by Zoey Oliver
It’s not how attractive and talented he is. It’s the way he makes me laugh. The silly things he does just to get a smile out of me. It makes my heart skip a beat every time and washes the nervousness away like sandcastles in the tide.
“So,” he says, standing and clearing the empty to-go containers off my coffee table, “should we get to work?”
The reminder of my pretenses for getting him here almost catches me off-guard. Yes, we definitely need to work on the song, but that’s really not why I wanted him to come over and I thought he fully understood that when he agreed. Maybe I misread him. Maybe he really is only here to work on the song. Maybe I’m being a fool for throwing myself at him when he’s trying to keep things professional.
But then I remember him saying I like you too, Chelsea while the ocean breeze ruffled my hair and I cling tight to that memory, refusing to let doubt get the best of me. Whatever happens, happens. No need to rush or force it.
“Yeah, sure, the studio’s through there and to the left. You can’t miss it,” I say, heading to the sink to wash my hands. Even though I gave him directions, Ian’s waiting for me at the start of the hallway and slips his hand around me, resting it on the small of my back as I lead him down to the studio.
“I think I like your place better than mine,” he says, carefully observing the decorations and art on the walls. I roll my eyes at him, grinning.
“Oh please. Your house is practically a mansion.”
“Yeah, but it’s not really home. It’s a place Merrill got me after I got out of rehab. A quick sale that got me away from bad influences. Most everything was put there by a designer and I hardly spend any time anywhere other than the studio or my bed.”
“Same,” I sigh. It’s crazy; when you’re starting out, you think that hitting the big time will fix all your problems, but it doesn’t. Having money and fame only makes more problems. I’m never home to enjoy the fruits of my labor, and I always feel guilty about spending anything because I never know when Mariah might have more crippling medical bills. My parents haven’t worked in years between her and Eric, so I’m basically supporting the whole family—and let me tell you, the “mental health” hiatus I took after Eric died didn’t really do anything to repair my mental health since it meant the flow of money was drying up and everyone’s purse strings had to get tighter.
My parents aren’t the stereotypical stage parents; they weren’t pushing me onstage at a young age so they could have an early retirement, but I told them when Mariah got sick not to worry about that stuff anymore. I had more than enough to take care of everyone. Until I didn’t. I’m not exactly struggling for money, but I certainly can’t afford the kind of lavish lifestyle the tabloids expect of someone with my name recognition. And I would never dream of buying a house like Ian’s unless I planned on moving the whole family in.
“But your place is… cozy,” he says. “I can see your touch all over it. I like it.”
His compliment sends a tingle of satisfaction down my spine, to the place where his hand is still resting, radiating heat through my body just with that minimal contact. I’m half-tempted to shove him against the wall and make out with him right here and now, just to quench this insistent need for him. But I hold onto my resolve. I’m no virgin, but I’m not really used to making the first move, and Ian leaves me tongue-tied and uncertain in ways no one else ever has. It’s probably for the best if we just focus on the music.
My studio’s got nothing on his, but it’s functional. It’s slightly less well-equipped than the one I have in the city, or the one we’ve been recording in, but the acoustics are good and the seating is comfy. Not much more a musician can ask for.
“You wanna run through it once to see where we’re getting caught up?” he suggests. I nod, totally mute, completely baffled how he’s managing to stay all business while igniting this hot desire inside of me at the same time.
We both grab an instrument and go into the booth without a word. I flip the switch to record and he gives me a nod and a silent count before we start in unison.
The only other time we’ve played this song all the way through was right before we kissed, and the energy is no less electric and charged now than it was then. The song comes out like we’ve rehearsed it a million times, like we know this song better than we know our own names. Ian’s growly voice cuts into my smooth melodies at just the right times, giving the song that rough and dirty edge it needs. And while we wrote the song on spec, I can’t help but feel like there’s some truth in it. Knowing how bad Ian is for me, but feeling too damn good about it to stop.
By the time the song’s done and I flip off the recording switch, we’re both breathless and flushed. Ian looks at me with that wild look in his eyes that he had right before he kissed me last time, and I brace myself for another breath-stealing kiss. But it doesn’t come this time. The wild look slowly dims and my chest deflates.
“You know people are going to talk,” he says.
“They always do,” I answer, my voice silky and smooth. I can hear the seduction in it even though I’m not trying to say it like that. Seems I can’t help myself around him.
“I mean, they’re going to think this song is about us.”
I bite my lip and run my fingers through my hair, not sure how to answer that. “Well… It kind of is, isn’t it? I know we didn’t intend it that way…”
“Maybe you didn’t,” he says softly. So soft and quiet that it sounds like a confession.
“What?”
He shrugs, almost looking ashamed. “I might have had ulterior motives when I suggested the song subject…”
I set my guitar down and move closer to him, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “You mean, when you suggested the good girl/bad boy song, you were thinking about moi? Well, I never!” I sound shocked, but I’m not even trying to keep a straight face as I grin at him and practically press my chest into his.
A deep rumbling growl vibrates through Ian’s chest and he practically tosses his guitar aside to settle his hands on my hips, tugging me forward until I can feel his hardness pressing into my belly.
