Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (13 page)

“First Ember, then Lindsay, and then Jamie.”

“Oh. Right.” I’m still a little speechless, too consumed with thoughts of her perfect skin and wondering if my bite mark on her inner thigh is still there.

Christ, I want to touch her.

I’m calling on the voice of reason here, but all I’m getting is his bloody voicemail.

Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning forward, grabbing a pen from her desk, and sliding it underneath the hem of her skirt. It’s a bastard move, but I can’t help myself. My curiosity, my desperation to see her perfect skin again, is too fucking strong.

She gasps, but doesn’t say a word. Eyes locked on the trail the pen is making up her thigh.
Up, up, up
her skirt moves, baring that gorgeous skin.

My eyes widen when I find my initial guess was right. A garter belt holds up nude lace-top stockings. Sheer knickers finish the seductive display, covering her tight, toned arse. Her legs are brilliant in this get-up, paired beautifully with heels showcasing a tiny bow at the back.

“Fuck,” I groan, running the top of the pen from one inner thigh, slowly grazing across her pubic bone, to the other thigh. The pen hovers over the bite mark. Glorious splotches of yellow and purple are spattered across her skin.

And I can’t stop myself from asking, “Did he see this?”

She shakes her head, uncrossing her ankles and opening herself to me. The cool air urges goose bumps to form on her creamy skin. Brooke inhales a shaky breath, still watching, still standing before me and letting me torture the hell out of myself.

“Who are these for, love?” The pen slides across the silky material of her knickers.

I hate to think this is what she does for him, dresses like this for another man, for someone who isn’t me. A fierce surge of possessiveness invades my senses. I forget about everything else, solely motivated by this strong desire to remind her of why she’s with the wrong man. This need,
this intense fucking need
, clutches hold of my chest, strangling my breath. I want to show her why she’s wrong. Why she shouldn’t be engaged to someone else. Why we’re right. Why we’re fucking perfect together.

She doesn’t answer, and it makes me crazy. I grab her hips, pulling her between my spread thighs and pushing her skirt up past her waist. The pen hits the floor. My hand slides her knickers to the side, baring her pussy to my ravenous gaze. “God, you’re beautiful. Why are you so fucking beautiful? It’s killing me, Brooke. You’re literally killing me. Every day, I have to see you, but I can’t touch you. Can’t feel you. Can’t make you come.” My fingers slide through her arousal, eyes watching in rapt attention, ears honing in on the ragged moan that releases from her lips. “Do you want this, Brooke?” I ask, looking up at her.

Her teeth snag at her bottom lip.

“Tell me, sweet Brooke. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“T-touch me. Please, touch me.”

Yes. Fuck yes.
“Like this?” My thumb brushes her clit. Her hips thrust towards me in response.

“More. I need more,” she demands, golden gaze lighting on fire. I rub her clit, massaging the tight bud in tiny circles. Her head falls back, hands going in to my hair. “Fuck,” she moans.

I grin, loving the fact that I’m doing this to her, can always do this to her. Two fingers slip inside, savoring the feel—wet, warm, and clenching against my hand. My cock twitches in response, straining against the zipper of my jeans.

She whimpers, my name a mumble from her lips.

Desperate to hear her beg again, I still my fingers, pressing against her clit to heighten her need.

Her slender hand wraps around my wrist, urging me to continue. “No.
Please, no.
Keep going. Don’t stop, Dylan. God, don’t fucking stop.”

I lean forward, savoring the scent of her, damn near mad to press my mouth against her and make her come against my tongue. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

She lifts her hips—up and down, up and down—riding my fingers in a blatant, “I need to come right now” kind of way.

“Is that what you want? You want to ride my hand?”

She groans when I slide my hand away, placing it palm up on my thigh. Her golden gaze is liquid honey. “How many fingers, love?”

Brooke starts to step away from me, but I grip the waistband of her skirt, yanking her back. Her nipples strain against silk, visible through her shirt and bra. “I’m only asking you one more time, how many fingers do you need?”

“Three.” She shuts her eyes, body trembling in pure wantonness.

“Why three, Little Wing?”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “I need it to feel as thick as your cock.”

Well, fuck.
My cock damn near punches its way out of my jeans. I hold three fingers up, pulling her over my thigh. “Fuck my hand, Brooke. Fuck my hand while you think about how nothing will ever be as good as my cock.”

She slides down onto me, slowly taking all three fingers inside. Her hands grip my shoulders as her hips lower and rise. Her arousal soaks my hand, dripping down my fingers, letting me know just how badly she wants this,
needs
this.

“Unbutton your blouse. Play with your tits while you ride my hand.”

Her fingers tremble, fumbling with her shirt. Within seconds, the flushed skin of her chest is bared. Her breasts bounce softly as she continues to move against me. She tweaks her nipples, plucking them until their straining against her own hands.

My tongue licks across the top swell of her breasts. She smells so fucking good—a hint of floral mixed with the enticing aroma of her need. Christ, it’s a perfect mixture. I’m damn near high from it.

“Yes. God, yes,” Brooke whimpers.

“I’m going to make you come so hard. And the only name you’ll be able to think, much less say, will be mine,” I growl against her skin. My mouth latches onto her nipple, sucking it deeply into my mouth.

Circling her hips, she grinds against my fingers, both thighs locking around mine. I’m coming undone just by witnessing her take what she wants. She
wrecks
me. Fucking destroys me.

Brooke gasps as I curl my fingers. Her body arches, highlighting the slenderness of her neck and thrumming of her pulse. I grip her tight arse, guiding her hips as she rides towards her orgasm.

“Oh God, I’m so close.”

