Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (68 page)

“Fuck—fuck, Johan…”
her fingernails bit into the skin of his back as she struggled to hold back, to
savor the tingling, hot and cold flashes of sensation that crackled through every
nerve in her body.

“Give into it,
Chelsea,” Johan told her, his voice ragged and hoarse. She shook her head,
trying to reject the command, but as his hand slipped down between their
bodies, his fingers finding her clit unerringly, she cried out, throwing her
head back against the pillows. Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her,
so intense it might have been pain, and Chelsea twisted and arched and writhed,
pushing her hips down to meet Johan’s, as sensation washed through her,
obliterating any ability to think. She was barely aware of the sound of Johan’s
voice as he groaned, foreign words filling her ears meaninglessly; she felt his
cock twitching inside of her and then felt the hot, sticky-slick gush of his
orgasm flooding deep inside of her. Chelsea had not even finished her climax as
darkness rose up, wrapping around her in a warm, buzzing coil.

****

“Chelsea…” She came
back to herself at the sound of Johan’s slightly wheedling voice, opening her
eyes to blink a few times in confusion. “There you are.” Turning her head
slightly, she caught the sight of Johan, propped up on his elbows, watching her
intently; he was only inches away from her, blond hair tousled, a smile playing
at the corners of his full lips. “Hungry?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Chelsea said,
surprised at the fact; her stomach had felt as though someone had twisted it
into knots ever since Johan had told her about the plot to eliminate her. She
laughed, turning onto her side as she shook her head in amazement. Chelsea could
still feel the tenderness between her thighs, the ache in her hips; how long
had she been asleep?

“I got us some food,”
Johan said. “If you can make yourself climb out of the bed, it’s in the living
room.” Chelsea started to sit up, only to sink back down with a groan. Her body
felt deliciously heavy, her legs not quite real.

“You relaxed me too
much,” she protested, turning her head. “I can’t get up.” Johan laughed and she
felt his weight shift on the bed. A moment later, his muscled arms slid
underneath her, and Chelsea let out a yelp of surprise as he lifted her from
the bed, cradling her body against his chest. He carried her out of the room,
and the smells of something delicious met her nose as Johan stepped through the
door into the living room of the suite. Something tugged at Chelsea’s mind, but
she felt too tired—and too satisfied—to pursue it.

“You were asleep for
an hour,” Johan informed her, settling her neatly on the couch. “I thought
you’d be hungry finally. Then, of course, once you’re done eating, we can relax
you just a little more.” Chelsea stared at Johan for a moment, feeling her body
heat up in memory of just how thoroughly he had relaxed her before.

“I think if I were any
more relaxed, I’d be comatose.” Johan chuckled, and Chelsea watched as he
strode to the room service cart a few feet away from the couch, lifting the
cloche on one of the plates.

“I have no idea what
you like, so this was my best guess.” Even as they ate, Chelsea found that she
and Johan could barely keep their hands off of each other; the thought of more
sex—even though she was thoroughly exhausted—was too tantalizing. She ate more
quickly than she ever had before in her life, cutting the filet that Johan had
ordered her into small bites and dipping it into the béarnaise sauce quickly.
Everything tasted so good, but all Chelsea could think about was the promise of
more sex. She put her plate aside, meeting Johan’s gaze as he finished his own
meal and smiling. “Unless you want to carry me into the bedroom again, I suggest
we stay right here.” Johan chuckled, setting his dishes aside and reaching out
for her. He pulled her into his lap in one deft movement, his hands wandering
over her body, teasing and exploring.

“We have to leave
tomorrow,” he told her. Johan’s lips brushed against hers, and Chelsea felt his
cock against her thigh, rapidly hardening as they began to move together
instinctively, rubbing against each other, touching each other everywhere.
“They already tossed your apartment. They’ll get our trail eventually—it’s
impossible not to leave some kind of trail.” Johan kissed her hungrily,
settling Chelsea’s hips against his and rocking up against her, rubbing his
heat and hardness against her still-slick folds.

“Don’t talk about
that,” Chelsea said, barely breaking away from his lips. “I don’t even want to
think right now.” Johan nodded slightly, shifting her on top of him. He reached
down between their bodies and gave her clit a quick, lingering rub before he
guided the tip of his cock up against her. Chelsea sank down onto him slowly,
inhaling in an almost-gasp at the feeling of Johan’s heat pushing into her
body. He felt familiar and strange all at once, and as she took him deeper and
deeper, Chelsea thought absently that as long as he wanted her relaxed, she would
be happy to follow Johan’s program.

Johan rocked his hips
up against hers, and in moments they found their rhythm; Chelsea rode him
steadily, rising and falling, twisting her hips as she took advantage of her
position perched on top of him to kiss everywhere her lips could reach, explore
every line of Johan’s body with her fingertips. Johan groaned as they moved
together, thrusting up harder and faster, his hands trailing over her body but
seemingly coming to a stop every time he reached her hips, pushing her down
onto him, gripping her tightly.