“Chelsea, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” His voice is strained, like every word is hard for him to say, like he’s trying to hold back so much. But I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to hold back with me. I want Ian—there’s no point in denying it anymore—and I want all of him. Even the dark shadowy parts that scare me.
His fingers tease up the side of my neck, making me shiver before he thrusts them into my hair forcefully and drags me to him. If I thought our first kiss was hot and wild, this one puts it to shame. It’s slower, though. Like he’s less afraid of me fleeing like a startled rabbit. Like he knows he can take his time with this one and really make it count.
My lips part for him and his tongue practically invades my mouth, making my head spin and my knees buckle. The stubble on his jaw scratches my face, but I don’t even care because the contrast between that abrasiveness and the sweet manipulation of my lips is enough to have me floating. His hands drag lower, slipping under my ass and pulling me up tight against him so his hard cock is nestled between my legs. And even through the layers of fabric between us, my body reacts instantly. The pressure of his thick length pressed against my throbbing clit makes me gasp, then his lips suck and nip at my neck and I’m whimpering for him.
“Fuck, Chelsea, I’ve thought about this so much,” he says, whispering his confession into my shoulder between kisses.
“Me too,” I sigh, sliding my hands under his shirt, running my fingers over the hard ridges of his abs, chest, and back, each muscle hot as lava under my touch.
Then, with one quick movement, he’s lifted me off my feet and I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist as he starts to walk out of the studio, trying to free my breasts as he does.
“I’m gonna need some navigation help here,” he says, opening the studio door before sucking one of my
nipples into his mouth.
Lightning shoots all the way to my toes and my legs squeeze around him so tight, my hips grinding against him without thought. We’re only kissing—he’s barely touching me—and already I’m so close. Being around Ian these past few days has left me on edge and needing release, but nothing I do on my own is satisfactory. Nothing can quell this need except for the man himself.
“End of the hall,” I pant, barely able to form words. His tongue darts out and flicks over my sensitive nipple, making me arch and gasp. The bastard just grins and marches forward, carrying me like I weigh nothing.
Ian kicks my bedroom door open and practically tosses me down on the bed. In an instant, we’re both stripping, not even able to pause long enough to enjoy the show the other one’s putting on. But he’s helped me get a head start, so I’m naked before he is and I have a chance to just marvel at him for a minute. The man is practically chiseled from marble, sculpted defined muscles from head to toe, tattoos in varying stages of aging decorating his warm tan skin. But the thing about Ian that makes my heart stop and my breath catch is the way he looks at me.
He’s standing at the foot of my bed and he looks frozen, just looking down at me with this dark, hungry look in his eyes that makes every nerve ending in my body tingle.
“Are you going to just stand there staring, or are you going to come over here and show me what you’ve been thinking about for so long?” I ask, grinning as I scoot back on the bed far enough to reach into my nightstand table. I never really thought I’d need the couple of condoms I’ve got stored in there, but I like to be prepared. That’s certainly paying off tonight.
Ian snaps out of it at my challenge and moves onto the bed with me, his weight making the mattress sink as his hands work their way up my legs. His fingers dance up the insides of my thighs before sliding around to my hips and up my sides. I think for a moment that I should be embarrassed about being so bare and exposed before him, but Ian doesn’t make me feel that way. The way Ian looks at me, I don’t think I could ever be ashamed of my body with him.
He leans over me and kisses one thigh, then the other, his rough stubble scraping up the sensitive skin there as he plants a kiss on my hip, then next to my belly button.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a tease?” I groan, once he skips over the place I so desperately want him for a second time.
He grins up at me from between my legs and without answering, his head dips down and his lips latch around my clit and my whole body bucks off the bed at the sudden jolt.
“Maybe I just like the way you squirm when you’re desperate,” he says, spreading my lips before assaulting me with his tongue again.
Everything goes white for a moment. There are stars in front of my eyes and delicious waves of pleasure rolling through my veins, and all I can focus on is the feeling of Ian’s mouth on me, his tongue lapping at my clit, my toes curling harder with every pass.
“Fuck, Ian, that feels so good.”
He keeps one hand on my hip, holding me in place as his other goes between my legs, one finger slipping inside of me without resistance. I’m so wet right now I’m pretty sure I could take him without any foreplay at all, but dear God does it feel good to have him touch me like this.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted this as much as I do,” he teases, adding a second finger and curling them forward. He knows the spots to make me moan intrinsically, but he also—frustratingly—knows how far he can push me. He gets me right to the edge, until I’m gasping and panting and squirming and he just keeps me there, his fingers stroking my insides slowly, his tongue drawing lazy circles over my clit until my thighs are shaking.
“Please,” I whine, gripping his hair in my fingers, holding his head between my legs.
Ian lets out a growl that rumbles through my pussy, and sucks my clit the same time he pushes a third finger inside of me. All at once the world shatters into lights and stars and far off in the distance I can hear someone moaning over and over again. At some point, I realize that someone is me, begging him not to stop.
