by Tessa Bailey
Too late to turn back. Coming to his knees above her, James curled his right hand around her throat, exerting just enough pressure to keep her still. Pink, teeth-marked lips popped open to suck in a breath. A breath James could feel being inhaled against his palm. So perfect. “There’s my little plaything.” He adjusted his grip. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Lita’s eyelids fluttered down to conceal her gaze, an acknowledgment of the pet name he’d growled in her ear so long ago in the dark. Just once. But it had been enough to remain poised on his tongue ever since, pleading to be uttered aloud.
James leaned down to inspect the curve of her cheek. “If another man called you his plaything, Lita, I would gut him.”
Beneath him, Lita’s stomach dipped and lifted, making contact with his abdomen and calling attention to the position of his ready cock. A few quick maneuvers of their clothing and he’d be seated in her look-but-do-not-touch pussy. And Christ, he’d looked. She’d paraded that sweet spot around him in every manner of thin material known to man. Spandex, ripped denim, threadbare cotton. Just for his eyes. His torment.
“You haven’t been fucked since we met. I’ve seen to it. Do you know how?” Damning himself, James dropped his hips into the cradle of her thighs, choking back the moan that emerged from his mouth, savoring the answering moan Lita let loose. “I put the fear of God into them. I paid them to fuck off. I’ve used my fists on a few that proved…overeager. Whatever it took.”
Craving the sight of her body, James released her throat and trailed fingertips down the center of her chest, tracing the front snap of her bra. His mouth turned to a desert at the idea of sucking her nipples, but no…no, that would be too sweet. Too pleasurable. She would like it. And his mission was to make her understand. This…him…was not what she wanted. With regret screaming in his head, James trailed his fingers lower, down her trembling belly, to tuck inside the waistband of Lita’s jeans. Not here, either. No touching here.
“Who’s going to stop them now?” Her winded—and somewhat hesitant—
question interrupted his fevered thoughts. “The men. Who will stop them?”
Fuuuuck. The denim ripped inside his shaking fist, his rebelling mind demanding more of the satisfying sound. He yanked down the zipper behind her already tattered fly, giving himself a leveraging handhold before tearing the jeans down her body. It left the very tops of her thighs exposed, along with the little white triangle of her panties. “Stop provoking me.”
“No,” Lita breathed. “I won’t.”
Feeling the remaining threads of his control begin to fray, James slipped a hand over her mouth to silence her. Show her. Show her you’re an animal. “Don’t make a sound,” James rasped into her hair, rubbing his open mouth over the soft strands. He shoved her thighs apart with his knees and bore down hard, pumping dry against her barely covered pussy. “If you scream or try to fight me, you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”
Lita’s body went still as death beneath him. This was it. Finally over. Four years of trying to be someone she could count on, someone she could feel safe with against all odds, and he’d ruined everything. Even though that had been his goal, the reality was like razor blades—
She began to struggle, hips jerking in an obvious attempt to buck him off. James’s head flew up, horror puncturing his sternum. Oh God, but there was more. More. An urge to pin down her writhing form that swarmed his head, buzzing like a colony of bees. His girl wanted to be free of him? Wanted other men to call her pet names? Didn’t she know his sanity would bleed out through his ears?
Get off her. You have to get off.
Lita’s knee came up and dug into his ribs, making him grunt. Why were her eyes closed? If she would just look at him—what? Would he reassure her as always? No, it would be false. This was the man she’d been sharing oxygen with, and it was time she knew. He’d been picturing this scene since day one. Seal the deal.
James released her covered mouth, wincing when her breath emerged labored, her hands flying to his shoulders, fingers digging in hard. “James, please.”
“Did you think I was being noble? Simply giving your body a chance to mature?” He pinned her flailing wrists on either side of her hips, trailing rough kisses between her breasts, down her stomach to end at her mound. His hungry lips hovered there a moment to pay homage, to warm the sacred flesh with a release of breath. “Jesus, Lita. When we met, you barely looked old enough to have your driver’s license. And still—still—I did those bad things to you in the dark. Didn’t I?”
