by B. B. Miller
The hint of ink I saw on his wrist when I first met him has tantalized me for weeks. But now that it’s finally revealed, I know nothing could’ve prepared me for the sheer perfection that is a shirtless Kennedy Lane. He’s leanly muscled, with well-defined pecs, a flat belly, and strong arms that show the long hours of wielding his guitar. But my eyes are drawn to the intricate lines of ink that trail down his left arm. Beginning with a few strands curling up over his shoulder near the rose on his neck, before twisting down and around his forearm to the edge of his wrist, is a piece of music, complete with treble and bass clefs, and notes scattered along a set of whimsical staves. It’s beautiful work, with precise shading that makes it resemble a grayscale photo rather than a tattoo. Woven between the lines are a few stylized red roses that provide bursts of color amongst the black and gray. Reaching up, I tentatively trace a few notes, my eyes roving over his arm in wonder.
“Amazing.”
He snorts, as if disputing my opinion, and covers me with his body again. What follows is sheer bliss . . . hands, lips, and limbs moving together to create a perfect symphony of sensations. Murmured words of appreciation blend with the faint noise of the traffic down on the street below. Kissing his shoulder, I savor the salty taste of his skin, and I fear I’ll never get enough of him. His lips travel from my throat to my chest, my belly, and beyond, leaving me quaking. He helps me slide my lace underwear off, and then shucks his jeans. Oh. Oh my. He’s gone commando and . . . wow.
Everything down south clenches in delicious anticipation.
He kneels over me and deftly rolls a condom over his impressive length. When I look back at his face, the intensity of his gaze leaves me mute. He teases my swollen clit with his fingers, making me squirm, and his eyes darken. “Kennedy . . .” His name slipping from my lips seems to trigger him. With no further warning, thrusts deep inside me.
“Fuck, yeah,” he growls as I gasp. My God . . . He feels incredible. It’s been so long since I last . . . but it’s so, so good. With a long, drawn out groan, he slowly slides out, leaving me panting, before slamming back into me. I cry out in surprise, and he looks at me with alarm.
“Are you okay?” His eyes show his relief as I nod quickly, a beatific smile blooming on my face.
“God, yes, yes. Please . . . don’t stop.” My whimpered plea is cut off by a searing kiss. Pinning my hand against the mattress, he clutches my opposite hip and sets a driving pace; plunging into me again and again. He’s hitting spots that haven’t been touched in forever, and my body responds with fervor. It’s like being awakened from a deep, deep sleep to the most glorious of sunrises.
He nuzzles my neck, and I groan at the sensual feel of his stubble grazing my skin. “You feel so fucking good,” he rumbles. He hooks a hand under my knee and abruptly pushes it up almost to my shoulder, making me yelp in surprise at how much deeper it feels. “That’s right, baby. Let me hear it. I need to hear you.”
“Oh my God . . . Kennedy, I . . .” I have no idea what I’m saying. My heart is pounding a mile a minute, and I’m rising, higher and higher . . . and then I shatter, a strangled groan erupting from me.
“Oh, thank Christ” he breathes in anguished relief, before his tone changes, sounding almost panicked. Abruptly, he stiffens, his fingers digging into my flesh almost painfully, as he comes with a loud cry. He is stunning in his release: eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, the tendons standing out on his neck. Even in my dazed state, his primal beauty is magnificent.
His breath comes in short, hard pants, and he’s practically quivering beneath my fingertips. “You are so fucking beautiful.” His voice is raw, which matches the feelings surging within me. He collapses on me for a moment while we both catch our breaths before he rolls to the side to remove the condom. Blearily, I notice that there’s a short strip of them lying next to us on the bed; he must have come prepared. I frown with the realization that he has much more occasion to use them than I do. It’s part of the rock star mantra, right? After all, it’s not chastity, drugs, and rock ‘n roll.
