My Heart's Blood (Hard Love & Dark Rock #1)

by Ashley Grace

  A big security guard at the end of the hall pushed the doors open, and then we were out in the alley, the cold and the dark washing over us, penetrating right through the thin shirt. I looked up, but I couldn't see any stars—the fog was too thick. Even so, the freshness of the air was lovely, invigorating, after the cramped heat of the club.

  A second later, I heard the roaring of a crowd. I looked toward the street, saw the mob of people held on the other side of the police cordon. A strange feeling of déjà vu caught me. Just a few hours ago, we'd been in this same alley with this same crowd yelling and screaming. It felt like years had passed since then. It felt like a memory from a different life. I felt completely different. Transformed. I felt as excited as I used to feel after the shows on our first big tour, more alive than I'd felt in a long time.

  What had changed?

  I looked at the girl next to me, the light shining in her dark hair. Maybe Joey had been right all along. Maybe all I needed was a girl. The right girl.

  A part of me said that I might be expecting too much, moving too fast. After all, I'd only seen the girl for the first time that night, and I'd hardly had a chance to exchange more than a few sentences of conversation with her. But honestly, that part of me was a pretty small part, and I was used to ignoring it. As an artist, I didn't base my actions on reason or logic nearly as often as I based them on passion, on feeling.

  And this girl… for the first time in a long time, she was making me feel things again.

  The limo had room for eight people. We probably had at least twelve people pile in. Even Sara joined us, leaving the town car to Bernstein. She sat at the front with Sergio and Angel, the three of them sharing seating meant for two, leaning in and chatting with an energy and interest I hadn't seen in Sara in a long time. The night was magic, and I wasn't the only one feeling it.

  Joey had a bottle of whiskey in the limo, and he cracked off the plastic wrap and lifted it for a slug. He passed the bottle around, everybody drinking, everybody already drunk. High on the crowd and the show and the night itself. By the time the bottle came to Anne, it was already a third empty. She raised the bottle to her lips and took a sip, her mouth puckering, her eyes squeezing tight shut. A shudder went through her, and she shook her head back and forth. When her eyes opened again, they glittered like gems.

  I took the bottle and gulped down a fiery mouthful, feeling it burn its way down my throat, settling as a glow in my belly. And then I leaned in and kissed her again.

  Her lips were soft, but her mouth burned with the whiskey, and with desire. I could feel my own need echoing back from her. She opened her lips, and I slipped my tongue into her mouth, tasting her. In my chest I felt nearly hollow from yearning, and my heart thundered, pumping blood straight to my cock.

  Miracle after miracle. Even the antidepressants couldn’t quell this fire.

  I heard Joey cheering from across the limo. I glanced over at him, saw him raising the whiskey bottle in salute. Anne's friend sat beside him, her eyes fixed on Anne, a look of almost motherly love showing in them.

  Back at the hotel, we caught the elevator to our floor. Part of me wanted to take the girl straight back to my room, but another part of me thought it would be better not to separate her from her friend. And so for a while we sat on the loveseat in the suite, making out like horny teenagers, getting drunker and drunker on each other's kisses as the rest of the band continued to laugh and drink and party all around us.

  In the end, she was the one that suggested we take it to the next level.

  "Trace," she said, her voice just a little breathless, from passion and maybe from nerves, too. "Is there somewhere we can go, just the two of us?"

  "Come with me," I said, my heart beating hard in my chest, my cock throbbing against my jeans.

  Bernstein had arranged for each of us to have a private room, but the suite had two bedrooms too. I took her to the smaller one, down the hall from the party. We could still hear the music and laughter through the closed door, but it felt comfortably distant.

  I kissed her again, my hands cradling her face, thumbs brushing over her smooth cheeks. I tilted her head back, kissing her along the side of her neck, my fingers threading through the hair at the back of her head. Her panting breaths tickled my ear, and she smelled rich and sweet, almost like butterscotch.

