Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) (20 page)

Tucker groaned and wrapped his hands through my hair. “God, Nik, the things you do to me.”

I couldn’t answer, but I loved the feel of him at my mercy. Since we’d met, so much had seemed out of my control, but here, I could control the shots, could bring him screaming to his knees. I could make him surrender. That was something I wanted to do, to show Tucker that I could give as good as I got.

I let one hand slide away and cup the curve of his ass, even as my tongue laved furiously over his rigid cock.

Tucker moaned again and pulled away. “Wait.”

Frowning, I sat back on my knees. “I don’t understand, baby, you can’t tell me that doesn’t feel good.”

“It’s mind blowing nirvana,” he corrected. “But I don’t want this to be just about me. I want it to be about us, Nikki,” he added, his voice a low drawl and it was everything I wanted, that eroticism calling to me at every level and causing my panties to be even wetter than before.

When I spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want you on that desk.”

I stood and hopped onto the closest desk. Tucker strode over to me like a jungle cat just let out of its cage, all determined grace and barely controlled power and passion. Bending over, he stroked his hand down and over the soaked lace of my midnight black panties.

“I’m not the only one who’s ready, huh, Nik?” he asked.

I nodded then shook my head. He laughed and slid the underwear off me.

He covered himself with a condom then he spread my legs wide and thrust into me, his large dick filling me as surely as it ever had, making me feel warmth and fulfillment in a way I never had before.

Tucker started to pump in earnest and the friction built between us. I moaned and mewled even as he leaned lower to suck at my nipples, to play and tease them with his tongue and the slight hint of his teeth grazing over me. The heat built through me like a forest fire that had erupted from the tiniest spark of flame. He thrust once more, and my orgasm hit, causing my body to spasm around him even as my shouts rang out through the dressing room.

Even as I continued to feel the flames lapping over me, to feel the weakness surge over my body and leave my legs and arms weak, even then Tucker kept up his frantic pace. Finally, with a groan, he came. Breathing hard, he collapsed against me and I caressed his hair and kissed him, so grateful to be in his arms.

Finally, he eased out of me but still kept me held tightly to his chest. “That was…”

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, still panting from the exertion. “I’m so glad you’re here, Tucker. I’m just sorry you’re about to be dating the worst shoe designer in Paris.”

His arms squeezed me tight before he gently turned my face towards his. His expression was both fierce and tender. “You’re not, and I’m going to prove it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have plans and reinforcements.”

That confused me. Sitting up, I stared back into those soft green eyes. “Huh?”

“You sent me several pairs of great shoes. You’re lucky that me and my friends basically have the same large shoe size. Now you have the world’s hottest band and awesome shoes that need to be modeled. So let Point Break do that for you.”

My heart was thumping hard at what he was saying. It was all about the surprise. If his band modeled for me, with the real designs I loved, even if they were men’s shoes…then it would get attention. I was still terrified Mother was right and the shoes were too pedestrian, but Tucker was willing to call out the reserves just for me.

“They’re here?”

“They wanted to meet you, and they’d all love to help. I also had Hermes give me Cristobal’s number, plus a few other contacts. He’s been working on getting a few of your newer shoe designs finished, and I figured if we threw in a couple of your older designs, too...”

My eyes bugged out. “Hermes gave you some of his contacts? He helped you? Why?”

“Because, as much as it galls me to say it, the guy really cares about you, Nikki. Thanks for shooting him down by the way.”

I laughed. “You’re welcome.”

“Anyway, I have more than one trick up my sleeve, Nik, and now we’re going to show the world who you really are.”

I snorted, all my self-hate bubbling up to the surface. “You mean the crazy brat? The unstable hack? I know who I am.”

“No, you’re a flawed, fucked-up, amazing woman. You’re
real
. You’re also a great designer,” he said, gesturing to the boots he still wore, the biker boots I’d made specifically for him in mind with just enough spikes and metal accents to add some danger to his look. “It’s time the world sees exactly what I see.”

“Then I’m all for it,” I said, hopping up and shoving my clothes on. “I can’t believe how lucky I am you all have massive feet.”

“Don’t let it give you the wrong idea. No matter what they say about guys and big feet, the other guys have nothing on me.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I just can’t believe you’re here and you’re going to do this for me.”

“I’m Tucker the Fucker Benning, baby. Believe it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Tucker

Liam was grinning back at me even as I adjusted his Armani suit. “Damn, Tucker, when you talk people into stuff, you really don’t go halfway, do you?”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell Nikki this but there was a girl I used to date way back when who is now a top assistant to Armani. I begged her for serious help, something awesome to go with all the hot boots and other stuff Nikki made. Hell, I figured the cross marketing and getting some huge name designer to be invested in the show wouldn’t hurt.”

“You need to start using those good marketing ideas for us, buddy.”

“No, now that we’re not going on a huge hiatus, we’re going to be fine. Besides, maybe I need a lot more motivation to be this genius.”

“Like with that half finished song you played for us? You have something good there, something that I think a certain redhead designer might have inspired you to finish.”

“That’s true,” I admitted but then I shrugged. “I know what words I want, almost, but I’m not sure I can figure out the melody that really matches.”

“Let me help you on that end. I think Abby and I can both help you get that soft sound you need to bring your ballad home, bro.”

I nodded and clapped my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, man,” I said before straightening out my own charcoal grey suit in the mirror.

