Taking the Lead (Secrets of a Rock Star #1) Read online

  “I’m well aware of that.” I nodded. She seemed to be letting her guard down little by little. “Got any rubbing alcohol?”

  She looked around, like that was not at all what she was expecting me to say. Concentrating on something concrete seemed to help her calm down even further. “Um. Let me see.” She found a bottle in the cabinet under the sink.

  “And a glass?”

  She put a mouthwash tumbler down next to the bottle and then turned to her own sink, getting out a cloth for herself.

  Getting ready for the party side by side with her like that gave me a warm feeling inside, as if we had become a couple already. I held in a smile. I knew I still had a long way to go to undo whatever was tangled up in her head, but it was nice to dream. I filled the glass with alcohol, swished the blade in the liquid, then waved it in the air to dry. “I meant what I said, Ricki. I’m not here to ruin your reputation. I can keep my mouth shut, if that’s what it takes. Is that what you want?”

  She soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it to her face. I supposed she was going to re-do her makeup from scratch. When she lowered it she looked at me in the mirror. “It’s not just what I want. It’s necessary.”

  Sure thing, Your Highness. But her conviction was so strong I suddenly wondered if she was engaged to that jerk who had been her date? I felt a sudden dip in the pit of my stomach. Fucking another man’s fiancée was Not Done so far as I was concerned. Even bad boys have honor. They weren’t wearing rings, though, and my impression had been he was an “industry” date, but what if it was like a dynastic arranged-marriage kind of thing? What did I know of the Hollywood elite? Was she afraid he’d find out? Or that her social circle would?

  You’re the stable boy, remember? I reminded myself. I turned my attention to lathering up, trying to play it cool. “Fine. My lips are sealed.”

  It wasn’t going to take long to shave, but I took my time, both to be cool and to be careful. Straight razors are no joke.

  I caught her watching me. She had called me “sir” in the heat of the moment and she’d come like a freight train the second I’d used the slightest little bit of bondage. Did she fantasize about BDSM? Had she played before? Was she kinkier than she let on?

  These were not the right questions to be asking if I was trying to keep my cool. I glanced at her sideways.

  She folded her arms, then. “Okay. So you are pretty good with that thing.”

  “Years of practice.”

  “Years?”

  “At least five. I started using the razor like this in college. How young do you think I am?”

  “You went to college?”

  Oh for fuck’s sake. I’d reached my limit with being condescended to by Her Highness. “What, you think they go scrape up rock stars from some back alley somewhere? Yank us out of squalid honky-tonks where all we do is fuck and do drugs after dropping out of high school? I’ve worked fucking hard to get where I am today, Ms. Heiress Ricki Fucking Hamilton, so I can do without your Better-Than-Thou attitude, thank you very much.”

  She blanched. That was a good sign I’d gotten through to her. “Sorry. I didn’t … mean it that way.”

  I wasn’t about to tell her I’d dropped out of college because the band had taken off, but that wasn’t important right now anyway. I rinsed the razor, then my face. I ran my hand over my chin again.

  “I think …” Her voice quavered. “I think you missed a spot.”

  “Did I—?” I broke off as her hand, softer and cooler than my own, came to rest against my cheek. Her thumb swept over the spot I’d done.

  Hm. Usually when a woman is creating excuses to touch you it’s a good sign. I guess I had gotten through after all. What is going on in your head, Ricki?

  I trapped her hand against my cheek with my own. Was it real? Was what I had felt in the limo real or my fevered imagination? Time to find out. “Ms. Hamilton,” I said, dropping my voice into its lowest register.

  Her eyes softened. She liked me. I could see it. Whatever battle was going on in her head had to do with some other shit, not me.

  “I wish I could trust you,” she said, worrying her lip.

  “You can,” I said. “In fact, you already do. Want me to prove it?”

  “How do you plan to do that?” She already seemed more curious than wary.

  “By not telling you what I’m going to do. Instead I’m going to tell you what to do. If you don’t trust me, you won’t.”

