Wild Harts: Rockstar Shifters Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  Chase wrapped his hands around Emily’s thighs and hauled her down the bad until her ass was curved up and pressed against Chase’s legs. Emily curled her fingers into the quilt atop his bed and arched her back, keening for Chase to be inside of her.

  He pressed himself against her pussy, but paused. “You can’t come until I say you can,” Chase commanded.

  Emily sucked in a breath and curled her fingers tighter into the quilt. She’d never thought being bossed around could be so hot. This was so far beyond anything she’d ever experienced. It was all so … so wrong. And she loved it. Emily managed a nod that turned into a moan.

  Chase thrust himself into her pussy, ramming his cock so deep Emily thought she was going to burst. God, he was big. She felt herself stretch to accommodate him, and it was an aching, wonderful sensation unlike anything she’d felt before. Chase dragged his cock out of her and plunged back in, the angle of it hitting her deep inside at just the right spot.

  Emily rocked her hips to meet his next thrust, her feet planted on either side of his thighs and her head thrown back in delirium. Pressure was building inside of her, a dam threatening to spill over. She didn’t know how she was going to hold on.

  Chase pumped in and out of her pussy, groaning. “Don’t come, Emily. Not yet.”

  Emily moaned loudly, but she clamped her pussy tight around Chase’s cock driving into her and kept her orgasm at bay. But only just. She was at the edge, her toes curled over, her entire body ready to plunge. Every single cell inside of her was alive with this feeling, an indescribable, excruciatingly beautiful awareness that made her tingle all over.

  Chase thrust into her, fitting perfectly, melding their bodies together. Emily’s orgasm built and built until it was a fever inside of her, an inferno that couldn’t be stopped.

  “Chase,” she panted. “Chase, please.”

  Chase fell forward until he was stretched out on top of her, his cock still working wonders inside her body. He held himself up on his elbows, and his hands curled into her hair. He tilted his chin, looked deep into her eyes.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  His mouth found hers, and Emily came. Her entire body shuddered with it as wave after wave crested through her. And through it all, Chase kissed her.

  He thrust inside of her one final time, his mouth going rigid and his body tightening, then he groaned his release and collapsed to his side. His hands were still caught up in her hair, his lips still kissing her softly on the shoulder.

  And he smiled, the most freeing, beautiful smile Emily had ever witnessed.

  Nothing about this man was like anything she’d ever seen before. He was complicated and difficult and deeply kind. He was forceful and passionate and gentle all at the same time.

  And Emily’s heart broke for them, because this could never, ever happen again.

  The flush of her orgasm ebbed away, leaving only a terrible guilt. She felt raw with it, bruised with it.

  This … this was so much more than a kiss. She’d had sex with Chase. No-holds-barred, wild-abandon sex with the drummer of the first band she’d been assigned to. God, what a cliché.

  Emily lay still on the bed, too afraid to move, but just as afraid of what would happen if she didn’t. Because the truth was, she’d wanted this so much. She’d been dreaming of this, waking up every morning aching from it. There was something between her and Chase that was undeniable. It went beyond simple attraction to something deeper, more primal. Emily felt … connected to this man in a way that was hard to grasp. But she wanted to grasp it. She wanted to explore this thing between them.

  She also wanted to make love to him so much it hurt.

  Hurt. Hurt, like she’d hurt Asher.

  He may not know what had just happened, but Asher was hurt by this all the same. Emily brushed her hair out of her eyes and let her palms fall over her face. Asher wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t deserve this. Emily needed to respect him, respect the relationship they had built together.

  Chase’s warm hand slid up Emily’s thigh, and she startled. She shifted away from him and had to fight past the tightness in her throat to speak. Despite what she felt in her heart, in her bones, she couldn’t do this to Asher.

  “This can’t happen again,” she said to the ceiling.

  Chapter Eight

  Chase

  “THIS CAN’T HAPPEN AGAIN,” EMILY said, her eyes on the ceiling. She turned away from Chase and crawled off the bed to hunt for her clothes. Chase watched her, too sated from making love to move.