It seemed like mere
moments before Chelsea felt her pleasure mounting faster and faster, her body
heating up, tingling flashes of sensation rushing through her nerves. She
buried her face against Johan’s neck, rocking and twisting her hips as the
first wave of climax washed through her, blotting out her ability to think once
more. She nipped into the sensitive skin of Johan’s neck and he groaned out,
clutching her body tightly to his, his cock twitching against Chelsea’s inner
walls as he followed her into orgasm.

****

As they loaded their
paltry belongings into Johan’s car the next morning, Chelsea found herself
smiling and shook her head at herself, utterly aghast at the fact that with her
apartment thoroughly ransacked and a price on her head, she was actually
grinning—she who even under the best circumstances barely found the enthusiasm
to smile at all before nine in the morning. She could still feel the ache in
her thighs, the lingering slickness from their morning tryst. “If it will help
you relax during the car ride,” Johan had jokingly murmured as he pulled her
into her arms only an hour or so before.

She had no idea where
they were going to next; all she knew was that they would be on the road for
most of the day, putting distance between themselves and the nameless, faceless
criminals who wanted to kill her. For the moment, with the lingering effects of
more orgasms than she could count coursing through her system, Chelsea decided
that it was enough.

PART TWO

Chelsea pulled herself
out of a doze as she felt the now-familiar slowing of Johan turning into a
parking lot, the shudder through the body of the third car they had been in
over the course of as many days. She had no idea where they were—and for a
while, anyway, she had been telling herself that it didn’t matter where they
were. She had abandoned her job, her home—her entire life.

The day after Johan
had whisked her out of her apartment and into a life on the run, he had told
her quite simply that there was no choice but for her to throw away her cell
phone. “If you want to smash it first, that would be even better,” he said as
they stood at a gas station, waiting for the tank to fill.

“Why do I have to do
that?” she asked him—and two competing ideas filled her mind. If she trusted
Johan’s assertion that the CEO of the company she worked for was after her,
then her phone was like a big, flashing electronic beacon, charting her
movements. But were the thugs that were supposedly after her technologically
savvy enough to find a way to track her phone? And if she didn’t trust Johan’s
assertion, then throwing away her phone would mean getting rid of one of the
last methods she had at her disposal to call the police, to get herself free of
him.

“They may be able to
track you with it, Chelsea. I don’t know for sure what their capabilities are.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “They were able to find your apartment and
trash it looking for your computer. They may have already found the hotel we
stayed at last night. Anything that can give them an edge is something you
don’t want to hold onto.” Chelsea fought down a sense of unease; after all, she
had seen the documentation, hadn’t she? She had seen the emails and text
messages between Rosen and whomever he had hired to come after the people who
might be able to testify against him. But could she trust what she had seen?

“Okay,” Chelsea said
finally, taking her phone out of her purse. Johan nodded solemnly and glanced
around the gas station, as if he thought that the people tracking them might
appear in a flash to prevent him destroying their ability to follow. He let her
phone fall to the ground and then, looking as if he was doing nothing more than
crushing an insect, brought his heel down on it. Chelsea grimaced as she heard
the crunch and clinking shatter of the screen, the grit of it grinding against
the cement. “But what about your phone? If they’re after us, they’d know I’m
with you, wouldn’t they?” Johan had smiled slightly, taking his phone out of
his pocket and showed it to her; it was strangely different from her own
iPhone, sleeker, black and oddly almost dangerous-looking.

“This is not commonly
available on the market,” he told her, unlocking the screen in a series of
movements her eyes couldn’t quite follow. “It’s encrypted. It’s specifically
designed to be as difficult to hack as humanly possible—though, of course, with
enough time and effort anything can be hacked.”

Johan slipped the
phone into his pocket as the gas pump stopped. He extracted the nozzle from the
tank and hung it up on the stand, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It
also has an interesting feature: a non-static phone number. Every time I get a
notification about what’s going on, it comes to me through a different contact
number—which makes it that much harder for the people coming after you to track
us down.” Chelsea had had to accept this idea, as strange and science
fiction-like as it seemed. After all, presumably Johan was in contact with
someone; she had heard the tail end of conversations he had with his
contact—whoever it was—apprising him or her in a series of short, terse
sentences about their progress. But who was he in contact with? She couldn’t
quite fight down the lingering suspicion that she might have let herself into
an enormous trap.

But then, Chelsea
thought as she looked around her in the car, if Johan was trying to take her to
people who would go on to murder her, why would he keep the ruse going up for
days? “If I didn’t know that the CEO of my company was trying to kill me,” she
said, stretching against the back of the passenger seat, “I would almost feel
guilty for missing so much work without much notice.” Johan had decided that it
was pointless to keep up the ruse of being home sick shortly after she’d let
him destroy her phone. After all, if the thugs pursuing her had trashed her
apartment, it was easy to believe that her boss was either in on the situation,
or had been told that she wouldn’t be in the office anymore.

