by Tracy Wolff
But another part of her was worried. He’d looked so lost when he’d walked into the night, so much like the boy she used to know instead of the tough, don’t-give-a-shit rocker he’d forged himself into through the years. It was stupid—she knew it was stupid—but she felt herself falling for it all over again.
Not for him. She’d learned her lesson on that front. But just because she’d made up her mind not to think about Ryder anymore—or, more accurately, had her mind made up for her—didn’t mean she’d stopped caring for him. She couldn’t, no matter how much she sometimes wished it might be otherwise. There was too much history between them. Too many feelings, especially on her side.
Which meant, she realized with a sigh of disgust, that she was going to break her own rules. She was going to try to figure out what was up with Ryder, what was hurting him. And the best way to do that was to do what he asked—to go see Shaken Dirty play and let him see her there. Maybe then he’d open up to her again, let her see inside of him.
And if he didn’t? a little voice inside of her asked. Well, if he didn’t, at least she’d tried. Maybe knowing that would be enough … for both of them.
…
He could feel her watching him.
There were twenty-three thousand people crammed into the amphitheater in front of him, all of them staring at him—focused on him—and still he could feel Jamison’s eyes on him. He hadn’t expected her to come, not after the way she’d shot him down earlier, but he was grateful that she’d changed her mind.
He’d thought that early morning trip to the grocery store would clear the air between them, would get them back on an even-keel. And maybe it had, since she was no longer looking at him with that undisguised longing in her eyes. No longer staring at him like she was imagining him naked and inside her.
He’d thought that was what he wanted. For things to go back to normal between them—Jared’s best friend and Jared’s little sister, just hanging out, having fun. But it turned out he was a sick son of a bitch, because now that things were the way he’d been sure he wanted them, he couldn’t stand it.
All he could think about was the way Jamison smelled and tasted and felt. The way she’d melted when he touched her, and run like warm, sweet honey on his fingers. He wanted to taste that honey, to feel it on his lips, his tongue, running down his throat.
He wanted her, was one step away from saying to hell with Jared, their pasts and their futures, and just taking what he wanted. What he needed.
“Careless” drew to an end to loud screams and catcalls. Bras and panties—and even a few T-shirts—pelted the stage. He dodged a bright red lacey number only to get beaned right in the face with a hot pink and white polka dotted bra.
The crowd roared. Knowing they expected it, he hammed it up. Peeled the bra off his face and sniffed it with a totally lascivious look on his face. It smelled good—like vanilla and sugar—but it did nothing for him anymore. He much preferred Jamison’s honeyed peach scent. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of bra she was wearing tonight, even as he called out, “Mmmm, delicious. The owner of this can definitely pick it up in my dressing room after the show.”
Choruses of “I love you, Ryder!” rose up from the audience. He grinned at them, got them to make some noise. Even played along when Micah slipped the bra out of his hand and hung it around the neck of his bass.
“Actually,” he told the already hyped-up audience, “I think this bra—and its owner—is all mine tonight. I’ve got a thing for hot pink.”
More laughter and catcalls. Ryder went with it, giving Micah shit and the crowd a show they wouldn’t soon forget. Bantering back and forth with Jared, Quinn, even Wyatt until the crowd was at a fever pitch.
All the while he was conscious of Jamison’s gaze on him. He didn’t know where she was—only that she wasn’t backstage—but he knew she was watching. The hardness in his dick told him that, as did the fact that he felt seconds away from jumping out of his own skin. Every second of feeling her eyes was an agony, every moment of not touching excruciating. If he didn’t calm down he was going to come right here in the middle of the stage—and that was an experience he would really rather do without.
But six days of no sex—pretty much the longest he’d gone since he was a teenager—following those very sexy moments with Jamison in his hotel room, had him riding the razor-sharp edge of sexual need and frustration. And when he crouched down near the front of the stage, reaching out a hand so some of his fans could grab or high five or just touch him, that need tipped over into insanity.
Because Jamison was there, pressed up against the stage. She was watching him with those crazy purple eyes of hers, her skin flushed a lickable pink and her full lips slicked with raspberry gloss the same color as the gorgeous little nipples he’d gotten a glimpse of in that San Diego hotel room. Guys were all around her, touching her, bumping into her as they tried to get to him, looking at her because he was. And because she was so damn, heartbreakingly beautiful.
He wanted to pull her up on stage with him, to bite her, mark her, take her right there in front of Jared and everyone so that the whole world knew that she was his. That she belonged to him and he wasn’t going to let anyone take her away.
The possessive nature of his thoughts confused him, as did the jealousy whipping through his blood. He never got like this over a woman, never felt this driving need to warn off every other male in a hundred mile radius. Yet crouching there, looking at Jamison, the need to do just that was a pounding in his head, a throbbing in his blood.
Leaning forward, over a whole group of screaming, jostling fans, he kept his eyes locked with hers as he touched his fingers to her cheek. She shuddered, and so did he as the tension between them coiled ever more tightly. Her hand came up, rested over his and for a second, two, they were the only people in the place.