My hand wraps around her nape, pulling her neck towards my lips. I latch onto the pulse at her neck, licking and sucking and
inhaling
her heartbeat. She tenses around me, fingers digging into the skin of my shoulders, damn near scratching holes into my shirt. No doubt, she’s leaving her mark on me again. A bite mark, a scratch mark, the gaping hole in my chest—she’s always leaving a reminder.

Brooke cries out, my name a mantra on her lips, as she comes against my hand. I watch her skin flush cherry, her lips parting as each orgasmic wave consumes her. She’s shaking and trembling and quaking against me.

I grip her breast with my free hand, pulling her pert nipple into my mouth, prolonging the intensity of her climax. Her eyes are glazed over, every never ending drowning in euphoria. And despite my better judgment, I suck a bruise into her skin, mere inches above her straining nipple.
Let him see my mark. Let him know that you’re mine.

Mindless and sated, she sighs against my body, relaxing against me.

As her pants morph into quiet breaths, realization clouds her eyes. I witness the very second the guilt of what we just did filters into her mind. She disentangles her body from mine. Fingers fumble with the material of her skirt, covering herself back up.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers, tears fogging her vision.

My eyes stare at the palm still resting against my thigh. The pain of her immediate denial is a hot branding iron to my heart. Bloody hell, her come is still warm on my fingers, and she’s already spouting off her regret. Does she even realize how ridiculous she sounds? Mere minutes ago she was begging me, fucking pleading me to get her off. And now, she’s standing in front of her office windows again, palms gripping the windowsill and shoulders hunched over in shame.

Screw. This.

I push to my feet. The leather chair wobbles behind me, nearly falling on its side. “Yeah, I’m not going to hang around here while you berate yourself for what just happened. I refuse to be a participant in this insanity. I refuse to watch you convince yourself that what just happened was wrong. Because, Brooke, it’s the furthest thing from it.”

Her back goes ramrod straight, but she doesn’t turn around.

I head for the door, gripping the knob. “You’re such a fucking coward.”

That grabs her attention. She whirls around, fists clenched at her side. “What is that supposed to mean?”

A harsh laugh escapes my lungs. “You know exactly what it means. Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“Please,
spell it out for me
, Dylan. Because obviously, I’m missing your point.”

“You and I both know that what happened a few minutes ago, what happened outside Bar Marmont, didn’t happen because you’re just fucking around on your fiancé. This,” I snap, motioning between us with my hand. “This keeps happening because you want me. You want me so badly that you can’t see straight, love. You want me just as much as
I
want
you
. It’s just a bloody shame that you can’t get your head out of your arse and realize that you made the wrong choice.
He is the wrong choice
. What we have isn’t going to just disappear because you said yes to the wrong man. This won’t go away. As long as you and I are both alive, this undeniable pull, this intense force will continue to stream through our veins, beat within our hearts,
it will always be there.”

Her jaw drops, lips unmoving with a response.

The four walls of her office are closing in on me. My chest grows tight, lungs struggling to inhale and exhale at a normal rhythm. I need to get out of here. I can’t stand here, in this room,
alone
with her
, for another minute, without losing my goddamn mind. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought. Have a brilliant fucking day, Brooke.” And with that, I whip open the door and storm away from her.

My breathing is harsh and uncoordinated as I make my way to bathroom. Cold, bitter eyes reflect in the mirror while I scrub at my hands beneath the sink. The last thing I need right now is to be able to smell her desire on my fingers for the rest of the day. I don’t leave the bathroom until my skin is raw and red.

And it doesn’t dawn on me until I’m driving back to the house—Brooke and I never discussed the sole reason for my visit to her office. We still have to work together on writing music for the lyrics of a song I’ve been calling Blur—a song inspired by
her.

And honestly, after what just happened in her office, spending time alone with Brooke is the last thing I want to be doing.

Brooke

“Are you okay?” Jamie whispers, placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me through the restaurant doors. A few cameras flash as we’re ushered into the building. Nobu is an infamous celebrity hotspot in LA. If you want to be seen, just go to Nobu—you’re bound to get photographed by the paps. Thankfully, I’ve always flown under the radar, mostly known for being Jamie Wallace’s significant other, and half of the producing team that helped The Distorted hit platinum with their debut album.

Yeah, until this reality show makes it debut…

I push that pesky thought aside. My brain is already on overdrive as it is.

“Yeah, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” I say, following Jamie towards Alistair’s table. Understatement of the century. My head is still wrapped up in what happened in my office. It was only a few hours ago, and still, I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop thinking about how wrong that was, but how right it felt. In the moment, I couldn’t think rationally. All I wanted was him. I wanted him touching me, caressing me, making me come against his hand. I just wanted to feel…
him
.

“Brooke, Jamie, so glad you could make it,” Alistair greets, standing up from the table. A man I’ve never met before sits beside him, sliding out of his chair and to his feet. “You look radiant, darling,” he compliments, kissing my cheek. “I’d like you both to meet, Ari Richards. He’s the producer onboard for the show.”

Onboard for the show? He’s convinced this is a done deal. My stomach turns in discomfort. The band hasn’t even had a chance to voice their approval,
or disapproval
, and he is rolling the red carpet out for this producer. And unfortunately for Careless Cockups, when Alistair wants something, he always ends up getting it. Mostly, because he’ll do pretty much anything to ensure he gets his way. There aren’t many people in this world who can tell him no. And when they do, like Trio for instance, he makes it his life’s goal to get them to eat their words.

I’m worried that if the guys don’t want to do this show, Alistair will force them into it. He’ll find a way to ensure they’re locked into a contract.

Jamie’s jaw clenches, but he slides his frustration down, shaking Ari’s hand and introducing himself. This was supposed to be a dinner with just the three of us, but of course, Alistair’s intentions are always business focused.