“The only conflict I see right now is that my dick is hard as a rock, and I’m positive your panties are drenched.” I shiver when he starts to caress my bare skin. “I want to kiss you, Libby. I want to do more than kiss you so damn bad. You have no idea. Ever since we shot that video, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’re drunk.” He wouldn’t be saying this if alcohol weren’t flowing through his system.
“I’m not even close to drunk. I had one glass of champagne and believe me, sunshine, I feel the same way when I’m completely sober. And so do you. I see the way you look at me. The feeling is mutual.”
I let out a loud breath. “Obviously I’m attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean I want to screw you. We can’t cross that line, and we both know it.”
“Then what do you want to do with me?” He pauses. “Or better yet, what do you want me to do with you?” He inches his hand up, moving underneath my dress. “This?”
I can feel myself sweating. Did someone turn the heat up in here? I briefly look up to see if Willis or George is paying any attention to us. Both of them are looking forward, minding their own business, or at least pretending to.
I part my legs further without even thinking. My body wants it, wants him. The common sense in me is fighting it but obviously losing.
He inches forward. “Is that an invitation? Do you want me to play with you, Libby?” he questions, sounding more serious than I’ve ever heard him. I straighten my back up, the internal fight I’m having with myself still in action. “I’m not doing anything until you tell me you want it. Say no, and I’ll move my hand. Say yes, and I’ll play with your pussy until you get off on my fingers.”
“Yes.” The small word putters from my lips.
He slides my panties to the side swiftly and pushes a finger inside of me. His mouth goes to my ear. “So fucking wet for me. I knew it.”
My lips part and everything around me grows hazy when he adds another finger, dipping them in and out of me.
“We … we shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper.
My actions don’t match my words because I’m slowly pumping my hips up to meet his touch. Fuck, he’s strumming his fingers inside of me, giving me all his attention, just like he does his guitar.
Apparently, I don’t want to fuck him, but I have no problem letting him finger fuck me in the backseat of an SUV with two strangers in the front.
Sorry dad. This man has caused me to throw all of my morals out the door.
“I beg to differ,” he says, with a grin.
I push away the voices in my head telling me how bad of an idea this is. I already know that, and right now, I don’t give a shit. All that’s on my mind is how good he’s making me feel.
He presses his free hand over my mouth as I let out my release.
Knox slides his fingers out of me and places them in his mouth, slowly sucking on them. “You sure you want to go in there?” he asks when Willis pulls up to the condo.
“I’m sure.”
What do I say now? Thanks for getting me off, see you later?
He grabs my bag of clothes. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
I snatch it from him. “I … I got it. I’ll see you later.” I grab the door handle and jump out as soon as it opens. No one even has a chance to stop me.
I take deep breaths as soon as I make it into the condo.
“Damn girl, that dress looks amazing on you,” Mia says when she sees me. She’s snuggled on the couch with Dixon watching some chick-flick. “How was it?”
“It … it was good,” I stutter out.
Her forehead creases as she looks at me in confusion. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I rush out. “Just exhausted. I’m going to bed. You guys have fun.”
I don’t wait for her response. I dash upstairs to the bathroom, take off my makeup, and then head to my bedroom, still not thinking straight from the mind blowing orgasm Knox just gave me. I grab my phone to put it on the charger when I see I have a text message.
Knox: You let me know when you change your mind, you hear me? When you’re finally ready to come around, to see me as more than some stupid celebrity man slut, come to me. I promise you won’t regret it. Goodnight Libby. We have some fun months ahead of us.
18
Knox
Thomas is relaxed in the chair behind his big ass desk when I walk into his office. He called this morning and asked for me to meet him here to talk some last minute tour business.
I look around the room. Billboard charts showing off his client’s success – a few of them with my name – cover the beige walls. A picture of us when I won my first Grammy is set up on the bookcase behind him.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He signals for me to take a seat like I’m in the principal’s office. “I want to talk to you about Libby and the tour.”
“What about it?” I tense up in the chair. “Is she bailing?”
I pushed her too far after dinner. Trust me, I never planned to have my fingers in her pussy, it just happened, and I honestly was surprised as fuck she let it.
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “No, she’s still in, but be easy on her and keep your hands to yourself. I know how you are on the road. You get needy and moody.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Although I don’t think she’ll fall for your charm, anyway. I gave Libby this job because she’s a strong woman who’s done a terrific job handling crazy tours like yours, but that doesn’t mean every experience has been a good one for her. She’s nervous, I can tell. I’m going to trust you with her. Don’t make me regret it.”
“What do you mean she knows how to handle tours like mine?”
“She used to go on tour with her father. I was his band’s manager for over a decade. She had to deal with crazy fans and dirty-mouthed, out of control rockers for years.”
Ah, yeah. I forgot Libby’s dad was some rock legend because she doesn’t act like most people I know with popular parents. She doesn’t throw his name around to get free shit.
