Consumed (8 page)

I work my lips together. Tori’s taking this pretty well, considering the deep-rooted disdain she’s showed for Lucas for the last several months. Hell, she freaked out at her boyfriend, Micah, for playing Your Toxic Sequel’s music at a party we hosted. 

“I love you, you know that right?” I ask. 

She laughs and then mutters something about mascara and raccoon eyes. “I support everything you do, woman. I’d be a petty bitch if I got angry about you dating someone.”

“Then thanks for not being a petty bitch,” I say, causing Tori to snort.

The mood of the conversation suddenly more relaxed, the rest of our call goes smoothly. For the next forty-five minutes, I talk to Tori as she drives to work about everything but Lucas Wolfe. After we hang up, I take my belongings back to gate 19, and an hour later, I board my flight to Los Angeles.  

Back to Lucas, the expected, and the completely unexpected.

When I arrive at LAX and turn on my phone, a message from my brother pops up on my screen. Seth promises to stop by the Nashville airport to check on my car and to send my shoes. 

There’s also one text from Lucas.

11:48AM:
Your driver will be there when you get off at one. Then you’re mine.

I can almost hear Lucas growling the last part of his message right into my ear, and the tiny hairs on my arms and the nape of my neck stand on end. Ignoring the flutters in my stomach that skim the line of pain and pleasure, I answer him, focusing on what’s important at the moment as I make my way toward the baggage claim.

12:15PM:
I think you gave the driver the wrong time. I’m here already. 

His response is immediate.

12:16PM
: Shit, are you serious, Red? Sit tight. 

“Nice move, Wolfe,” I mutter under my breath. Tapping my foot rapidly against the floor, I wait for my suitcase to come around on the carousel. Once I locate it, I lug everything to a row of chairs nearby. It’s too hot for me to wait outside for some driver to arrive.

No sooner than my butt makes contact with the hard seat do I hear snippets of a conversation between two women who are walking in the direction of the taxi exit.

“ . . . I have all of their CDs. I could spot him from a mile away. It was definitely him, and you—
you
are stifling me!” 

What the hell?

I twist around in time to witness the shorter woman with the black, asymmetrical bob narrow her chocolate brown eyes at the tall, leggy blonde. “And just last night you just said they’re on tour. So which is it, Kate? He’s is on tour, or he’s bullshitting around this place?”

“Or maybe,” Kate hisses, “Lucas is catching a flight because of his tour.”

Lucas is already here?

I clamber to my feet, allowing the argument between Kate and her friend fade into the background as I scan as far as my eyes can see for Lucas. There are couples reuniting all around me, and what appears to be an entire busload of people holding up signs that say “Welcome Home, Gloria,” but no sign of him. I’m about to grab my stuff and go look, but then I see him. Heading directly toward me. His stride a little faster than it normally is, his soft grin entirely too confident, his hazel eyes cocky and yet full of need.

God, that man and those eyes. 

He’s wearing destroyed jeans and an olive green T-shirt that show off the green flecks in his eyes. His muscular arms hang relaxed by his side, but when he comes close enough for me to breathe in the clean, airy scent of his cologne, I notice that he’s worrying something between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. I squint down at it as the toes of his Converse brush up against my ballet flats.

“Well fuck, Sienna. Looks like you’re more interested in my hands than my face.” But he opens his palm, holding it six inches from my face. My throat constricts when I realize what he’s holding.

It’s a guitar pick.

Holy hell.

“You’re grinding your teeth.” The volume of his voice is barely above a whisper and yet so powerful. “The things I want to do to you for that.”

Dragging my gaze up to meet his amused expression, I cross my arms over my breasts and rock back on the balls of my feet. “I almost feel you’re holding that just so I’ll do it.” He gives me a noncommittal shrug, and I run my tongue over my teeth. “I thought you said a driver was—”

He interrupts me mid-sentence by jerking me to him. I gasp, and no surprise, he smirks. “Did you really think I’d send a driver to get you? Did you really think I’d forget the exact moment you were due to arrive, Sienna?” He moves the tip of his guitar pick along my back, tracing the outline of the lacy bra through my shirt. “I’ll deal with any type of airport bullshit just to get to you first.”