“You’ve always been
somewhat of a good girl, haven’t you?” Johan asked her with a slightly leering
smile. “Always at work on time, staying late when you have to, carrying your
weight?” Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him, frowning.

“You say that like
it’s a bad thing,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as defensive
irritation crept through her body. Johan laughed, shutting off the ignition and
lightly jiggled the keys in his palm.

“I think deep down
you’re different,” he told her. “There’s another Chelsea—one you don’t let out
often, and you probably should.” Chelsea’s eyebrows knit together as she stared
at him in confusion. “I can see it in you when you get irritated with me,”
Johan explained. “There’s a hellcat in you that you keep on a really tight
leash. A woman who could shoot a man if she thought she had to. Or beat the
shit out of him.”

“And yet you’re not
the slightest bit afraid of me,” Chelsea observed, tightening her arms across
her chest. In fact, she thought wryly, Johan had—over the course of their few
days together—demonstrated just how little he was afraid of her, just how
powerful he was, picking her up and carrying her, pinning her to the bed,
lifting her into his arms and holding her tightly.

“You have yourself
under tight control,” Johan said, shrugging. “It’s when you finally give into
that—that Valkyrie you’ve got buried inside of you—that’s when I’ll be afraid.”
Chelsea laughed, shaking her head at the image of herself as a Valkyrie.

“Let’s check in,
already,” she said, glancing around the parking lot of yet another hotel. “I
feel nervous out here in the open.” Johan nodded and opened the driver’s side
door, unfolding himself from the seat as Chelsea unbuckled her seat belt and
climbed out of her side. As they walked towards the ornate, opulent entrance of
the third—or was it the fourth—hotel that they would be staying at, it occurred
to her to wonder at the fact that they had yet to spend the night at a Motel 6,
or a Howard Johnson—not even a Hilton. All of their overnight stays had been in
impossibly luxurious hotels, in suites that would have boggled her mind if she
had ever given serious consideration to places to stay before her life on the
run.

Where was Johan
getting the money for the expensive hotels? How was it that he managed to have
access to a different, beautiful car whenever they needed to change vehicles?
If she had ever imagined what life would be like on the run, Chelsea would have
pictured dingy, dirty hotel rooms close to the interstate, places where the
front desk clerk didn’t look up as he took the money and handed over the key.
Certainly she would never have imagined a plush, comfortable suite at a hotel
that had a spa on the ground floor and a menu of exotic choices, an entrance
flanked with burbling, whispering fountains and lush, meticulously-cared-for
plantings.

Chelsea stood back as
Johan conducted the business of checking them in, giving a fake name to the
desk clerk. She glanced around the lobby, taking in the marble floors, the
cedar-lined walls, the real leather of the furniture nestled in cozy,
conversational clusters. She had no idea if they were even still in her home
state; she had no idea what the name of the city they were in was. “Sweetie,”
Johan said calling her attention back to the present. “Did you want to go right
up to the room, or browse some of the shops?” Chelsea shrugged.

“We can come back down
later,” she said, giving him a warmer smile than she felt. The clerk handed
over the keys—real keys, not just a key card, Chelsea noticed—and went back to
whatever he had been doing before they walked in.

Johan took her hand,
giving it a light squeeze, and led her to the elevators. “I told the guy at the
desk that since we were only here overnight, we didn’t bring anything in the
way of luggage,” he said quietly. “We can go get our things later when the
shift changes.” Chelsea nodded, still mulling over the opulence of their
surroundings, confused at the strange level of comfort that had come along with
her life on the lam. She stepped onto the elevator, not quite able to ignore
the lingering touch that Johan’s hand left at her hip as he steered her
forward. One thing that she could very easily believe was the amount of time
they had spent having sex, over and over again, over the few days she had been
away from her daily routine. It was—as Johan had pointed out their first night
together—both an excellent form of stress relief and a good way to kill time.
And
it serves the added bonus of making me compliant,
she thought wryly. The
possibility that Johan was using sex to keep her in a state of ready belief for
whatever he chose to tell her about her predicament had crossed her mind more
than once. It was difficult not to believe that someone had your best interests
at heart when they could make love to you like a house on fire.

The elevator chimed,
announcing their arrival at the floor that Johan selected, and he took
Chelsea’s hand once more, steering her off of the car and down the hallway.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Johan told her lowly, his hand on
the small of her back giving Chelsea a very clear picture of just what he had
been thinking about specifically. She smiled in spite of herself, feeling her
heartbeat quickening in her chest, her body beginning to heat up. Questions
about their lavish lifestyle started to trickle out of her mind as Johan
unlocked the door to their suite, leading her through it in quick steps and
closing it firmly behind them. Chelsea took just a moment to appreciate the
sight of hardwood floors, a small gas-powered fireplace, deep and comfortable
living room furniture; she hoped that she would never quite lose the pleased
shock she felt at the splendor of the rooms they had at their disposal, even if
she questioned the source.