Beautiful March

by Christy Pastore

  My hands push into her hair and she rubs herself against me. Pure fucking hotness.

  “I’m going to do very bad things to you, Tyler,” she whispers against my lips.

  Fuck yes.

  “Like what? You gonna whip me, strip me . . .” My brows rise when her hands glide over my tie. “And tie me up?”

  She licks her lips and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. My lips press to hers and the tension I’ve been carrying all night—hell, most of the week—evaporates.

  A heavy cloud of desire replaces that feeling and her hands brush over the buttons of my shirt. My arms wrap around her waist pulling her closer as I kiss her. There’s no denying how my cock responds to kissing her. Touching her.

  When we finally come up for air, she’s breathless. Pink blooms across her chest and shoulders.

  Haven’s eyes are hooded, and a lazy smile breaks out on her swollen lips. My cock is pressed painfully against my zipper.

  A knock at the door sends Haven shooting straight up and off my lap.

  “Good night, Tyler,” Maria calls out. “We’re all leaving. Front of the house is locked up too. Chesley wanted me to tell you.”

  My hand passes over my mouth as I formulate my response and try not to sound rattled. I swallow, finding my words. “Thanks again, and good night.”

  I stand and adjust my cock. Haven smooths her dress and readjusts the top.

  “I need to do a quick walk-thru and make sure all the doors are locked.” I kiss the corner of her mouth.

  “Okay, I’ll be right here.”

  “You better be,” I say with a laugh.

  Haven

  The vibrations pull me from my Champagne and Tyler induced haze. I fish my phone out of my clutch and stare at the screen.

  Scott: You gotta help me. I got into a fight and they’re trying to take me to jail.

  Scott: I gotta finish my tour.

  Scott: 911. SOS. Haven, please.

  You’ve got to be kidding. No. Not now. Not fucking Scott.

  Scott: Alan is in the hospital. I have no one here.

  Lies. You have an entourage, but none of them can help you. Or none of them are willing to stick their necks out for you. They just want a free ride on your success train.

  Me: Where are you?

  The little dots pop up on the screen just as Tyler comes back into his office.

  Scott: The Colonel’s Pub. A bar just off Elliston U’s campus.

  Tyler pulls me against him and grinds his cock against my ass. His hands skim up the sides of my thighs and his lips land on my neck. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.” He kisses his way up my neck and the rush of heat between my legs makes me dizzy with need.

  His fingers map over my hips trailing back down to my thighs and slips his fingers beneath the hem of my dress.

  “You still want to do those bad things to me?” he whispers, and his finger finds my clit.

  I’m soaked. He drags his finger through my wetness and my head snaps back against his thick shoulder. My phone vibrates in my hand, but Tyler keeps on kissing and stroking me. Drawing out my need.

  “Tell me all the things you want to do to me, beautiful,” he rasps in my ear and lifts my phone from my hand placing it on top of the filing cabinet. He spins me around so that I’m facing him. He draws up my skirt with one hand, fisting the fabric over my waist. Cool air hits me there and it does nothing to calm the four-alarm fire inside me.

  His thumb grazes over my clit. “Do you want me to tell you all the things that I’m going to do to you?” His eyes smolder with heat.

  “I . . . yes,” is all I can manage to say because he pushes two fingers inside me. Pumping slow, so achingly slow. I’m on fire.

  “Tell me, Haven. In that dirty mind of yours, what are we doing in my bed? Are we fucking nice and slow or are you making me work for it?”

  My hips thrust forward when he pushes his foot against mine widening my stance. I’m so damn close to coming apart.

  “Do you feel that?” he asks, pushing deeper.

  The vibrations against this metal cabinet pick up again. His fingers leave my body and I cry out. “Fucking Scott.”

  He points to himself. “Tyler.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No, when you left, a text came through.” I clutch the device in my hand and stare at the screen. “He’s about to be arrested and he’s asking for my help.”

  Tyler runs a hand through his hair, probably leaving traces of me there. I smirk at the thought.

  “Where is he?”

  “A bar just off campus at Elliston.”

  “Fucking Scott,” he hisses. “Okay, let’s go get him out of this jam.”

  Me: On my way. I’ll be there in an hour.

