybe I am.

  “What, baby? What do you need?” I hear a growing breathlessness in his voice.

  “More. Faster. Harder.” I arch against him again.

  He growls a quick approval before giving me a quick, hard kiss. “You’re sure? I—goddamn you’re so fucking tight, baby.”

  “God, Ajia.” I grip his ass with firm fingers. “I want you to fuck me like—I’m the girl you can’t live without.” At least for tonight. I keep that bit to myself.

  He plunges forward, in and out, faster and harder, his hands on my hips like he’s holding me in place.

  “There you go, sweetheart. Feels good right there, yeah?” His breathing sounds ragged, just like I feel.

  “Yes.”

  He keeps moving, and that delicious pressure starts to build. I try to catch my breath, but a keening moan hisses out.

  “You ready, baby? You wanna come?”

  “Yes. God, yes.” And I realize suddenly that I do. Something is happening in me, different from when Ajia gave me an orgasm with his mouth. This is deeper. It consumes all of me.

  He pulls back, supporting himself straight on his knees where he can look at all of me and I can see all of him. His hips keep up that deep and steady pace. I know it, feel it, but I can’t look away from his eyes. The whiskey brown color is darker than I’ve ever seen, and his expression is pure sex.

  His fingers are suddenly on me, a new pressure on my clit as he keeps pumping in and out of me. He rubs over me, pressing harder than he’s done before, but it’s perfect for the heavy sensation running through my body. His other hand is on my breast, plucking at my nipple and sending raw desire clear through to my core.

  “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

  “Ajia.”

  I can’t say anything else, but that’s okay as he pounds into me. Harder. Faster. Deeper. His cock and his fingers work their magic, and then an orgasm slams over me like a sledgehammer. His name is a guttural groan that comes from my soul, and I stiffen against Ajia’s body as the walls of my pussy pulse tight around him.

  “Jesus.” He moves harder, faster, if it’s possible. “Goddamn, Bree. Baby, I’m gonna come!”

  “Yes!” It’s a triumphant cry. I made Ajia want me enough to come this way, like his whole life depends on it. I know mine does.

  And then he’s there with me. He shoves into me, his hips jerking until finally he holds still. I feel that new, different pulsing. The throbbing of his cock as he empties himself into me. A part of me suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing a condom—that I could have him bare and his cum would spill all inside me. That he would mark me that way.

  I welcome his weight as he collapses over me. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. My heart pounds, my breathing is ragged, and it’s the same for him. He’s still inside me, and it feels wonderful.

  I don’t know how long we lay there, but finally Ajia pushes up on one elbow. He looks at me with a tender expression that surprises me. “How you doing, beautiful?”

  I smile. I push his hair back from his face. “Amazing. That was…” I don’t have a word, so I lean upward to drop a leisurely kiss on his mouth.

  Slowly, he pulls out of me. I wince just a bit. It doesn’t hurt, and yet I definitely feel it.

  “Stay he
re, baby. I’ll be right back.”

  He slips away and into the bathroom, and when he comes back, the condom is taken care of and he carries a damp washcloth.

  “Here you go, baby. Open up.”

  “What?”

  He sits by my hip and holds up the washcloth. “Spread your legs.”

  I do, and he wipes me with tender strokes. His touch is light, the cloth warm and damp, and it feels good. Not in a sexual way exactly, but in a way that’s very caring. Gentle.

  If I wasn’t in love with Ajia already, I would be now. Not that I tell him that.

  He pulls the cloth away, and I see the reddish-pink stain. Blood. My blood. More evidence, if he’d needed it, just how inexperienced I am. Was.

  “Any regrets?”

  I feel myself go soft all over, and I reach for his neck. I pull him down until our lips are almost touching. “None. No matter what happens between us, I’ve always wanted you to be my first. I will never regret that.”

  He gets up long enough to toss the washcloth into the bathroom, then scoots into bed next to me. He pulls the covers over us and cuddles me against him.

  “Let me hold you for a bit, baby.”

