Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4)

by Crystal Kaswell

  "Pinch me."

  She nods. "Your wrist."

  "Yeah." I press my fingertips into the back of her head. "Put your hands behind your back. I'm in control of this. It's all me. You understand?"

  "Yes."

  "You want that?"

  "Yes," she breathes. "Please, Mal…" She looks up at me like she's searching for the rest of her sentence. "Please."

  She folds her hands at the small of her back.

  Slowly, she brushes her lips against me. I need her relaxed or she's going to gag too fucking soon.

  I let her play.

  She takes her sweet fucking time teasing me with her soft lips. Then it's her tongue. She swirls her tongue around my tip. Slowly. Then faster.

  Then it's soft flicks.

  Hard ones.

  My cock pulses. This isn't enough. I need her mouth. I need to feel the back of her throat.

  I need her eyes going wide, that delight when she realizes she can take more.

  I bring my other hand to the back of her head to hold her in place.

  Slowly, I thrust into her mouth.

  She looks up at me, groaning as she sucks on my tip.

  Fuck, the mix of pleasure and need in her expression. Her eagerness is undoing every bit of my control. I can't stay slow if she's going to look at me like that.

  My need to come threaten to takes over.

  I tug at her hair. That gets her groaning against my cock. Sucking harder.

  "Sit back, baby. I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

  She just barely nods.

  I firm my grip.

  She leans into my hands.

  This time, I thrust a little faster. A little deeper. Every inch is fucking divine. She's soft and wet and the way she groans as she sucks on me—

  Pleasure spreads out to my fingers and toes. I'm already close.

  I move faster than I should. Harder. Deeper.

  Deep enough she gags.

  But it doesn't slow her. She groans louder. She swallows to relax her throat.

  Her eyes plead keep going.

  I tug at her hair as I move faster. Deeper. Deep enough I feel the back of her throat.

  She looks up at me, that same plea in her brown eyes.

  That beautiful mix of need and pleasure.

  I let my eyelids flutter closed, and I let my body takeover.

  My hands knot into her hair.

  I fuck her mouth.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  Damn, that soft, flat tongue.

  My balls tighten.

  With my next thrust, I'm there. My cock pulses with my orgasm. I pull back just in time to come over her lips and chin.

  Fuck. I feel it everywhere.

  All the way in my fingers and toes.

  My fucking toes can barely hold me upright. I have to drop to my knees, next to Lacey.

  She crawls into my lap and rests her head against my chest.

  She leans into my touch as I run my fingers through her hair.

  Slowly, her breath steadies. She looks up at me, those big, brown eyes once again full of satisfaction. "That was… that was amazing."

  I nod. It's the only thing I can do. I'm fucking incoherent.

  "You're really sexy in control." She presses her palm against my stomach. "But I'm sure you already know that."

  This time, I manage to murmur a yes.

  "And you were so… I never thought I'd, that anyone would…" She draws circles over my stomach with her forefinger. "Just… Just thanks, Mal."

  "Any fucking time."

  She sighs as she nestles into my lap.

  19

  Lacey

  We take a long, slow shower together. Being in that tiny space with Mal, with his body against mine, his lips on my lips, that warm water running over both of us—

  It's as intimate as anything I've ever felt.

  He washes and conditions my hair and soaps me all over. I do the same to him, taking my dear time exploring every inch of his skin. If he wasn't a musician, he'd probably be a football player. He's that tall and broad and muscular.

  But the dark tattoos and the messy hair hanging in front of his deep blue eyes—that's pure rock star.

  Only, I don't think of Mal as a rock star anymore. Not exactly. The video director part of my brain still sees Mal as an actor playing a role. She's still working out what she wants to do with him.

  But the fangirl part of my brain is fading away. She can't quite connect the Mal she fell for with the Mal in front of her. In front of me.

  He's similar to his persona. He's bottled up. Shouldering the weight of the world all by himself.