Above him, Lita whimpered. Again, she attempted to free herself, but he held fast. “Wait, I…I—”
“You should have known back then I was an indecent man.” He licked her pussy through the white cotton panties, groaning when his cock throbbed. Inflicting pain on himself, he licked Lita’s covered perfection again and again, like she was a fucking ice cream cone. Dragging himself away from her taste made him crazed. Mine. It tastes like mine. “All this time, you’ve treated me like a protector.” He pushed her thighs open. “But I was the one you should have been afraid of.”
“N-no, I’m not.”
Liar. Her quavering voice was a dead giveaway. That was her stubbornness talking, her inability to lose a battle. Finish it. James widened his jaw and dropped his teeth down over her pussy, covering as much as his mouth would allow. Which due to her petite body was—fucking hell—all of it. He didn’t bite right away, wanting to feel her reaction. Wanting to feel her realization of James is going to bite me between my legs. Her limbs were shaking in his hands, tiny gasps sparking in the air around them. In degrees, he closed his teeth, tighter and tighter until she screamed.
“James!”
At the desire brought flooding forth by Lita’s panicked cry, shame rocked him. Hard. What am I doing? What am I doing to this incredible girl? She’d trusted him. She’d let him be a part of her life. He’d caged her brilliance and since walking into this room, he’d dragged her into his twisted mind, kicking and—screaming.
James was off the bed and across the room in seconds. “I’m sorry. Goddammit.” Hands braced on his hips, he faced the door. Couldn’t look or her disgust, fear, disappointment, would haunt him the rest of his life. “I never want to hurt you, Lita. No one should ever hurt you.”
“Don’t you dare leave now,” she sobbed behind him. “Don’t you dare.”
He almost laughed, but it would have ruptured the organs left functioning inside him. The girl was too fearless for her own good. Did she think she could talk him through this and fix him? Yes, she likely did. Likely thought he just needed a mental ass kicking to pull his shit together. And then…God, she would forgive him for what he’d just done—holding her down and acting out his darkest fantasy. No way he’d ever be able to live with her apology, the added self-hatred that would follow. “I know it’s hard to believe a word I say after what I just did. But until this morning, everything I’ve ever done was in your best interest. Please believe that. You’re going to be better—safer—without me.”
“No. Don’t—”
“Good-bye, Lita.
Feeling as though he’d been submerged in water, James staggered from the hotel room, sweat breaking out along his forehead and upper lip. It hurt leaving her, hurt to increase the distance. Every. Step. Hurt. Felt wrong. Knowing Lita would follow him, James skipped the elevator and took the stairwell. His phone began buzzing before he’d even left the hotel. Knowing it was Lita and he couldn’t answer, James nonetheless pulled out his phone just to see her name on the screen. But it wasn’t Lita at all, the actual identity of the caller slowing his step. After a slight hesitation, he answered.
“Mother.”
Chapter Three
Four years earlier
Lita stared at the stranger across the fancy, gleaming hotel table.
The stranger stared back.
Good lord, the man was…incredible. Big, commanding, sharp. Distinguished, too, with the beginnings of silver
threading the hair above his ears. If she were given to embarrassment, he would have been gorgeous enough to inspire a twinge of self-consciousness, since at present, she was shoveling donuts into her gob like a shipwreck survivor who’d just been rescued from a deserted island. In a way, she had been rescued downstairs in the bar. So why did she feel like she’d been sent back out to sea…in an even more turbulent storm?
When she’d ventured into the bar tonight, she’d envisioned herself being grudgingly assisted and taken upstairs by some checked-out, soulless asshole, of which there were plenty in Los Angeles. This man was the furthest thing from checked out. He was so present. A buzz crawled up her skin the longer he stared. He’d barely strung a sentence together since he’d carried her into the room, splashing cold water from the bathroom sink onto her face. They’d conversed enough for him to ascertain what she’d like to eat—chocolate donuts, chocolate anything—which he’d promptly ordered from room service.