  I kiss his chest, right over his Wycked Obsession tattoo. “I’ll stay as long as you want me.” If only I could convey to him how deeply I mean that.

  CHAPTER 18

  AJIA

  Bree slips from my room a few hours later. It’s almost eight in the morning, and we’ve heard a few sounds from the hall. Little chance it’s Knox up so early, but she doesn’t want to push our luck.

  Me neither. In a way. Fuck. I’ll be glad when this secret shit is over. Like it or not, Knox doesn’t get to control everything. Last thing I want to do is act like he does, and hiding things with Bree gives him more power than he deserves.

  He can make your life fucking miserable, a voice of reason reminds me. It could tear the band apart, and you know it.

  I do. We’ve always known how he feels about Bree. It didn’t matter before; she was a friend to us all. She never seemed quite like the little sister to me that she did for the others; I knew she had a crush on me, and that always made things a little different for me. And then, somehow, her crush became more, and when shit happened, my feelings started to change, too.

  Now I want her as much as she says she wants me.

  I didn’t fuck her this morning. She wanted to—Christ, I did, too—but I’m pretty sure that would be too much for her. Not bragging, but I am bigger than most guys, and her sweet pussy needs a little time to recover. That’s about the only reason I was able to restrict to kisses and some very fucking erotic touching.

  Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Her.

  Shit. I get up and shower. I head down to the lobby for coffee and find Noah and Rye in the trendy little bistro tucked away in the corner of the entry.

  “You’re up early,” says Noah, and I nod.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Thinkin’ about Zayne?” Rye looks at me like he doesn’t believe that for a second.

  “Yeah.” Not even close, but I go with it. “He was fucked up last night.”

  “Ya think?”

  The waitress shows up and takes my coffee order before Noah can say anything more. She checks us out with a fuck-me smile and gives Noah a wink.

  “Don’t think it’s the first time since we’ve been on the road,” he says when we’re alone again.

  I shake my head. “Looking back, you’re right. What’re we gonna do?”

  Rye shrugs. “Wait for Knox. We’re all gonna have to talk to him.”

  I nod and sip my coffee. It’s hot and strong, better than the average hotel coffee.

  “You been online yet?”

  I shake my head. “That’s Knox’s job.”

  “I check shit out myself.” Noah pulls out his phone. “Look.”

  It surprises me that Noah cares enough about that kind of crap to look on whatever internet gossip sites he checks out. I take his phone and read the headline glaring back at me.

  Wycked Obsession and Their Band Wife! Ménage a Cinq?

  There’s a picture of us, Bree leaned back against Noah’s chest, Rye and me on either side of her, and Zayne facing us all, a huge, shit-eating grin on his face.

  Last night in the green room. Some fucker took a picture and either uploaded it or sold it to a tabloid. Or both. Clearly, somebody heard Zayne shoot his fucking mouth off about Bree being our wife. And the skank he hooked up with has been photo shopped out of the picture.

  “Damn.” I say it softly.

  “Read the first paragraph,” says Noah in a tight voice.

  I look from him to Rye and see frustration—real anger—in their expressions. I turn back to the phone and scroll down.

  “Did Knox Gallagher give the guys in Wycked Obsession a major gift on this tour? Like…his sister? Our sources say, yes. Reports are that the band is involved in orgies and group sex with Breeanne Gallagher, Knox’s younger sister, who’s traveling with them on the summer’s Edge of Return tour. The question is…is this simply a case of bandmates sharing the same woman, or are the rumors of incest true? Stay tuned!”

  I raise my gaze to Noah’s, then Rye’s. “Fuck!”

  Noah nods once. “Fucking Zayne.”

  “You boys ready to order?”

  The waitress is back. I’ve got enough acid eating through my stomach that I order pancakes. I wait impatiently for Rye and Noah to order, and then lean forward when we’re alone again. “Knox is going to flip his shit.”

  Noah smirks. “Takes the pressure off you, dude.”

  I blink. “What?”

  Rye shakes his head. “Fuck, no. It adds to it! Knox is gonna be looking at everything now. Even more than usual. Especially where Bree’s concerned.”

