'90s Playlist (Romance Rewind #1)

by Anthology

  “You hungry?” His voice was rough once again with that post-performance scratchiness.

  Rory made a mental count of the cash in her bag. Enough for a snack. “I could eat.”

  “Mind coming with me to drop off my guitar in my room first?”

  Rory started to say no, then gave herself a mental kick in the ass. It wasn’t like she’d had any trouble going back to guys’ rooms straight out the gate beforehand, and getting a taste of sweet baby James had been her endgame of the whole evening. If she played her cards right, she’d find much better ways of using her mouth than eating.

  Rory made a big show of taking him in, a long slow drink of his body from his face to his Timberlands and back up again.

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  Chapter 3

  “You don’t live in Hillcrest?” Rory asked when they reached his dorm, nodding toward the bottom of the hill where the senior housing was.

  James shook his head and pulled his keys from his pocket. “Nah. Too noisy. And this dorm is closer to the music building.”

  “So you’re not the stereotypical college student who came to Pearce to fuck around and figure your life out after?”

  He chuckled. “Nope. I want to play music. But I don’t mind the occasional fucking around, too.”

  The promise in his voice made her head go fuzzy with desire. James turned the lock and ushered her inside. It hit Rory right away, how the dorms smelled the same. A slight hint of mildew. Spilled beer stuck to the floors. Incense barely covering up the pot smoke odor when the rolled-up towels shoved at the bottom of the room doors inevitably failed.

  Funny, how it smelled like home.

  Several other students were waiting for the elevator. They crammed inside, bodies just barely touching as they squeezed against the wall. His thumb brushed along her forearm and James extended the touch, a slow, gentle up and down that made her nipples tighten.

  They got out on the seventh floor, and he led her to his room.

  “Sorry for the mess,” he said when they stepped inside.

  He had to have been joking, because the twin-sized bed was perfectly made, blue comforter tucked under the edges with hospital corners. CDs were placed neatly in a tower in the corner. A boxy stereo sat on his bookshelf, and books on music theory and composition in tidy piles on his desk. The only spot that could’ve resembled a ‘mess’ was his window seat. They were a feature in all of Pearce’s rooms, but his wasn’t littered with paper as hers had once been, pages upon pages of words she’d dredged from her heart and tried to put into sonnet and rhyme. With a pile of pillows stacked up to one side and the same journal he’d brought to the café open to a page covered in sheet music, it looked like a space for inspiration. Where he sat to enjoy the view and play.

  A sudden longing stole her oxygen, remembering the hours she’d spent watching the sun sink down beneath the multi-hued horizon of the Adirondack Mountains, reading the works of Eliot, Lowell and Kerouac and thinking I can do that, too.

  A stupid, useless time.

  James placed his guitar case against the wall. “Looking for my Kermit the Frog poster?”

  The humor was a welcome distraction from her thoughts. As was the lull of his voice, somewhat different now in the darkness of his room. It was lower. Sexier.

  Rory switched gears.

  “No, Mr. Griffith. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

  He paused for a second. The moment of silence spoke volumes. “Still hungry?”

  “Starved.” Closing the door behind her, she dropped her bag to the ground, grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

  She’d expected him to be surprised, anticipated him gasping in shock, but he only grunted before kissing her back, scruff making a coarse play against her face. His palms came around to the small of her back, pulling her closer as his tongue made a hesitant dip into her mouth.

  She upped the ante with a bolder swipe of her own, and James mouth went slack, opening wider and inviting her in. Rory pulled back long enough to push him down into the wooden chair by his desk and climb onto his lap. She’d forgotten this feeling—the way her heart raced, every inch of her skin tingling, her body screaming for more.

  Taking a breath, James asked, “Are you okay with this?”

  There were those damn manners again. Wasn’t she the one who’d jumped him?

  “If I weren’t, would I be doing this?”

  She flexed her hips, rocking against him, and James responded with a groan. He slid his hands lower, stopping in the crevice where her hips and thighs came together. A little bit of pressure with his thumbs, and Rory moaned into his mouth.