“Suck up,” I say, glaring up at him. He slides the guitar pick across my shoulder blades, a look of sheer satisfaction taking over his face when my body curves against the contours of his. “But, I’m glad you did, I wanted to strangle you when you sent that text.” 

He responds by dipping the pick dangerously low, tracing it along the deep-V of my white and yellow peplum blouse. “Did you just squeal?”

He would try to screw with my head, with my body, right in the middle of the freaking LAX. “If you’re going to kiss me, you should probably do it now before you draw a crowd,” I say.

“Oh, I’m not going to kiss you.” He backs away from me, and when he notices the look of disappointment, and surprise, on my face, he brushes his thumb over my slightly parted lips. “When I kiss you, I’m going to be the only thing on your mind. Not what’s running through the mind of everyone walking past us, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Smart ass.” Grinning, he stuffs the guitar pick into the back pocket of his jeans and examines my luggage. “You packed light.” He grabs the handles of my bag and carry-on in either of his large hands. “I expected there to be at least one more of these.” He jiggles the larger bag, and I laugh. 

“I left a bag of shoes at Gram’s. Don’t worry, it’s carry-on size.” Though judging from what he just told me, he doesn’t really care how many bags I bring along for this ride. He gestures his head to the left of us, and I fall in step beside of him toward short-term parking. I resist the urge to brush hair away from his face. “My brother’s going to send them as soon as I know where we’ll be stopping for our first . . . off-night.”

Lucas gives me a sideways glance. “Off-night?”

“Not a rocker,” I remind him.

I hold one of the double glass doors open for him. Unexpectedly, he stops for a moment to bend his head to mine. He keeps his word by not kissing me, but murmurs against my lips, “Go ahead and give him my address. If he gets it out today, you’ll have them before we take off Saturday morning. Or I’ll just buy you new ones.” When I press my lips together and shake my head, he laughs and adds, “And I’m glad you’re not a rocker. Trust me, I like you better doing clothes.”

No, you like me better without clothes
, I think, but I don’t say that as I follow him out to the parking lot to a black Jeep. It’s one of the enormous Wranglers with all the options, including incredibly high suspension. Even though I’m freakishly tall, it takes some effort getting in. He comes around before I close the passenger door.

“So about that kiss?” For once, I could care less where my voice has gone. 

“Patience is a beautiful thing,” says the man with absolutely none to speak of. He pulls my fingers to his mouth, pressing them flat against his full lips, kissing the pads of my fingers. Each tiny movement of his mouth is delicate, sensual, and need flames through my body. “Let’s go home.”

He keeps his eyes glued to the road as he speeds down streets that I’ve driven many times myself, and others—the wealthier parts of the city—that I’ve rarely been in. When we pass a luxury condo community that I vividly remember seeing the only other time he brought me to his place, I release a little sigh.

This gets his attention. He turns his head slightly toward me, his eyebrow raised. 

“What ever happened to the Maserati?” I ask.

“What?”

“The blue car you picked me up in that one time in? That’s what it was, right?”

He refocuses his gaze on the road, and I slide closer to him to see that he’s wearing the tiniest smile. “I remember it, just surprised that you do. Sold it a year and a half ago. It . . . wasn’t for me.” He turns left onto a street that’s a half a mile from his gated community. “Anything else?”

“Tori,” I say hesitantly. “My friend Tori still lives here, and I want to go see her tonight or tomorrow since we’ll be on the road so early Saturday morning.”

Sighing, he slows the Jeep down at the security gate but doesn’t rush to roll down his window. He pulls off his sunglasses, tosses them on the dash, and turns to me, his hazel eyes direct. “I don’t want you to misunderstand what this is.”