  I blink up at the ceiling for a moment, digging deep to find the right words for Tyler.

  “I’m sorry about this,” I whisper.

  He tips my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “This is your job, nothing to be sorry for.” He tosses me a wink as his hands frame the sides of my face. “The one who’s gonna be sorry is Scott. He’ll pay for cock blocking me.”

  I laugh. He leads me out of his office and down the hallway to the back door where he sets the alarm. We step outside, the night air is hot and humid against my skin.

  “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  “You’re welcome.” His lips fuse to mine. “We’re going to take care of this and then I’m taking you to my bed.”

  I pull out the pair of panties that I stowed inside my clutch. I wiggle them over my hips as Tyler maneuvers down the road out of Smyrna Hills. When we hit the highway my phone buzzes again. I glance at the screen, expecting a message from Scott, but it’s Frankie texting.

  Frankie: Are you on your way to bail Mr. Benson out of situation?

  Me: I am, unless it’s already been taken care of.

  Frankie: No. His entourage has managed to calm things down. Alan isn’t happy.

  Me: Alan’s never happy. But mostly because Scott is his client.

  Frankie: LOL. You’re not wrong. Nothing is online yet. Dalton McCoy is threatening to cut Scott from the tour. And I really don’t want to deal with spinning that for the press.

  Frankie: We have to smooth this crap over. Alan said the folks at RMI Records are pissed. If this gets on social media, his label is going to consider dropping him.

  Me: Why would they cut him when he’s making them truckloads of cash?

  Frankie: Not our concern. Talk to Dalton’s people. Hell, talk to Dalton.

  Me: I will.

  Frankie isn’t wrong. Fucking Scott. My fist pounds against the arm rest.

  “Hey, hey, there, slugger.” Tyler’s voice soothes and I feel my tension uncoil slightly.

  “Sorry. I don’t feel good about this situation and I’m pissed that I even have to handle it.”

  “No?” he asks, gliding his hand up my thigh. “Hike your skirt up and I’ll give you something to feel good about. Don’t think I didn’t see you put on those panties.”

  I suck in a breath as his hand slips in between my thighs. “What? We can’t.”

  “Haven, take off your panties and put them inside the glove box. Don’t make me wait.”

  “Tyler . . .” My eyes close when his finger teases the edge of my panties.

  “Now, do it now,” he growls. “Or I’ll pull over and take them off myself.”

  Growly Tyler. Yum.

  My nipples pucker against my bra, and my head swivels taking in our surroundings. There are a few small cars behind us. Tyler slips in behind a semi in the slow lane. I ease the fabric down my legs and then toss them into the glovebox snapping it shut. Anticipation winds through me as his hand inches back between my thighs.

  He’s right there, his finger slides up and down finding me completely wet. “This is what I do to you, isn’t it? Make you wet, so fucking wet.”

  I groan, my thighs ache, the heat between them is insufferable.

  “You . . . tease m
e and make me crazy.” I roll my hips, rubbing myself against him.

  “You poor thing,” he taunts, plunging his finger inside me.

  “I’m burning,” I gasp, gripping the sides of my seat.

  “I’ll make it better for you.”

  I moan when he adds a second finger—stretching, filling me. Seeking more friction, my ass slides down the leather allowing him to thrust deeper.

  “Oh god, Tyler,” I cry out, feeling my inner muscles beginning to spasm. He flicks his wrist and his thumb circles my clit. My leg bends and my knee rests atop the center console. I’m spread wide. Anyone looking down would see my pussy on full display.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Wet and writhing against my leather seat, rubbing your scent all over my car. I’ll notice it every time I climb inside.”

  My eyes screw shut as my orgasm crests deep inside. “You feel so good.” Warmth spreads through my belly and my legs shake as the tingles radiate up and down.

  “So good,” he breathes. “Later, I’m going to strip you naked, spread you wide in my bed. Then I’m going to make you ride my cock so I can watch you come undone on top of me.”

  “Yes,” I groan. “That sounds so good. So good.”

  My insides explode and on a long moan, I come all over his fingers. When I open my eyes, I twist my head toward Tyler. He licks his fingers and smirks. The thought of his head between my legs slips into my mind.

