Page 33 of Rock Strong

I smiled, knowing what she was about to do. When she kissed me again, there was something in her eyes I’d never seen before, something primal, hot as fuck. She stood before me, watching me carefully. Her body was exquisite—toned legs, narrow hips, small waist, and perfect, round, full breasts. She reached up and let her hair down. It fell in a cascade over her shoulder. She pulled off her skirt.

There she was, in her full glory. I never imagined, in a thousand years, that Abby Chan, nerdy cellist girl, would feel comfortable enough to do that. For all I knew, she didn’t, and this was her exercise in coming out of her shell, but maybe she did, in which case she was a thousand times sexier and more confident than any woman I’d ever been with.

Abby bit her lip to hide a big smile, knowing I was enjoying this. She pressed one knee into the bed, threw the other one over me, and straddled me. I couldn’t believe this would be the position for our first time. It couldn’t have been more perfect if I’d dreamed it.

“Your face just lit up.” She reached down to guide my cock into her.

“Because I’m reflecting the light that is you, Miss Chan.” I grabbed her hips and pulled them down onto me, then then urged her forward so she could press her clit against the base of my cock. She closed her eyes and groaned a sweet noise. I watched her nipples darken, harden, her arms full of gooseflesh again.

She made love to me, watching my face and clearly enjoying every second of it.

Looking up at her on top of me, I wanted to tell her that I loved her. But how was that possible? I’d only just met her. Then again, my parents felt it the very first night they met. They talked of magic, of instant connection, the feeling that they’d always known each other.

I held on to her hips, guiding her movements, driving upward to meet her thrust for thrust. I filled her up so fucking good. Amazing, the way we fit together. I couldn’t believe my luck, this woman with her porcelain-doll face, talented hands, body that fit me like a glove, and sharp-witted brain.

My mind went through an infinite number of sexual scenarios, different ways I could please her once we had more patience. Her rhythm was perfect, her breathing shallow, but then…a thought suddenly occurred to me. What if this was it? What if, after this night, she decided that once was enough? With other women, that would’ve been fine with me. After all, the groupies were a dime a dozen. But Abby? There was no other Abby.

Her hands spread out on my chest to use me for support, and my hands glided over her ass to further grind her against me. She lowered her upper body to kiss me again, breasts grazing my chest. I tried to make it last, but the sensations building inside of me were too much. She moved faster, and I felt she was almost there, too. My hands slid along her back, into her hair, and back down again. Her muscles tightened around me. An orgasm was on the brink. My biggest fear now—she would come, then afterward decide I was too much for her, too dangerous to love, and we’d never do this again.

I couldn’t risk that.

Shifting gears, I lifted her hips to help fuck her from underneath, driving my cock farther into her, using my thumb to press against her clit. That made her moan. Lightly, I gripped her chin to make her look at me, bring her front and center to her climax, make her remember who gave it to her. I kissed her, tongue deeply exploring her mouth, hands fluctuating between grasping her hips and her face. She was about to unravel…

That was what I rarely witnessed, a girl who guarded herself as carefully as Abby did about to lose it. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she swayed, her muscles tightening around my cock.

“What about now, Abby?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she panted.

“Are you having fun now? Do you like me fucking you?”

Her eyes closed, her legs tightened against my sides, and she made the kind of sound that only came with a really intense orgasm. Her contractions gripped me, soaked me, and that was it for me, too. My breaths came faster, choppier, until I moaned aloud, and then I came hard, spilling into her, wanting her body enveloping me forever. Her eyes pierced mine, our foreheads pressed together. She kissed me again, open-mouthed and gasping for air.

Holy shhh…

“Amazing.” I reveled in the aftershocks.

Abby collapsed on top of me. We lay there a long time, listening to the driving rain and tree branches scraping against the siding. This time, it wasn’t a mere urge to tell her I loved her. Instead, the words, I love you, Abby, filtered into my head. Not surprisingly, I loved the way they felt. Of course, I did. I’d waited my whole life to say them.

But I couldn’t deny that, as much as I wanted to, as much as I rejoiced at the idea of loving Abby, a small part of me feared it.

Chapter 11

Abby

Nightfall came and went, and when I finally woke up, it was morning, and the rain had finally moved on. Had we really just spent the night together? Lying next to a sleeping Liam, checking out his strange, symbolic tattoos on his arms and back—a tribal design with some words elaborately written in cursive, I thought about what I’d done. I’d never, in the four years I’d been having sex, made love like that. Samuel was the only other man I’d ever been with, and I’d always had to either fake it, tell him it wasn’t going to happen, or take care of it myself later.

What made Liam so different?

It might have been his energy, his passion for life, for music, and for me that made the difference. Samuel, a junior accountant, was passionate about numbers, order, logic, and old episodes of Mystery Science Theater. Though he did have a sense of humor, there was no vigor in anything he did. Not that I was a wild woman, but…I could be.

It just took the right person to pull it out of me, apparently. Who knew?

I was positive my phone was in another room somewhere, its battery dead. There would probably be a hundred texts and phone calls waiting on it, too. We hadn’t told anyone where we were going, as far as I knew, since I hadn’t seen Liam use his phone all day yesterday other than to look at his maps.

Next to me, he stirred. In just a minute, upon his waking up, everything would be different. One way or another—whether we were now a “couple,” or whether we went back to our regularly scheduled programs—things would never be the same. I’d had sex with Liam Collier. I’d slept with a famous man, my arm over his shoulder for most of the night. Would he regret it, or would he smile? Even though I had no right to him, I had to admit I would be horribly disappointed if he returned to just being a rock star and a womanizer, no more, no less. It would be painful to see him backstage, going in and out of buses, or anywhere else we might cross paths.

Maybe I should have thought that through a little more before I let my body do the thinking for me. Gazing at his back, tracing the lines of the swirling design and thorns, I followed the curve of the scripted letters—Veni, Vidi, Vici.

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