  I want to help him carry it, but I'm not going to get ahead of myself here. We're friends with benefits. We're having fun.

  That's all.

  And this—pressing my palm against his hard chest as he drags his soft lips over my neck—this is really fucking fun.

  My panties are MIA.

  My dress is two days old.

  I might be overstaying my welcome here, but I'm floating too high to care. My body is running off the thrill of Mal's body. The rest of me—it's still overwhelmed by all the desire in his eyes, the shudder in his chest, the commanding words that fall off his lips.

  Right now, I really believe I'm desirable.

  I pull on one of Mal's t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. His clothes are too big, but they make for perfect pajamas.

  He dresses in a t-shirt and boxers. No jeans, no pants, no shorts. Nothing but that thin layer of cotton.

  "You hungry?" he asks.

  Judging by the bright light flowing through the windows, we must be into afternoon. Which means it's normal that I'm starving. I nod.

  He motions come here. "I'll make you lunch."

  "You made breakfast."

  "You complaining?"

  "No." I take his hand and follow him into the hallway. "I don't want to take advantage."

  "You couldn't." He leads me down the stairs and into the kitchen, then points to the stool. "It makes me feel good, taking care of people."

  "People you love?" I slide onto the stool and press my palms against the tile. My knees knock together. Then my toes. My legs are dangerously close to spaghetti state.

  "People." He checks the fridge and the cabinets. "Let me guess—you want something fried and light on vegetables."

  "No. I want you to make some more diet food so I can tease you again." I smile as my eyes meet his. "But, actually, grilled fish and salad is fine."

  He shakes his head with mock incredulity. It's playful. More playful than I've seen him so far. "Come here."

  I slide off my seat and move into the kitchen. He places his body behind mine as he points out everything in the fridge and the pantry. As much as I like to tease, I admire that Mal takes his work seriously enough to avoid foods that irritate his vocal chords.

  It's not surprising. Mal is someone who has taken on the weight of the world for a long, long time. Since his parents left, I'm guessing. That's almost ten years now.

  He's a strong, stoic guy, but there's a weariness in his eyes most of the time.

  It was there last night.

  I want to ask about it, to ask about his parents.

  I want to know more of him.

  "Anything I want?" I ask.

  He mumbles a yes as he pulls my ass against his crotch.

  "You're not going to like it. Well, you are… but you'll fight."

  "I'll fight you?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay. Try me."

  I motion to the top shelf in the pantry, the one filled with boxes of pasta and jars of red sauce. "Carbs, carbs, and more carbs."

  He laughs. "Should have known." He motions to the stool. "Sit. I'll make it."

  I don't sit. I turn back to him and slide my arms around his neck. "You know how to make pasta?"

  "Shockingly, yeah." He runs his fingers through my wet hair. "Piper's favorite food. She's addicted to pho, specificall
y, but she's big on pasta."

  "Is that why you have so many boxes of it, for when she's here?"

  "Not exactly." He motions sit again.

  I shake my head. "I want to assist."

  "I guess I already know you're good at following orders."

  My cheeks flush. I straighten my posture and bring my hand to my forehead in a salute. "Awaiting your instruction, sir."

  He smirks you have no idea how accurate I can make that. "Get out the frozen broccoli."

  I do.

  He pulls a pot from the pantry, fills it with water, places it on the stove, and turns the burner to high. "The minced garlic."

  I find it in the top shelf of the mostly empty fridge door. Not a lot of condiments here.

  "Pureed basil."

  That's nowhere to be seen.

  "Freezer door."

  Ah, there it is. I set it next to the frozen broccoli.

  Once again, Mal motions to the stool. When I stay put, he shakes his head and fills the electric kettle with water. "We've got ten minutes until the water is boiling."

  A good point. I slide around the counter and take a seat at the stool.

  Mal looks at home here. Of course he does. This is where he's lived for twenty-seven years, save the months at a time he's on the road.