But then Wyatt lay down the beat for “Find Me,” while Vince carried Ryder’s favorite guitar across the stage. At the same time, the girl next to Jamison jostled her out of position and grabbed for him.
The moment shattered. Jamison jerked her eyes from his, then stepped back out of range. And he was left onstage, with a hard-on to suffer through and a concert to finish.
But the second their set was done, he all but threw his guitar at Vince and took off for one of the amphitheater’s back doors. If he knew Jamison, she was already on her way back to the bus and he was determined to catch her.
To hell with his fans.
To hell with Jared.
To hell with everyone and everything that wasn’t her.
Tonight he was taking Jamison. Consequences be damned.
Chapter Fourteen
He found her in the back parking lot among the equipment trucks. She was halfway to the bus and moving fast, but he didn’t have the patience to wait for her to cover the last couple thousand of feet. Instead he caught her from behind, one hand thrusting into her hair and pulling her head back as the other wrapped around her waist.
“Don’t be afraid,” he growled as he yanked her against him. After all, he wanted to make her come, not scare her to death. “It’s me.”
The startled scream died in her throat and she turned her head so that her face was inches from his. “Ryder? What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” he countered, turning her so that her breasts pressed against his chest. He’d tossed his shirt away during the encore, so that the only thing between them was the thin fabric of her bra and tank top. “Why were you running back to the bus?”
“I wanted—” She broke off as his lips skimmed over her cheek. “I thought—”
“What?” he whispered, dropping kisses along her jawline.
“Hungry. I thought you’d be hun—”
“I am. Starving.” Just not for food. He didn’t know where this need had come from, if it had always been there just under the surface or if it had simply roared to life that night in San Diego. Either way, he was done fighting it. He wanted her and he woul
d have her.
Now.
He moved forward, moved her backward, until she was pressed up against the side of one of the trailers. For long seconds he didn’t do anything else, just stood there savoring the feel of all those lush curves of hers resting so gloriously against him. He wanted to touch her, to wrap himself up in her softness until his senses were glutted with her. Overloaded. But he was trembling like a kid, his need making it impossible to think, to breathe. To plan. He wanted all of her at the same time, needed to kiss and touch and fuck her until he was nearly insane with it.
Control, he told himself as he pressed kisses over her throat. It’s all about control.
But then she gasped, arched, and his very last remnants of control shattered like glass.
His hands went to the collar of her shirt and he yanked it apart, took a primitive kind of satisfaction in the way the buttons flew in all directions—baring her to his desperate gaze. She was beautiful, her full breasts pressed up against violet silk the same color as her eyes. It was dark, but they weren’t that far from one of the huge parking lot light poles and he could see her nipples through the lace.
He reached out, ran a finger over one hard peak. Reveled in her gasp and the need that vibrated so violently between them.
“Ryder,” she gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders, tangling in his hair. “Are you sure?” She arched into his touch even as she asked the words that should slow him down.
But he was done with going slow, done with denying himself when everything he wanted was right here in front of him. The future could take care of itself. Right now she was hot and trembling, as desperate for him as he was for her, and he wasn’t walking away. Not this time.
He didn’t answer her, at least not with words. Instead he grabbed her wrists, raised them above her head. Then he leaned down and captured her mouth with his own, using lips and tongue and teeth to claim her in a way she wouldn’t soon forget. A way he couldn’t forget.
But, God, she tasted good. Spicy and sweet and delicious, like warm honey and cinnamon drizzled over summer ripe peaches and cream. He sucked at her lower lip, reveled in the gasp she couldn’t stop and the way her wrists jerked against his hold. His cock screamed for relief at the movement, but he shoved the need down as far as he could manage. He’d waited too long for this to rush it.
Besides, he wanted so much more than to just get himself off. This, tonight, was about Jamison. He wanted to arouse her to fever pitch, to drench her in so much pleasure she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.
And, he admitted as he pulled her lower lip into his mouth and laved it with his tongue in an effort to stop the ache, he wanted to control her. To drive her beyond reason, beyond boundaries, beyond sanity until she wanted him like he wanted her. Until she needed him like she needed her next breath…the way he was finding that he needed her.
He nibbled at her lip again, and she went wild, her lush, strong body bucking against him. Once again, her wrists jerked against his grip, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Couldn’t let her go. One touch from her slender, capable fingers and he would go up in flames.
So he kept her pinned against the trailer, using his hand and chest and hips. Made sure that every part of her body was covered by a part of his. And then he devoured her.
“Ryder,” she gasped, her head rolling back and forth against the metal wall of the trailer. “Hurry up. Please. I’m going crazy—” Her breath broke on a half-sigh, half-sob.
“I like you crazy,” he answered, then took advantage of her parted lips to thrust his tongue inside. She was like silk. Like velvet. Softer than he imagined. Hotter than he’d ever dreamed.
She moaned, and he tried to gentle himself, to give her the tenderness she deserved. But then she sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth, and he was lost. Need exploded deep inside him, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. It raked its talons down his spine, thrust its heat deep inside of him until all he could think of was taking her, fucking her. Branding her.
For a second, just a second, he tried to pull back. To think. Jamison wasn’t a groupie, wasn’t some throwaway girl whose face he wouldn’t remember in the morning. No matter how desperate he was for her, she deserved more than a quick fuck in a parking lot.
