Revenge #4 (9 page)

I come back down to earth, eager for more. I dig my fingertips into the muscles of his back and hang on.

After a bit, he holds me tight and rolls over so I’m on top. With some coaxing, I sit up and ride him at my own pace. The hunger rises up inside me. I drive myself down hard against him, until I’m coming again. This orgasm is so big, it swallows me whole.

When I’m finished, I fall against his chest. My arms are limply at my sides, and I’m not moving. He’s still thick and hard inside me.

After a moment, he starts moving underneath me, angling his hips to slide in and out.

The room is still dark, but I can make out the faint outline of his face. His teeth glint. He’s smiling.

“What are you grinning about?” I ask.

He rolls me onto my back and keeps rocking against me. He’s deeper now that he’s on top again. I wrap my legs around him, aching to feel him deeper still.

“Am I grinning?” he asks. His gritty voice wraps around me in the dark like a blanket.

“I can see your teeth,” I whisper.

“I guess it’s because I’m having the best day of my life.”

“A million dollars doesn’t hurt, does it?”

He snorts. “I’ll just throw it on the pile with my other millions. I told you, Jess, I’m happy because of you.”

His rhythm falters, and his body tenses. He grunts about not being able to hold back. I hang on tight as he buries himself in me.

His whole body is hard, all tense muscle. He cries out, a primal sound that seizes me.

When he’s done, he rolls onto his back. He pulls me in to rest my cheek on his outstretched arm.

“You killed me,” he says, his voice relaxed yet scratchy. “I think I died for a minute.”

“Was that dirty talk? About having millions? I don’t get it.”

He keeps chuckling. “Do you want to play Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” I say.

“Okay. Truth. Remember how I said I used to work for my family business, in construction?”

I remember the dinner he had at my house, with my roommates. He talked about his family being in construction. He wouldn’t go into the details, no matter how much Amanda tried to pry.

“I remember,” I answer.

“Well, the reason I was able to hide away in a cabin for a whole year is because we’ve done okay.” He chuckles some more.

“Stop laughing. This isn’t funny. I’ve been so stressed about you getting the contract with Morris. Are you telling me you didn’t even need it?”

“Of course I needed it, Jess. We all need a reason to keep living. We all need dreams, and not just the ones that come to you at night. We need our daytime dreams, those imagined futures to keep us looking forward instead of back.”

“So… it’s always been about the music? Not the money?”

He lifts his arm to bring me in for a kiss. “Music was my lifeline, until I met you. Now you’re my lifeline.”

The sweat on my skin is evaporating. I shiver as my skin contracts under his words.

After a moment, he says, “You’re sleeping over, right?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s have a shower and order more room service.”

I murmur in agreement. He says we should get up from the bed or risk falling asleep. I agree, and follow him into the elegant hotel suite’s bathroom.

We decide on a bath, in the big tub.

More room service arrives, and Dylan pours me more champagne while he cracks open a beer.

We sit in the bath together, talking about album titles.

I smile and have fun with him. We joke around about bad puns involving the word wolf.

I don’t say anything to him about the photos in my bag, or the questions on my mind.

If Dylan was already rich, why would he work with a sponsor? Is Q actually working for him, and not the other way around?

Is Q even a real person?

Dylan’s dark brown eyes dance with mischief. He blows sudsy bubbles at me across the tub.

I can’t ruin tonight by accusing him of lying to me.

But I do need to know a few more things. First thing in the morning, after I’ve sobered up, I’m going to ask.

Dylan snores.

It’s not a mighty rumble, but definitely a snore.

I wake up early Saturday morning and watch him sleep.

After a while, I stick my fingers in his nostrils to see what will happen. He swats my hand away and rolls onto his side. In this position, the snoring stops.

Good to know.

I curl up in front of him, my back to his body.

We’re spooning now. I really like spooning. I’ve never had a boyfriend, so this is all new to me. It’s a wonderful feeling, with his hot skin at my back.

He moans in his sleep and nuzzles the nape of my neck. His chin is scratchy. His leg moves, pushing between my legs. His knee strokes up and down my inner thigh.

