I wasn’t sure I believed that, given how many photos of him with his arm slung around assorted blondes I’d seen in tabloids and other trashy magazines, but hey, it was a fantasy. Why ruin it with cold hard facts when the only hard fact I cared about was pressing into my backside?
When his hands brushed the curls at the apex of my thighs, I bit my lips against the jolt of pure sensation that licked my body.
He glided over my sex to the inside of my thigh, then moved his hands back up again, brushing, teasing me until I wanted to shout with frustration. I wanted his hands on me and some part of him in me. But I was trussed and unable to do anything about it.
He kissed the side of my neck, nipping lightly as his fingers at last delved inside me, right where I wanted them.
“You’re so hot and wet for me.”
“I know,” I breathed. I closed my eyes, letting pure sensation, not rational thought, rule my body for once.
Dex slipped one long finger inside me and I felt my body clench around him. I squirmed on my truss but couldn’t move. I was totally at his mercy now.
“Please, Dex.”
“Please what, baby?” He brought one hand to my sensitized nipple while he used his fingers on the other hand to thrust slowly in and out of my body.
He twisted my nipple and I cried out, wanting more.
“How about this?” He added another finger to his thrusts and the delicious stretching sensation caused a new round of shudders to quake though my body.
“Yeah. Like that.”
“You like that I’m in control?”
“Yes.”
His hand moved up my chest to my throat. He urged my head backwards until it lay against his shoulder and continued his ministrations below.
I was so turned on now I could barely stand up. But I couldn’t sink down either with my hands stretched over my head.
He caressed my throat, and I felt my pulse beat against his fingers.
The warm spray hit me in the face, giving me a sense of total immersion in Dex. My eyes were closed, which only made the sensations more intense.
“Are you ready for me?”
“God, yes.”
“Good. Because I’m going to pop right now just watching your gorgeous body all hot and wet for me.”
He removed his fingers and grasped my hip with one hand as he guided his cock to my wet opening with the other.
I shifted my pelvis to give him better access and he slid all the way home. My breath hitched when he was finally sunk to the root, his pelvis snug against my ass.
Dex wrapped his arms around my torso, hugging me to him so that there was no space between our bodies.
My arms ached with the tension of being chained above my head but I welcomed the discomfort as just another sensation to add to the heady mix of heat and pressure and friction Dex had woven around us.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first, sliding out to the tip, then slamming home again in a long, clean slide.
In and out, with my breathy sighs, he loved my body.
“God. Just like I remember,” he whispered in my ear. His voice was raspy and low, a whisper all but lost in the drenching downpour of the shower.
I thrust backwards, wanting him to fuck me in earnest now. No more teasing, no more words. Just sex. Raw, dirty sex.
He got the picture.
Dex grabbed my hips and thrust harder until his wet flesh slapped against my backside. He grunted with each deep stroke and I was pretty sure I did, too. I felt lightheaded from the heat of the water and the heat building inside me.
Pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it burst suddenly like a popped balloon. Tendrils of pleasure spiraled through my limbs, though my belly, though my breasts, through my sex and took my breath away.
“Baby,” Dex said as he stiffened and pulled out of me. I felt his hot ejaculate on my back, hotter than the shower, even.
I groaned. He felt so good. Every part of him, every place he touched me was on fire for him.
He hugged me to him, squeezing me tight for a minute before chuckling in my ear. “Yeah, I remember that, too.”
I smiled. “Me, too.”
“Your arms must be getting awfully tired by now.”
“A little,” I fibbed. They were really tired and sore. But happy, just like me.
He lifted me up enough to drag the chain between the cuffs off the shower head and I was finally able to put them down. I winced.
“There you go, babe. You all right?”
I turned and smiled up at him. I’m great.”
“Yeah. You are.” He leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the mouth. “Here. Let me get your back.”
Dex soaped up his hands and washed my back. Then his hands slid down to my backside, then between my legs. I wasn’t complaining.
Dex turned me then and soaped up my front.
He looked down at me, the glint in his eye telling me he wasn’t done with me just yet. I wasn’t complaining about that, either.
He soaped me carefully, washing between my legs, then getting down on his knees to do my legs and even my feet. He gave my toes a quick kiss and stood up. “Water’s getting cold.”
I hadn’t even noticed the temperature had definitely cooled. My own temperature was rising again.
Dex reached behind me to turn off the shower, then shook his hair until it stood out in a spiky mess.
He opened the shower door and stepped out, then grabbed my arm to help me out.
“Let me dry you off.” He rubbed me all over with the towel, the rough texture abrading my skin in all the right places.
I shivered in the cool of the dressing room, my nipples standing straight out. Goose flesh covered my skin.
“If I take these off, do you promise not to run away before I get your number this time? And maybe even your name?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
He used the key to twist open the lock and removed the handcuffs.
I rubbed my wrists. They were a little red, a little raw.
Dex grabbed them and inspected them, frowning. “I’m sorry, babe,” she said pressing a kiss to each. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It was definitely worth it,” I said, teeth chattering.