He looked around, saw the equipment trailer he knew wouldn’t get any use until load-out—which wouldn’t be for another hour or so. Picking her up, he used the hydraulic lift to carry them up to the trailer. Then he shoved open the unlocked cargo door and brought her inside.
It wasn’t the most romantic place, but it was better than the parking lot. Better than a crowded bus. He started to apologize for the accomodations, but
t she clutched at him, her nails digging into his scalp in little pinpricks that mixed pain and desire, control and overwhelming need. And then she nipped at him the way he had at her, her teeth closing on his lower lip in a sharp demand he was helpless to resist.
Lust exploded through him and he tightened his hold on her wrists, knocked her head into the inside wall of he trailer in his desperation to get at her. He started to apologize, to ease off, but she twined herself around him and the last rational thought he had was buried under an onslaught of want.
Burying his other hand in her crazy, wild curls, he tilted her head back and feasted. And when she sucked his lip between hers, he opened to her, nearly fell to his knees when she thrust her tongue into his mouth to explore him as he had her.
He took her wild exploration as long as he could—reveling in the fact that her need seemed as sharp as his own—but it seemed like mere moments before he was at breaking point. Tearing his mouth from her own, he ignored her pleading little moan and the desperate clutching of her fingers at his back.
Instead, he pressed kisses down her jaw to the graceful curve of her neck, before moving on to the sharp angles of her collarbone. She felt soft and sweet and delicate in his arms, and for a second—just a second—he was overwhelmed by the need to take care of her. To protect her from everything, especially the shit that lived inside of him. The darkness that had him fucking up everything that ever mattered to him.
He almost pulled away. Almost gave up this dangerous, decadent pleasure that felt as necessary to him as breathing. But then she gasped out a plea, a brazen, broken demand that grabbed onto him with feral claws and yanked him back under. And he knew—God help him, he knew—that not even the threat of destroying Jamison as he had Carrie could make him stop.
Using his free hand, he reached behind her and freed the back clasp of her bra. Then he let go of her wrists just long enough to rip the thing off. He had to taste her, had to feel her lush, gorgeous nipples in his mouth, had to devour her before he imploded.
Sinking to his knees in front of her, he relished the feel of her hands digging deep into his hair, enjoyed the sharp tug on his scalp. The little pinches of pain that only made the pleasure sweeter.
Then he forgot everything but the ecstasy of her body as he buried his face in her breasts in what was very close to a frenzy. He reached for control, but it eluded him, slipping through his fingers like so much magic. Reached for patience, for delicacy, but he had none. Not now, not this time.
Instead, he latched on to her nipple and sucked it hard into his mouth.
Jamison whimpered, her fingers flexing convulsively in his hair. For a moment he feared he’d been too rough, that he’d crossed the thin line between pleasure and pain that he so liked to flirt with. But her hips were moving, shifting, pumping restlessly against him and he knew she was with him all the way. He bit down softly on her nipple, prepared to take her deeper into the maelstrom of desire that had them in its grip. But when she moaned and clutched at him, he was the one who went under.
…
Jamison gasped, trembled, tried to press herself even closer to Ryder. He was killing her with his patience, killing her with his ability to hold off his own need so that he could stoke hers. She wanted him, needed him, was on
the brink of ripping his clothes off and forcing him to fuck her and he was acting like he had all the time in the world.
But, God, he felt good against her, so good that she was going to lose it completely if he didn’t do something soon. He’d barely touched her and already she was trembling on the brink of orgasm, ready to fly over the edge at the slightest provocation.
She tried to fight it, tried to hang on. She’d waited so long for this moment, had dreamed for so many years about what it would be like to hold Ryder, to kiss him, to fuck him, that she wanted to make it last forever. Especially since there was no guarantee this would ever happen again.
Though she didn’t tell him—would never tell him of her desperate, shadowy thoughts—Ryder seemed to understand her need to draw this out. Or maybe this was just the kind of lover he was, slow and thorough and determined to draw every last ounce of response out of her. Whatever it was driving him, she was grateful. And determined to enjoy the ride.
But then Ryder bent to her breast, nipped at her areola, and her body wigged out, a scream of frustrated need welling up inside of her. The only thing that kept her quiet was the knowledge that he would finish things—finish her—if he realized just how torturous his attentions were becoming for her.
But when he bit her again, then carefully laved the sting until only the memory of it remained, she lost the fight. No man should be so tender and so controlling, so selfless and so domineering all at the same time. How could she resist him? How could she keep herself from falling even more deeply under his spell?
She couldn’t. The thought tore at her even as she clutched his head to her breast, relishing the soft, sweet brushes of his tongue and lips. “Ryder,” she whimpered as he nibbled his way across the vulnerable underside of her breast. “Please. I need you.”
“Oh, baby,” he murmured as he moved to her other breast. “I’m just getting started.”
“Please,” she gasped again, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she sobbed out his name. Her body wasn’t hers to command anymore, her voice and thoughts and movements taken over entirely by his mouth, his touch. By him and his indomitable will.