by Amber Lin
She hoisted her bags higher on her shoulder. His fingers itched to grab them and fling them across the room.
“You committed to three days.” He kept his tone steady. She wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t ready for their interlude to end. There were too many things he still wanted to do with her, to her. Every time he touched her, he came up with half a dozen more. Not enough time.
“My sister needs me.”
“She called?” He hadn’t heard her phone ring, but she might have it silenced. If something were wrong, he’d have to let her go. He’d put her on a plane himself.
“No. But I’m worried about her.”
“She hasn’t been very worried about you. She’s selfish. She doesn’t deserve you.” He didn’t deserve her either, but he had her anyway. For now. For a little longer.
“That isn’t how family works. She’s my baby sister. I take care of her.”
“Who takes care of you?”
She winced, and he knew the answer was no one. Nobody took care of his little church mouse. She gave and gave until there was nothing left for herself, and then she gave some more.
“That’s what I thought. Put down your bags.”
She let them slide down her arm and land at her feet with a jingly thump. “Are you going to tie me to the bed and force me to stay?”
Jesus. The things that came out of her mouth. “Would you like that?”
Her breath hitched, and she wrapped her fingers around her wrist, stroking absently exactly where he’d bind her. And not with the soft terry belt of a robe this time. No, he’d cuff her and lose the key. Or find some rope. The rough stuff they’d used to tie equipment to the top of the van back in the day, before they’d had roadies and buses. He’d keep her. The tightness in his belly, the pulsing in his cock, that was lust, not need. He didn’t need her. He wanted her. And he could keep what he wanted.
She licked her lips and nodded. “Or you could just ask me to stay. Please really is a magic word.”
“But you don’t want me to ask, do you, Hailey? You want me to hurt you, to make you, to use you. That’s why you haven’t touched those keys jangling in the bottom of your purse, why you keep coming back for more. I don’t have to tie you up; you’re already bound to me. You’re mine.” Because I do need you. The thought bristled, but it wasn’t wrong either. He’d lied to himself for a long time, but not anymore. He’d lied every time he told himself he could stop with the next drink. There hadn’t been any stopping then. And there wouldn’t be any stopping with Hailey. He took two long steps, closing the distance between them, and covered the hand stroking her wrist. Squeezed, just hard enough to still the subtle motions that were so like the ones she’d used the first time she’d touched his cock. She melted into him, her forehead falling against his shoulder, and murmured something into his chest. He couldn’t hear her, only feel the brush of her mouth. Wet and hot, dragging a trail of syllables ever closer to his nipple. The tip of her tongue touching and darting, again and again. He skimmed a hand up her back, gathered her hair in his fist and guided her lower.
She dropped to her knees, and he flicked open the fly of his jeans. His heavy cock sprang free, slick with precum, and nudged her cheek. There was nothing tentative in her touch now. She looked up at him from beneath lashes heavy with unshed tears, smiled a wobbly smile, gripped the base and guided it home.
Was she saying good-bye?
Her free hand disappeared under her skirt and between her legs as her cheeks hollowed. He could feel her rocking against her fingers, a counterpoint to her swirling tongue. Even now, taking care of herself. He was a fucking monster. A selfish prick with a selfish prick. “Stop.”
Her hand stilled, but she kept a steady pace on his cock, the muffled mmph of an apology vibrating up the length. That’s not what he’d intended. He released her hair, pulled himself free from the warmth of her mouth with a groan. Brows knit with confusion, she wiped her chin. “Did I—What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, baby.” Everything. They might be bound together, but he couldn’t keep taking from her. He’d use her up until nothing was left. Drink every drop until he was alone at the bottom of her bottle. Still—always—thirsty. He bent, gathered her into his arms, and guided her to the bed.
Standing before her, he drank her in with his eyes. He’d use his hands and his mouth soon enough. The scrap of leather skirt rucked up to her hips, exposing pale blue panties, so wet at the crotch they’d gone sheer. He nudged her knees apart for a better view. The blue suited her, not the skirt. Not the filmy top either. Not him.