  “What are you talking about?” I try to pretend ignorance, but I know. We all know.

  “Don’t play dumb.” Noah frowns. “You fuck her yet?”

  “Jesus!” I snap. “Will you fuckers stop asking about my fucking sex life!”

  “Saw her come out of your room this morning.”

  “What?”

  Rye shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep so I got up early. Went to the gym. I was headed back to my room when I saw her leave your room and go back to her own.”

  “Fuck.” Seems I’ve been saying that a lot this morning.

  “You know we don’t give a shit—”

  “As long as you don’t hurt her.” Noah interrupts Rye.

  “But this whole thing is now way more fucked than if we only had to worry about you sleeping with Bree.”

  Son of a bitch. I hate the secrecy, but no way can we go public with Bree and me being—whatever it is we are. Knox has to know first. And I have to tell her about Lara and Mason and Jill—shit I’d rather die than talk about. What I want doesn’t matter; Bree deserves to know all my ugly truths before she considers telling the world that she’s with me. And now we’ve got this other shit that needs to be handled.

  Band Wife?

  Ménage a Cinq? Is that even such a thing?

  “Whatever happened between Bree and me stays here.” I pin them each with a determined glare. “I’m not talking about her like some slut, and I’m not telling anybody shit.” Not yet, anyway. I hope they can read it in my gaze.

  They both nod. I swear I read understanding, maybe even pride, in their expressions.

  “First we’re gonna deal with this shit-storm Zayne unloaded on us. Knox isn’t gonna like it. Hell, Bree is gonna hate it. We’ll take care of it and then I’ll talk to Knox about…whatever.”

  “Band meeting?” Noah asks as our breakfast arrives.

  I nod. “Thirty minutes. Your room.” Sure as hell aren’t bringing them back to my room. It probably still smells like sex in there.

  Noah smirks, like he’s reading my mind. “Bree, too?”

  “Hell, yes, Bree, too! She’s the one who’s g
onna take the biggest hit here. It makes her sound like—” I cut the words off. I don’t want to say it.

  “Yeah, okay.” Noah doesn’t seem to need the words, and Rye nods.

  Noah takes a bite of his omelet and grabs his phone. He sends off a quick text, to the others I assume, and I cut into my pancakes. Goddamn, but how did this tour—and my life—just get so fucking complicated?

  Thirty minutes later we’re all crowded in Noah’s room. Zayne looks like death warmed over, and while Knox looks better, he’s still not at his best.

  Noah’s sprawled on one bed, Bree tucked in next to him. It fucking pisses me off to see it, but it’s better that way. She knows it, and I know it. I see the way she avoids looking at me, even as I try to look anywhere but at her. I don’t like it, but I understand it. Rye and I sit at the table, while Knox sits in the one soft chair and Zayne groans from the other bed.

  “Okay, you fuckers, what’s this all about?” Knox demands.

  Rye hands him Noah’s phone. “Read.”

  It takes like three seconds before Knox explodes. “What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck!”

  I force myself to shrug like it’s not a big deal. Anything that might keep Knox from going off like a roman fucking candle. “Somebody took a picture last night.”

  “Somebody took a picture?” He repeats the words like he can’t fucking believe them. “Somebody took a fucking picture—and then made up a bunch of shit to sell to the tabloids?”

  Bree looks directly at me for the first time. “Ajia?”

  I angle my head toward her. “Give her the phone, Knox.”

  “Fuck no!” He glares at me. “I don’t fucking want—”

  “Knox, give me the goddamn phone.” She holds out her hand with a scowl.

  “It’s her life, too, bro,” I point out. “You can’t keep it from her.”

  Everything about Knox screams he doesn’t want to do it, but finally he hands the phone to Bree. Her eyes grow wide, and then wider as she scrolls through the picture and brief teaser article.

  “But…” She looks around the room, dazed. It’s the first time she’s been the subject of tabloid gossip. “It’s not true! I—the wife thing…it’s a joke!”