Taking the Lead (Secrets of a Rock Star #1) Page 17

  I wasn’t thinking clearly. Maybe I wasn’t even thinking at all. And what on earth was this feeling, this gaping, burning feeling that only his eye contact, his touch, his attention could cure?

  I texted him before I could stop myself. I need to see you. Now.

  Then I pretended I had an urgent text, pretended I took a phone call, gave Gwen a quick kiss on the cheek and ran to the lobby as if I were trying to hear what the urgent phone call was.

  I went out onto the sidewalk and looked around. I needed a plan, fast. Right. The motel where I had parked. Perfect. Funny how these things happen.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SIREN SONG

  AXEL

  There’s no high like a performance high. I came off the stage pumped. Everyone was excited, of course, but you know when you’ve hit a home run. People were patting me on the back and other models who hadn’t even glanced at me before were asking for my autograph and taking selfies with me. I looked around for Christina but she must have been out front, working the crowd for more money. Oh, right; they were drawing the raffle winners.

  By the time I stripped out of the outfit and got my jeans on, Ricki’s text to me was already fifteen minutes old. I need to see you. Now. When I saw it my heart leaped, then dropped. When a woman says now she means it. Where was she “now”?

  I texted back before I could find my shirt. Whatever you need.

  Her answer came so fast I still hadn’t found my shirt. Palm Tree Hotel down the street. Room 212.

  Well. That certainly looked like a booty call to me. I started composing a reply text in my head. Should I tell her to strip and wait for me? Kneel on the bed …?

  Hang on one sec, cowboy, I told myself. This was the woman who wanted to talk rationally over tea. This was also the woman who’d texted right before the show to say we should pretend not to know each other. Maybe she wanted to chew me out about something. Or maybe something in the performance had triggered her. What if she’s freaking out over me and Sakura? What if she just really really needs to talk?

  Knowing that Sakura would have my balls dangling from her rearview if I messed with her friend also helped me rein things in a little. Be right there, I texted back, hoping that was neutral enough for whatever might be expected.

  I did take a moment to at least pull on a cotton tank top—Sakura’s, I think—not even bothering to find my jacket in the chaos before I blew out of there faster than a speeding bullet.

  The Palm Tree looked like it had seen better days, or maybe the management simply didn’t care to maintain it well, but this close to the Staples Center and other stuff “downtown” maybe it didn’t matter. A security guard was patrolling the parking lot, but no one even glanced my way as I went up to the second floor and found room 212.

  I knocked. There was no answer and my skin started to prickle.

  Then my phone buzzed with a text. Feel under the door for the key.

  I looked down and could see the tiniest corner of the card key sticking out. That was ballsy, I thought, even as I began to wonder why she’d done that instead of answering the door.

  Sometimes dreams come true, you know? I opened the door and found her naked on the bed, a hand towel draped across her eyes, her hands under the pillows and her legs spread. She had laid herself out in a drool-worthy tableau and I felt all the enthusiasm I had been trying to hold in check surge straight to my cock. So much for worrying she didn’t want me/this/kink anymore …

  But I still wanted to be cautious with her, because I knew how quickly she could spook. I closed the door firmly behind me and latched it. Then I put the key on the side table.

  “Hello, Ricki,” I said, so she’d be sure it was me.

  She didn’t move. I considered whether I should take the blindfold off and make her talk to me, now. Would she be disappointed if I did?

  “Or should I say, Ms. Hamilton?”

  She swallowed when I said that and I saw her abs tighten. Well, we surely needed to talk, but I took that as a clear sign Ricki wanted something other than a good heart-to-heart right then. She was making a gift of herself, all wrapped up and presented to me with a bow—it’d be rude to just brush that bravery aside.

  And I do hate to disappoint anyone.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my fingers lightly across her stomach, watching her hips jerk and hearing her clamp down on a laugh.

  I wondered if she’d ever been tickled into submission.