The boots I have on look like those fancy riding boots you might see a horseback rider wear. They’re a high polished black leather, smooth as a baby’s ass, and highlighted with just two silver buttons (one on each heel). They run up to my knees but fit great under the legs of the suit. I know I look hot, but I’m nervous in a lot of other ways. I’m the guy who bangs on the drums. That’s always been my job. I’m at home in a club or the middle of a damn stadium, but I’m not some pin up guy for GQ. According to Wes, who’d done a few small modeling jobs in LA, the best approach was to not think about it at all. Maybe just walk more slowly than usual so people get a good look at the shoes they need to see. I tried to strut or practice like a model with the guys, and everyone--especially Wes--doubled over laughing. I think I looked like some weird whooping crane, stepping all weird and exaggerated.

But I didn’t care. I was doing this for Nikki.

I pulled out my phone and got it ready for a picture. “Hey, Liam, get in frame, and get ready to tweet this baby out.”

He sidled up next to me, his boots a bit more biker friendly with chrome accoutrements and managing to compliment his red silk shirt. We both grinned and posed for the selfie. It didn’t take long for me to get it up on Twitter and Instagram. Between just the two of us, we had thirty million Twitter followers and even more on Instagram.

Smirking to myself, I added a caption:

What am I about to do, bitches?
#ParisFashion #LorenzKicksAss

And then I posted everything up on Instagram. It wouldn’t take long for rumors to spread and for every available paparazzi member to be here. Good. Point Break was going to rock this town, even if it would be in a different way than we usually did. The more press, the better, because then everyone would see what I already had—that Nikki was a hell of a designer.

The first five or so models out on the runway were real models, guys and girls who were wearing the few extreme designs that Nikki actually still liked, as well as the newer designs her team had managed to finish. But soon the techno gave way to the blaring bass of one of our biggest hits, the first hint that Point Break was involved with the show.

It was now or never, and all I had to do was hope I didn’t trip. I could handle that much.

The crowd got on its feet the minute I stepped out onto the runway and the announcer said my name and Point Break. He then launched into a description of the borrowed Armani suit and the boots. I got down to the edge of the catwalk and took off my jacket, slinging it over my shoulder before gazing out to the crowd.

They were giving me a standing ovation.

I wanted to grin but I kept my fashion forward pout on my face instead.

For Nikki.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Nikki

I couldn’t believe everything I was reading. After my insane, high energy designs had been shat on all over town at the other shows they’d guest starred in, now every outlet I could find was raving about my back to basics approach. Sure, everywhere from
Vogue
to
GQ
had to mention first that it was the surprise of Paris and of the fashion community to have the world’s hottest band channel their inner model for the night. Still, once the sensational part was through, every single piece was praising all my designs, old and new, as well as the quality of the workmanship, the love for classic lines, and the inclusion of shoes that were bringing high fashion back to the average man.

I’d never been this praised before.

I’d been called “daring” or “bold” or had people expound on the merits of the riots of colors and geometric play involved in my wildest designs. But this was different. This wasn’t about the shock and awe of whatever my mind could come up with. No. This was about how I’d emerged as a real craftswoman, as someone with an eye for design and for fashion history. It was about my ability to take the old, add my own spin, and “bring sexy back.”

After the show I had a whirlwind of interviews. At first, Tucker and I were standing side by side for them, but then he’d regrouped with the band. Eventually, we’d been swept to different sides of the backstage area. I must have talked for three or four hours, and I only stopped when my voice was hoarse. To his credit, Hermes had been a good babysitter. He’d helped hand out cards and promised to coordinate further press inquiries with the proper outlets. Eventually, he’d arranged for me to slip back to my suite so I could get myself the biggest possible mug of tea I could hold while I perused the fashion blogs, Google, and twitter for mentions of my show.

My name was tenth on worldwide trends for a while, but it couldn’t compete with all the tweets about Tucker Benning and also Point Break. When my boy wanted to make a huge statement, then he definitely had a direct plan on how to make it work.

I was perusing one of those blogs, a smaller one that was full of snark called
You’re Really Wearing That?
But they also had a way to get the best pictures of any event they covered. This time was no exception. They’d gotten a candid of me and Tucker in mid-kiss and we looked so happy and cute together.

It was as if this time, things could really work.

Strong hands were massaging my back and shoulders and I grinned. “Tucker, that better be you.”

Soft lips caressed my neck. “Oh, you better believe it, Nik. I’m sorry I’m late. After the show, the guys wanted to coordinate the times for practice tomorrow.”

“That’s okay,” I croaked out, still aware that I was beyond hoarse currently. “I’ve been decompressing.”

“And possibly bathing in your own glory,” he added, sliding down beside me in bed. “But that’s a great pic. We should print it out.”

I grinned back at him and hoped I was selling my “come hither” look well. “We do look pretty damn cute together, you have to admit that,” I said.

“Yeah. I imagine we’d have cute babies.”

I gaped back at him, unsure I’d heard that part right. He couldn’t be serious.

It was still hard for me to believe Tucker wanted me at all, let alone to be the mother of his children. Plus, dating was one thing but to even be thinking of marriage and kids at this point? It was crazy.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

“No, you just mentioned babies, and I know you didn’t mean anything by it but…”

“Why didn’t I mean anything? I mean, not now. Maybe not anytime soon. But assuming we both continue to grow and become even more fantastic than we already are?”

I felt tears welling in my eyes again. “You really see that as a possibility?”

“More than a possibility. It’s my end game,” he said, taking my chin in his hands. “I want to do the whole nine yards: date for a long time, have fabulous and wild sex, get married and have more sex. Eventually I figure little rockers and fashion designers will come from that.”