Rolling back to gather me in his arms, he smooths my hair away from my face. “What? Are you okay?” Am I okay? Physically, I’m much more than okay. Ecstatic is closer to the mark. I smile, wanting to ease his worried expression, and snuggle into his embrace. I shut out all thoughts of the inevitable other women. I knew whom and what he was when I took him to my bed. I have no regrets.
“I was just wondering if you always are prepared,” I joke, gesturing to the strip lying not so innocently next to us. He smirks, looking uncomfortable, and I’m surprised to see a faint flush on his cheeks as he pulls me closer.
“I promise I didn’t have any expectations. Since I met you, I’ve had no expectations for anyone else, either. But before that... Well, let’s just say they’ve been standard equipment for me since I broke into the business. It, uh, kind of goes with the territory. I always use a glove.” He actually looks a little embarrassed for a moment, until I lean up and kiss him.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s not my business. I’m sorry, I was just teasing.” I smile wryly. “I should actually thank you. I wasn’t thinking about protection, which is really out of character for me.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, you seem to be extraordinarily skilled in protecting yourself from all things.” A crease forms between his brows as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Until now, at least.”
“I don’t need to be protected from you.” I pause, hoping against hope that my statement is true. “But I need to keep some separation in my head between my working relationship with you and my other relationship with you. Or friendship. Or whatever we’re going to call this.” I bite my lips to stop blathering and look away, feeling incredibly awkward.
“Hey,” He cups my cheek, drawing my attention. “You can call it a relationship, because that’s what it is or what it can be. But if it’s easier for you, don’t label it at all. We can just be. I want to try with you. If all you want is this one time . . .” A frown flickers across his face. “All I’m saying is that I want more, however you need it to be. I can’t be plainer than that.”
I can’t help my shy smile; he’s right. He’s been incredibly upfront about what he wants, and what he’s willing to do. Whether it’s for me, or Parker, or for himself, it doesn’t really matter. He says he’ll be faithful—I simply have to believe him. “I know. I’m sorry I sound so conflicted. I just have to work a few things out in my head.” I reach up and brush my fingers lightly through the smattering of his chest hair. “But I’m not sorry for this, Kennedy. Not sorry at all.”
I can see more than a little relief in his eyes before his confident grin returns. He dips his head and I feel his lips brush my ear. “Good. Because I’m hoping we can use up a few more of those suckers before I leave.”
When I open my eyes, it’s dark in the room and the traffic sounds like it’s picked up outside. I have no idea what time it is. Kennedy sits on the edge of the bed, muttering into his phone. “Calm the fuck down, Tucker. Yeah, okay. Fine. I know. I’m not going to the meeting. Fuck, they can email me. It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before.” His shoulders tense as he listens for a moment. “Thanks, man . . . Yeah, bright and early. See you then.”
He tosses the phone onto my bedside table as his shoulders slump in defeat. Sitting up, I wrap my arms around him, pressing my front to his back, and place a soft kiss to his neck. He hums contentedly and reaches back to weave his fingers into my hair.
“Hey,” he greets me softly. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“S’okay.” We’re quiet for a few moments, simply enjoying the feel of sitting wrapped up in each other amongst the rumpled sheets. “Is everything okay with the call?”
He leans back against me. “Yeah. I’m supposed to have a meeting tonight, since we’re leaving at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to keep you,” I lie, my nerves suddenly making an appearance.
/> “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” He kisses me on the cheek, and then turns sharply to bury his face into my neck and pull me into a fierce hug. Tears spring to my eyes, but I’m not sure why.
“Are you all right? Kennedy?”
“I’m fine.” He pulls back and smiles at me shyly. “I’m perfect, actually. You?”
With a happy little sigh, I pull him close again. I can’t remember feeling as thoroughly satisfied, more content, or more . . .” Better than perfect.”
He chuckles quietly. “Yes, you are.” With another soft kiss, he eases me down to the bed once more, and I’m able to appreciate the tattoos that wrap around his arm.
“What is it? The music.” I trail my fingers along his decorated arm.