  My hands slipped down to her bare shoulders, her naked back. Her skin felt like warm silk, incredibly smooth and soft beneath my palms, making me greedy to feel more of her. My fingers went to the zipper between her shoulder blades, catching hold, pulling it down slowly, the sound a soft purr. She sighed as my hands slipped down inside of the zipper, following the shallow groove of her spine, tracing over her delicate ribs. My fingers bumped against the strap of her bra, and I followed the strap to the clasp, eager to unfasten it, to clear away this obstacle that kept me from being able to fully stroke her back.

  I unhooked her bra, feeling her heavy breasts press against me, free from their restraint. I kissed my way down to her collar bone, to the front of her upper chest, suddenly dying to see her lovely breasts completely bare.

  My hands slipped inside her dress, following her ribs to the front, peeling the dress and bra away. I cupped her breasts in my palms, lovely soft and dense, filling my hands. And she gasped.

  "Trace," she said. "Trace."

  I kissed her neck again, my thumbs sliding over her perking nipples, as firm and pink as pencil erasers. I looked down, taking her in, glorying in the vision of her. Her skin a lovely, ivory white except for across the front of her chest, where it had flushed to blushing pink. The elegant bones of her clavicle showing clearly, making the swelling fullness of her breasts even more impressive. I squeezed her gently, circling her nipples with the pads of my thumbs.

  "Anne," I said, "you are lovely."

  And then I dipped my head down, and took her right nipple into my mouth.

  She gasped, her head tilting back and her eyes closing, as my lips closed around that sensitive little nub of flesh, sucking on it gently, stretching it long. I tightened my lips around it like a collar, my tongue washing back and forth across the tip, feeling it pucker even more beneath my attention. When that nipple was drawn tight and firm, I pulled my lips back and lapped at it like a dog, my tongue pressing that little button against the soft mound it perched atop.

  I moved to the other breast, licking and sucking and nipping at it gently, the thumb of my other hand rubbing over the spit-slick nipple I'd just left. Anne groaned and panted above me, the sound spurring me on.

  I straightened my back, bringing my mouth to her mouth again, plunging my tongue in past her teeth. She sucked my tongue in deeper, and I felt my dick throb with desire again.

  I wanted to feel those hardened nipples against my bare chest. In a rush, I reached down and caught hold of the bottom of my shirt, ripping it up over my head. Anne gasped again, her beautiful eyes going wide, drinking me in. She raised her hands to my chest almost reverently, tracing her fingers down the front of my torso, her touch electric. I caught her eyes with mine, and then kissed her again, wrapping my arms tight around her, feeling her lovely soft breasts pressing against my chest, her hard nipples poking into my ribs.

  We stumbled back toward the bed, kicking our shoes off, moving like some drunken, four-legged beast. The edge of the bed came up against the back of her legs, and she lost her balance, falling back onto the mattress with a yelp. With my arms still wrapped around her, I followed, sprawling over her gorgeous, half-naked body with my elbows bracing against the mattress on either side of her.

  I kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts, working my way down to the delicate arc of her ribcage, and then to her soft belly below that. My hands went to her dress, my fingers hooking under the fabric, dragging it down over her hips, catching hold of her panties and pulling those along too. I had it just to the level of her lovely soft mound, a delicate thatch of curls peeking above the fabric line, when I heard her speak.

  "Trace,
I…"

  Her voice was high and tight, nervous. I looked up at her, my hands pausing but my fingers not letting go.

  She'd propped herself up on her elbows, her head cocked forward, her eyes huge and uncertain. Her eyebrows were pinched together with worry, and she bit her bottom lip.

  "Yes, Anne?" I said. And then, with my eyes still locked on hers, I pressed my lips to the soft swell of her mound, just above the downy hair.

  "It's just… I'm not…"

  "Is something wrong?" I asked.

  I saw the blush deepening in her cheeks, her bottom lip practically quivering.

  "I've never… I've never had anybody kiss me… down there."

  The look on her face, the yearning and vulnerability in her eyes, made my chest fill with sudden tenderness.