“Second question, what do you mean they haven’t all been a good experience?”
“That’s not my story to tell, and Libby would probably quit if I did. We both know we don’t want that to happen. So don’t ask and be good.”
“If you’re so worried about me corrupting her, why didn’t you give her to someone else?”
“She knew how to deal with her dad in his rough times. I think maybe she can work her magic on you.” I grin. “Not that kind of magic, dumbass.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her. I promise.”
“And?”
“And I won’t try to sleep with her.”
“Try again.”
“Fine, I won’t sleep with her.”
“Good boy. Now go out there and show them what a kickass performer you are. If you need anything, give me a call, and you know I’ll be on the first jet there.”
19
Libby
Tomorrow is the day.
The day we leave for the tour.
And I’m one nervous as hell woman.
I’m almost done packing when my phone beeps. I grab it from my nightstand and read the text.
Knox: Your bags packed and ready to go?
Me: About to zip up my suitcase.
Knox: Did you do what I said?
Me: No, it’s not necessary for you to buy me shit to take on tour.
Knox: I was only trying to help you out. If you don’t need anything, it’s cool.
Why do I feel like a bitch for not accepting his offer of using his credit card to buy my necessities for the tour? I did have to take a chunk of the money I’ve been saving up to purchase everything I need, but the pay raise Knox promised will pay that back and more.
My phone vibrates in my hand again before I have the chance to reply to him.
Knox: When are you going to be here to help me pack?
Help him pack? That’s not in my job description.
&
nbsp; Me: Don’t you have people who do that for you?
Knox: Yes, you.
Me: Fine, I’ll be there in an hour.
This will be my first time seeing Knox since the whole backseat-fingering situation I got myself into – or better yet when he got himself into me. I want to blame it on the champagne, but my raging hormones were the culprit. I haven’t been laid in six months.
How is he going to act?
Will he bring it up or sweep it under the rug so shit doesn’t get awkward?
I have my fingers crossed on the rug sweeping.
Shit. Fingers.
That only reminds me of how well he knows how to work his.
He brought me to a harder orgasm than I’ve had in awhile.
I hit the garage door opener and park the Jeep inside. I find Knox lounging on the couch, shirtless, with his feet resting on the coffee table. I try to hold back from focusing my eyes on the water dripping from the top of his chest onto his lap, but I can’t.
Please heart, do not let me catch feelings for this man … and if I have already, please help me rid of them.
The sooner, the better.
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” I ask when I finish eye fucking him. I keep my distance, casually leaning against the arm of a chair. My nerves are going crazy.
He grins, amused at my reaction. “Relax, boss woman. I finished my swim a few minutes ago.” He points to his swim trunks. “My dick is covered.” He lowers his voice. “Although from the way you’re looking at me, I think that might be why you’re so upset.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “You can pretend you’re annoyed with me all you want, sunshine, but you can’t pretend that I didn’t make you come the other night.”
Tingles sweep up the back of my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was faking it so you wouldn’t feel bad.”
He scoffs. “Oh please. You were soaked, your pussy clenching against my fingers, begging for more. It was sexy as fuck, by the way.” He gets up from the couch. “But I can tell talking about how great I played with your pussy makes you uncomfortable, so I’ll cut it out. Let me know when you’re ready for seconds.” He walks towards the foyer and looks back at me. “Now come on, we have to get my shit packed.”
I start following him up the stairs. “Is this some scheme to get me into your bedroom?” I call out.
He turns around and winks. “Something like that, sunshine. Will it work?”
“Definitely not.”
“You take the fun out of everything, Graves.” He holds his hands up and wiggles his fingers. “I promise I’ll keep these bad boys to myself.”
“You better, or I’ll bite them off.”
“Why? So you can use them to pleasure yourself without having to deal with me? That’s some twisted shit.”
“You’re seriously incorrigible.”
“And you’re seriously slacking at your job. Come on.”
I groan and curse with every step up. I’m being overly dramatic, but the more he talks about what happened in the backseat, the more I want it to happen again. I need to keep my distance from this man, which is going to be completely unrealistic considering I’ll be with him everyday for months.
He waits until I meet him at the last door down the long hallway and pulls out a key to unlock it, gesturing for me to go in first.
The bedroom is huge with an expensive bed taking up most of the space. The bed is black and covered with dark bedding. The walls are painted a light grey, giving it some brightness to the dark furniture, and a big screen TV hangs on the wall across from his bed with a dresser underneath it.
It screams masculinity from every angle. The pleasant scent of mint and pine drifts through the air.
Five platinum records are hung up on one wall with a guitar that looks like it’s seen better days below it.
“Is that the guitar? I ask, walking over to it.
I know my fair share about guitars from being around my dad’s band so much, and this guitar isn’t expensive. It’s cheap, beat up, and the only reason someone would keep something in this terrible of condition is if it means something to them.