  My eyes refocus. The slow realization that I’m still naked from the waist down hits me as the lights from a gas station on the side of the highway come into view. My limbs are heavy from my orgasm, but I manage to push my skirt down before the lights spread through the cab of his truck.

  Holy shit. If this is what one orgasm from Tyler is like, the sex . . . I can’t wait.

  Haven

  As I suspected, Scott is at one end of the bar and Dalton is at the other. Both men staring daggers at one another. The bartender nods to the corner. Corey Kyle sits near the juke box with an icepack on his face.

  Corey Kyle, the starting quarterback for the Elliston Colonels. We don’t rep athletes at my firm, but I’m pretty sure he’ll go number one in the draft.

  Scott stands to greet me. “Haven, thank fuck you’re here.”

  I hold up a hand. “What the hell happened, Scott?”

  Scott’s eyes darken and he inches forward. “What are you doin’ here, man?” he asks, swinging his gaze from Tyler back to me. “Are you screwin’ him?” he asks pointing a finger at Tyler.

  A loud burst of laughter comes from Corey. “Oh snap, he’s fuckin’ your girl, Benson.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Kyle, before I smash your face in again,” he warns.

  My head snaps to Corey. “Joke’s on you. I’m not his girl.”

  Corey holds up his hands. “Hey, lady, Benson here kept jawin’ on about how ‘his girl’ was coming to save him and shit. Fucker is such a pussy he needs pussy to save his fake bitch ass.”

  Scott turns and charges toward the young football star. Dalton steps in front of Scott and blocks him. In the back corner, I see a few co-eds siting surrounded by someone’s entourage. Scott’s, maybe Dalton’s.

  “Evening, Denny,” I hear a male voice boom out from behind me. I turn to see Coach Wyatt Hamilton striding in and he is not happy. The scowl painted on his face and his bleary eyes tell me he was drug out of bed for this little party.

  Wyatt Hamilton took my favorite team in the NFL to the Super Bowl and now he’s here at Elliston. He also happens to be Ryleigh’s brother-in-law.

  “Kyle, you’re on very thin ice with me,” Coach Hamilton yells out. “What in god’s name are you doing getting into bar fights?”

  I hear Scott snicker and a wide smile breaks out onto Dalton’s face.

  He stands. “Sorry, Coach. This punk bitch is Scott Benson, he and I went to high school together. Man, he’s just a wanna be Garth Brooks. A no talent little bitch. Can’t carry a tune worth a shit.”

  Yep, Scott Benson is younger than me. By my math, Scott was a senior when this kid was a freshman.

  “I have talent,” Scott roars. “You’re just mad ‘cause Callie wants a real man and not your stupid ass.”

  I roll my eyes. Nice comeback, Scott.

  My eyes flick to the door. In walks a beautiful woman with fiery red hair. My eyes bug out of my skull when Jenna Rae and Maybelle follow in behind her.

  “Haven,” Maybelle squeals and skips toward me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh, hi. I was asked to be here,” I say dryly.

  Jenna Rae rolls her eyes at me and the woman with red hair—who I’m guessing is Callie—shoots me a glare.

  Coach Hamilton clears his throat. “Gentleman and ladies, I’ve got a wife and a daughter at home who need me. I’d much rather be with them than the likes of you. No offense.” He cuts me a glance.

  “None taken, I’d rather not be here either. . . my plans were interrupted.” I snap my mouth shut. I hear Tyler chuckle over my shoulder.

  “Do I know you?” Coach asks me.

  “Yes, sir, Coach,” I correct. “We met in Los Angeles last Christmas. Ryleigh is my best friend.”

  A smile breaks out over his face and he jabs his finger at me. “I thought you looked familiar.”

  “Coach Hamilton, this is my friend, Tyler Nichols. You ever want to get out of Elliston, he owns the best farm-to-table restaurant along the Bourbon Trail.”

  He extends his hand to Tyler. “Nice to meet you . . .” Tyler doesn’t get a word out because a loud groan comes from the back table.

  “Man, I don’t got time for this,” Corey says. “Me and my boys want to get outta here and I want this fucking punk in jail for deckin’ me.” He points to Scott.