  But tenderness wasn't all I felt.

  I vowed to myself, then and there, that I'd make her feel so good, so overloaded with pleasure, she wouldn't have the presence of mind left to feel embarrassed.

  And with that thought burning in my brain, I tightened my fingers on her dress and pulled it the rest of the way off in a rush.

  Chapter 19

  Anne

  It was like my fantasy come to life.

  Trace LeBeau—the man I'd dreamed about since I'd first heard his voice—was kissing me, touching me, sprawling on top of me in bed. I could feel the taut firmness of his body above mine, could feel the alarming, unmistakable hardness at the front of his jeans as it pressed against my thigh. And now he was working his way down to my breasts again, his stubble deliciously rough against my tender skin, his lips greedy and bold on my body.

  Low down in my belly, and between my legs, I was absolutely blazing with desire, so hot and wet and aching-for-more that I could barely breathe.

  But then Trace kissed down past my ribs, and kept moving. By the time he'd reached my belly, the first twinge of self-consciousness came slicing through my passionate need. And by the time he'd reached my mons, just a few inches above the focal point of that hunger and heat, my shyness and embarrassment spiked toward full-on panic.

  I propped myself up onto my elbows, saying whispering his name. "Trace, I…"

  He paused, raising his head to look at me. His eyes looked dark and hungry, unmistakably so.

  "Yes, Anne?" he said, and planted another kiss, his lips pressing against the thin skin over my pubic bone.

  The touch of his lips, the look in his eye, made another bolt of desire shoot through me. But my shyness still had the upper hand.

  "It's just… I'm not…"

  He looked at me imploringly, the hunger in his eyes now joined by a hint of curiosity. He asked me if something was wrong.

  "I've never… I've never had anybody kiss me… down there."

  And then that curious look in his eye completely evaporated, leaving nothing but raw hunger.

  He gave me a wolfish grin, and then yanked the dress off of me with so much force it lifted my hips up in the air.

  The panic caught hold of me again—more than panic, fear, as if I actually thought he wanted to eat me alive. My hands went to his head, my fingers gripping his hair, my thighs squeezing shut like a vice. But I wasn't fast enough. Before I could stop him, he'd dropped his head between my legs and pressed his mouth to my aching, dripping-wet, most private place.

  I felt his tongue on me, parting my lower lips, dipping into the slickness between them. And then—like thunder lagging behind the lighting—the pleasure hit me a moment later, a bolt of it, pure and blinding and raw, shooting straight from my pelvis to my brain.

  I heard myself groaning and gasping and moaning, felt the sound raw and ragged in my throat. My fingers twisted in his hair, but instead of trying to pull his head back, I found myself pulling him closer.

  "Ohh shit, Trace!"

  His tongue was working in me, lapping at me like a dog drinking water, sliding over my vividly-tender nub again and again. He brought one hand up and pressed it against my skin just above that throbbing cluster of nerves, drawing the hood back taut, exposing more of me to his relentless tongue. With every wet stroke I felt another spark of pleasure shooting up into my core, like electricity arcing into me.

  "Oh my god, fuck!"

  I raised my head, my eyes springing wide open, looking down at him. He had his eyes closed, a reverent look on his face. And his tongue kept moving and moving, dipping and sliding in me, stoking the heat and the pleasure higher and higher.

  Trace LeBeau, the rock star, with fans all over the world, who'd just given a triumphant performance that would surely be all over the news tomorrow. The man I'd fantasized about since before I could even wear a proper bra. Whose songs had been the soundtrack to my life. Whose face had graced the poster above my bed. Whose lips had shaped the words that had etched themselves into my soul.

  And now that face and those lips were pressed tight against the most private part of my body. My breasts were quivering and jiggling between my stretched-down arms. My knees were up in the air, thighs pressed against either side of his head, heels crossed over his upper back. He had his arms wrapped around my legs, his hard biceps pressing into the backs of my thighs, his right hand anchored on my mound, pulling me taut.