  Her bra was ruined. She held it up with wide eyes then crumpled it up into a ball and pulled on her blouse without it. Dressed, she paused, visibly chewing on her cheeks and worrying a tennis bracelet around her wrist.

  “I mean it, Chase. I won’t deny there’s tension between us, but we cannot do”—and she waved a hand over the bed, where Chase still lay naked—“do this again.”

  Emily looked down, and Chase hooked his hands behind his head. He should be getting up and searching for his clothes too, but he nearly delighted in the embarrassment making Emily’s movements jerky.

  Christ, he’d just made her come twice, and now she was too embarrassed to even look at his naked body? She didn’t seem too abashed when he was pumping his cock into her.

  Chase shook his head and rolled off the bed, grabbing his shirt and pants. He purposely got too close to Emily, close enough to smell himself on her. The scent made his groin tighten.

  She was his.

  No, Chase thought, shaking the disconcerting idea from his head. She was a woman he’d fucked, latest in a long line of women he’d fucked and surely not the last. End of story.

  “Oh, don’t worry, darlin’,” Chase drawled, tugging his pants on. He left the fly open, reveling in the way his proximity and naked torso was bringing color to Emily’s cheeks. “We both know this was a mistake not worth repeating.”

  “Don’t call me darling,” Emily hissed.

  Chase quirked a grin. “Whatever you say, darling.”

  Emily grimaced and threw up her hands. “You said it right, Chase Hart. This was a mistake. I’m your publicist and you are my job not my … my ….” Emily groaned and pressed two fingers to her temples. “And I have a boyfriend. A good boyfriend with a good future.”

  Chase fought the urge to grab Emily’s face between his hands and kiss her again, repeat this mistake again. And again. Instead, he curled his lip. “You mean that asshole that made you cry this morning?”

  Emily backed up a step, her face a mask of calm, but Chase saw the anger flashing in her eyes. “You don’t know a thing about my personal life, and you never will.”

  Then she turned on a heel and strode out the door. Her bra was forgotten on the floor. Chase stalked after her and called down the hall. “Don’t worry, Ms. St. Clair. I wouldn’t dare try to get in the way of your perfect, fancy life.”

  He slammed the door and stood, fuming. God, she was impossible. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make sure Chase knew how he stacked up. He rammed his fist into the wall and hissed as the pain bit into his knuckles.

  Emily was rich and educated and too snobby by half, and Chase knew only too well what those types thought of him. After all, he was a country boy. He was the talent, not the power. Someone like Emily St. Clair would never end up with someone like him.

  Good. He didn’t want to spend a life with her. He’d screwed up. Chase had never meant to sleep with her. Hell, he’d never meant to kiss her, but she’d been so close and so desirable. He just couldn’t resist. And the sex. Jesus, he’d never experienced anything like it.

  But he’d learned his lesson. And, Chase reasoned, he could live without her. The way Jax went on, denying your mate was painful, like losing a limb. But he could do this. Sure, the sex was incredible, but he’d forget her soon enough. She’d said it herself—this could never happen again.

  He was only furious because she’d said it first.

  Chase stalked through t
he house and out the back door toward the makeshift studio. His drum kit was set up in a far corner, headphones resting on a soundboard. He snapped the headphones over his ears and settled behind the drums on his stool. He was surrounded—two cymbals, a hi-hat, a snare, two toms, and a bass drum. He toed at the bass pedal and spun his drumsticks between his fingers on one hand while he queued up tracks they’d been working on for the new album on his phone.

  Chase knew he should be concentrating on what was probably going to be their first single, but it wasn’t appealing to him yet. It featured a different drum, an Irish bodhrán, that reminded him too much of his childhood, before it all went to shit. How many nights had his family and others from the clans gathered around the bonfires and belted out the old songs, with his father and Uncle Mac on drums and his mother on her fiddle.