But that voice. That clipped, dictator voice had made her shake.
Especially when he’d called to her through the slightly ajar bathroom door as she’d showered, making sure consciousness hadn’t failed her again.
Lita swallowed half of a donut without chewing, brushing the crumbs off her fluffy, white hotel robe, before picking up another one. “Aren’t you going to eat one?”
“No.”
Another shiver wracked her spine. “What’s your name?”
“James.” His eyes snapped with emotions she could barely pin down before they shifted or expanded or disappeared. “And yours?”
“Lita.” She sipped her hot chocolate. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome.” He laid a flat hand on the table. They both looked down at it, as if it were a third party interrupting them. “You came along at an unfortunate time, Lita.” His head gave a tight jerk, jaw clenching. “I haven’t been feeling like myself.”
“Really.” She set the donut down, her stomach executing a series of flips. Nervous ones, but not the type that made her want to run. Not the type she’d experienced before. These were hotter, fuller, curious. “How do you feel…instead?”
“I have hunger.” His dark gaze swung up, gluing her to the plush leather seat. “I don’t know if it can be fed like yours.”
What was going on here? Lita felt almost hypnotized, lured in by his rasping, cultured voice. She recognized interest and arousal in men, had it directed at her often, but this? This was utter famishment. He reminded her of a vampire who’d been in hiding from the sun, unable to hunt. And now a deer lay before him, vital and tempting, life flowing through its veins. She was the deer.
Man. How crazy were her thoughts right now? The lack of food must have gone to her head. After the trouble she’d just escaped, she shouldn’t care what went on under another man’s surface. Shouldn’t allow this odd, instantaneous attachment to take hold.
The fuller her stomach became, though, the more her thoughts cleared. The more of James she saw. His interest in her, as he watched her mouth chew, was almost as thick as the leash around his neck, keeping him in place. If the lights in the room weren’t so dim, she could probably make it out. Strain bracketed his masculine mouth and he appeared to be swallowing golf balls down the column of his powerful throat. One…after…another.
“How did you get so hungry?” James asked, his tone suggesting he was reclining back onto a bed of nails.
Lita rejected the outside ugliness from entering the room. “I could ask you the same thing.” Her legs were steady as she stood and rounded the table, compelled by some force she couldn’t deny. Maybe it was his clear attempt to restrain himself, to fight the attraction so obvious between them. She stopped beside James, but he stayed still as stone. “I’m full. What happens now?”
His eyelids drooped, fist mashing against his forehead. “Go.”
That single, tortured word caught her in the chest. God, he was holding back so much. What would happen when it roared out?
Why was she trembling with the need to find out?
There was danger lurking beneath this man’s surface. Also known as the last thing a homeless girl wanting to turn her luck around needed.
Too bad danger was the only thing that had ever made her feel alive.
Lita walked past James to the lamp and flipped off the gentle light before returning to his tense figure, sliding between his outstretched legs…and opening the robe. “Feed yourself.”
The air crackled as James stood slowly, so slowly, rising to his full height. When Lita glimpsed his changed expression, she realized that—at her invitation—a change had snapped through him like a cracking whip, despite the way he rose without hurry. The vampire’s dirt nap had officially ended and the invisible leash was no more. Power rippled over his beautiful body as it pressed close, a hand finding her hip inside the robe, squeezing, his mouth sliding against her ear.
His breath went choppy after issuing a single unexpected command.
“Crawl.”
