Reckless Love: A Billionaire Baby Steamy Fantasy Multicultural Love Story Rockstar Romance

by Imani King

  She would be careful. "I did get a chance to listen," she smiled. "Thank you so much for lending it to me! I have to warn you though, I don't listen to much pop music at all, so my opinion probably doesn't mean all that much."

  "I'm trying to decide if that means that you didn't like it," he said. "It's okay if you didn't, you can tell me. It's just a bit of a lark anyway, our music, a way to break free and have a good time."

  "What I can tell it means something to you, since you wouldn't be singing that way with such conviction if it didn't," she said. His hands snaked over to her leg, stroking it gently. "And I did like it, just as I'm enjoying getting to know you."

  "Yes I'm enjoying getting to know you too," he said. His hand started to run further up and down her leg. She could feel her body responding to him, dangerously.

  The car sped up a little, as his hand moved. Her heart sped a little as well. What if he went further? The tension in the air of the car was thick. She kind of wanted to ask him to pull over right there, to kiss her, to touch her. Not to make her wait. What did it really matter? Maybe they shouldn't wait. After all, she thought, what were they waiting for? They probably wouldn't see each other again, living in such different circles, on different continents. Their lives were completely different. There probably wasn't a point in waiting. Jasmine's breath quickened, as Leo's hand moved millimeters closer to her center on every pass.

  "Jasmine, you are just so sexy," he murmured. The car sped up a little bit again. She looked at him, mouth falling open slightly. She really should stop his hand. She really should, she thought. But it was as if he paralyzed her. Under his spell. Again that feeling of timelessness took over but this time it was edged by speed. The speed of the car, the speed of her breathing, and the slow speed of his hand brazenly making its way closer and closer.

  Suddenly, a bird flew in front of the car. Leo hit the brakes, trying to avoid a collision that would be sure to end the bird's life.

  "Oh –" was all that came from her mouth. He downshifted and pulled over.

  "I don't think I hit it," he said. "And luckily we didn't get killed, either." They both laughed nervously.

  "This feels dangerous," said Jasmine softly.

  "It is," he replied, "very dangerous…"

  He kissed her, claimed her. This time Jasmine didn't just passively take the kiss. Her own hands tangled in his hair, pulling him towards her, welcoming him in.

  He pushed the gearshift into park, and nearly climbed over the seat to take her in his arms. His hands moving hungrily, aching to experience everything she was, everything they could be. Her mocha skin was so soft, so supple, her lips so full, her eyes so dark, flashing at him with desire, with lust.

  And she was making these small sounds, not quite moans, not quite breaths, more like the sonic equivalent of sweetness itself. It was turning him on desperately. He could feel the tightness in his jeans whenever he was around her, since the beginning even when he just heard her play. But now it was worse than ever, straining against the fabric, straining for her, hard for her. He wanted to take her right now, all the way, to pull away everything in between them, and join with her. Plunge himself into her over and over, to get closer, to be inside her.

  He pulled away. I can't do this, I'm a nobleman after all. If anyone sees, if we get stopped, it'll be in all the papers. Noble rock star in trouble again, the headlines will say.

  He cleared his throat and sat back in the soft leather seat.

  "We should probably get going, if you want to see London."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jasmine and Leo in London

  Leo donned his sunglasses and put on his hat, before getting out of the Pagani. They were in a private parking shelter, which she supposed was owned by his family. But soon they would be out in the London public, and she realized it was an unlikely for him to be recognized.

  "Are paparazzi a problem for you?" She asked.

  "It's not so bad," he said. "Depends where you go, of course, and if they know you're coming. We'll probably have a little freedom, as long as we don't stay anywhere too long."

  She mulled it over. What would it be like, to have your life examined constantly? Fame like that never came to a classical cellist. Not even Yo-Yo Ma had to deal with such hassles. "How do you deal with it?" She said as they walked out into the sun.

  "You get used to it," he grinned. "Besides, it's all part of being a celebrity. You don't really have a right to complain, do you?"

  "I suppose not," she said. “In a sense, anyway, but doesn't everyone have a right to complain?"

  "Who knows? Who knows whose life problems are more difficult than others'? I’ve heard the tale that if all the problems in the world were piled together, and we could take back the ones we had, or an equal share, we’d probably be happy for our own. So I try to be happy about what comes with my success." He grabbed her hand. It was starting to feel warm and familiar. Soft and comforting. It was a rare sunny day in London, and Londoners seemed to be enjoying it to the fullest, shopping, sitting at terraces and drinking wine. The hustle and bustle of the city was in full effect, bright and beautiful. Jasmine couldn't stop staring at all the differences between America and England. The cars looks completely different, they were driving on the wrong side of the road, roundabouts everywhere. And of course, the sonic landscape of the city was completely different as well. Voices lilting, different accents parrying, traffic noise humming.