He looks away for a moment, his lips pursed. “It’s one of my first compositions. It was one of Robin’s favorites.”
The pain I saw when he spoke of his sister in New York flashes in his eyes, and my heart aches for him. “It’s beautiful. I’d love to hear it sometime.” He gives me a soft smile, and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“I’d love to play it for you sometime.”
Suddenly, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me on top of him, looking at me with anxious eyes. “Come with me,” he pleads. I melt against him, but he must see the hesitation in my face.
“Kennedy . . .” My mind is a jumble of my upcoming schedule and the obligations I have. Plus, there’s still Nadia to deal with.
“Never mind. It was just an idea.” His voice is cool, detached, but before I can say anything, his hand drifts down my back to palm over my ass, squeezing tightly. “I knew there was a wild side lurking beneath that demure demeanor,” he says, effectively changing the subject. I let him.
“What made you so sure?” I shoot back, pushing against the heat of his palm.
His lips linger on the curve of my neck, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling. “Call it a hunch. Let’s explore that some more, hmm?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Kennedy’s sleepy, warm voice drifts to me, and I tighten my arm around his waist, snuggling closer to the warmth of his body. A girl could get used to waking up like this. His fingers lazily trail up my back, and I feel the goose bumps rise, my mind spinning with the events of last night.
“Okay, so I did mean to wake you,” he mumbles, gripping my chin, tilting my face up, and lowers his lips to mine. His lips are supple and warm, and my pulse quickens. My hands close around his wrists and we hold each other in place, locked in a sweet kiss, until his phone starts to buzz from the nightstand. Slowly, he breaks the kiss, but gives me three short pecks, as if he can’t quite bring himself to finish.
Reaching over to quiet the phone, he groans, setting it back down to the nightstand. “That’s Tucker. He’s here.” He glances up at the ceiling, a frown pulling at his lips.
My heart twinges and I grip his bicep reflexively. “Morning came too quickly,” I whisper, and finally release him. His gaze softens.
“I’m not saying good-bye,” he says, his voice sure. “I’ll be gone for a while, but there’s always Skype, right? The time differences will be a bitch, but we’ll figure it out.”
I swallow thickly as he traces his fingers over my lips. “Of course we will.” This is for the best . . . So why am I feeling so desolate?
“You sure I can’t convince you to come with me?” His warm breath covers my skin, his lips skimming over my neck making me dizzy as they did so many times last night.
“I can’t go to London with you,” I whisper, the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me.
His phone buzzes again as he takes a playful swat of my ass, surprising me. “I really have to go. The jet is waiting.”
“If I had a dime for every time I heard that one.”
Laughing, he slips from the bed, searching the floor for his clothes. Now that I’m finally able to check out my bedroom, I’m relieved to see nothing incriminating lying around. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a Cal Bears hoodie, I turn in time to see him pull his jeans on.
He smiles at me, and jams his feet in his boots. I follow him as he saunters out and down the hall to the kitchen. Retrieving our coats from the kitchen floor, he hands me mine with a smug smile. It’s clear evidence of my impetuous need from last night, and my cheeks heat at the reminder. He’s probably had scores of women throw themselves at him. Thankfully, he doesn’t belabor the point.
I toss my coat on my sofa, and when I get back to the front door, I see he’s ready to go. He’s looking at his phone with a pensive expression on his face. With a sigh, he tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Fuck this timing sucks.” He steps closer, framing my face between his hands. My heart hammers as he lowers his lips to mine for one last kiss.
“Do me a favor . . .” he whispers, his fingers brushing over my cheeks.
“Mmmm?”
“Miss me just a little.”
I’m reeling, dazed from the kiss, from the thought of him leaving, but before I can respond, he opens my door and moves toward the elevator. “Don’t come down with me, just in case. You never know if the paparazzi are following the SUV or not.” He looks down at his boots. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“I can’t go with you,” I whisper. He nods; his face is impassive, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. The bell dings and he instantly releases me to step into the steel chamber. And as the doors begin to slide shut, my heart lurches. Because everything he was saying earlier is right. I do deserve a life.