  “More,” she rasped between kisses, and he responded with another delicious squeeze. It sent a shockwave through her, made a pulsing ache bloom between her legs. Rory bit down on his lower lip and scratched her nails over his chest. James hissed when she scraped his nipple.

  “Like that?” she whispered.

  “Fuck yes.” He lowered his head to nip at her neck. “Do it again.”

  “Dirty talk, Mr. Griffith? Seems like you’re not the nice young man I took you for.”

  His chuckle bled into a low groan when she scratched again. James wound his hands into her hair, tugging at the long waves that weren’t coiled up in braids.

  “You’re so fucking hot, you know that?” he asked, breathless. “I couldn’t stop looking at you tonight. Or in the café.”

  Rory grinned and kissed beneath his ear. “You didn’t really need a glass of water after you sang, did you?”

  “Yes. No—fuck.” He shuddered when she bit down and sucked hard enough to leave a mark. Good. Biting set her off, too. “I had a bottle in my car. But I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Talk? Or do this?”

  She licked a path down his neck. Tugging his shirt to the side, she raked her teeth across the bunched-up muscle where the cords of his neck roped around his shoulder. James rolled his head to the side and made a noise that sounded like pain, grinding up against her. But then he took control with those big hands of his, cupping her face and urging her gaze up until she had no choice but to look at him.

  “Talk,” he insisted. “Did then. Still do now.”

  It was too much, and Rory didn’t want to talk. She wanted control back. Easing off his lap, she slid to the floor and knelt between his legs.

  “Talk is overrated.”

  She brought her mouth to the fly of his jeans, sealed her mouth over the denim and let out a hot breath. James’s eyes grew hooded as he stared down at her. Rory brought her hands into the action, palming his thighs and sliding upward until her fingers found the first button. His head fell back, and he swallowed as she popped open each button. James lifted his hips in response when Rory curled her fingers around the waistband. Warm skin and a smattering of hair replaced the feeling of fabric under her fingers as she dragged his Levi’s and boxers all the way down.

  Thick. Long. Perfect. She skipped the obligatory teasing licks and kisses and took him deep into her mouth.

  “Rory. Jesus. Fuck.”

  Smiling around him, she hummed in response. It drew another shuddered curse from him. Yeah, she was good at this. Had loved doing it, too. The way it could turn a man to putty, powerless to do anything but pant and moan and feel.

  She rose up to the tip and slowly plunged back down, keeping the suction even. Again and again she repeated the motion, taking him into her throat, caressing him with her tongue. James’s mouth slackened as he watched her move, and Rory cataloged his movements, waiting for the hardest shiver, the sharpest jerk of his hips.

  One deep groan was a blinking neon sign at his most sensitive spot.

  She focused on it until one of James’s hands found its way onto her shoulder, the other fisted tightly at his side. He ground out her name in a warning, but she didn’t stop, sucking firmly until he cursed and grunted, his release filling her mouth, gasping breaths filling her ears. When he was spent, Rory licked her lips and rocked bac
k on her heels, tickled at the sight of James sated, his shoulders rolling inward as he slouched on the chair.

  “See?” she mused, standing and tousling his hair. “Much more fun than talking.”

  He lifted his head and gazed hard at her. Kicking his pants to the side, he stood and walked her backwards until she was pressed up against the door. Her back hit it with a thud, and then he was kissing her again, slow teasing kisses and nips to her lower lip that began to drive her out of her mind.

  He framed her hips with his hands. Slid them up her sides until his thumbs strummed over her nipples, then pinched. Rory’s whole body jerked, making the door rattle in its jamb.

  His lips spread into a grin. “Like that?”

  Fuck yes. “Maybe.” Do it again.

  He lifted her hands above her head and fit her fingers around the coat hook. “Then I guess I’ll have to work on figuring out what you do like.”

  “Against the door?”