  It all cut too close to the quick for Chase, who already felt raw.

  Instead, he selected a loud, percussive track that built and built. He closed his eyes and touched each drum softly before starting. Then he lost himself in the beats, in the crashing cymbals and rolling snare and thumping bass. He hit hard, not caring about what the song needed—what he needed was to feel the beat of the drums crash through him, to rattle his bones.

  He played until he was covered in sweat, until his drumsticks were a whirl of motion. But underneath the pounding rhythm, the beat of her name still echoed in his head.

  Chase heard her before he saw her: Lacy.

  One thing he’d never expected was to see Lacy Segal again. Most of the women Chase slept with were gone by the next morning, both physically and emotionally. He never gave much thought to them after he’d sated his desire.

  And yet, here was Lacy sitting in his kitchen chatting with Tiff. Why’d Jax have to go and lock onto a mate who was best friends with one of his conquests? It was wholly unfair.

  Chase paused at the mouth of the hallway, grimacing. He was in a terrible mood, had been since yesterday morning. Everyone had come back from town happy and a bit sunburned, and that had just soured Chase’s mood more.

  He holed himself up in the studio all day working his aggression out on the drums. Yet it still wasn’t enough to keep a certain New York socialite from plaguing his dreams. He’d woken up with a hard dick and a frown on his face.

  Chase backed down the hallway, thinking maybe another full day in the studio working on the new album could be just what he needed. He backed up again, feeling blindly along the wall for his bedroom door.

  “Oh!”

  Chase whipped around, his heart flipping over. Emily stood before him just outside the bathroom door, her eyes wide and her cheeks going crimson.

  “What are you doing here?” Chase hissed.

  “Funnily enough, I’m working. Why are you sneaking around?”

  Chase straightened his shoulders. “I’m not sneaking.”

  “Chase?” Lacy’s voice filtered down the hallway.

  “Shit,” Chase snapped. He grabbed Emily’s hand and hauled her into the first door on his left. It was a closet.

  She tumbled against him, her hands on his chest and locks of her hair swinging into his face. That smell again—saltwater and roses. Chase inhaled deeply before putting his hands firmly on Emily’s shoulders and pushing distance between them. Not that there was much room to begin with.

  The closet was cramped and dark, only a sliver of light filtering under the door.

  “Chase?” Lacy’s voice floated under the door, then her shadow passed.

  Chase held a finger to Emily’s lips and felt her mouth open in an oh of surprise.

  God. Those lips. Before Chase could think better of it, he ran the pad of his finger along the outline of Emily’s mouth. He made it halfway across her pouty bottom lip when Emily nipped at him and pulled his finger into her mouth. Chase sucked in a breath, and his chest pressed into Emily as he did.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Chase said, his voice barely a whisper. He snaked his free arm around Emily’s waist to tug her closer at the same time he spoke.

  “No,” Emily agreed as her hands trailed down his stomach and caught at the band of his jeans. “We really shouldn’t.”

  “So you should definitely stop what you’re doing,” Chase groaned.

  Emily had freed his dick from his pants and was kneeling. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, and her lips vibrated against the head of his cock. Chase hissed and let his head fall back against the closet wall.

  He could feel her breath fluttering against his dick, warm and so close. Her fingers circled around the base of him and her lips brushed against him with the barest of touches. But she didn’t move.

  “Em, you’re killing me. Why’d you stop?”

  He felt her smile. “Just following orders. You’re right, we should stop this immediately.”

  Chase grabbed at Emily’s head and tangled his fingers up in her soft hair. “No, don’t listen to me. I’m an idiot. I don’t know what I’m talking about. You should never, ever, listen—”

  He broke off with a tangled groan and she took his cock deep into her mouth. And Jesus, it was glorious. Her lips were soft, her tongue perfect, and she sucked him hard enough to threaten that he’d come right away. She worked up and down the length of him, rolling her tongue and dragging it up his shaft to circle the head of his cock. Chase groaned loudly, only to have Emily pull back and shush him.