  The electric kettle steams and Mal fixes another round of sencha. We're quiet as the tea steeps—it's only a few minutes—and as we take our first sips.

  It's still good, but somehow it seems less impressive than it did last week. After fucking Mal, tea can't really compare.

  "You said your parents left when you were eighteen," I say.

  His shoulders tense, but he doesn't dodge the conversation. "Yeah."

  "What was it like before they left?"

  "A long time ago, we were like any other normal family. Mom made pancakes every Sunday, then we took a walk on the beach, all year, no matter the weather. Not that it was ever bad."

  "That sounds nice."

  "Yeah." His eye corners turn down. "One day, Mom just didn't make breakfast. Piper got really upset, so I made pancakes, but I had no fucking clue what I was doing. They were a charred mess."

  "And the walk?"

  "It was just the three of us. I don't know what changed. Maybe nothing. When I think back, Mom and Dad always seemed a little far away. But that's just what they're like. They're dreamers."

  "You still take those walks?"

  "No, that stopped a long time ago." He turns to the pot. "Mom and Dad used to be professors, but their heart was always in field work. They started getting antsy when I turned seventeen, talking about taking long research trips. Before that, it had only been a week or two at a time."

  I nod.

  "Then, a few weeks before my birthday, they told me they had a trip planned. They were going to Africa for two months, the day after I turned eighteen. They were going to miss my high school graduation. They were going to miss Piper's dance recital. They had never fucking cared about any of Ethan's bands."

  "His bands? Not the two of yours?"

  He shakes his head. "I was in some of them. But once Mom and Dad left, I didn't have time. I had too much shit to take care of. The house, the cars, Ethan, Piper."

  "They just left, like that?"

  He nods. "They came back two months later, but it was only for a few weeks. Then another two months on location. Then it was one week home and three months on location. The daily calls became weekly, then monthly. Ethan dropped out. Piper got angry and tried to cause trouble, but she was only twelve. Worst thing she ever did is toilet paper the neighbor's house."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah… I still had to yell at her about that. About not doing her homework, about quitting her soccer league and her dance classes. It was a hard transition, going from her brother—the guy who got to side with her against our parents—to her de facto dad. I didn't handle it well. None of us did."

  "They seem happy, healthy."

  He nods. "Yeah, I figured it out eventually. Ethan got his GED, Piper kept studying. Ethan and I didn't talk for a while. But once we started playing together again… I can't explain it. But that just fixes everything."

  "I get it. No matter how shitty my day is, when I pick up my camera, I feel like the world makes sense."

  "And without the sob story."

  "I could go on about my mom's bullshit… but I'd rather hear about you."

  He cocks a brow. Go on.

  No, I don't want to think about that right now. I'm too lost in how perfect today is. I let my lips curl into a smile. "Your sob story ends with you a talented, successful millionaire."

  "True." His eyes turn down. "I resisted touring for a long time. I should have waited longer. It hurt Piper, us leaving for months at a time. I always made sure we were home at least half the year. That we visited or sent her a ticket to visit all the time. I called her every fucking day. I didn't want her to think another person was abandoning her, but I know, deep down, she did."

  "Trust me, the way you three interact, you did a great job. You should see me and my parents. It's not even close."

  His eyes meet mine. He's searching my expression, deciding if he should push it.

  I need to cut him off at the pass. "Your parents, did they always have money?"

  "Yeah. They used to be teachers at UCI, before they started research, but Dad started off in biotech. He sold some patent for millions. He got out because he wasn't crazy about the ethics—all Michael Crichton shit, scientists going too far."

  "Don't tell me you're anti Michael Crichton."

  "He's fine."

  "He's amazing."

  "Amazing? Really?"

  "Okay, maybe he isn't amazing, but his stories are top-tier entertainment."

  Mal chuckles. "Top tier is pretty high."

  "You have to admit that Jurassic Park is a perfect film."