  It was beautiful. She could imagine living here, if she could ever afford it. Such a rich cultural life, intelligence crackling in the air. She'd only experienced a similar feeling in New York City, where she studied music and ended up staying, but there was always that feeling that New York would eat you alive if you ever let up your pace. And she was barely able to make her rent in New York City as it was. No, London was in a class by itself.

  "You must love it here," she said excitedly, taking in everything she could. "It's gorgeous, and there's so much to do."

  "Well there's a lot to do, no doubt – but as for loving it here, that's a story for another day. I must say if I have to decide, I do prefer it in the States," he swung her hand as they walked. "There's just something about it, the New World, people are different. It's not like here, where people have been the bloody same for years on end. In many ways, they don't want to change, they don't want to progress, they just want to maintain the status quo."

  "We might not be the same in America is here, but there are plenty of people who like the status quo," she grinned. "It may be the new world but not everyone is so progressive."

  "Well I suppose you can't get away from human nature, now, can you? Doesn't matter where you run to, you're always right on your own tail."

  "Very true," she said and turned to him. “And what should we do today?"

  "Very good question," he stopped, pulling her over to the side of the pavement. He put his arms around her loosely, looking her in the eye. "Is there anything you especially wanted to see here in London?"

  You, she thought. I just want to see you in London. Aloud, she said, "Whatever you recommend. I'm pretty much up for anything." He met her eye with a devilish look. "Within reason," she amended, and they both grinned. He pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. Just then, there was a flash.

  "Look over here Earl," said a voice, and there was another flash. "Be a good boy!" Another voice joined the fray:

  "Who's your girl then?" And a third:

  "Yeah who's this? Got yerself an American, innit bruv? I don't recognize her, is she famous?"

  "Sod off, would you?" Leo grabbed her hand and pulled her into the store next to them. "So sorry, I didn't think they'd find me this quickly." A storm cloud passed over his eyes. "I was really hoping we'd have a good day."

  "Excuse me," said the shopkeeper. "Aren't you Leo Wellington-Kerr? From that band?" He was a young man, clearly in his early 20s. He showed them his T-shirt, which had a silhouette of Leo and a Union Jack. "Origin of Species?"

/>   "Yeah, mate, it's me all right." Leo seemed embarrassed, adjusting his sunglasses.

  "Who's your friend?"

  "My name's Jasmine," Jasmine offered uselessly. "I'm nobody famous."

  "But still somebody special," Leo whispered to her, his hand snaking around her waist.

  "So the paparazzi are after you then?" The shopkeeper asked. Leo nodded. "Well if you'd sign my shirt, I'd be more than happy to let you out the back door. You can go down the alley and get to the high street there, might be able to avoid them." Leo acquiesced, grabbing the sharpie the man handed him, and scrawling his name on the back. "Thanks mate." He motioned towards the back. "I'll take you back that way, and you can get out of here. He tried to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the cash register.

  "Well, would you mind doing it now, as we really didn't plan to be shopping in here?"

  The shopkeeper looked flustered. "Oh yes, of course. More than happy to, Leo! I can call you Leo, can't I?" Leo winked at Jasmine.

  "Why not?" He shrugged, grabbed Jasmine's hand, and followed the skinny shopkeeper to the back and out the door to freedom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Jasmine and Leo

  The windows in the Pagani were getting quite steamy.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? Or can I come in with you?” Leo said, his breath hot against her earlobe.

  “Uhhh,” she moaned. “I really want to, Leo, I do–” she murmured, bringing her hand around the smooth curve of his ass, and pulling it to her.

  “Then let’s, shall we?” His own hand slid up the front of her shirt to cup her breast, thumbing the hard nipple as he kissed her neck. “No sense on being uncomfortable here in the car, is there?”

  She could barely think, much less come up with a reply that made any sense. Each flick of his thumb made her squirm as pleasure shot through it, straight to her clit. She was practically pulsating with desire for him. It had been such a wonderful date, dinner on a terrace of a French restaurant overlooking the Thames, a walk through the streets. They had seen a street vendor with the most gorgeous silver jewelry and Leo bought her a chunky ring, making the comment, “Now you’re mine.”

  She felt his hard length against her leg, and her innermost self contracted in deep pleasure – it seemed almost to be trying to suck him inside her, the need was so intense, so clear.

  His lips trailed along her neck back to her mouth, where he kissed her slowly, his tongue flicking against her lower lip before he sucked it gently into his mouth for a moment, then nibbled and licked it.

  “You have the most beautiful lips,” he said. “They’re so soft…”

  She was still unable to form a coherent sentence. “Uhhh…”

  “That’s it,” he said. “We’re going inside.” He shut the car off, and hopped out, running around to her side and holding his hand out to her. She reluctantly took it, and got out of the car. The estate was quiet as a church, the darkness almost palpable. She could hear her shoes scrape against the ground as she swung her feet out and stood up. He was immediately against her, arms around her, clutching her body to him like it was a life raft. His hand slid down her back to the cleft of her ass, a finger slipping in between the mounds of her buttocks as he clenched her to him. She was feeling weak in the knees.