  I held her gaze and hoped the tumbler was where I thought it was …

  It was. I swirled the razor in it again, the metal clinking musically against the glass.

  So shiny. I held it before her eyes and watched her pupils widen as she nodded, ready to try whatever I was about to suggest. I licked my upper lip with the tip of my tongue as I turned the blade in the light and saw her sliding back into the Ricki I’d known in the limo, the ice queen melting away. Sensuous, vulnerable, needy.

  Irresistible. “Hands on the counter behind you,” I commanded with a low purr. “Now up, sit your bare bottom against the marble.”

  “Granite,” she corrected automatically.

  I knew it! Whatever. “If I say it’s marble, it’s marble. Or are you talking back because you’re cruising for a bruising?”

  “No, s—Axel.”

  And there we were. My name, said like that, was like a magic word that sent her fully back in scene. “That’s right. Good girl.” I pushed my way between her knees and sliced free the top button of the shirt.

  There was a moment of protest in her eyes and then it faded. Maybe she remembered it was my shirt.

  Too bad—I liked that shirt. But I liked the idea of Ricki Hamilton naked and submissive even more. With each button I cut away, she seemed to surrender more and more, and I gradually forced her to lean back until her head touched the mirror. Her breathing grew shallow but her face showed no fear, only a hazy anticipation. I peeled open the shirt and admired the view it framed: perfect perky tits, a smooth belly, a neat bush the same color as the hair on her head, and a sliver of moist pink and red at the center of that.

  Dripping. Well. Someone either had a razor fetish or she was about to develop one.

  I pressed the blade flat against one of her hard nipples and she sucked in a breath at the coldness of the metal. Her eyes were wide, fixed on me, staying with me every moment. It would have been different if she had screwed them shut, as if pretending to just let me have my way. This wasn’t like that at all. This was the Ricki I had wanted to cherish and hold and never let go of. The real Ricki.

  “Spread your legs,” I commanded quietly. “Heels on the counter. And stay very still.”

  She spread herself as I asked, one hand gripping the faucet of the sink next to her, the other wrapped reflexively around the back of her neck. Sexy and completely unselfconscious. She probably had no idea what she looked like right now and it thrilled me to the core that I was the only one who got to see her like this, with her ice queen crown off.

  I slowly slid the blade down the centerline of her body and she gasped in momentary fear, then realized I was using the dull side. The thrill just meant she slipped further under my spell as she realized how careful I was.

  “Trust me,” I whispered. I continued to use the dull side to part her pubic hair, spreading her wider, exposing more of her inner folds to me. The dripping increased.

  With the flat of the blade pressing her clit, I slid the middle finger of my other hand into her hot core. Her flesh was swollen with arousal and the fact that we’d fucked so recently. Half an hour ago? An hour? My cock was starting to strain against my jeans. It was tempting to toss the razor aside and give in to the urge to fuck her again. Very tempting.

  But this was supposed to be a lesson in trust. “Ever been shaved down here?” I asked casually. Her bush was so neat it looked to me like it had been trimmed. Convenient.

  “No. Gwen went for a Brazilian wax once, though, and swore never again.”

  “Tsk. S
he’s not a masochist, I take it.”

  Ricki snorted. “Maybe if she went to a spa where the stylists were actual doms she’d like it better.”

  Actual doms, hm? I wondered again what Ricki knew, or thought she knew, about doms. I felt sure she’d never had any actual experience, though. Maybe she’d just read tawdry books or heard a lot from Sakura. “Maybe we’ll try hot wax on you some time,” I said, twisting my finger inside her and watching her eyes roll back in her head.

  I had to use both hands to lather her up. As I started the hot water filling the sink again I said, “Use your hand. Pleasure yourself.”

  The hand that was gripping the faucet moved to her belly while she psyched herself up to do this in front of me. I met her questioning gaze with a calm, firm one of my own. Yes, darling, I really want you to do this.

  She slid a finger over her clit and shuddered. Looked like her touch was light, very light.

  “Okay, enough. Let me in there.” I lathered her up then, and set to shaving her with short, careful strokes, rinsing in the hot water often. “Keep still.”

