Page 110 of Down Beat

“I guess.”

His eyes close briefly, a frown marring his features. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, babe, it’s just….” He rocks his hips into me with an apologetic smile.

Oh. Shit. Of course.

“Can we be quiet for a bit? Just enjoy this?”

I push my fingers into his hair, tugging his face to mine as I murmur, “I think so.”

If you’d asked me a month ago what I thought an encounter with a guy like this would have been like, I would have delivered some line about how rock stars all think they’re God’s gift to women, and that my money would have been on him being the hit it and quit it type of guy.

Consider me schooled.

Rey’s modus operandi is a slow, deliberate exploration of my body as he kisses his way from my mouth—my lips left bruised—down my throat to my chest. His breath skims over my hyperaware skin, teasing me with the gentle gust that heightens my senses to the point of near pain.

I’m literally arching my back to get closer, desperate for him to rev this up. Yet he doesn’t.

With a wicked smile he shifts lower, eliciting a whimper from my throat that takes me by surprise. What is this man doing to me?

“So impatient,” he teases as his hands find the hem of my tank.

He shuffles his elbows where they’re propped on the bed so that he can push the material higher. I lift up, more than eager to help him strip me down. At this point, I’m on the brink of shoving him off so I can take the reins.

I need more, and I need it now.

I bring my arms together, ready for him to guide the tank off over my head, yet he chooses not to. Instead, his rough hand, calloused from the guitar, brushes over my breast, the hem of my top wedged between his fingers. He watches me with a wolfish grin as he leaves the material bunched at my throat and runs his hand back down my body, lower, closer, skimming the line between foreplay and something more.

Something I need if I’m to survive.

“Please.…” I close my eyes, ashamed at how desperate I am. Desperate enough to throw my dignity aside and beg, that’s for sure.

“Please, what?” His words caress my stomach, the hot gusts of his breath doubling the heat I already possess.

“Whatever you want,” I moan. “Just, please.”

The satisfied rumble from his chest leaves me breathless, my bottom lip pinched between my teeth as I count the seconds until he does it. He has to do it. Oh fuck, he’s doing it.

My pajama shorts are ripped down my legs with enough force to pull me with them, the material barely getting enough time to hit the floor before he thrusts his hands beneath my ass and lifts my hips. I’m sure the rest of the band hear my relief when Rey’s mouth meets my pussy, the groan I let loose deafening in the otherwise quiet room.

I thought that tongue was a master at delivering a song, yet his talent as a singer couldn’t hold a candle to this.

Holy shit. The bedding crumples in my fists, the whimpers that come from me muted by the fact I bite my bottom lip hard enough to leave imprints. My legs are jelly. His hands are literally all that hold me up as he tastes and teases.

Waiting was everything. We could have done this last night. Damn, if he had I could be as loud as I want. But the buildup to this, the tension, the need.

There’s something to be said for taking things slow.

Although two weeks from strangers to this is hardly slow, by my measure.

“God, I can’t.…” I want to.

One word, “Come,” mumbled against me before he takes me over the edge with an added finger.

It’s all he has to say.

I’m fucking certain the guys out there heard me now.

Pleasure surges through me in a wave of blissful prickles. The sort of tingle you feel as your limbs come back from complete numbness.

Which is exactly what he’s done: he’s woken the parts of me that have been asleep for so long.

My breaths come fast and shallow as he sets me down, rearing back on his folded legs to run a palm over his mouth and chin. The smile that’s revealed after he drops his hand?

God.

I think I just fell in love too.

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