He grabbed the hem of her shirt, and she lifted her arms so he could slip it over her head. The bra was wrong too. Cheap and shiny, the band digging into her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and flicked the clasp open. Her sigh of relief, a broken pant against his chest.
He pushed her onto her back and yanked her panties down her slim legs, savoring her surprised gasp. He left the skirt behind, something he could hold on to when he buried his face between her legs. Just one more taste. One last drink.
Kneeling, he bit the soft flesh of her thighs and soothed the marks he made with a roll of his tongue. Her every cry as he worked his way up, a reward and a reminder of what he was. He wanted to rub his cheek into the warmth radiating from her core. Instead he pursed his lips and blew a cool breath over her slit until she shivered. She tangled her fingers in his hair, petted and pushed.
“Yes, baby. Yes,” he hissed, making her shiver again. “Take what you want. I’ll take care of you.”
He would take care of her. Like this. Only like this. He grabbed her right hand, the one she’d teased herself with while she blew him, and shoved her fingers into his mouth. Sucking hard, tasting and slicking. Then placed them between her legs. “Hold yourself open for me.”
So pretty, her delicate fingers splitting pink folds. For a moment all he could do was look and inhale the salt of her skin.
“Please,” she begged.
He broke all his toys. Ruined everything he touched before it could be taken away. And now he had Hailey spread open and twitching beneath him, all wide eyes and packed bags. Still unbroken, ready to stay if only he asked. He didn’t want to break her anymore. He wanted to save her. Please is a magic word.
He didn’t have any magic left in him. He’d washed it all away in a shower of booze and debauchery. Please fuck me. Please hurt me. Please love me. Was that the fans echoing in his mind, or Hailey, or his own weak-willed soul rattling its cage? He could give them all most of what they wanted. Fucking and hurting. The kind of angry fucking he needed like water and air and whiskey. He stilled. He needed this, wanted it so badly his whole body ached, but it would only make the voices louder, the rattling worse.
*
God, he was so gentle with her. Something had changed. She’d felt it happen with her mouth around his cock and her hands cradling his balls. Now he bent between her legs, all breath and shadows, heat and softness. It was like having her pussy licked by a stranger.
She wanted Lock back.
With a soft yank of his hair, she pulled him away. His eyes were unfocused, his expression unbearably soft. It was almost enough to make her put him back to work, to press his face down until she came, adding more wetness to the shine on his stubble.
But it wasn’t really him. Not the man who had lured her up to his room that first night, the one who had demanded her signature on his sex contract. Ink on the page, straw spun into gold, a sex fairy tale come to life.
Flipping over, she knelt on her hands and knees—presenting herself to him. She could imagine the view: her ass displayed lewdly, the plump lips of her sex visible beneath. It was a rude position, almost cruel in its offering, but she had to make it worse.
She turned back to meet his dark gaze. “I need you.”
For a long moment he simply looked at her. The thick bulge in his leather pants didn’t let her feel too bad, but he still didn’t touch her. Cool air made her shiver, writhing like bait on a
hook. Her own desire was the hook, sharp and unyielding, holding her in place for him.
Slowly, so slowly he reached for her. A large hand down her thigh, stroking. Soothing. Measuring.
“What do you need from me, Hailey?”
He wanted her to say it. “I need you to…to fuck me.”
“Is that so?” Two fingers slipped inside her, blunt and jarring and not nearly enough. He twisted his fingers, finding a place that shot sparks through her core.
“God.”
“Like this?” His fingers moved in and out. He fucked her with his hand, and she thought she was going to die.
“Please.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Fuck me with your cock. Now. Hard.”
He chuckled behind her. “That’s a lot of instructions.” His fingers were gone. Empty. Foil ripped; heartbeats passed. Then his cock pressed to her opening, slippery and smooth. “This is one.” He pushed inside her, all the way, and she gasped in relief at the fullness. “And that’s two. Now about that third one…”
She tensed in anticipation. Hard.