  As I watched, his left hand slipped back out of sight. A moment later I felt his finger pressing against me, against the tight entrance to that throbbing place where my legs met. He slipped that finger into me, stroking me from within, pressing up against my pelvic bone and the downward pressure of his own eager tongue.

  Another blast of pleasure flooded through me, making me cry out.

  “Ah!”

  There was nowhere to escape to, nowhere to hide. The pleasure kept growing bigger and bigger, building toward what I knew would be an absolutely devastating orgasm, no doubt the biggest of my life.

  I began to whimper like a little girl, my body shuddering and quivering, my hips bucking, pressing me up against his lips. Electric tingles scattered all through my body, and my pulse was racing in my ears.

  And then that earth-shaking orgasm was on me, rolling through me in waves of ecstasy. My back came up off the bed, my boobs thrusting toward the ceiling, my pussy clenching down on Trace's finger in spasms. I'm pretty sure I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “Ohhh god, Trace!”

  When it finally ended my whole body went slack, sinking into the mattress as the pleasure began to shiver and fade. I blinked my eyes open and gasped in a breath. Trace was still licking me, his tongue slow and languid, as if he were too greedy to stop. But I couldn't take it anymore—the orgasm had left me so sensitive that even his soft, gentle tongue was too much.

  I pressed his head back, closing my legs. He fought me for a few last, greedy licks, and then relented, straightening his back, rising upright between my knees.

  He had a happy, satisfied, almost beatific look on his face. He smiled down at me, biting his lip.

  "That was incredible," he said. "You look absolutely beautiful when you come."

  Another twinge of embarrassment went through me. He'd seen me at my most unguarded and vulnerable, and the thought made me suddenly, unbearably shy.

  "What?" he asked.

  "I don't know. Kissing me down there, it’s just…” I shrugged my shoulders. “You actually like it?"

  "Like it?" he said, sounding surprised. "God yes, I love it! I love the taste of it, the feel of it. I love seeing all your defenses come down, until you're absolutely naked in front of me, no pretense, no secrets. I love knowing you that intimately, pushing you right over the edge and owning you for those moments. Yes, I love it. There's nothing I love more."

  I felt my brows pulling down in a frown.

  "You don't believe me?" he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders again.

  "Well, do you believe this?"

  He caught hold of my foot, pressing the sole against the front of his jeans.

  My eyes went wide, desire pulsing within me again. I could feel his dick, rock hard and throb
bing against the arch of my foot.

  "Do you believe me now?”

  I nodded my head, catching my lip between my teeth, feeling the hunger surging through me again.

  “I haven't been this hard in a fucking year!” Trace said. “God, I want to fuck you so bad right now!"

  Before I knew it, I was on my knees, my hands at the front of his pants, desperately trying to unfasten his jeans. Any embarrassment I'd felt, any temporary exhaustion in the wake of that tremendous orgasm, was gone in an instant. And in place of that, I was possessed with one single, burning desire.

  "Do it, Trace," I said. "Please! I want you—I need you inside of me. Right now!"

  My hands managed to undo the button, and my fingers went to his zipper, jerking it down. I looked up at his lips, and I smashed my mouth against his in a desperate kiss.

  I could taste myself on his lips, and I could taste him too. And suddenly it just made me want him even more desperately.

  I needed to see him as he’d seen me—no pretense, no secrets. I needed him to be there, in that place, with me.

  I slipped my hand down the front of his pants, felt him filling my grip, thick and fever-hot.

  And then, from beyond the door to the room, from out in the living room area where the party had been going on, I heard a scream, high and sharp and terrified.

  It was Becca screaming.

  "What the fuck?" Trace said.

  He broke out of my arms and ran for the door, zipping his fly up as he went. In a flash, he'd jerked the door open and disappeared down the hall.

  I glanced at my dress, crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. I grabbed for it, but before I could slip it on, I heard Becca scream again, the sound even louder and more full of fear.

  With the dress in my hand, and not a stitch of clothing covering my body, I ran after Trace.