Behind her, Jax groaned. And then, without warning, he pulled out of her pussy, spun her to face him and slammed her back to the window.
She gasped and then moaned as he hooked the back of her knee in his elbow, yanked her foot from the floor and pumped up into her sodden, throbbing sex once more.
She clung to him, the sudden change in position doing nothing to abate the pleasure crashing through her, consuming her. Owning her.
The cool glass pressed to her shoulder blades and backside, reminding her bliss-fevered brain they were on display for anyone to see. The thought the watching world could see her being taken by Jax with such animal ferocity released a flood of squirming lust in her and she scored her nails over his shoulders as her third orgasm erupted.
“Fuck, yes,” Jax groaned, his lips and teeth rasping her throat, her jaw, her ear. “That’s three. Fucking come all over me, baby. All over me. Your cunt is so wet and sucking my cock and I love it. I fucking love—”
She captured the words with her mouth, her kiss savage. Greedy. Demanding.
He bit at her bottom lip, his strokes up into her pulsing heat erratic. He clawed her breast, pinched her nipple. She gave herself over to the raw carnality of the act. Surrendered to the elemental pleasure only Jax had ever been able to give her.
When a knock sounded on the door, she didn’t flinch. Or stop.
And neither did Jax. Staring into her eyes, teeth clenched, sweat streaming down his face, he drew her knee closer to her shoulder and pumped harder and faster up into her pussy.
“One more, baby,” he begged against her lips, his voice a note of strained pain and pleasure. “Fucking give me one more so I can explode with you. Wanna explode with you. Wanna fucking empty my load in your—”
The knock on the door came again, followed by a muffled, “Room service.”
“—hot, tight cunt,” Jax finished, the words barely more than a groan, his face twisted with agonized rapture. “Wanna—”
Nat came. For the fourth time. She threw back her head, smacking it against the glass behind her, and came. Hard.
She dug her nails into Jax’s shoulders and ground her sex to his thrusting cock. Their flesh slapped together. The wet sounds of his penetration of her body filled the air.
And then, with a roar, Jax slammed up into her.
“Oh God, yes!” Nat rode her climax and his, undone by the fire of their joining, her head spinning. “I can feel your come pumping from your cock, Jax. Oh, God, Jax, I can feel your…”
He silenced her with a wild kiss, bit her bottom lip once again and then, with one final, fierce thrust, buried his face in the side of her neck and stood motionless.
Their ragged pants filled the room.
Somewhere else, in a different world, on a different planet, room service knocked on the door again.
With a shaky chuckle, Jax raised his head from the side of her neck. “Champagne?”
She let out her own unsteady laugh, her heart and breath rapid. “I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to lift the glass.”
“I’ll pour it over me and you can lick it off.”
Once again, room service knocked. Louder this time. Sharper.
“Sir?” a familiar voice called, alert with alarm. “Are you okay? I’ve just arrived and room service tells me you’re not answering the door and there are…noises coming from in there.”
Jax grinned. Without looking away or lowering her leg from where he still held it at their side, he turned his head a little over his shoulder. “All good, Bruce,” he called. “Nat and I have been—”
Nat slapped her palm to his mouth before he could finish.
His eyes twinkled above her hand. Sliding his elbow from the back of her knee, he curled his fingers around her wrist and removed her hand from his mouth. “Give us a few minutes, Bruce.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pulling a deep breath, he shifted away from her, enough for his cock to withdraw from her sex.
Nat couldn’t stop her small whimper of regret. Damn, she really did enjoy the feel of him buried to the hilt inside her.
Jax traced a finger down the side of her jaw. He studied her, an ambiguous tension falling over his eyes. “I—”
Shaking her head, Nat slipped away from him and the window. Whatever he was going to say, she didn’t want to hear it. “I’m going to have a shower.”
She didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she hurried to the bedroom and its opulent bathroom.
