Page 89 of Creed

Right now though, I need her pleasure. I fucking crave it. I need her to come for me again. I want to see the flush of her skin, I want to hear those raspy moans. I. Want. Her.

“Ride me, baby.” I say, still pushing her to grind against me. “Fucking come apart in my hands. Shatter for me, Stardust.”

“Oh, fuck,” She moans and her movements become jerky. She’s close. I’ve never hated denim more than I do right now because I can’t fucking reach her clit, but she’s too far gone for me to stop. So instead, with one hand, I keep helping her out, pushing her down harder, hoping to increase that friction she so desperately needs, and I grip the back of her neck with the other and pull her down for another kiss.

The new angle must do it for her because she cries out against my mouth as her entire body shudders with her release. “What a good fucking girl,” I praise, ignoring my own need to bust my load once again because the fucking throaty, raspy, gasping moan that escapes her lips sounds better than any fucking porn star could ever make and I’ve decided right here and now that I need her to make that sound for me at least three times a day.

I can tell she’s exhausted despite sleeping in the car earlier by the way she collapses against my chest.

I roll us to the side, my arms wrapped around her. We lay there for several minutes, she’s so still I wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but then her slender fingers slide up and across my chest.

I pull back just a little to look down at her and what I see makes my stomach swoop. She looks…lost. Confused, maybe? Either way, I don’t fucking like it and it wakes the crazy in me. It makes me want to bury myself so deep inside her soul that all negative thoughts won’t even stand a chance with the way I’d stand guard around her heart and mind, snarling like a fucking rabid dog at everything daring to plague her happiness.

Using the pad of my thumb, I smooth out the lines marring her perfect soft face and it forces her gaze up to mine. She blinks a few times, as if lost in thought before her gaze refocuses.

Fuck, she’d dissociated for a minute. I mentally slap myself for missing it. I softly swipe my thumb back and forth along her cheek, watching her slowly slip back into reality. “Where’d you go, baby?”

She shifts, inching a little closer as she rolls her lips together. Her hand moves up until one of her delicate fingers starts to trace along the lines of the tattoo on my neck and chest above the collar of my shirt. “I’m sorry,” she starts, and continues before I can protest and tell her to stop apologizing. “Sometimes I just get lost in thought and it causes me to drift into a dissociative state.” Collins bites her bottom lip nervously, as if she’s trying to find the words to explain what happens to her. “It feels almost…dreamlike.”

“What had you drifting away this time?” I ask, calming myself back into a state of sanity. I want to know, not only to encourage her to actually seek help from me rather than think she’s got to deal with everything on her own, but also so that I can try and prevent these episodes in the future.

“The thought that this isn’t real,” she whispers, still tracing the ink on my skin. “That this,”—she gestures between us—“is just temporary, or that maybe I’m stuck in some permanent dissociative episode and I’ll wake up, still working under Tank, or maybe even stuck living with—” she pauses, her breath hitching as she chokes back a sob. She doesn’t have to finish. I know who she’s talking about.

I pull her closer, tucking her into me and I rest my chin atop her head after planting several kisses in her hair. “I’m sorry, Collins.” I say, rubbing her back in comforting circles. She melts into me a little more, her body relaxing a bit. “I’m so, so fucking sorry of all that you’ve endured. But I am so goddamned proud of the way you fought. The way you survived. But you don’t have to do that anymore. You never have to worry.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, her voice quiet and muffled as she speaks into my chest.

I squeeze her lightly, showing her just how real I am. “This is real. I am real. It was a crazy fucking twist of fate that I ended up at Viper, that you ended up in my lap, but it was fucking real. If I go anywhere, it’ll be with me chained to your side.” I smile at the repetitive thought of being collared by her. Fuck yeah. I’m ordering one of those ASA-fucking-P. “You’re stuck with me now, Collins, because I can’t get enough of you. You’re mine, I’m yours.” I tip her chin and meet her sleepy eyes. I smile, in awe of her utter beauty. I kiss her lips tenderly. “This.” Kiss. “Is.” Kiss. “Real.” Kiss.

She kisses me back, long, and slow. A barely audible, happy little sigh passes her lips as she whispers back against mine. “Okay.”

I close my eyes, tucking her in tight and we both drift off. Just before the blackness consumes me, it feels like something clicks into place in my chest. It’s beautiful. It’s going to take colossal effort to not smother that feeling, but I’m sure as fuck not letting it go either.

Chapter 32

Riley

Sound-proof headphones are not, indeed, sound-proof. It’s fucking impossible to not hear the sound of Collins’ moans—again—mere feet away from me on the other side of the wall.

My mind has been fucked since I walked in on them hours ago, the first time he was wringing her pleasure from her.

The more I sat around them, the harder it became for me to wrap my head around because my own feelings were standing in the way like a fucking bouncer blocking a door I’m trying to exit through.

I feel like I’m spiraling. In the span of a week, it’s like I’ve been on a never-ending rollercoaster of emotion. It started with a long trip back to the U.S. from our European tour, then I got my first lap dance by none other than the girl Creed has been losing his mind over for the last two years—literally. Said girl, has become a friend, and my feelings rapidly grew into something more before I even had time to think about it. I could tell how she felt about Creed from the start, but that didn’t stop my heart and my head pining after her anyway. It fucking sucks because I’ve never felt anything for anyone before, and the first girl who actually makes me feel—the girl who gives me friendship and expects nothing in return—is in love with my best friend.

Shit on a motherfucking stick.

Another moan creeps through the walls and I can’t handle it anymore. I either need to blow out my eardrums with the volume of music already playing, or I need to alleviate the pressure rapidly growing behind my sweats. I value my position in the band, so I choose the latter. Considering the moans and whimpers coming from the other side of the wall, I think it’s pretty safe to say they won’t be emerging for a minute.

I palm my rigid dick over the fabric of my pants, squeezing once, twice, before she cries out again and I’m fucking gone. I pull the elastic far enough down my hips to free my aching cock and grip it tight.

Fuck.

I turn the volume of the music down with one hand while stroking myself from root to tip and listen to the sounds of Collins like an auditory voyeur. I close my eyes and the image of her splayed out on her back, that white hair of hers fanned across the pillows, her creamy thighs spread wide, her eyes closed and head thrown back in the throes of pleasure as Creed gives her what she’s craving.

I bite my lip to stifle a groan as I tug my cock harder, swiping my thumb over the leaking tip, spreading my precum around my shaft, making it slicker as I pump.

My breathing is heavier and I feel my balls tighten when my vision of her suddenly shifts, and it’s me kneeling before her, begging to worship her body. Fuck, what I would give to be the one between her thighs.

---