  “Unless you want this over in a hurry, keep it down,” Emily commanded.

  Chase bit back another loud moan as her mouth sucked him deep and fisted his hands in her hair. She sucked and worked his cock, and Chase could barely hold himself back. He was reaching the brink, the fathomless precipice of his orgasm yawning before him. With his last bit of resolve before release, Chase gently pushed Emily away and hauled her to her feet.

  “You’re turn,” he rumbled, yanking up her dress and tugging her panties down.

  God, she was already so wet, so open to him. He lifted one of her legs to rest on his knee and kissed his way up her thigh in the darkness. Her pussy was hot and wet, and he dragged his tongue up her opening before finding her clit. He sucked it between his lips and groaned at the sound of her gasping pleasure.

  He wrapped one hand around her leg to keep her thigh opened wide and plunged two fingers of his other hand deep inside of her, working at that spot he’d found just yesterday. Her breath was coming quick now. He sucked at her clit harder, flicking his tongue against that sensitive bud of arousal.

  Emily’s hands found his head and ran her palms over his shaved scalp. “Chase,” she groaned. “I need you now. I need you inside of me.”

  Chase disentangled himself from her and practically jumped to his feet. He found his jeans and yanked out one of the condoms he habitually carried. Once sheathed, he hoisted her up to pin her against the wall and plunged his cock into her pussy without preamble. They were both so close, so overcome with lust. Chase thrust deep into her, once, twice. Emily’s fingers dug into his shoulders; she writhed against him. Then Chase felt the glorious pulse of her pussy tightening around his cock. He came hard, barely able to keep himself from roaring with completion.

  Emily panted and dropped her damp forehead to his shoulder. Chase’s dick was still buried inside of her, and it felt so perfect, so right. He had to breathe deeply to calm himself, stop himself from saying things he shouldn’t. That he never would.

  Even if he wanted to say them with an urgency that he felt like a physical pain deep in his gut.

  Emily patted his shoulder and wriggled down the wall. There was a pause, then. “Um, can you help me find my underwear?”

  Chase laughed—a sharp puff of air through his nose—then crouched down and felt along the floor. His fingers hooked over a bit of lace and satin, and he held them up.

  “Your panties, madam.”

  Emily grabbed them, and in the tight space, Chase could feel her pull them up and adjust her dress. “Chase, this ….”

  “I know,” Chase said, finishing her thou
ght for her. “It can’t happen again.”

  A terrible silence settled between them, and Chase longed to fill it, to say the things to Emily he knew he shouldn’t. He saw her outline at the closet door; she paused.

  “Give me a minute before you come out, okay?”

  Chase didn’t trust himself to speak, and after a second, she slipped away. Chase fell back against the wall of the closet and groaned, his head in his hands. What the fuck? He didn’t want a mate. He did not. Yet he was about to declare undying love just moments before for a woman he barely knew and most definitely didn’t like.

  Jesus. He needed to get a handle on this situation.

  He needed to force himself to get over Emily once and for all. There was one surefire way to do that, and it was currently sitting at the kitchen table.

  Chase counted to ten, then sauntered out of the closet. He paused at the lip of the hallway to collect his thoughts and steel his nerve. He ran a hand over his mouth and beard—the thick hair on his chin was a bit damp from Emily. From the things he’d done to her. It nearly broke his determination.

  Instead, he strode into the kitchen, where Emily was chatting with Lacy and Tiff. Emily acknowledged him with a terse nod of her head, Tiff smiled, and Lacy bolted to her feet.

  She was dressed to the nines, in a form-fitting dress he usually saw women wear to clubs and bright red lipstick. Lacy threw herself at Chase in the sort of hug reserved for men returning from war. Everything about it felt wrong, but Chase only faltered for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around her and picked her up in a bear hug.

  Lacy squealed. “Chase! God, I could barely wait to see you!”

  At the table, Tiff rolled her eyes. “And the truth comes out.”