  My fingertips trailed upward then, tracing her breastbone and then skimming the silken curves of her breasts, but never quite reaching the peaks of her nipples. Her chest rose from the bed like I was levitating her, seeking the touch I denied her.

  Gorgeous. If you could see yourself, Ricki, you’d see how much your body yearns for this. Are you starting to understand that now? Is that why we’re here?

  I used both hands to skim her torso then, down her ribs, under the swell of her breasts where her bra had left a mark, along her collarbone and the undersides of her arms. I curled my fingers just so as I neared her armpits, eliciting a small noise, again on the bare edge of tickling her.

  I wanted to hear more of that, so I kept going. There’s a porn cliché about playing a girl like a violin—or is it a piano? This was more like a piano, as I sought out the places that would make her gasp, sigh, or trill.

  Her thighs were interesting, making all of her tremble and the cleft between them glisten.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a little voice in my head was suggesting it would be really hot to shove my cock right in there. She was wet and ready and teased beyond belief … wasn’t that what we both wanted?

  But a different little voice in my head reminded me I intended to make her ask for it before I gave that to her.

  And a third little voice suggested I get some attention for myself, maybe a blow job, although the first voice said, hey, that’s another cliché.

  And then I thought, shut up, you guys, I just want to watch her move and see what happens.

  So I got closer and closer to touching her between the legs but never getting all the way to the so-called crème-filled center, and got closer and closer to touching her nipples but didn’t …

  She started to beg all on her own. I didn’t even have to insist. “Axel! Axel, please, oh please …”

  Hearing her cry out my name like that flooded me with more than just desire—with hope, that maybe I was finally getting through to the real Ricki. She wasn’t using it like a safeword or like she was role-playing. “Please what? Please you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hm, let’s see, then. You called me here because you said you needed to see me,” I teased to see what kind of reaction I would get. “Yet you blindfolded yourself. You’re just a heap of contradictions!”

  “What do you want?” Her voice got more frantic as she went on. “I don’t know what to do! Just tell me what to do.”

  “Shhhh, shhhh.” I stroked her breasts with a firmer touch then, though I still didn’t let my thumbs stray over the tops. I hadn’t meant to provoke so much distress. Clearly Ricki had a lot going on in her head that I had yet to discover. Would she give me a chance to delve deeper into what she wanted, what she needed, what she fantasized about, maybe even what she didn’t dare to fantasize about? “I’m only teasing. You’re doing fine, Ricki. You’re doing great.”

  She sucked in a gasp, almost a sob, as I rewarded her with my mouth on one of her nipples. It was hard as a pigeon pea but far more delicious and I savored it, rolling it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth and then suckling it gently. I felt her tremble and shake. Was it just that she was naturally responsive or was it that she needed me that much? I hoped I would find out.

  “Do you want me to do the other one like that?” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” she mewed, breathless.

  “And how about your sweet clit? Would you like my mouth down there, too?”

  Her voice deepened with desire. “Yes, oh yes.”


  “And what else, Ricki?” I stayed away from calling her “Ms. Hamilton,” from establishing a role-playing scene. I wasn’t even using my “dom” voice, but she was acting like I was. Maybe we really were getting down to something real and not just playacting. Time to push her past where she’d gotten stuck the last time, then. “Tell me what you need to be completely satisfied.”

  “I need … I need …” She faltered and turned her head aside, which meant she lost the makeshift blindfold, but she kept her eyes shut tight anyway.

  “Say it. Tell me.”

  “I need you to fuck me.”

  Oh sweet, sweet words—and it was sweet to know I had been right, so right about her. My blood surged again, my cock jumping anxiously like a dog that’s seen the food bowl but you haven’t put it down yet. “That’s what I thought, but it never hurts to be sure. Anything else?” I meant it as a challenge question, just to make her talk dirty. I didn’t expect a real answer, which was what I got:

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes. You have to come.”

  Well then. “What about you? Do you need to come?”

  She hesitated to answer that.