We’re both naked. His whole body shifts again, and my back arches. My butt presses against his hard length. I feel even more naked, if that’s possible.

He starts kissing the back of my shoulder, while cupping my breasts with his hands. I sigh and curve back even more. He nuzzles my shoulder and neck. My body responds to his touch, as quickly as a match being struck.

He squeezes my breasts, slipping his fingers around my hard nipples. With a little pinch, he coaxes them harder. I’m relaxed and excited, tensing and releasing with every breath.

“Good morning,” he growls.

“Same to you,” I whisper.

He pulls his top hand away from my breast, strokes down my body and over my hip. He grasps me between my legs.

My breath catches in my throat. He finds my nub and strokes me with skilled fingers. Now he’s playing me, the pleasure like the vibration of notes. As he gently strokes me, he presses himself against my lower back with more urgency.

“Hold still,” he commands. He gets a condom and returns to the same position, spooning me. I can feel the squeaky friction of the condom against my lower back. He returns his hand to between my legs, and in a few seconds I’m in bliss again.

Just as I’m about to go over the edge and climax, he moves his body down. He presses the tip inside me. I’m so wet from him touching me that he slides in easily. He restrains himself to just the tip. Most of his length is still between my thighs. I’m surprised by how good this amount feels.

He loops his arm over my side and finds the place for his fingers from that direction. I moan and steady my hips, unsure of how to move. He whispers for me to relax and let him do everything. I lower my eyelids halfway and settle into a comfortable state. The soft pillowcase feels good under my cheek. The sheets are luxurious. The hotel room in the early morning light is gorgeous.

My body is suspended in a state of aching anticipation.

He keeps rocking into me, each precious thrust allowing him deeper.

I can feel the tension in his entire body rising. He’s impossibly hard inside me.

My breath catches as I start to peak. One more swirl of his fingers and one more plunge inside, and I explode.

I reach back with one hand. I grab his hip as I bear down on him. I gasp and moan over how amazing he is, my voice trailing off into giggles.

He murmurs something that sounds like a question. I’m not sure what he’s asking, but I say yes.

He pulls out of me, and I hear the elastic snap of the condom being removed.

I’m on my side, and he rolls me onto my stomach, face down. I listen carefully, unsure what’s happening next.

“You’re so beautiful,” he growls. “The curve of your hips, and your back, and that ass, oh that ass.”

One of his hands sweeps down the center of my spine, and then squeezes one cheek and then the other. He strokes his palm back up my spine again to play in the space between my shoulder blades.

His breathing gets ragged, and I feel something land on my back. Hot and wet. I bury my face against my pillow and hold still.

After a moment, he says, “So beautiful.”

He grabs some tissues and cleans my back.

I roll back over and look at his face for the first time since he woke up.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. I put my hand on his thigh and caress his skin. He has some dark hairs on his calves, but this part of his leg is almost smooth.

“That was really sexy,” I tell him. “Did you have your eyes closed, or were you looking at my body?”

“What do you think made me come so hard? I was looking at you, lying there like a fallen angel in rumpled sheets.”

I sit up and reach for his arm, running my fingertips lightly over the tattoos. I circle the face of the angel with my fingertip.

“Who’s this?” I ask.

He gazes steadily at me, his brown eyes as dark and deep as a mountain lake.

“She doesn’t have a name,” he says.

I feel my body relax at his answer. I’m so relieve he didn’t say the angel was Susan.

“So, she’s your guardian angel? She looks out for you?”

He grins. “Would you believe I just really liked the art? I met this kid who was hitchhiking. It was a few years ago. I gave him a lift on a rainy night, and he pulled a sheet of paper from his sketchpad and gave it to me as thanks.”

I look more closely at the tattoo. Some of the lines are faded, like it’s not as new as I first thought.

“This is original art?” I ask.

“And I didn’t even get his name. We were in my car together for hours and I didn’t get his name.” He chuckles.

“Once you’re a famous rock star, he’ll see your photos and find out about the tattoo.”

“I never thought of that.” He looks down at the tattoo and nods. “I’ll get him to sign his art, right here.”