Closing the door behind her, she allowed herself a moment to study her reflection in the mirror.
It wasn’t just her body that told her she’d just taken part in the most incredible sex of her life. Her nipples were hard, her breasts swollen, her skin flushed and her hair a tousled mess, but it was the light in her eyes that spoke the most of sated pleasure. She hadn’t seen that light in her eyes, despite the talents of her past sexual partners, for a long, long time.
Not since she and Jax had screwed their way around Sydney a different lifetime ago.
Catching her bottom lip—bruised from Jax’s ravenous attention—with her teeth, she searched for something else in the eyes looking back at her from the mirror. Something that had to be there—knowledge this was all just sex. Just sex.
It wasn’t there.
A lump filled Nat’s throat. That was a problem. A big one.
Turning from the mirror, she entered the shower and turned on the water with a flick of her wrist.
She didn’t rush washing her hair and body with the hotel-supplied toiletries. Nor did Jax join her. That was a good thing. She needed this time alone to remind herself why she was here.
Sex with Jax.
Just sex with Jax.
No visits to the zoo, no coffee at a café. No conversations.
Just sex.
Revenge sex, even. For taking her AC/DC album.
Wondering if what was between them could be anything more—after all these years—was just stupid, and she wasn’t stupid. She was the Dean of the Con. Stupid people didn’t become deans of revered learning institutions. Stupid people didn’t have federal ministers asking them on dates either.
She had to remember Jeremy. Not that she thought he was the one, God, the guy liked Celine Dion for Pete’s sake, but she had to remember he was there, that he was interested in her, had made that interest clear, and he was funny and warm and…and…wore glasses and funky suits and…and…
Closing her eyes, Nat pressed her forehead to the wet, tiled wall under the showerhead. “What are you doing?” she muttered.
“Hiding out in the shower?”
She jerked her head from the wall and stared at Jax, who grinned at her from outside the shower cubicle.
“I’m making mental lists of who you should see for Nick’s replacement,” she said, the words like chalk on her tongue.
He laughed. “Bullshit. But I’ll accept the answer only because I haven’t got a hope in hell of getting it up for a while.”
Unable to help herself, Nat dropped her gaze to his groin.
He wore his black jeans again and nothing else. The fly was undone and, even as she tried not to, she found herself thinking about the absurd tattoo of the woman with the cardboard box for a head.
“It’s you, in case you didn’t figure it out.”
Lifting her gaze, she gave Jax a small scowl. “I don’t have any idea how to respond to that.”
He laughed. “You know, I think I like this new relationship we have going. I never used to be able to leave you speechless or flustered. You were always so completely unflappable, no matter what I said or suggested. It’s a bit of an ego trip.”
Pulse hammering at her ears, she splashed water at him. “There’s no relationship. Just—”
“Sex,” he cut her off. “So you keep telling me. Now hurry the fuck up and get out the shower. The Moët’s on ice, the chocolates are open and MTV is running a special on Nick Blackthorne. We can drink, eat and discuss the merits of Nick’s incre
dible band.”
Nat’s pulse turned to a heavy drum. What he’d suggested sounded like heaven. How easy would it be to fall back into their old pattern of wild sex followed by relaxed conversation about music?
Too easy. And not what she was here for.
Just sex, Natalie. Just sex.
“What about the whipped cream?” she asked, standing motionless under the cold water. “Challenge number three involves—”
“You letting me catch my breath,” he said with a shake of his head as he reached in and killed the water. “While we watch MTV. Trust me, I’m going to do wicked things to your body with the whipped cream later. Somewhere around sunrise, in fact—which is only an hour or so away, by the way—but for now, we’re eating chocolate, watching MTV and talking.”
Nat swallowed the lump once again in her throat. “Don’t do this, Jax,” she whispered.
“Do what?” he asked, his voice as strained as hers.
“Pretend we’re going to…work…again. We didn’t the first time, remember? All we ever had was sex. Nothing’s changed.”