  “Or did I make you come enough times the other night? Is that it? Think you need to go on an orgasm diet, Rick’?” Then another thought came to me. “Or do you think you don’t deserve to come?”

  “That’s … that’s up to you,” she said.

  Whoa, okay. I got it. So we were going down that particular dominance and submission road and she was already way ahead of me. Which meant the line between role play and reality was starting to blur. Well, we could clarify that later. Right now we had more urgent physical concerns. “That’s right. It is.” I got between her legs and slid my hands down her thighs again, stalling while I tried to remember everything I’d said to her about the subject. I hitched her knees up, spreading her wide and then hooking her feet over my hips. “I own your pleasure.”

  She sighed, almost in relief.

  I was still wearing my jeans but I pulled the tank top off over my head. Her makeshift blindfold had long since slid aside from her face. “Look at me, Ricki.”

  She opened her eyes and I saw they were misty with desire.

  I positioned one of my hands over her pussy, spreading her lips with my thumb and pinky but still not touching anything “good.” “That’s what you want? For me to own your pleasure?”

  She nodded, then seemed to realize that wasn’t good enough. “Yes.”

  “Say ‘yes, Axel,’ if you really mean it.”

  “Yes, Axel.”

  “Mm. Your pleasure is a complicated thing. I can see why you might want to leave it to me to handle. Let’s be sure you know what you’re agreeing to, though. You want me to own your orgasm? That means you don’t come unless I say. Ever.”

  “Yes, Axel.”

  “And you come when I say, too.”

  “Of course, Axel.” On each agreement her voice sounded sweeter, and I think I fell in love deeper on each one.

  “There’s a lot more to pleasure than just orgasm, though, Ricki. Touching yourself even if you don’t come, tsk tsk tsk.” I let my middle finger swipe her clit then and she gasped, her hips twitching. “So if I own your pleasure, I own all of this.” I swiped once more on the word “this” and when she said “Yes, Axel,” I thrust my middle finger into her, deep.

  Her moan was one of complete ecstasy, complete surrender. I take back what I said about performance high being the best high. For a dom, this was an even headier hit of an even stronger drug. I wiggled my finger inside her and she writhed and made the most gorgeous sounds.

  Mine.

  It was quite a trick to get my jeans off while keeping two fingers inside her—because by the time I tried, one finger was no longer enough—but I managed it. I’m sure I looked comical while twisting myself to peel them off, but she had shut her eyes again, so who cares? What mattered was that when I finally slid my soaking wet fingers up her belly and into her mouth so she could clean them my cock was free. I slicked it easily through her folds, priming for the plunge.

  Wait a second. Wait just one second. “Ricki,” I murmured into her ear. “Please tell me you have a condom.”

  I felt her go stiff under me. Paralyzed.

  Shit. “I take it you don’t.”

  She shook her head, but managed to say, “It’s okay. I mean, I’m on the Pill.”

  “This is exactly the wrong time to tell me that, you know.”

  “Lecture me later!” she hissed.

  I clucked my tongue. “Ms. Hamilton, you may be one bossy babe in the boardroom, but in the bedroom I am in charge.”

  She sounded scared. “You … you aren’t seriously going to stop now?”

  “I should. Just to teach us both a lesson about safe sex. But you know what? Let’s make it a lesson in risk management instead.” There was no way I wasn’t going to go through with it, no matter what, after making myself wait this long and after the way she’d so fully offered herself to me. Without lifting my head, without moving my mouth from her ear, I shifted my hips, wetting the head of my cock. “Here’s an inch for setting me up.” I pushed into her and felt her tighten with desire even as she gasped in relief. Oh yes. Yes, this was where we both needed to be. I felt it all the way down to my toes. “And here’s an inch for being an irresistible creature.” I was going to start trembling myself soon if I didn’t quit holding back, but, damn it, this was a lesson. I heard the fabric rustle as she dug her fingers into the duvet. “Here’s an inch for—”

  I didn’t get any further. Ricki jammed her hips upward and engulfed me, and two seconds after that I was fucking her as hard as I’ve ever fucked anyone before. No turning back, no teasing, no control. I had my hands on the tops of her shoulders like I was using her as a pull-up bar, except we were lying down and my hips and legs were doing the real work. All rules were out the window and it was all about jamming my flesh into hers with every ounce of energy I had. It wasn’t that I haven’t fucked hard before; no, it was that this was everything, she was everything, and I had never been so consumed by the need to make the two of us into one before.