He smiled down at me, his lashes dark and spiky from the water. “Yeah.” He grabbed a fluffy white robe and wrapped it around me. I pushed my arms in and snuggled into its warmth. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he said. “Even if you didn’t mean to.”
“Me, too.”
“Come here. Sit down. Tell me what you’ve been up to since your Greek goddess days.”
Dex pulled on a pair of boxers and rubbed his hair with a towel. He was the same cowboy, only not. There was a veneer of sophistication clinging to him now that said he had been places and seen things he hadn’t when I’d last met him. I kind of missed the redneck in him.
“Well,” I said. “The usual. Wreaking havoc on Mount Olympus. Serving beer to a bunch of no-account cowboys and singing for my supper.”
He sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to him.
God, he was handsome. He had slung the towel around his neck, but aside from the boxers, he was still nude. His hair was pitch black when it was wet and he had the shadow of a beard just starting to show.
And he was looking at me.
“Still singing at the Wagon Wheel?”
“I can’t believe you remembered that.”
He looked at me seriously. “I remember everything about that night.”
The intensity of his words made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know whether to believe him or whether it was a line. I decided it was a line. After all, I’d seen photographic proof that he had women in every city. He probably whispered sweet nothings to each of them, too. Made each feel like she was the only woman in the world.
“Yeah, right.”
He cocked his head. “What? You don’t believe me?”
I shook my head and smiled at him. “Come on. You’re
Dex Wilder. You have different blonde on your arm every time I see your picture. TMZ calls it Bimbo of the Week. There’s a gallery.”
“Don’t believe everything you read.” Dex got up and opened the mini fridge in the corner. He pulled out two Diet Cokes and handed me one.
“Thanks,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable again. I felt like I offended him. But I would be a fool to believe he’d actually remembered me from two years ago and that I was anything special to him.
Dex sat back down, but I could tell my words were still bothering him. We drank our Cokes in silence.
“You think I really don’t remember?” he said at last, breaking the tension between us.
“I’m sure you remember that night, but I feel like it could have been any woman you remember sharing it with.”
“You’re wrong. But it sure would be nice to have a name to put with it.”
I smiled. “It’s Sydney. Sydney Stratton.”
He smiled. “Sydney. Yeah.”
The knock at his dressing room door startled us both. “Dex? Don’t forget the meet-and-greet in fifteen minutes.”
“Shit,” he said under his breath. “My manager. Got it, Bob,” he said, louder, and the knocker went away.
He stood up and went to the rack of clothing against the wall. “I hate this stuff,” he said, pulling out a black shirt and black pair of jeans.
“What? The meet-and-greets?”
“All that stuff. I just want to sing.”
I shifted on the couch. “Some of us dream about being so popular that people want to meet us. And greet us.”
“I know. And I am grateful for everything that’s happened these past couple of years. I’d be lying if I said I’m not.” He pulled on the shirt and buttoned it while still facing me.
He pulled on his jeans, then sat down on a footstool to put on his socks and boots.
I watched him get ready in silence, enjoying the pure masculinity of his movements. It really wasn’t fair that a man could pull on a couple of pieces of clothing, run his hands through his hair and look sexy as hell. It would take a woman a good hour or more to be ready to face the world. But Dex was so handsome, he could be wearing a wooden barrel and make every woman within a fifty-mile radius hot. And set them trying to figure out how to get inside that barrel.
“This won’t take long,” he said, picking up his hat off the floor. He brushed off the lint and settled it low on his head and cocked just slightly to the side, in his trademark fashion. “Will you wait for me, Sydney? Maybe we can grab something to eat. If you don’t have other plans.”
Warmth spread through me. Dex Wilder wanted to spend time with me. Dinner. Hell, that was practically a date. A date with a star.
“I’ll be here.”
Dex winked at me and in an instant a familiar expression, the one I’d see on posters and in countless magazines, masked his features that only a moment before had shown irritation at the responsibilities being a star brought.
“Be right back, babe.”
Dex opened the door to his dressing room and all hell broke loose. Camera flashes, shouts and a crowd of fans and press mobbed him. He pushed forward through the crowd and I heard his security people yelling for everyone to back off and let Dex through, that he’d be happy to sign autographs as soon as he was done with the meet-and-greet.
I settled back into the cushions and found the remote.
I switched on the TV to the local news. I felt languid and content after the hard orgasm in the shower, but I was excited about spending more time with Dex, too. The spark between us two years ago was still there. And it didn’t feel completely sexual. I felt as though we connected on many levels.
The weather came on. Hot. Then sports. Win. Then I heard the perky little newscaster say something that brought me to the edge of the couch cushion.
“And Dex Wilder was in town tonight. But it seems he got a little more than he bargained for when he returned to his dressing room after the sold-out charity appearance.”
Sydney watched in horror as a jiggly videotape showed her, handcuffed and being manhandled by security. The tape was bumpy and the sound inaudible. All she could see was herself being dragged around in the handcuffs, makeup smeared, lots of skin showing, then the dressing room door closing with her inside.
“You may remember the incident last fall involving an apparently overzealous fan who threatened Wilder at a Tulsa, Oklahoma, concert. There is no word tonight if the woman taken into custody was armed. Wilder’s head of security said only that the situation was well in hand. Next, new information on the price hike the state is considering for fishing licenses.”