He studied her. A long, silent gaze into her eyes. And then, with a soft snort, he grinned. “Now who’s got the ego?” he said, before snaring her wrist in a firm grip and yanking her from the shower. “C’mon, Teach. MTV and Moët awaits.”
Chapter Ten
Jax knew he was in serious shit when he looked at Nat curled up on the sofa in a hotel-supplied robe, her hair a mess of damp strands, a smudge of chocolate at the side of her mouth, her vitriol at the MTV Nick Blackthorne special’s inaccuracies tumbling from her in a jumble of words and indignant expletives, and realized he’d never been happier.
For the past twenty-one years of his life, he’d had some of the world’s most beautiful women in his hotel room and in his bed. Actresses, models, singers and starlets. He’d screwed his way around the world with more gorgeous, sexy groupies than he cared to number. He’d been idolized and worshipped. Women had thrown themselves at him, offered him anything he wanted.
Anything.
And yet here and now, with Nat ranting about the mistakes the show was presenting about the band and his life, not even sitting on the same sofa he was, let alone not being naked and offering him her body, he’d never been more content.
More…satisfied.
Sated.
The thought occurred to him he could sit with Nat, listen to her talking about anything, not just music but anything, and he’d been happy.
He didn’t need to be naked with her to feel that way. Just being with her was enough.
That thought was scary. As scary as all shit. And absolutely, utterly wonderful.
Fuck. What the hell was going on with him?
“Argh!”
He flinched at Nat’s frustrated growl, watching as she snatched up the television’s remote control and jabbed it at the cause of her vexation.
Lips curling, he cast her a curious look. “Not to your liking, Boxhead?”
Throwing herself back against the sofa with a sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a drama queen, but half of what they were saying was made-up shit. Nick wasn’t superstitious enough to tell you guys to stop bathing for the week leading up to his first London concert. And I know for a fact you didn’t get arrested the night before the first official Blackthorne concert in Melbourne because I was with you.”
Jax grinned. “That’s right. We were screwing like rabbits in the Royal Botanic Gardens, weren’t we? I still have the scars on my arse from that park bench.”
Nat laughed. Damn, he liked the sound of it. Hadn’t realized how much until now. She’d laughed often back when they were together. At things no one else but him seemed to find funny.
“Speaking of scars,” he said, leaning forward to snare a chocolate from the silver platter delivered by room service. “I saw your cousin’s new travel show on the Adventure Network last week in New York. Holy shit, that one on his head is a doozy.”
Nat selected her own chocolate and popped it into her mouth. “Getting brain cancer was the best thing that ever happened to Rob,” she said, right cheek full of chocolate. “Well, second best if you count meeting Emily and being cured. It definitely made him live life more. And let’s be honest, Rob Thorton was already living life to the fullest before he was diagnosed. Emily keeps telling me every time he base jumps off the side of a cliff or eats some foreign delicacy that may or may not be poisonous he mutters, ‘Screw you, death.’ She still hasn’t decided if that’s a healthy attitude or not. Being the host of a show like his only encourages him more, I think.”
Jax took the last chocolate from the platter. “I guess having a wife who’s an oncologist makes being a cancer surviving adventurer easier? Does she go with him?”
“They are inseparable.” She reached over the small space between them and plucked the chocolate from his fingers, grin wide. “It’s sickening. They’re so lovey-dovey and romantic. Last Thorton Christmas I told them to get a room when they were kissing at the dinner table.”
He laughed. “You? Squirmish over public displays of affection?”
She lifted the chocolate to her mouth. “Who’da thunk it, eh?”
Jax watched her part her lips and deposit the chocolate on her tongue. His balls tightened at the sight. His cock did the same. Shifting on the sofa, he cleared his throat. He wanted to press Nat flat to her back and make love to her. Almost as much as he wanted to keep talking with her. It was a conundrum he’d never faced before. “It’s been years since I caught up with Rob,” he said. “We crossed paths once in LA International airport. He and Joseph Hudson were heading to the Colorado Rockies to go heli-skiing. Haven’t seen him since.”