He looks from the guitar to me and nods. “That’s the guitar that changed my life.”
I want to reach out and touch it because of the sentimental value it holds to him but hold myself back, feeling like he’s the only one allowed to do that. I’m not sure if he catches onto my hesitation, but I tense up when he walks over to me. He slowly drags his hand over the face of the guitar back and forth slowly.
“I will keep this for the rest of my life. I have guitars that are worth thousands and thousands of dollars, but this is my most prized possession.”
The look in his eyes when he talks about this guitar is hypnotic. You can’t help but fall in love with it too. The passion. The love. This cheap piece of wood is what gave him the life he has now.
I suck in a breath before gaining the courage to slowly run my fingers over it, feeling all of the chipped pieces and wear and tear from over the years. I wonder how many other music lovers learned to play their favorite songs on this instrument.
I look over at him when I feel his finger slowly graze the side of my hand. He’s staring at me in a way I’ve never seen before. There’s no cockiness. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it reminds me of a mixture of nostalgia and tranquility.
His large hand folds over my slender one before he weaves our fingers together. The air in the room goes heavy, and the scent of fresh chlorine hits me as he guides our connection over the strings.
Warmth rushes through my body when he starts to play using the tips of our fingers. The strings feel coarse against my skin. Our eyes are locked, and I can’t force myself to look away.
“This is the first song I learned to play,” he says quietly.
“There’s a house in New Orleans. They call the Rising Sun. And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy. And God I know I’m one,” he starts to sing, and I swear if his hands weren’t on mine I would lose my concentration on what we’re doing.
It’s no lie that he can sing, and he does it so beautifully I get myself caught up in his spell. It’s sensual and masculine and runs through my veins like silk. I could stand here and listen to it all day, especially when he’s giving me my own private show.
“The House of the Rising Sun?” I ask.
He squeezes my hand. “It was my mother’s favorite song. She’d listen to it on repeat, and somehow I ended up catching onto the beat. It’s not perfect, but it’s what shaped me into who I am. The lyrics hit pretty close to home.”
He starts to sing again, and I never want him to stop.
“My mother was a tailor. She sewed my new blue jeans. My father was a gamblin’ man down in New Orleans.”
He keeps going, and I can’t take my eyes off him. I feel like he’s giving me something he’s never given anyone else. Or maybe I’m hoping that’s true – that he’s never opened up himself like this to anyone but me. I want to be the only woman he’s given this incredibly personal show for.
“Wow,” I whisper when he finishes. “It still has it.”
Our hands are still enveloped, and my fingertips slowly slide along the strings.
“It always will,” he says, slowly releasing my hand from his. He takes a step back, and we stare at each other in silence.
What is going on?
I came here to help him pack, not to eye fuck him and develop an even bigger attraction.
He closes in on the small space that’s separating us, and I know in this second, it’s going to lead somewhere if I don’t stop it.
I fake a laugh and distance myself. “We better start packing before it gets too late. I have a feeling you’re going to be high maintenance,” I say.
I’m trying to joke, but there’s no confusion in what I stopped.
He forces out a chuckle, shaking his head, and points to the French doors on the opposite side
of the room. “Closet and bathroom are over there.”
I start to move in that direction while keeping my head down. Please don’t let him see the blush rising along my face.
“And Libby.” I turn around at the sound of his voice and look at him, even though I’m terrified to. “I might be high maintenance, but I can tell you that’s not the case in the bedroom. I make sure I take care of her before me.”
I gulp before answering him. “Thanks for the info.” He says things that make my imagination run wild. Why am I thinking about his hands on me? He’s the last person I should want touching me.
“From the sexual tension that just happened, I’d like you to be well informed.”
Oh my fucking God!
I turn around and stumble a bit on my way into the bathroom. The room is as incredible as the rest of the house, and my favorite part is the claw foot bathtub that I know would be amazing to soak in. It’s my dream tub. I walk through the bathroom and straight into the closet.
Yes, I lived a pretty privileged life growing up, but there is no doubt that Knox has more money than my father did … or he spends it more wisely and doesn’t pour it into women and drugs.
I walk back into the bathroom and poke my head out the door. “Do you have your packing list?” I ask.
“Shit, it’s downstairs. I emailed it to you, do you have your copy?”
“It’s in my purse. I’ll grab it.” I go back into the bedroom and rummage through my bag. I start to separate the papers folded together until I find it. “Here it is.”
I don’t get the chance to stop him before he grabs a fallen paper from the bed. “Is this yours?” he asks, his eyes trailing down my itemized list.
Oh. My. God. I want to die, like I’m seriously debating walking over to his balcony and jumping off.
I dart forward and try to snatch it from him, but he sprints across the room, grinning.
“Vibrator is number ten and underlined multiple times,” he says. “Damn, I’m traveling with a bad girl.”
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