  The mockery in her voice was a slippery grip on the uneven ground she suddenly found herself on. A moment ago, she’d been the one on top. Now she was scrabbling for a decent hold.

  “What happens if people hear us?” she asked. “I can get pretty loud.”

  He ran a fingertip between her breasts and downward until he toyed with the button on her pants. “I like loud.”

  His tug on the button was a question. She answered with one thrust of her hips.

  Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Sliding beneath the waistband of her panties and cupping her entirely. His hand was so big that the heel of his palm pressed beneath her pubic bone while his middle finger teased her opening. Rory groaned at the just-there taunt. She needed him to press inside, her pussy painfully empty, but she wouldn’t beg. She only glared at him and waited.

  Show me what you’ve got, big boy.

  His finger slid inside her in one smooth motion.

  Rory’s mouth dropped open, breath rushing out of her. His fingers might’ve been thick and calloused, but he knew how to use them, playing her body the way he played his guitar. In and out, over and over, leisurely stretching her, until he skidded over her G-spot. The shock of pleasure forced a loud moan from her.

  “Hmmm,” he mused. “I think you like that.”

  His seductive murmur got her almost as hot as his fingers. She barely stifled a whine when he switched things up, swirling his finger in a circular motion. He rotated his finger in the other direction, and it nearly wrecked her composure entirely, her knees starting to give out. How was a guy who could do things like this with his hands single? Rory gripped the hook above her like it was a lifeline, her hips rolling in conjunction with how he was working her, animalistic grunts all she could manage. But she couldn’t come this way. Not from this alone.

  “More. I need—” he switched directions again. “—Ohhh, shit.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” James went back to those slow, pumping thrusts for a moment, then circled his finger again. “I didn’t catch that. What do you need?”

  A graze of his palm over her clit proved he knew exactly what she needed.

  “Rub my clit,” she ordered. “Or I’ll do it myself.”

  It was always a threat to guys’ egos when you offered to take care of business on your own. And it had once been Rory’s surefire method of making sure she got what she wanted in bed.

  James’s eyes glittered. He reached up with his free hand and unwound one of hers.

  “Do it,” he said, lowering her fingers to where he was driving her crazy with his. “I wanna see.”

  She paused for a second, confused by how unfazed he seemed to be, but then he edged her closer to climax by adding another finger, and Rory needed to come too badly to argue. She stroked herself in tight circles, the doubled sensation like lightning up her spine. Her release began to crest, and Rory let go of the hook with her other hand to grip James’s arm.

  “That’s it,” he murmured as he curled a hand around her neck. “So fucking sexy. Come for me.”

  He held her steady as she thrashed, each blissful wave wrenching a quiet scream from her lungs. She was barely able to stand when the last pulse subsided. When she’d finally caught her breath, James slid his hand from her panties and wrapped his arms around her, leaning down to nuzzle her ear.

  “You were right,” he said, his warm breath and coarse whiskers tickling her skin.

  “About what? About me being loud?”

  “No. About this being much more fun than talking.”

  She snorted. “Usually is.”

  James’s laugh vibrated through her. “True. But I am actually hungry. So now that we’ve gotten this part out of the way, maybe we can get something to eat and talk after all?”

  Dread wedged itself into the space where Rory’s post-orgasmic contentment had been. Sex was one thing, but talking could lead to other things. Things like liking him. She had a feeling it would be easy to like James. Too easy.

  “Actually, I think I’m gonna head out.”

  Ducking out of his embrace, she buttoned her pants and retrieved her bag. She couldn’t meet his eyes when she stood back up.

  “What just happened?” His tone was careful, like she was a frightened animal or a bomb about to explode.

  “Nothing. Just gotta get home, that’s all.”

  James lifted a hand and brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek, feather-soft. It forced her to look up, and their eyes locked.

  “Why are you ending this?” he asked.

  Because you’re lovely.

  Because I'm terrified.

  Because if I let someone new in and I lose them, I'm afraid I'll fall apart.