Settling back in the sofa, Nat curled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “He told me he saw you.”
An unexpected beat throbbed through Jax at the thought of Nat talking about him. He’d seen her cousin only a few months after walking out of her life and, at the sight of the tall man who bore such a family resemblance to Nat, Jax had been overcome with an ache for her so consuming he’d needed to find a seat and his breath. “What did you say when he did?” he asked, throat thick.
Nat gave him a level look. “Jaxon who?”
He winced. “Ouch.”
She let out a wry grunt. “Well, you did take my AC/DC album.”
He nodded. “I did.”
Silence stretched between them for a beat. He studied her, that same ache he’d experienced all those years ago in LAX welling through him now. He’d thought back then it was just a sexual ache. No one he’d slept with had come close to making him feel the way Nat had, but now…now he realized it was so much more.
An ache for everything she was and everything he was when he was with her.
Fuck, had he been in love with her back then? Had he? And he’d been too fucking dumb and egotistic and stupid and…and…caught up in his own growing fame and reputation to know it?
The weight of the daunting, terrifying thought made his head swim.
“Tell me about the new song,” she said, voice soft.
“Song?”
“The one for the movie.” She adjusted herself on the cushion, running her palm over the length of her thigh wrapped in fluffy white toweling, her gaze watching its path. “The one Nick’s replacement will sing.”
Jax frowned. She was changing the subject. Moving it away from them. Why? “It’s for the closing credits of Chris Huntley’s next movie. The sequel to Dead Even.”
“And it’s written?” she asked, lifting her gaze back to his face again. An ambiguous light shone in their grey depths. As if she battled confusion, just like he did.
“Music, lyrics, the lot,” he said, his heartbeat faster than it should be given the innocuous topic of conversation. “And it’s fucking good. Strings wrote the lyrics while he was in San Francisco falling in love with a woman who despised everything he was.”
Nat frowned. “Who was that?”
“Lily Pearce. His wife.”
“So everyone in Nick’s band has found love?”
“It seems so.” He forced out a choked laugh. “Except me of course.”
She laughed in return, the sound equally as strained as his. “Of course not you.”
Once again, silence strung between them, taut and heavy.
He stared at her, the air pressing on him. His heart thumped in his chest louder, wilder than any drum riff Noah could ever perform.
He parted his lips, wanting to tell her…something. Something that would make her forgive him for being such a tosser all those years ago.
Something…
“Play it for me?”
He swallowed, his mouth dry. “What?”
“The song.” She flicked a look at the baby grand piano beside the floor-to-ceiling window they’d fucked against only an hour ago. “Play it for me. It’s been a long time since I heard you play. I want to see if you’ve lost your touch in your advancing years.”
He chuckled, pushing himself from the sofa to cross to the piano. He never stayed in a hotel room unless it had a piano. It was one of his quirks, noted in more than one article about him and Nick’s band. The interesting thing was he’d never opened the lid on any of them. They just had to be in the room. Did it have anything to do with the fact he used to make love to Nat on the keys of the old piano they’d had in their rented home?
Skimming his fingers over the smooth, white keys from high C to middle G, he turned back to her. “Are you going to grade me, Teach?”
“On composition? Originality?”
He grinned. “A mark out of ten for technique?”
A light danced in her eyes. “Oh, I think we already know you’re a ten out of ten for technique, Campbell.”
His cock pulsed. He stared at her from the baby grand.
Nat’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Just play me the damn piece of music, Jax.”
Pulling a steadying breath, and fighting every urge in his body to walk back to her, take her in his arms and hold her, just hold her, he sat on the piano’s stool and placed his fingers on the appropriate keys for the song Samuel had written for Dead Even 2.
Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) Page 12