  She did. When I was all done I dipped a washcloth in the hot water and gently sluiced the remnants from her. This was a whole new level of nakedness. It was one thing to see her without much in the way of clothes. Seeing her that completely bare—and it being my doing, for me—was a deep, deep turn-on.

  So was fucking with her mind. I swept the clean razor gently over her pubic mound, caressing with it, then letting her feel a hint of edge along her tender inner labia. I spread her open with two fingers like I was examining inside her.

  Or getting ready to put something in. I teased her again with the metal, flicking her clit, drawing small circles, never using anything close to the actual sharp edge, but her breath hitched and she closed her eyes, trying not to flinch.

  The flinch came when I drove my finger up inside her again, followed by a downright incendiary moan. Yes, that’s right, Your Highness, I got you all set up, thinking I was going to do something horrible to you, and it turns out that horrible thing is pleasure you beyond your wildest dreams. That’s how this works.

  “Tell me if you want to come.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “If?”

  “I make no assumptions,” I said, flicking my thumb over her clit and finger-banging her until she moaned again. “Maybe this was enough for you …” I slowly withdrew.

  “No!” She bit her lip when she heard her own desperate tone. I stopped with most of my middle finger still in her. “Axel, please.”

  “Please what? Ms. Hamilton, you brought me here for a private conversation. Please be clear about your needs.”

  “Please make me come?” She said it with that upward, questioning lilt, like she wasn’t sure if that was what she should say.

  “Is an orgasm all you need? You could kick me out and handle that yourself. You don’t need some trashy rock-and-roll man-slut from the gutter to get you off.”

  She blinked, instantly grasping this wasn’t “dirty talk.” I was playing a different game, now. “I never called you a slut,” she said.

  “I never called you one, either.”

  I saw her eyes narrow as I scored that conversational point. She tried to defend. “No. But you … made me act like one.”

  “Did I?” I wiggled the finger inside. “Because you like this? I don’t think it’s wrong for you to like this. I don’t think it means you’re … easy. Or weak. Or bad. I think it’s very, very good. A strong woman should have strong desires.”

  She swallowed. “That’s true. I’m not saying sex is bad, or that wanting sex is bad. It’s just … complicated for me. My life is … very complicated.”

  Maybe the reason I saw the real Ricki when she was submitting to me was that I made things simple. Do this, do that, love me, love yourself. Simple, right? “I honestly never kidnapped an heiress before,” I said conversationally, sliding my finger in as far as it would go. “I’m not into groupies.”

  I couldn’t tell if her next question was a real one or a kind of challenge. She was still smarting over me calling her on the “slut” comment. “What exactly are you into?”

  Maybe she wanted me to say something about BDSM there. Instead I said, “You, Ricki Hamilton. I’m in you.” I drove my finger into her again and felt her groan. I finger-fucked her again then, my thumb flicking her clit as lightly as she had touched herself while my middle finger searched for the way to make her come. I figured I may as well confess. If she was going to throw me out anyway, she’d have to do it knowing this wasn’t all “playboy” fun to me. “You want to know why I grabbed you instead of Sakura out of the audience? Because I’m into you, Ms. Hamilton. I wasn’t looking for a quick, meaningless fuck. I like it to mean something.”

  She was so close now. I could feel her insides gripping my finger tighter and tighter.

  “I think you like it to mean something, too. I think you neglect your sensual needs. I think you’re a woman who doesn’t treasure her pleasure like she should. I think you need someone who will.”

  “You, you mean,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Mm-hm. That’s what a dom does. I’ll treasure your pleasure …” I dipped my head between her legs and licked at her clit until I felt the very first sharp spasm of orgasm; I raised my head and said, “And I’ll treasure your pain.” And then I gently bit her right on the clit.

  I bit her hard enough so that she felt the teeth, felt the edge of discomfort, but not enough to damage. She was coming so hard I wondered if she even registered it as pain. Then again she was screaming.

