Page 78 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

She feels like a dream.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers against my neck, her arms tight around me.

I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in. “I couldn’t stay away. Not when—“ I pull back just enough to see her face. “God, I missed you.”

Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I missed you too. So much. These past two weeks have been—“

I cut her off with a kiss, pouring everything I can’t say into it. She responds immediately, rising on her tiptoes, her fingers threading through my hair as she pulls me closer.

The kiss deepens; two weeks of separation and longing ignite into something desperate and consuming. I walk her backward until she hits the wall, echoing our moment from the party, but this time, there are no cameras—no interruptions.

Just us.

“How long can you stay?” she gasps as I trail hot kisses down her neck.

“I’m here for two days. Then I have to leave. The tour starts—“

“Don’t.” She pulls my mouth back to hers. “Don’t talk about leaving. Please? Not yet.”

I grip her hips, lifting her. She wraps her legs around my waist automatically, and everything else disappears.

We have tonight.

And I intend to make every second count.

We don’t make it to the bedroom. Hell, we don’t even make it out of her foyer. Instead, I lower us both to her floor. In seconds, I have her stripped naked. Her panties and bra thrown somewhere behind me. While she’s all bare soft skin, I barely got my jeans zipped down, and my engorged cock freed before I have her legs spread and am surging into her. She doesn’t seem to mind as I mutter my gruff apology in her ear. “Sorry, but I need to be in you—now.”

I was worried she might not be ready for me, but she is. Wet and aching to be filled—and I oblige. In fact, there is no stopping me. I couldn’t stop if I tried. Two whole weeks of being denied her body, her warmth. But now the drought is over, and as I continue to thrust into her blindly, my mind stops functioning. Instead, I can only feel.

Feel her gasp, her breathing as it quickens. Her soft whimpers as I increase the pace, my hands on her hips the only thing keeping her anchored instead of moving across the floor from the force of my thrusts. Being inside her, I feel like I am finally where I’m meant to be.

It doesn’t take long before she’s panting and then shouting my name as she comes hard in my arms. I can’t wait—as I feel my balls tighten and draw up, and I empty myself inside her—finding my release. I let out a hoarse groan, followed closely by a sharp curse.

“Shit…” Escapes my lips as my weight settles fully over her, pressing her down into the unforgiving tile.

She doesn’t seem to mind my weight, but when I can finally breathe and move my body to the side, she takes in a deep gulp of air, and I feel her hands grasp the back of my hoodie.

Leaning back, I look down at her naked form and then at how I am still fully dressed. “Damn. Are you okay? Was I too rough?”

Instead, she only voices one complaint. “What took you so long?”

Twenty-Four

Lacey

I feel Nate’s laugh against my skin. Then I’m pulling his hoodie over his head, his hands covering mine as he raises his hips so we can peel off his jeans. They get tangled in his boots. He sits up, and I help him tug off his dark leather footwear.

Only stopping when he’s as naked as I am. I give a satisfied smile as I run my eyes and hands over his bare torso. I feel him shiver as I trace my fingertips over the ink of his tattoos.

Smugly, he bends his arms, placing his hands beneath his head. “Like what you see, Lace?”

“You know I do, drummer boy,” I mouth against his chest as I’m bent over him, trailing my lips over his flat nipples while my hands explore his defined abs. He lets me have my way until hefinally lifts his head, his fingers grasping a handful of my hair. He pulls slightly, tilting my face up so he can see my eyes.

“Bedroom eyes,” he whispers as he pulls me close enough for him to lean up and kiss me.

When he finally releases me, I give him a wicked grin. “We haven’t made it to the bedroom, Nate… yet.”

He glances around, noticing my temporary apartment. Where I’ve made sure the vanilla interior reflects me. I see his eyes take in the low couch with my multiple bright, colorful pillows. My potted plants, and finally, he spies the furniture—comfortable furniture, I think, with a grimace, as my muscles suddenly protest the hardness of the tiled floor.

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