“Trust me, I don’t intend to,” he says, pulling himself up over me, kissing me long and hard. I can taste myself on his lips and I know I should balk. I know it’s not the sort of thing a good girl should be into, but it’s so sexy and has me so unbelievably turned on that I’m already reaching for his hot length and stroking it as we kiss.
Ian groans and breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against mine, almost frozen like he’s trying to steel his resolve.
“As good as your hand feels, Chelsea, I’d much rather come inside you.”
There’s nothing I can even say to that. I just mutely nod, a whimper coming out of me as his fingers dance over my clit while I fumble for the condom I set aside.
He slides the condom down his cock and it’s the first time I really notice how big he is. It almost seems like there’s no way he’s going to fit inside me, no matter how wet I am, but this isn’t the time to worry about logistics. I need him and I need him now. The tip of his dick runs up and down the length of my slit, sliding over my clit and making my body ache for more.
“Don’t tease me,” I beg, not even ashamed of the desperation in my voice.
He leans down for another kiss, this one slow and deep, taking his time as his hips move forward and I feel him start to slip inside. I cling to him for dear life, my nails already digging into his shoulders as he moves in inch by maddening inch.
And then, with a sigh it feels like we were both holding, he’s hilted all the way inside of me and he just stays there for a minute, taking in short measured breaths.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing me again.
“You too,” I whisper, hooking my legs around his waist. “But I need more.”
It doesn’t take anything else from me. Ian draws his hips back until he’s barely inside of me at all and then he thrusts all the way in with one stroke, making me cry out. And from there, he’s fucking me the way I’ve fantasized about. Hard and fast, desperate and animalistic. His callused fingers grip my hips so tight I might have bruises from his fingerprints tomorrow, but I don’t fucking care because Ian filling me is the only thing that matters right now.
“Fuck, Chelsea, I’m not going to last long,” he grunts between gritted teeth. I can see the strain in his face, how much it’s taking him to keep his control and just knowing that I’m the one making him nearly lose it is the sexiest damn thing in the world.
“Don’t hold back,” I plead, my muscles clenching and rippling around him. Already my vision’s going dim and fuzzy around the edges. Already the stars are appearing every time he buries his cock inside of me. Already, I’m struggling to catch my breath and I know I’m so close.
“Oh God, Ian,” I moan, tossing my head back as he takes one of my nipples between his teeth.
“Oh fuck.” I know I’m the one screaming that because it’s my voice echoing off the walls, but that’s all the awareness I have. Ian pushes me up over that cliff and then I’m flying, shooting off like a rocket, every muscle in my body clenching with the force before the release hits and I’m floating through space. I can feel him swelling inside me and he bites down gently on my shoulder to stifle his groan as he comes like a bottle rocket.
For a long moment we’re both lying there panting, him braced over me, holding his weight up. Finally, I tug him down and he collapses next to me, wrapping his arms around me and keeping me nestled against his chest.
“Holy shit,” he says, still out of breath.
I nod, letting out a contented sigh. “You can say that again.”
He blows out another heavy breath. “Holy shit.”
“Goof,” I tease, nudging him with my hip. He kisses the back of my neck, sending goosebumps all up and down my body before he climbs out of the bed and opens my closet door. I snicker and point to the door next to it.
“Bathroom’s in there.”
While he’s washing up,
I don’t move. I’m not sure I can move. All my joints feel like jelly, my bones feel nonexistent, but it doesn’t matter because there’s this warm tingly glow over all my skin that won’t go away.
I know I should be worried about what this means going forward. How it’s going to affect the album and the tour. I know I should be worried about getting involved with Ian, opening myself up to that danger of being destroyed again, but I just can’t find it in me to be worried about anything right now. I just want to bask in the afterglow of being with Ian. And maybe try for a round two if he’s up for it.
Chapter 11
Ian
“Here you go, one cup of sugary sugar for you,” I tease, handing Chelsea her coffee as the drive-through girl hands me mine.
“There’s other stuff in here,” she says, glaring at me though even the straw can’t hide her smirk.
“Mm-hmm. Other kinds of sugar maybe.”
She smacks my arm and rolls her eyes. “You’re holding up the line.”
I chuckle and wave to the girl who’s staring at us both wide-eyed, clearly recognizing us. That’s been happening less and less since rehab, but with all the latest press surrounding me and Chelsea, I guess it was inevitable. As I’m pulling off, I can see one of her coworkers in the background trying to sneak pictures. Old Ian would have been annoyed with that, but clean Ian doesn’t care. I just hope the kid makes some decent money off of it.
“Are you sure this was a good idea?” I ask her, watching her lips wrap around that straw in a way that has me hard in an instant.
“What? Paying fifteen dollars for two coffees? Definitely not, but thank you,” she says, grinning.
“Don’t mention it. But no, I mean going into the studio together. You don’t think that’s going to… raise questions?”
She shrugs, happily sipping on her frozen coffee concoction. Waking up to find Chelsea next to me this morning was like waking up to still be in a dream. She was perfection sprawled out on the mattress next to me, her hair fanned out over the pillows. Even the little shiny spot of drool at the corner of her lips was adorable as fuck. I’d woken her with a kiss, holding my breath, praying the first thing in her eyes wouldn’t be regret.