  But she was screaming my name.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DON’T LOOK AWAY

  RICKI

  Oh, what the fucking hell, Ricki, what have you gone and gotten yourself into, I thought as I leaned into the hot water pouring down on me from the rain-shower head.

  I’d kicked Axel out. I felt a little bad about it because he was being so … nice … after shaving me, fingering me, and making me come three more times, that is. Nice. Maybe that wasn’t the right word: How about considerate instead. Cleaning me up, neatening up, helping me to the toilet because my legs were so shaky I wasn’t sure I could make it across the bathroom. And being so grounded and understanding and …

  Infuriating. How dare he? How dare he.

  I turned my face up into the water. But it wasn’t washing away the memories. If anything the hot water was only making me think of the way his fingers had poured down my breastbone, dappled over my stomach, and proceeded to …

  Argh. I slid a finger between my so-slick lips and got myself off as quickly as I could, scolding myself the entire time. You didn’t get enough yet? Can’t even count how many times you came already tonight!

  I turned up the heat on the water, wanting it to hurt, wanting to punish myself. He was right. Every woman had a right to as much pleasure as her partner was willing to dish out. Strong women deserved strong pleasure. But the world I lived in wasn’t about to recognize that—and Axel Hawke, sex god, did not understand that at all.

  That was why I had to kick him out. It was time to get it through my head that I’d had a wild fling with a rock star and now it was time to forget all about it. It’s over. You had your fun. Time to get back to work.

  And tonight’s party was definitely going to be work. The CTC board of directors would all be present. And I had that idea I wanted to float by Meyers. Maybe tonight was going to be the moment for that, if he made it here after the Blue Star party. Even if not, I needed to be on my best behavior. I needed to be strong.

  It was probably unfair for me to expect Axel to understand why I couldn’t just sleep with whoever I wanted. He could break all the rules and call it “image” and the execs at his record company probably loved it. A guy could never understand how quickly a woman’s image in this business could be shattered. I’d never get them to take me seriously if they knew. If you were going to show you could play with the big boys, you could never le
t them think of you as a girl. And especially not as a “slut.” Because that was the label they would slap on any woman who showed her sexual side at all.

  Publicity stunt. That’s all it was. Surely there would be some good-natured ribbing from my co-workers, and hopefully the CTC Board of Directors weren’t disgusted with the spectacle I’d made of myself or anything like that. I really needed to make a good impression on them.

  Hm. I reached for the shampoo. Was it better for me to claim it was all set up in advance and therefore no big deal—just a manufactured publicity effort, hardly worth fussing over, yawn. Or should I say it was a mistake—Axel grabbed the wrong woman—but I went along with it? The show must go on. That was an ethos that had been drilled into me early, and one that everyone in the entertainment business inherently respected.

  Yes, that’s how I would play it. Innocent bystander playing my part, like a rube pulled out of the audience at a hypnotist’s show. No one likes a spoilsport.

  I should check with Sakura before I say anything, I thought. And that’s if it comes up. Maybe it won’t.

  I couldn’t be so lucky.

  * * *

  I styled my hair into a sleek, upswept bun, gave myself minimal makeup, and got into my party dress. My grandfather had always said the best cosmetic was youth. There would be no one taking my photo without permission here, and I figured the less tarted up I looked the better. The dress was simply elegant, a dark vermilion drape from one shoulder that left the other bare and had matching suede ballet flats. This kind of dress was all about the neck, or the necklace, as the case may have been. I didn’t mess around. I put back on the most expensive diamond choker I owned, the one that had been my grandmother’s. There. That would stun them.

  I wanted to text Sakura, then remembered she probably had my phone. Instead I intercommed to security asking them to send her to my wing as soon as she arrived.

  The window of my bedroom overlooked the courtyard and I could hear the laughter of guests who had already arrived. I paced to the window to look and then stood there feeling sudden flames on my cheeks. Walking. I could not walk without feeling like Axel was … doing inappropriate things to me. No one warned me that when you’re shaved bare down there you feel everything sliding around! Every step I took felt as if I might as well have his hand down there.