His hand tangled in her hair and pulled taut. Her hands clenched the sheets. He withdrew and then thrust back inside, sudden and rough. Exactly what she’d asked for. So much more than she’d expected. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt, the pressure so intense, the pleasure a form of pain. Her inner muscles spasmed around him, trying to keep him out, trying to pull him in. He ignored her silent pleas and thrust again—harder and harder, faster and deeper until she couldn’t tell where she ended. It felt like her pussy had joined with him, merged in some kind of new being, one that could fuck all day and all night.
An eternity passed before he let go of her hair. Her head dropped onto the sheets. Her shoulders too. He kept going, unstoppable; she didn’t want him to stop. He pushed her into the mattress with every hard thrust, pressing her, flattening her. She became liquid, an ocean stretching out, and he was gravity—down, down, down. She lay flush against the bed, barely able to breathe, immersed in his groans as they rippled around her.
He came with a sudden jerk of his body, his hands tightening on her hips, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, marking her. Wait. She ground her hips in a helpless rhythm, pushing back into his invasion, pressing down against the mattress, needy and hopeless. She couldn’t join him. He rocked over her in tiny bursts, keeping his own pleasure going while she clenched around his cock even though it wouldn’t be enough.
His hand slipped beneath her hips. The first touch of his fingers to her clit made her jump. He drew circles with her wetness, steady, focused despite his languor. She felt him soften inside her, and she squeezed until he grunted and pulled out.
A sigh escaped her, vague disappointment and sexual malaise. She wanted to come, but only at his hand. On his cock. Against his mouth. Her fingers had become a second-rate option. What would happen when she left? The knowing slide of his fingers swept those thoughts away. She humped his hand, mindlessly, artlessly, and even the pillow-top mattress became an instrument of pleasure. This bed, which had housed so many rock stars and millionaires, so much sex and discontent—and then there was her. She came in a small, tight climax, her plaintive cry soaked up by the springs beneath her.
They panted in the aftermath, his fingers still swirling in her sex, dipped into the mess left behind. Would his fingers be wrinkly from all that wetness? How long would she leave her mark?
“Stay,” he murmured against her back.
The word was a request. It had to be. They both knew the contract couldn’t hold her. It was a cage without a door, enclosed on every side except the one that mattered most. But his quiet voice chained her more than sheets of paper ever could. The weight of his body. The beat of his heart against her back. Stay.
Her voice was muffled against the bed. “My sister. She needs me.”
“I need you.”
Her heart clenched, surprised that he’d admit it. There was a distance when he spoke to her back, a confessional wall where he could whisper his wanting of her. But she wouldn’t sit behind the veil, wouldn’t let him give her false reverence. She was still wet from fucking him—still sore, for God’s sake.
She turned over. Her gaze held his. “Not like that.”
“Like what then? You can send her money.” He added, “I have money.”
Was he offering to pay her? “That wasn’t part of the contract.”
Fuck the contract. She expected him to say that. He wasn’t a man who respected rules, even ones he’d set himself. But apparently this one mattered.
“We still have one more night,” he said.
If he demanded they follow the letter of the contract, that meant she’d leave in one day. One day where Chloe wondered what the hell her sister was doing. One day while her little niece or nephew grew into the size of a kidney bean.
One day of being irresponsible and aimless. Of living only for herself.
Like he did.
She reached up and petted his hair, soothing the sting she’d made before. “I’ll stay.”
It felt like a reward when he kissed her, long and slow. But when he pulled back, his expression was almost mournful.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He smoothed her hair and kissed her again. Distracting her. And God help her, she let him. His hands moved over her body, wakening her. Again?
Yes, again, his body answered.