* * * *
Lita had a blister on her ankle. It rubbed and rubbed against the back of her red Converse, growing angrier and bloodier by the hour. All it would take to fix the injury was a Band-Aid, but she didn’t have time for that shit. Didn’t have time to take her shoe off, remove the protective strip from its paper packaging and apply it. Performing such a practical task wouldn’t make sense when the world around her had been painted different colors, and normal, everyday activities proved impossible. Sleep wasn’t happening and the act of procuring food seemed like a monumental effort just to feel sick afterward, so she simply walked. Walked and walked around Los Angeles with headphones covering her ears, the star of her own depressing music montage.
Empty didn’t begin to explain the sensation beneath her bones. She felt…dead. In a way, she was. This life, the band, had all been orchestrated by James. Their conversation the morning after they met was still vivid in her memory. Crystal clear and sparkling like drinking glasses fresh from a dishwasher. James had asked her, “What do you do, Lita?” And she’d answered, “I drum.”
That was all it took. He’d found a lead singer and a bass player within two weeks, throwing them together inside rented studio space, and thus, Old News was born. James’s life prior to that time was still a mystery to her. To everyone. If what he’d said before leaving was true, his every action over the last four years had been in the interest of helping her. Out of guilt? Kindness? Lita didn’t know. But none of it seemed real without him standing at her back, watching her from behind dark sunglasses.
Holy, holy shit, she missed him. Okay, they’d had their fair share of squabbles and arguments. More than their fair share. But there’d been some incredible moments wedged in there. Like the time the tour bus had blown a fan belt in Mexico and they’d shared a six-pack on the roof, staring at the sky and waiting for help to arrive. Or the time she’d convinced him to walk out on stage and sing the encore with Old News, which he’d started with a scowl on his face, but ended up smiling.
Dammit. The way he’d left was unfair and stupid, and she wanted to rage at him. Fine, he’d been right about one thing. Lita hadn’t understood the intensity of his needs. He’d blindsided her with the force and sharp quality of them. They were complicated and dark. But her response had been…light. The blinding, white light of an atomic blast. She’d liked James holding her down and saying those frightening words into her hair. Liked the abrasive tone of his voice, liked her strength running out, little by little, until she could only submit. That almost unbearable lift in her stomach, the glorious clearing of her mind…she’d been chasing that feeling by causing trouble for so long, never quite achieving it.
He’d left before she could get a handle on her runaway desires, what they meant, how to voice them. If he’d just given her a minute, she would have begged for more. Would have reassured him that the trust between them was still intact and nothing could damage it. Nothing except him leaving. Leaving her to this existence he’d created a
nd managed from behind the scenes, but neglected to leave the instructions behind.
James wasn’t even home, so they couldn’t properly have it out. His old Mustang wasn’t in the driveway of his house in Santa Monica. Hadn’t been for three days. He’d vanished. And part of her worried that starving nineteen-year-old girl had fabricated his existence in the first place. After all, who gave up their own life in exchange for some scrawny, homeless girl’s success? No person she’d met before him, that was for damn sure. Her own parents hadn’t been in the picture since she turned sixteen, having moved down to Mexico with the settlement they’d received when Lita’s mother broke her ankle on a public bus. After that, she’d floated, living with friends until meeting her one and only boyfriend.
Shaking off the uncomfortable memory of how that unhealthy relationship came to a close, Lita turned her focus to step one in tracking down James. And she would track his sexy backside down, even if it were just to give him hell. But she hoped it would end in more. It had to.
Sarge Purcell was the lead singer of Old News and the closest thing resembling a friend to James. Which is why Lita was stomping up the driveway of his newly purchased beach house at eight o’clock in the morning. If anyone knew where their manager had gone, it would be Sarge. She felt a tad guilty for interrupting his first official week in Los Angeles since returning from New Jersey with his girlfriend, Jasmine, but hey. Desperate times.
Lita rapped on the fogged glass front door and waited. The sound of crashing waves from behind the house should have been soothing, but they only sounded like bombs going off in her ears, exacerbating the headache pumping behind her eyes for days without pause. Just focus on this one thing.