Rock Me(7)

I closed the distance and lifted my hand to her cheek. “Fixing what I broke.”

“There’s no fixing this.”

I ran my thumb over her bottom lip and breathed her in, lavender and cherry lip gloss. Fuck. She still wore it. The sweet scent filled my head and I knew exactly how her lips would taste, how soft they’d be. How hot that innocent looking mouth was when it closed around my cock. Her eyes fluttered shut and I knew I had her, at least for a moment.

Like a magnet, she drew me in and I lowered my head until our lips met in a tender, tentative exploration. I didn’t want to scare her away. I didn’t want her to run. I needed her.

Mine. Mine. Mine. She’d been mine since she was sixteen. I wrapped my arms around her and crushed her to me, all pretense of gentleness gone. How could I hold back when the most perfect thing was before me? No one compared. Ever. Her soft moan settled deep in my bones and my cock hardened instantly. I knew that sound. God, I’d missed that fucking sound.





Chapter 4





Kit



She wrapped her arms around my waist as I lost myself in her taste, in the soft, wet slide of her tongue against mine. I fucked her with my mouth, exploring and tasting her, thrusting as I wanted to do with my cock. Her arms blocked me from gaining access to the rest of her body, but I rubbed her back, explored the curve of her hip. Grabbed her ass.

She had a great fucking ass. Full and round and soft, perfect for…all kinds of things.

I walked us backward until her back hit the wall and she tore her lips from mine with a gasp. Fine. I’d let her breathe, but I couldn’t stop. Now that she was in my arms, it was like my entire being was starving for more. My cock pressed into her and there was no way she could miss it.

I nibbled her chin and jaw, nudged her head to the side so I could kiss and suck and lick my way down her neck. She lifted her arms to my head, buried her fingers in my hair just like she used to. “Kit.”

Breathless. Hot. She said my name, but it wasn’t a question, more like an I-missed-you sigh.

With her arms up, I had full access to the rest of her and I took advantage, sliding one hand inside the back of her pants to cup her bare ass—fuck, she was wearing a thong—and the other up under her shirt to cup her breast, to knead and tug on her nipple the way I knew she liked. Her head dropped back, banging against the wall and she arched her back, pressed into my hands.

“Kit. What are we doing?” She shuddered as I bit down on her collarbone lightly and slipped my hand inside her bra. She was so fucking soft, everywhere. Even better than I remembered.

I couldn’t give her an answer, not right now. If I told her the truth, told her what I wanted, she’d tell me to go fuck myself.

I wanted her. I wanted a home, and three or four blue-eyed babies and a couple of furry, annoying cats that would sit in her lap and hiss at me whenever I told them to get lost. The last few years on the road had been hard, and lonely. When I left her, I had nothing. My parents disowned me just as they'd warned and I’d gone to New York, found the guys, started the band. I’d lived on whiskey and peanut butter for two years, drunk more than I was sober. The ache inside me that was uniquely hers never quite assuaged by booze or drugs or women. It dulled over the years, but it had never gone away. Not until this moment.

Kissing her again, I kept her mouth too busy to ask questions. The familiar taste of her cherry lip-gloss drove me out of my mind and I realized there was no going back. Not this time.

I’d gone to California after the band hit it big, when I had enough money to offer her something other than an apartment I shared with three other assholes and life in the back of a van. I’d thought maybe I’d made a mistake. Maybe, once she graduated from Stanford, I could fit her into my life without wrecking hers.

And that was when I’d seen the cock-sucking surfer boy and the giant diamond on her fucking finger. She’d married that asshole six weeks later and that had been it. I’d been drowning ever since. Lost, like a ship at sea with no oars and no sail. I’d written music, lots of music, and drowned myself in women to mask the thoughts of my Crystal giving herself to someone else. We’d played concerts all over the world. I didn’t need my family money any more, and my father had finally relented and let me come home for a visit, once I wasn’t a complete failure. My brothers had my back all these years, sending me money when I was broke, keeping me off the streets. Ivy League schools hadn't made them assholes, thank fuck. My family had fallen in line, and I’d still felt empty.

Nothing got Crystal out of my head. And a year ago, I’d just stopped. No more booze. No drugs. No women. I worked. I ate. I slept. The whole band had shifted this last year. It was like we all reached critical mass and just grew the fuck up overnight.