  He shrugs. "It's fine."

  "Fine? It's fine. Listen, I'm not Dawson Leery—"

  "What?"

  "Dawson's Creek?"

  "The teen soap from the 90s with the whiny blond guy?"

  "You could call it that, yes. It was a great addition to the Hulu streaming catalog." My hands go to my hips reflexively. "But that's irrelevant. Dawson is a filmmaker. The whole show is about how he's a filmmaker and also about how Joey is totally in love with him and he can't see it because he's an idiot."

  He chuckles. His eyes light up. All that heaviness of talking about his parents is fading away. "I'm sure Piper knows it."

  "Smart woman."

  "She is."

  "Dawson worships Spielberg. I think it's all a metaphor about how Spielberg makes films for kids and Dawson is coming of age. He doesn't want to grow up yet. The metaphor doesn't make sense anymore. Spielberg is all adult and serious now."

  His smile widens. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Lacey, but I fucking love it."

  "I don't have a thing for Spielberg. He's a great director but not the kind of director I want to be. But I still love Jurassic Park. I still think it's the pinnacle of special effects filmmaking."

  "Isn't it a little dated?"

  "No." My words run together. My voice gets loud. "Lots of the effects are practical. The CG looks almost as good as anything from the last few years and the dinosaurs are mostly animatronics, so they look real. And come on, when they're outside the T-rex paddock and the cup of water is shaking—that's fucking terrifying."

  He smiles. "It's good."

  "Good?"

  "You're not going to like this."

  "I can tell."

  He stares back into my eyes. "I'm not into movies."

  Not. Into. Movies.

  What.

  What the actual fuck?

  "Who isn't into movies?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "TV either. I like watching with people, but I don't get into it."

  "But… you do read."

  He nods.

  "You do like stories?"

  Again, he nods.
>
  "How can you not like movies? That's… that's like not liking breathing."

  He laughs, not a chuckle but an actual laugh, as he turns to the now boiling water and breaks pasta into it. "Is it as serious as that?"

  "Worse. At least they have oxygen tanks. They have medical interventions for people who don't appreciate breathing." I slide off my stool. "I'm not saying you need to like sci-fi, or drama, or romantic comedies, or even Jurassic Park."

  He cocks a brow aren't you?

  "Okay, only a psychopath doesn't like Jurassic Park, but we can come back to that." I stare back at Mal. "Do you really not like any movies? At all?"

  "I like them fine—"

  "But???"

  He laughs. "You've really never met someone who doesn't like movies?"

  "Not someone who took it upon himself to hire a music video director. Not someone who's also an artist, a writer. A storyteller. Mal, each of your albums has this emotional arc. Maybe it's not a literal narrative, but it's a story."

  He stirs the pasta. His eyes go to mine. "Why do I feel like you're up to something?"

  "We need to watch some movies today."

  "We do?"

  I nod. "At least three. All day."

  "Forcing me to watch movies is what's going to change my mind?"

  "What if I bribe you?"

  "I'm listening."

  "Make an offer."

  He smiles. "I already got a lot of what I want from you."

  My cheeks flush.

  "What three movies?"

  "Are there any movies you ever liked?"

  "I haven't been keeping track. Ethan lives and dies for monster movies. You must have seen the way his eyes lit up with your pitch."

  I nod like I wasn't too distracted by Mal to notice anyone else. "So you've seen a lot of those?"

  "Yeah."

  "And?"

  "They're fine."

  "Okay, no creature features. Is he into anything else?"

  "He and Vi used to watch a lot of sci-fi together. But mostly TV. Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica."

  "And it was a no go?"

  "It's fine."

  "Give me a little rope here, Mal."

  He smiles. "It's more fun torturing you."

  "What about Joel?"

  "He likes 80s stuff. Action movies. Fuck, he and Bella wouldn't stop watching Harry Potter every time she visited."

  "Don't tell me you fail to appreciate the world of Hogwarts."