  What am I doing? Should I go with him? Is it too early? Does anyone care anymore? Am I ever going to see him– her reverie was broken by the feeling of him rubbing against her. His cock was hard as a rock. She felt as wet as she’d ever been, every fiber of herself wanting to mix with Leo’s.

  He offered her his arm, and led her inside the estate to his room. The room itself was pristine, Leo noted, thanking heaven for the staff that came in and sorted things out discreetly whenever he left it. He was also lucky that Nigel had apparently departed. Nigel was the last thing in the world he needed at that moment.

  “This is gorgeous,” she said.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he replied. “You’re gorgeous.” He said more softly.

  He stopped to put some music on – some sort of ambient rock – and they sat. Her hands fingered the velvet of the couch nervously. She was still unsure what they were doing, and whether she should throw all caution to the wind, call it a European adventure, or whether she should keep her head and see if this thing had any future.

  “Leo,” she started.

  “What is it?”

  “Leo – I’m really sorry, but I am not exactly sure what we’re doing.”

  “We’re sitting on my couch, listening to Portishead,” he said.

  “Well I know that,” she grinned. “But what are we doing?” Her hand reached out of its own accord and twisted in his hair. He inclined his head to her touch, and then turned to kiss her wrist, holding her arm gently to him. She was hypnotized again, mesmerized, all thoughts of “what they were doing” out the window as his lips reached the sensitive skin at the crook of her elbow.

  He licked it softly, tasting the salty sweet mocha skin, extending her arm so that her wrist was on his shoulder, then kissed a lingering trail up her arm to her shoulder. Nudging her shirt, he exposed a little more of the curve of her breast, and kissed it softly, his hand supporting her as she lolled her head back in pleasure. He pulled her bra out of the way, bit by bit, kissing each millimeter of flesh, cupping her breast, and finally settling on the hard nipple, his mouth enveloping, tonguing, nibbling.

  Her clit was on fire, ready for him, the feathery licks on her hard nubs translating directly to her center. Her breath fast and heavy, she was feeling close to orgasm, even though he wasn’t directly touching her there. Leaning forward again, she tried to remember why she wanted to stop – but instead buried her nose in the silky strands of his hair as he unhurriedly sucked her dark nipple. The warm wetness of his mouth, the texture of his tongue, the dangerously tantalizing edge of his teeth.

  “Leo,” she murmured.

  “Jasmine,” he said back to her. Her name sounded so good in his voice, in his accent.

  “Oh god Leo.” Her voice was barely audible, but she felt like screaming his name. His hand had slipped between her legs, and as he kissed her, he began to rub her through her jeans, his musician hands expertly sensing her rhythm and pace. She wanted to please him too, wanted to feel him, his full length, see his cock spring out and bounce when he pulled down his boxer briefs, wanted to suck him, but she was paralyzed by his attention as it was. She reached down to stroke him as well, her hands trying to close around him through the fabric.

  “Oh fuck Jasmine, that feels good,” he murmured. It was true. Even if he’d had experts touching his cock, groupies, call girls hired for the band, there was always something missing from the experience. And he never knew why, either. He just figured that it was a lie, what people said about sex.

  Sex was just a commodity, he figured, something to trade, something to feel for the moment and throw away until the next opportunity. Nothing of real value. More like just eating a nice dinner. But this was different. When she touched him, he felt it. He felt the passion of her, of her fingers, of her soul, and--dare he say it--her heart. The feeling was beyond compare. Her fingers might stumble a little here and there, but there was a real sincerity to her touch, unlike the girls who were trying to impress him with their porn star skills.

  He wasn't ready to call it anything yet, but it felt like something. Something new, something fragile – but something very real.

  "All right, mate? Where'd you find this slag?" the voice was rough, drunk.

  Nigel.

  Goddamn motherfucking Nigel.

  Jasmine sat up with a start. She pulled her shirt across her chest to cover herself. “Who’s this?” She asked quietly. Leo leaned back against the velvet couch, his head hanging.

  "Jasmine, this is Nigel, my guitarist and apparently my house guest. Nigel, I can’t say I'd like you to meet Jasmine."

  Jasmine turned away and did up her shirt quickly. "I guess I'll be going now." She stood up, no
t looking at Nigel.

  "Well it's my pleasure I'm sure," said Nigel smarmily, doing an exaggerated bow. “Where’d you find this one, mate? Any more where she came from? I could use a good fuck, and she’s got nice tits, doesn’t she.”

  "Let me take you home," said Leo. He wasn't even looking at Nigel who was rubbing his crotch at them, drunk as ever.

  Jasmine strode toward the door, not looking back. "I'll find my own way thank you very much." The door made a loud click when she closed it.

  "What in God's name are you still doing here?" Leo rubbed his face with his hand. "I thought you were gone."

  "And I thought you were coming back," Nigel said, pouring them both a drink. Resigned, Leo accepted the drink and took a deep swig.