A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel (14 page)

“Jesus, you feel so amazing, short stack.”

“I should make you work harder for this,” she gasps as I start to move us away from the wall.

“Fuck that. We would have done it last night if we hadn’t been worried about getting you fired. You want this as much as I do.”

She presses her tits against my chest as she attacks my lips, sucking, nipping, devouring, before she finally pulls back to say, “I do. I can’t lie. I really want you to fuck me.” Her breath pours from her in gasps.

I smile under her lips. “Atta’ girl. No sense in pretending we’re not combustible. Now all we need to do is pick—wall, living room sofa, or bed?”

“Shower,” she directs. “It’s been a long fifteen hours since my last one. I really need hot water.”

“Your wish is my command,” I tell her. “Let’s see if I can find it in the dark.”

B
laze stumbles
into the bathroom with me still attached to him like a two year old. “God, baby,” he says as he sets me down and turns on a light over the mirror. He leaves the bigger overhead fixture off, and the room is bathed in a soft light, making the abundance of marble seem warmer than it really is.

He reaches over and twists on the shower spigot, adjusting it to get the right temperature. Then he turns to me, running the backs of his fingers down my cheek and leaving a trail of heat as he does.

“I dreamed about you last night,” he whispers.

I watch his face, the play of light across his cheekbones, and the way his blue eyes dilate when he looks down at my breasts.

“Was it good?” I ask, slowly unsnapping the plaid flannel shirt I’m wearing.

He reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off, never taking his eyes off of me. When all that smooth skin is bared, those pecs and abs on display, I swallow and my throat feels as dry as a bucket of sand.

He puts his hands over mine and pulls them away before he resumes unsnapping my shirt himself. “It was better than good,” he tells me. “It—
you
—were spectacular. I woke up so hard I thought I might not be able to get out of bed. I was afraid the guys would have to call an ambulance to drive me to the ER. I’d be like one of those dudes who takes too many of the little blue pills. Perma-hard.”

I giggle, my voice soft and husky in the steamy air around us.

“How did you solve the problem?” I ask. His hands smooth over my shoulders, pushing the shirt off my arms before it drops to the floor in a soft puddle.

“You really want to know?” His voice is growing rougher by the minute, and the ache between my legs is strong and hot.

“Tell me,” I whisper. “I want to hear it all.”

His hands make quick work of the button and zipper of my jeans, then my bra and panties. Before I know it I’m standing naked in front of him as his own jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them. I notice that he’s gone commando and it makes me even crazier.

“I had to take matters into my own hand,” he says, an evil smile passing over his lips. “Like this.” He reaches down and my eyes follow his movement. I look as his hand goes to his cock, his big, smooth, hard as nails cock. My eyes grow heavy and I suddenly have the urge to rub against him. Any part of me against any part of him would be helpful. And the sooner the better.

He wraps his huge hand around his shaft and gives it a tug, groaning as he does.

“I had to grab it hard,” he recounts. “I pretended it was your hand around me, and I stroked up and down.” He demonstrates and I can’t help the small gasp of arousal that comes from my chest.

“I imagined you were touching me and I was touching you with my fingers, and my tongue.” His hand moves up and down faster. “I thought about the way you would smell when I put my face in your pussy, and how I’d suck your clit into my mouth and pump my fingers in and out until you were begging me to let you come. Then at the last possible minute I’d drive into you so hard we’d rock the bed against the wall and chip the plasterboard.”

His hand is moving faster and harder around his cock, and his hips are shifting in rhythm with the motion. My nipples are burning they need to be touched so badly. I pinch one between my finger and thumb while my other hand goes to my clit. I’m soaked, and I run my finger up and down my slit, everything slippery and hot.

“Blaze,” I gasp. “Please touch me.” It’s like I’ve set off a bomb. He growls and reaches down to his pants where he pulls out a condom. He rolls it on while he spins me to face the wall. Then he’s behind me, rubbing his whole big body against my back. He’s hot, his muscles hard and supple at the same time. One of his hands steals around between me and the wall and he squeezes my breast, putting just the right amount of pressure, enough to ease the ache, but not so much it hurts. It’s a talent I’ve never known another man to have.

I feel his cock slide along between my legs and I moan at how good it feels.

“I want to be inside of you, Tully. You make me crazy,” he whispers in my ear before kissing down my neck.

“Yes,” I choke out, leaning my head back against his shoulder. “Do that.”

He shifts, bending his knees to line us up. Then he’s at my entrance and slowly sliding inside of me. I go up on my tiptoes, clinging to the wall as he starts to pump in and out. He keeps a hand on my hip steadying me as he kisses along my shoulders, my neck, ears, my jawline. I’m crying out now with every thrust. He’s got me pinned to the point I can hardly move, and he’s everywhere, surrounding me, in me, on me, behind me, above me.

“Oh God, oh God,” I repeat as he fills me over and over, his big balls swinging against my ass. I want to touch him, but I can’t reach anything but his thighs, so I dig my fingers into the hard slabs of muscles there that bunch each time he bends and straightens to pump in and out of me.

My nipples are rubbing against the wall I’m facing, and I’m so close, chasing the release that I can’t quite reach. “Blaze, I need to—” I gasp, then he reaches down and presses his middle finger on my clit as he drives into me and freezes. I come so hard every muscle in my body tenses then electrifies as the waves roll through me. At the same time I hear Blaze yell, “Fuck!” as he shudders against my back, his breath hot and heavy in my ear.

As the orgasm weakens and the aftershocks fade, I’m grateful to be pinned between him and the wall because my legs are so weak I don’t think I can hold myself up. I feel his lips against my neck, and his hands stroke up and down my arms, light, surprisingly delicate for such a big, aggressive guy.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice filled with tenderness. I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. I’ve never cried after sex, although I know some women do. I don’t understand it, but I’m so paralyzed I need to breathe through it for a moment before I can answer.