I grab the doors to stop them and look into his startled face as the words tumble out of me impulsively. “But, I’ll meet you there.”
Kennedy
“YOU’RE REALLY NOT staying with us?” Cam complains as he stretches his legs out against one of the sofas in the Extreme Wow suite at the W. That’s the actual name of the suite—Extreme Wow. Not pretentious at all.
“I’m really not.”
“You are a killjoy, man. Jesus, what are you, seventy?” Cam tilts his head back against the cushions, staring up at the recessed silver disco ball in the ceiling.
“You’ll never even miss me.”
“Who will be my wingman?” Cam asks.
“Matty here seems more than capable.”
Matt shuffles his way through the suite, depositing himself into the hanging bubble chair facing the picture window.
“I claim this for the week,” he announces, curling up against the red cushions.
“What happens when you find the love of your life again, hmm, grasshopper?” asks Sean as he peers out the window to the bustling square below.
Matt opens one eye with a snort. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t you want a room? That thing is out here in the open for everyone to see,” Cam chimes in.
Matt shrugs his shoulders, relaxing in the chair. “That’s never stopped me before.”
“And you wonder why I want to stay away from this train wreck.” I snap off a picture of Cam sprawled out on the couch.
“Must be some fantastic pussy, man.” Cam turns his attention back to me.
I narrow my eyes at him in warning. “Don’t.”
He lifts his hands up in mock surrender. “Just sayin’.”
“There’s a DJ station,” Sean hollers from across the room. “You should’ve brought your vinyls, Lane.”
“I think he’s more concerned about rubbers.” Cam chucks a pillow at my head.
“Is that why you’re ditching us?” Sean moves to check out the bar area.
“We’re not in high school, asshole.” I toss the pillow back at Cam. “And I’m not ditching you. I just want a change of scenery.”
“Yeah. Scenery involving one hot chick.” Matt spins around in the bubble chair to grin at me.
“She’s not just some chick.”
“She’s going to have to meet us at some point, mate. We’re your family, after all.” Sean appears at my side, draping his arm around
my shoulder.
“I know. It’s just . . . It’s complicated.” I shrug him off, desperate to get away from this whole scene.
“Isn’t it always?” Sean muses, dropping to the couch beside Cam.
“Like I said, she’s the director of the charity I was telling you guys about. So, you need to be discreet. If you can.”
“A little pleasure mixed with business, yeah? Good on you,” Sean says.
“She’s different.”
“Meaning what? A magical pussy? Three tits?” Cam teases.
“I dated a girl with three tits once back in the day. Interesting. I should give her a ring, actually.” Sean pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, scrolling through his endless list of contacts.
“Must be something magical to take you away from the brilliance of us,” Brodie adds, glancing at me from the side of the bar.
“I’m not even sure when she’s coming.”
“So, stay here tonight at least then! Come on, it’ll be like old times. Remember the ’01 tour?” Cam asks.
The memory bank is relatively empty for ’01. “Some of it. Parts are . . . missing of that one.”
“I’m not surprised. We were shitfaced for most of it. Fuck, that was awesome,” Cam says through a laugh.
“Brodie? We need entertainment, my good man. Lots of it,” Sean hollers from the sofa.
“No. We really don’t. At least I don’t. You guys are welcome to it.” I wander over to the windows, glancing down to the bustling square below. London is always alive, pulsing with energy no matter what time of day.
“Two words for you—pussywhipped,” Cam states, and I flip him off.
“Is that actually two words or one word with a hyphen, Three?” Sean asks. Abby is going to have a field day with these two.
“I’m not sure if there is a hyphen. We should look it up. You got Wi-Fi working on that thing?” Cam hops up from the couch and darts for my phone.
I tug it out of his reach. “Use your own damn phone. And we don’t need to look up anything. Jesus.”