Page 32 of Taming His Rockstar

“How about you?” he picks up another slice of pizza for himself.

With those washboard abs and chiseled muscles, I figure he can have a hundred slices and not have to worry. Besides, he’s going to work it all off on me later. I hope. Mentally slapping myself, I force myself to remember his question.

“How did I get into music?” I lean back and take a sip of my drink. “As you may have heard, I didn’t exactly have a fairytale childhood. Lots of foster homes. Almost got into juvie, actually. But I got off with just a warning because of overcrowding. I think my constant in all these things was my music. I had this old Walkman disc, and I would blast music in my ears twenty-four seven. I attended my first rock concert when I was fourteen. I even almost got backstage at a Guns ‘N’ Roses concert. But then this idiot guard caught me and started asking about backstage passes.”

“I bet you could get backstage passes now if you wanted to.”

I grin. “I sure can, and I sure have. Anyway, music was my escape from a bad childhood, and when the songs could no longer speak to my wounds, I began to write mine.” I cringe when I hear how I sound. “God, I sound like every tragic celebrity cliché.”

“Not a cliché if it’s true, and I don’t think you can have enough examples of someone picking themselves up from a bad situation and making something for themselves.” He pushes the pizza box away and leans in close to me. “After I made the decision to leave college for art school, a lot of people, including my parents, told me how much I was disappointing them and how I was making this big mistake. Even though I knew I was doing what I really wanted to, I wondered if I they were not right, and I was not making a big mistake. And like everyone since the dawn of time, when reality became too depressing, I turned to art. And by art, I mean music. It felt nice hearing someone screaming at me to forget what everyone else was saying and follow my heart. You’ve gotta admit, I’m doing fine for myself, if you ignore the studio apartment and the fact that I pour drinks for a living.”

I smile and lean in close to him, my hands slowly creeping up his chest. “You poor thing. How can I make you feel better?”

He grabs my shirt and pulls me close. “I was thinking I tie you to my bed and have my way with you.”

Leaning close, I feel his breath on face and open my mouth, hoping for a kiss. Instead, he bites my lips quickly and pulls back.

“Tease,” I accuse him.

“I’m going to make you beg for it, Kitty.” I shiver when his hands come up to palm my breast and squeeze. “I’m going to make you crawl on your knees and beg. And only when I’m quite ready will I let you come. When I’m done with you . . .”

The rest is left unsaid. Not that he needs to say more. I’m already wet. I’m already ready to beg, and in the next moment, I can very well picture myself crawling. That picture just makes me hornier.

“I’ve never done this before,” I blurt out.

“Beg for an orgasm?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because I can remember you begging for it the last time you were here.”

“That’s not it.” Frustrated, I push myself to my feet and walk away from him to stare at the wall. When I turn around, he’s sprawled on the floor, back against the couch with one elbow on the floor. The tail of his shirt has ridden up so his belly is exposed. “God, it’s annoying how sexy you are.”

“Right back at you,” he replies, pushing himself up. “I don’t know why you’re frustrated. But I just want to let you know, it’s making me think of turning you upside down on my knees and spank you until your ass is red. Then make you come with the same hands that spanked you.”

“That’s it!” I cry as I point to him. “You can’t say those things to me. You can’t talk about things like that to me.”

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”

“But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t like being this submissive. I’ve never been with a man who was as dominating as you.”

“You say that like it is a bad thing.”

The fact that he’s not even annoyed or irritated by this makes me even madder. He gets to his feet, and I watch warily as he walks to me. He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me closer. Lifting my chin with one hand, he lowers his head and kisses me. I try to resist at first. I close my lips. I love the feel of his body against mine. I go to push him away but make sure he knows I don’t want to by holding myself stiffly against him and moaning when his hard cock brushed against my legs. His tongue moves into my mouth, and within seconds, he has me moaning and rubbing myself against him. He suddenly stops and nips my lip so hard it hurts a bit.

“Next time you talk to me about how you used to have sex with other people, I’m going to spank you.” He raises his brow, and I find myself nodding. “You can tell me what you want me to do to you, and I’ll consider it. This right here is just you and me. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Good.”

But there’s still a stubborn part of me that just wants to piss him off. “Just so you know, I’m not begging you.”

“Bad idea challenging me,” he says with a grin.

I grin back at him. “Just telling you how it’s going to be, buster.”

“Don’t worry. I welcome the challenge.” He picks up the box of pizza and bottle of wine. “I’m taking this to the kitchen. When I get back, you better be naked and on my bed, or else . . .”

I watch him leave and think of disobeying him. Then I remember how good it felt having him inside me a few hours ago, and I wasn’t even clothed then. Besides, naked me kinda equals a sexy, clothed him.

“I don’t care what he does, I’m not begging,” I promise myself as I take off my clothes.

I’m going to rock his world, and when I’m done, he’ll be the one begging.

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