“Yeah,” my voice cracks and I have to clear my throat. “But I’m not sure I can stand on my own.” I laugh weakly, my throat still thick around some sort of emotion I’m not familiar with.

He gently pulls out of me and I hear him open the trashcan that sits on the floor behind us. Then he’s back, turning me to face him. His eyes are soft, and he looks at me intensely, examining my face for a long moment. He brushes the hair out of my eyes and tenderly kisses the corners of my mouth. Then he lifts me as if I were nothing more than a feather pillow and steps into the shower with me. “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can examine you closer—make sure you’re really okay,” he says, that naughty grin back in place as he fondles me in the hot water.

“Are you a medical professional?” I ask, all wide-eyed innocence. He smirks at my act.

“I’m doing an internship,” he tells me, “in Tully. I plan to find out every single thing I can about her.”

And he’s off to an excellent start.

* * *

T
he next few
days are nothing short of euphoric. We play Los Angeles, then we get three days off, and Blaze asks me to go to his house outside of Malibu for the hiatus. The only thing that mars it all are the lies I have to tell my band.

“I’m going to stay with a friend here in L.A.,” I say to Joss as we’re all discussing what our schedule is for the next week.

“Okay, I’ll get a security detail to go with you. For that short a time they probably only need to do a couple of shift changes each day, it’ll be pretty easy.”

My heart races. I hadn’t even thought about that. Joss is constantly making me take security guys with me. But they work for him, so there’s no way to ensure that they won’t tell him I was with Blaze.

“You really don’t need to do that…”

“Hey, it’s the rules, T-squared,” Colin chimes in. “Trust us, you don’t need ‘em until you need ‘em, and then you’ll be really glad you have those guys. Plus, unless you’re a black belt and haven’t told us, we feel doubly obligated to make sure you’re safe. I know you’re tough, but there are a lot of creeps out there, and they particularly like to target women.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. My gut churns even more at my deceit. Why do they have to be such good guys? Guys who I like and respect? If they were like my brothers I’d have no problem lying to them—in fact, I’d consider it karma, but to Lush? I feel like a traitor of the worst kind.

“My friend—she’s wealthy—in movies, you know? She’s got all kinds of security at her place, and we’re just going to hang at the beach out her back door, not really go anywhere. Really. She’ll be offended if I bring my own security detail. She’ll think I don’t trust her setup.”

“So is this someone we’d know?” Mike asks with a gleam in his eye. “Maybe Megan Fox or Scarlett Johansson?”

If I weren’t so wracked with guilt I’d give him a ration of shit for it. As it is, I just want this horrible moment to be over. “No, perv, she’s a...casting director, not an actress.”

“So why does she need security?” Joss asks, looking confused.

My poor mind scrambles. “All the crazy wannabes trying to get cast in movies. They stalk her. It’s insane.” Please believe me. Please believe me.

Colin and Mike nod their heads as if my stupid, horrible lies make perfect sense. Joss looks like he might argue with me a little more, but then sighs and gives in.

“Okay, if you promise you’ll be safe, but if you need anything, just call the team manager. I’ll tell him to send someone out if you decide you need it.”

I spend the next hour stuffing my guilt somewhere it won’t strangle me, and packing up my things for the beach. I kept as much of the truth as I could. Blaze is rich, I will be safe, and we are spending the next three days on the beach outside his house. By the time the Town Car with the supertinted windows pulls into the back parking lot of the hotel to pick me up I’ve managed to put aside the discomfort and focus on the time ahead with this guy who’s got me twisted up like a pretzel—in more ways than one.

* * *

W
hen we arrive
at Blaze’s house I have to admit that I’m surprised. It’s not a big glass and steel thing dangling over the edge of a cliff above the Pacific. I don’t know why, but I assumed he would have the ultra contemporary, architectural masterpiece that backed onto the water, all stark lines and hard surfaces. Instead, he takes me to a relatively modest beachfront cottage. It has gray shingle-siding, lots of white wood trim, and a huge wrap-around deck that faces the water. French glass doors run along the entire back, and the master bedroom has a balcony that overlooks the ocean as well.

It’s been updated, the floors a beautiful golden oak, the kitchen filled with high-end appliances, but it only has three bedrooms and a small room for Blaze’s guitars. It’s more like a family’s vacation home than a rock star’s beachside mansion.

“What made you decide to buy this place?” I ask as we lie in his king-sized bed our first night there.

“Mm,” he murmurs, his eyes closed as he strokes my breast. He’s behind me, we’re spooning, and I sort of can’t believe that he’s spent the whole day giving me unbelievable sex, feeding me sumptuous food, taking naps in the sunshine with me. He’s a little too perfect frankly. Shoe? Drop.

“Do you mean why this location? Or why this particular house?” he asks, nuzzling the back of my neck and giving me shivers.

“The location I get—who wouldn’t want to live here. But I admit the house doesn’t fit with my ideas about you.”

He chuckles. “That’s because you only know California Blaze the rock guitarist. Before him was Philadelphia Blaze the football player. When I was growing up my parents had a place in Loveladies on Long Beach Island that looked a lot like this. I’m used to old-fashioned beach cottages like this. Those glass things everyone out here loves so much are too cold for me.”

I roll so I can see him. His stubble has grown into an actual beard so his face is prickly-soft when I place my palm against it. “Do you miss them?” I ask.

“My parents?” He swallows, and somehow I know he’s lying. “No.”

“Not even a little?” My voice is quiet in the dark of the room, the waves making a soft rushing sound outside the door open to the balcony.