I sat staring at the television in total shock. I was most definitely not armed. And not a groupie.
Or was I?
I mean, twice now I had hooked up with Dex for a little kinky sex. I mean, he hadn’t even known my name until about five minutes ago. I’d sneaked into his dressing room. Holy shit. Maybe I was a groupie. No better than the assorted blondes in the tabloids.
I grabbed my wrinkled dress off the floor and pulled it on. I slipped on my shoes and combed my fingers through my wet hair.
If it hadn’t been me handcuffed to Dex’s shower, it would have been some other blonde. And I wasn’t going to stick around long enough for all the paparazzi to get a good shot of me with Dex. I was not going to be TMZ’s Bimbo of the Week.
I pressed my ear to the door. It appeared to be quiet outside, the mob having probably followed Dex to his meet-and-greet.
Good. That meant a clean getaway.
I opened the door and, after making sure the coast was clear, disappeared into the shadowy hallway, taking only the memory of a perfect fantasy with me.
Chapter Three
Morning is not a good time of day for anybody working the club scene. Or the catering scene, for that matter. These are nocturnal jobs, and nine-to-fivers can’t possibly understand that yes, I’m still sleeping at eleven because I didn’t make it home from work until three or four in the morning, not because I’m lazy or “sleeping in” or taking it easy.
Try telling this to my mother, who without fail calls me at eight a.m. every Tuesday, expecting me to me up and dressed, apartment spotless, laundry done, errands run and dinner planned by that hour. Sometimes I think she found some time portal in the 1950s and just transported here, because on her worst days she definitely puts June Cleaver to shame. Me? Not so much.
So when the phone rang at eight a.m. on the dot, I groaned and struggled to get myself upright. I knew if I didn’t answer, she’d be filing a missing person’s report with Metro PD. Again.
“Hi, Mom.”
“You sound awful. Are you sick again?”
I cleared my throat and took a swig of tepid water from the glass on my nightstand. “No, Mom. We had a gig last night. My voice is a little raw.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Her tone was just this side of condescending. But she was trying. “Did you have a good time?”
I rolled my eyes. Even after all this time, she didn’t get it. “Yeah, it was great. The owner wants us to come back next week.”
“That’s wonderful! How much does that pay?”
I lied.
“How nice. Maybe you’ll be able to come home for a visit. Or longer. You know, May down at the Ladies Auxiliary told me just the other day that they’re looking for models for the farm implement display at the state fairgrounds next month. You could put together a portfolio and maybe…”
“Mom. I’m not modeling any more. Especially not at the farm implement show.”
“You’re just so pretty, Sydney. God made you beautiful for a reason. I hate to see you waste it.”
I gritted my teeth. My mom had used her looks from the age of five to get whatever she wanted. Beauty contests paid her way through college, modeling jobs supported her and let her travel the world, catalog ads had snagged her a rich husband and the perfect home she’d always dreamed of.
That was all fine for her, and I w
as even proud of her for what she’d accomplished. But she couldn’t possibly understand why I wanted to do something different with my life. Why I needed to prove that I was more than just a pretty face. Or a trophy prancing along on a rich guy’s arm.
I didn’t even try to explain again. “I know, Mom.” I flopped back on my pillow and stared at the cracks in the ceiling while she regaled me with tales about all the local gossip and how my sister’s second pregnancy was going just perfectly. That led to the other sore point.
“Have you met any nice young men?” she asked casually, but I knew this was a huge source of stress for her. Because without a man, a woman was nothing, of course.
I could have told her I wild monkey sex the previous week, naked and handcuffed to a guy’s shower, after I’d been nearly been arrested for breaking and entering. But I didn’t think that was quite what she meant by nice young man and I loved my mom, so I gave the standard answer. “Not since you asked me last week, Mom. I really don’t have time to date.” Which was true. I just left out the part about not being able to get the one-night stand with Dex – both of them actually – out of my head long enough to even look at anyone else. And that I didn’t want a boyfriend, anyway.
“You know, Nancy White’s son is living in Knoxville. He’s an attorney. Maybe I could give Nancy your number and –”
“Thanks, Mom. Really. I’m just too busy right now.”
Mom sighed, defeated. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
“Yeah. Sure will.”
“Oh! My cake for the Ladies Auxiliary just dinged. Got to go, dear. Be careful. I don’t like that you girls live alone down there.”
“I’ll be careful. Tell Dad I said hi.”
The line went dead and the grilling and guilt trip was over for another week. Sometimes I wondered if I could just tape my end of the conversation and play it back every time she called. I hung up the phone and pulled the pillow over my head.
I’d dreamed of Dex, and the images that still lingered in my head, along with my mother’s phone call, were giving me a hell of a headache. I still couldn’t believe what I’d done. Maybe I’d had some vague hope that hooking up with him a second time would somehow exorcise the demon. That the sex hadn’t actually been as good as I had remembered. That he hadn’t made my body sing and my head fly off to parts unknown.
Nashville Heat Page 4