  “Kyle, pay your tab and get your ass in my truck. Your friends aren’t my concern. I don’t have time for your shenanigans during summer break. You wanna play, you pay.” Coach Hamilton steps up to Dalton. “Good to see you, my friend. How was the concert?”

  “It was good, until, you know.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “Kids.”

  Wyatt slaps Dalton’s shoulder. “I hear ya. I better see you at a game this season.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Scott yells. “Does everybody know everyone in this goddamn place?”

  “Seems we got quite a six degrees of Kevin Bacon kind of reunion thing happening,” Jenna Rae announces.

  “I want this guy in jail, Coach,” Corey complains as he strides across to the bar.

  Coach slaps Corey’s shoulder. “There will be no charges filed. Denny, sorry about this interruption to your evening.”

  “Not a problem, Coach. Come in anytime for a beer, on the house,” the bartender offers.

  Coach smiles. “All right. I might just do that after I get done with this one. He’s gonna be running laps tonight.”

  “Whoooo, boy, you gotta run half blitzed,” Scott howls. “I wanna watch.”

  Did I seriously like this guy at one time? Like really? Good lord, I need my head examined. Watching this display of immature dick swinging is painful. I’m embarrassed.

  I clasp my hands together. “Since there will be no charges filed against my client, my job here is done.”

  “Are you a lawyer or something?” Callie asks and tosses her red hair behind her shoulder.

  Ignoring her comment, I turn to face Maybelle. “Friend of yours?”

  “No, she’s Jenna Rae’s cousin and they had an extra ticket for tonight’s show. Backstage passes too. It was real fun, until it wasn’t.” She swivels her gaze to Tyler. “Y’all an item, yet?”

  “I’m leaving,” I say to Maybelle.

  “No, please stay.” Scott grasps my elbow. “There’s another little problem. His friends have cellphone videos and they won’t delete the footage.”

  Blowing out a deep breath I look at Scott. “Fine. Stay here.” I step up to where Dalton’s sitting at the bar. “Hi, I’m Haven with MCA. What can we do to make sure that Scott stays o
n the tour?”

  Dalton blows out a harsh breath. “For starters, he needs to grow the fuck up. Touring’s hard work and this guy thinks it’s a party twenty-four-seven.” Dalton stands. “I’m all for a good time, but I ain’t trying to ship that kind of image.” He looks past me to Scott. “Scotty boy, you’re gonna have to buy their phones and that will probably cost you a pretty penny.”

  I toss my hands in the air. “That is an excellent idea, Dalton.”

  He winks at me. “Glad I could help, darlin’.”

  “Do you have a Ziploc baggie or something similar?” I ask Denny.

  He nods and rummages through his cabinets. “Here ya go.”

  I take the plastic baggie. “Thanks. Come on, Scott.”

  Dalton mentions a drink order to the bartender and asks Tyler if he wants anything. Tyler nods, and orders a beer. I walk back to the table with Scott. Jenna Rae and Callie shoot me icy stares.

  “Scott, do me a favor and take your lady friend out for a nice meal tonight. There are some late-night spots in Elliston. Maybe a nice wine bistro.”

  He lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’re making me pay for more drinks, food and now phones. You’re gonna bleed me dry, Haven.”

  I grin. “Hmm, maybe P.R. isn’t such a bad idea after all. Stop acting like a dickhead and make good choices, then you’ll see these things won’t happen.”

  He grasps my wrist and stops. “So, are you fucking Tyler?”

  My eyes narrow. “Tyler and I are none of your concern.”

  His hands land on his hips. “It is when he’s my friend and you’re my ex,” he shouts loud enough for the whole bar to hear.

  My blood boils and I blow out a deep breath. Do not yell. Do your job and get out.

  I level a pointed stare at his split lip. “Kyle clocked you, have you had that lip looked at?”

  Celebrities love talking about themselves. Most celebrities don’t know how to function without the constant praise and bootlicking. Negative press. Good press. No matter where the hit or rush comes from, as long as they get the attention and that high—game on.

  This topic shift will shut him down long enough to get this situation handled and me out the door. My eyes meet Tyler’s and he’s looking at me with the same smolder he had the night at the strip club.