He was ruthless in his pursuit of his pleasure. He made it an art form, this dissolute living. Almost stylized in its perfection. And so damned tempting she couldn’t turn away. She wanted him to teach her his secrets, like a magician to his apprentice.
And above all, she wanted him to remember her when she was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Moe raked his fingers through his wild hair and paced the length of his suite like a caged beast. He stopped beside the leather sofa, a smaller version of the one in Lock’s room, and sat on the arm. “I don’t like this. You flying ahead of us is not the plan.”
Lock slouched deeper into the plush recliner. He made the plan. He could change it. He was only telling Moe as a courtesy. “You wanted an extra day to play tourist; you got it. I need out of this hotel, out of this city.”
“You need a meeting.” Moe sneered. He might as well have slapped Lock in the face. The truth always hurt, but Lock wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Screw that. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, just like Krist.”
“What’s he got to do with anything?”
“Who do you think he came to after you booted him last night? Take care of your shit. I’m not cut out for being in charge.”
Moe in charge? If Lock weren’t so pissed, he’d laugh. “It’s none of your business.”
Moe launched himself off the couch and resumed his pacing. “No? Your dick nearly destroyed this band once. I think that makes it my business. I know I joke, but I will not be some Behind the fucking Music punch line.”
Always that. If his mother’s past wasn’t swinging around his neck like a goddamn albatross, it probably wouldn’t have even mattered. But the media loved a scandal—and a family curse. “How long do I have to pay for that? It could’ve happened to any of us.”
“But it didn’t. It happened to you, because you were so far in the bottle you didn’t even know what was happening half the time.”
He could barely get the words out through his clenched teeth. “I’m not drinking.”
“Fine. Then get your head out of your groupie’s ass, sweet as it is, and apologize to Krist. Make this right. If we fuck up another tour, we can kiss the label good-bye.”
We? How about him? Their agent’s words rang in his head. The label will replace you if they have to. The guys didn’t even realize. Everything they’d built, none of it really belonged to them. They’d sold their souls for a private jet and a six-album contract. They were all expendable. “I will. When we’re all in Vegas.”
“Now.” Moe tossed somethi
ng at him. A flash of orange. His lucky guitar pick. “Tell him to get up here.”
Lock slipped his phone from his pocket and swiped his thumb over the screen. Come to Moe’s room. He flicked his pick over his knuckles the whole time he waited.
Moe let Krist in, and they both settled on opposite ends of the couch. He’d come, Lock half expected him not to, but Krist wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“The last time we all sat around a hotel coffee table, it was your intervention,” Krist said.
Moe laughed, thumping his fist against his knee. “Burn!”
Lock gnawed the inside of his cheek. Yes, because his sobriety, or lack thereof, was such a joke. “I thought you didn’t want to be a punch line.”
“Sorry, man. But that was a good one.”
Krist covered his mouth, hiding a smirk. Assholes, both of them.
“Fuck this. I’m leaving tonight. I don’t even know why I bothered to tell you.”
“I think you have some business to attend to first.” Moe jerked his head in Krist’s direction.
Right. He’d accepted the pick. The bargain was made. “It’s between me and Krist. Get the fuck out.”
“It’s my room.”
“Moe, please?” Krist kept his gaze on his lap as he asked.
“Okay.” Moe stood, pointing at the both of them. “But nobody fucks in my bed but me.”
Lock felt all the air sucked out of the room with the slamming door. He didn’t have anything to apologize for; he hadn’t made Krist any promises. Hadn’t done anything Krist didn’t want him to do. The only difference was Hailey. She’d seen something in him, brought something out of him that hadn’t been there before. A kindness. A yearning. And Krist had gotten caught in their undertow. That part wasn’t fair.
“I’m sorry, Krist. I know what happened was too much.”
“Whatever. It’s cool.” Krist pulled at the loose threads surrounding a hole in his jeans.
“I can see that it isn’t.”
“Am I hurt? Yes. But it’s on me. You don’t have that much power, Lock. No matter what you think.”