  “There’s no ‘this’ to end.”

  “There could be,” he said. “I like you.”

  “You barely know me.”

  “True, I want to.”

  “Why?” Her voice cracked with the question.

  “Does there have to be a reason?”

  “Yes.”

  James continued to stroke her cheek. “Because I think there’s more to you than you let on. Something special. Something I’d like to see more of. And—” he dipped his head so they were eye to eye. “—you give really good head.”

  Laughter burst from her before Rory had time to tamp it down. “That’s why you want to me to eat. So I can gather my strength before round two.”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t complain. But no, that’s not why.”

  The look in his eyes was genuine enough to make her heart skip a beat. A latch in Rory’s chest that had gone rusty with neglect suddenly wiggled open. It was dangerously alluring, the idea of opening up to someone. Of letting down that sky-high Rory-wall, the only constant in her life over the last few years, the single thing that had helped her stay standing.

  But for the first time in so long, she didn’t want to be alone.

  And, she was hungry.

  “Okay. A snack. It’s been forever since I ate at The Apron.” Her stomach growled at the mention of her favorite on-campus eatery. “They make the best grilled cheese ever.”

  “I love grilled cheese!”

  James’s childlike grin made a full reappearance, that rosy color back on his face. Rory stupidly grinned back. He shut the light and took her hand in his, and she followed him out into the night.

  Chapter 4

  Rory sighed with pleasure as she swallowed the last bite of thick sourdough and gooey Vermont cheddar.

  “That is the best food in Hammond Falls,” she said, falling back against the plastic booth seat. “I don’t care how many snooty-falooty gourmet places they’ve got over by the track. Nothing compares to Pearce’s late night grilled cheese.”

  James grinned. “Snooty-falooty?”

  “It’s a word.”

  “If you say so. You are older than me, and wise.”

  “Oh, I’m old now, am I?”

  He held his hands up in surrender. He’d managed to get several bits of information out of her on the walk over to the student center
, including her age and what her favorite classes at Pearce had been. She’d found out that he was a songwriter and gave private music lessons to kids during the summers, then asked him the same questions in return. Rory was pleased to hear he’d recently turned twenty-one. At least they didn’t have that awkward dividing line standing between them.

  “I didn’t say old. I said older.” He piled up their paper plates and pushed the remains of their devoured sandwiches to the side. “And I have a feeling you know your way around language.”

  “Oh yeah? How’d you figure that out?”

  He raised one thick shoulder in a half-shrug. “The library keeps a copy of every class yearbook, so I looked up yours.”

  He tilted his head, cautious, but Rory allotted him a tiny smile in response. It charmed her in a way she hadn’t expected, that he’d done some research on her.

  “So I guess you know all my secrets now.”

  “Hardly. All I saw was that you were an English major with a focus on poetry. And a really cool picture of you on stage at Puck’s.”

  It felt like a decade ago. The night that photo was taken was her best performance, one she should’ve been proud of. Rory examined one of her braids. Her ability to make conversation was rusty, a tarnished thing that needed to be oiled. How much might her ability to put pen to paper have suffered in the last few years, if it was this difficult to even talk about it?

  “It was the college’s first poetry slam,” she told him. “I helped organize it.”

  “How’d you get into that?”

  Rory playfully narrowed her eyes. “You’re getting a lot of information out of me, Mr. Griffith, while all I’ve found out about you is your age, your summertime habits and a desire to pack your schedule with a ridiculous number of music classes.”

  “I’m an open book,” he said. “Anything you want to know. Ask away.”

  Rory tugged on her braid, twirling the tip of it around her finger. “Craziest place you’ve had sex.”

  James coughed in surprise, the laughter that followed rough, loud and real.

  “In the girl’s dressing room during a high school theater production. I joined the crew because I had a massive crush on the lead actress, which she totally knew, I guess. She led me in there one night when the rest of the cast was onstage and locked the door.” James laughed again and shook his head. “Not the craziest place to do it, but not bad for my first time.”