“I want one.”

Dylan’s eyebrows rise. “No. Your body’s perfect just how it is.”

I move back on the bed, so my back’s against the upholstered headboard. I cross my arms and give Dylan a pouty look.

“Not just any old tattoo,” I say. “Something from the same artist. A nice tattoo, like a flower. Amanda has a nice one.”

Dylan scowls. He’s not playing around that he disapproves. He really doesn’t want me to get a tattoo.

“Amanda is not the most sophisticated girl,” he says.

“Oh. So Mr. Richie Rich is a snob? I didn’t know that about you. Now the truth comes out.”

He sighs and looks away from me. “Do what you want, but don’t start getting a bunch of tattoos to impress me. You’re a sweet, simple girl, and that’s all part of your charm.”

I give him a look of disbelief. “Simple?”

He reaches out and grabs me by the ankle. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Simple, not simple-minded.” He yanks my leg, pulling me toward him across the bed. “Mmm. Naked.”

“What the hell, Dylan? I’m simple?” My voice is high-pitched.

He licks his lips, his eyes roving up and down my body.

He growls, “Don’t pick a fight with me now. We’re spending the weekend together, just me and you. Save the drama for your girlfriends.”

My eyes are wide, and I’m speechless.

“What?” he says. “What now?”

“Drama? You’re the one who climbs in through windows and drives like a criminal on the run. We only met when
your
hired bodyguard mugged me. I got a black eye!”

His eyes twinkle, and the corner of his mouth edges up. “Your eye wasn’t that black. More like a little red and puffy.”

“Dylan Wolf, I don’t know whether to slap that smirk off your face, or kiss you.”

He lowers his eyelids part-ways and gives me a sly look. “Why don’t you do both, and then fuck some sense into me?”

He shifts his body, drawing my attention downward. My eyebrows raise in surprise when I reach his lap. He’s already recovered, and he’s bigger and harder than ever.

I jump forward, my hand raised like I’m about to slap him.

He doesn’t flinch.

I slow my hand, just tapping his cheek lightly.

His nostrils flare.

We glare at each other in a staring contest. I break first, and then we move in unison, grasping each other. Our lips mash together and our bodies collide.

For the next hour, we tangle the bedsheets in every position.

He tells me to say the word if he goes too far. I won’t say no, daring him instead to take me harder and faster.

We finish with him holding me against the wall, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

He might just be starting his career, but Dylan Wolf fucks like a rock star.

By late afternoon Saturday, I finally drag Dylan out of the hotel room.

He’s going to wear me out, or one of us is going to break something if we don’t take a breather.

We go for a walk in the area around the hotel.

We’re in a high-end part of LA, with fancy designer shops. I’m wearing the black dress from last night, and high heels.

Dylan forces me to “downgrade” my look. He drags me into a boutique and buys me designer jeans, a cool shirt with tattoo-style designs, and tennis shoes. I change into the new clothes at the store and tuck my rolled-up dress into a shopping bag.

As we walk around the city, I notice a few people glancing our way. They’re playing it cool, pretending not to be star-struck, but there’s this energy around Dylan that can’t be ignored.

Even I catch myself staring. From the way he parks his sunglasses on top of his head, to the way he points out clothes he wants me to try on, he has this rock star aura that infuses every gesture.

“What are you looking at?” he asks me across a rack of clothing.

“You look like someone famous.”

“Is it someone good?” He grins.

“It’s you.”

He chortles. “You are so weird.”

The girl working in the store comes up to us. Dylan tells her we’re just looking, but she shyly hands him a fat felt marker.

“Would you sign our wall?” she asks.

He takes the marker and looks over her shoulder. There’s a wall behind the cash register that’s covered in Polaroids and signatures.

“I’m not an actor,” he says. “I’m very flattered, but I can’t sign your wall, because you don’t even know my name.”

“Dylan Wolf,” she says.

The sight and sound of her saying his name sends a chill through me. Not a good chill.

It’s already starting.

He walks over to the wall, finds a bare spot, and starts writing. He writes the letter B, and stops.