  We’d have to work on obedience later.

  * * *

  RICKI

  Until you’ve had sex with a man who can really fuck, you don’t know what you’re missing. At least, that was the thought that went through my head when he slowed down to draw things out. I’d thought he was going to simply plow until he came, but no, once the raw need began to ebb a little he slowed the pace. Axel wasn’t the type to eat the patty and not bother with the pickles, lettuce, cheese, and sesame seed bun. He could’ve, but it’s so much better with everything.

  I wasn’t a virgin. I’d had sex with a couple of college boyfriends and other guys at that point, sex I’d considered pretty good. But it felt like Axel had this understanding of how important penis-in-vagina actually was. He was a connoisseur. He appreciated it in all its forms and how central it was, how crucial, to what I needed.

  At least, that’s how it felt. I was probably imagining it, but if it was all a dream, at least it was a good dream. I had never felt so completed by having a cock in me before, though I realized now that I had wanted to.

  He didn’t skimp. He knew how to back off and use the tip as well as how to bore in with deep strokes. And he knew how to stay in place while he made me come, and how to move in and out in time with my orgasmic spasms. Even when I was so sated I was sure I couldn’t come again, I didn’t want it to end.

  Except that I did. I knew if he walked out hard and didn’t come, it was going to bug me. I knew because it had been on my mind ever since the party, a nagging ache of dissatisfaction in the back of my skull. Unfinished business. I couldn’t really explain it; all I knew was it had made me want him even more.

  I ground upward against him, trying to make him come. Laugh all you want: it had worked with other guys. Not Axel, though. He eventually said, “Is that a hint that you want to come again?”
>
  “No no,” I said, and my voice was far more breathless than I expected. “It’s a hint that I want you to come this time.”

  “Well. Ms. Hamilton. It’s time we worked on your asking skills, then.”

  “My asking skills?”

  “Mm-hm. Let’s see. We’ve established that your pleasure’s mine. That means your cunt is mine, your clit is mine. But I can’t read your mind. That’s why I loved getting a ‘fuck me now’ text from you. Very clear on your state of mind. But your asking skills are generally lacking. And, you know, these dominant-submissive things usually have a bit of etiquette around asking.”

  Was it a good sign that his words made me feel warm and fuzzy rather than stressed out? Or just a sign that my better judgment was impaired once again? At that moment I didn’t care: I rode the wave of feeling good. I squeezed him inside. “Is that what this is? A dominant-submissive thing?”

  “Oh definitely,” he said, and leaned down to lick that spot on my neck that he knew drove me crazy with arousal. I suddenly found that maybe I could come again, maybe just once more …? But he was talking again. “So let’s see. What’s the proper way for you to ask for sexual favors?”

  “Um, you mean, like should I be on my knees?”

  “I meant more like what words you should use. You know, like should you have to say something humiliatingly dirty like ‘Please, Mr. Hawke, make my pussy sloppy?’” He laughed, unable to keep a straight face. “Okay, not that.”

  “Why not just ‘Please, Mr. Hawke, I need you?’ and get the rest from context?”

  “You mean from your pleading eyes and the way you’re humping my leg? While that does get the message across, I’m trying to get you to tell me in words what you want.” He looked thoughtful, though, as if that had started a deep contemplation in his mind.

  I brought him back to the moment. “Please, Mr. Hawke, may I feel you come?”

  “Hm. You want me to come? I will only if you’ll promise me you won’t run away the second we’re done. We need to talk, Ricki, and you know it.”