“Then please, fill me in.” Steel and absolute uncertainty laces my voice.

“You’re mine. You’re with me now, but you don’t need to get confirmation to see your friends. Invite her to the damn show and the after party if that’s what you want.” A self-assured grin tilts the corners of his lips, sending a sharp pang through my chest. Dear god, why does he have to look at me like that? “I want to possess you, not treat you like a child.”

We’re both silent as he lets down the window to punch in the gate code and drives through the neighborhood to his house. The only thing he says to me after parking is that we’ll come out and get my luggage later. When we step inside, he locks the door and then turns to me.

“Do you remember where the bedroom is?”

I glance at the top of the stairs before returning my gaze to him. “Is it possible to forget?”

“You’re blushing, Red,” he points out. “Which is why I’m not going to take you up there. Not yet.” 

Without warning, he reaches between our bodies and cups my sex through my skinny jeans. I release a hoarse gasp and grab hold of his upper arms. As he shimmies my tight jeans down my hips, he drags his fingertips down my skin, the sensation causing my legs to tingle. My knees buckle.

“Lucas, I’m going to—.” But he stops my words with his mouth, pressing his lips against mine roughly, offering me that kiss he’d promised in the airport, taking my breath away. He tastes sweet—like spearmint—as his tongue darts in and out of my mouth teasingly. This is a dangerous game. I know that it’s impossible for me to win, but honestly, when it comes to Lucas, I don’t want to. 

When he pulls me away from him, leaving my world spinning violently, he nods his head down to the floor. “Right here, Sienna. Right now.”

On the stair landing
, I add silently. With the mid-afternoon light straining through the shutters in the foyer, and my luggage still waiting out in the back of his Jeep—this is the night we reconnected all over again. Aloud, I say in a shaky voice, “What happened to that ‘patience is good’ mantra?”

“Fuck patience—I’ll just have to try it again later. I just need you.” His fingers continue to nudge my jeans down my legs. “I’ve thought about nothing but you and this since you sent me that picture. You’ve worked your way into my goddamn head, into my soul and everything else.” He draws away from me for a moment to finish pushing my pants down around my ankles.

“Into your head, huh?” 

Confirming my question with a slow nod, he kisses my left kneecap, and then the other before standing back up. “I’ve pictured every way I can enjoy your body, and believe me, there will be many. Don’t think that being on that tour bus will stop any of those.” The way he says this—in that growl he uses whenever he sings—sends electricity prickling through every vein of my body. 

“Your poor band mates,” I tease breathlessly.

“I want you right here, Sienna—on top of me, bent over, beneath me. I want you in my bed and in my kitchen and in the fucking bathroom, but first, I want you here.”

I step out of my jeans, kicking off my shoes in the process. “You’re right.” I’m not ashamed to admit that I want this, too. “Screw the bedroom.”

Keeping our bodies pressed together, he spins us around until his back is facing the steps. I follow him as he undresses quickly—each step slow, each breath I take heavier with anticipation—until he stops right in front of the stairs. His expression is something that’s soft—that hurts my chest—as he eases down on the second step from the bottom.

“Get over here.” He tugs me to him using the first thing his hand makes contact with—my panties. As I slide down in front of him, he cups my face between his hands. “I want you to use your mouth,” he says. 

“You get right to the point.”

“Always.” 

He wraps my fingers around his cock, squeezing and moving my closed hand up and down his shaft until he’s rock hard. When I bow my head to circle the tip of my tongue slowly around his crown, my hair goes everywhere—against the sides of my face, in his lap, on either side of his thighs. He strokes the nape of my neck, his touch encouraging, so I lick him once more. And again, when he mutters a sharp curse.

“Don’t tease.” His voice is 75 percent commanding, the other 25 percent pleading. 

I wrap my lips around his erection, keeping my gaze focused on his hazel eyes as I move my mouth and fingers from the head of his cock to the base, taking him completely into my mouth.