Page 101 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“You have no idea.” His voice is rough, sending shivers down my spine. He grabs my bag with one hand, keeping the other firmly around my waist. “Let’s go home.”

Home. There’s that word again—it does funny things to my insides.

The drive is a blur of stolen glances and linked fingers over the gearshift. When we reach his beachfront sanctuary, the sun is just setting, painting the waves in shades of gold and pink. But I barely notice the view—not with the way he’s looking at me.

“Hungry?” he asks, keys jingling in his hand.

“Not for food.”

His eyes darken. “Good answer.” He begins to strip off my clothes one by one.

He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom.

“I’ve got plans for you,” he says, laying me down with infinite care.

I pull him down with me, finally getting his shirt off. “Show me.” The rest of his clothes disappear as they hit the floor.

His smile is tender, even as his touch ignites fire under my skin. “All night long, babe. All night long.”

He rolls, pulling me on top of him. I feel his hands around my waist as I sit up, straddling him. He groans when my hands caress his tattoos, following the ink down his chiseled chest. He pulls me forward until his mouth can close over my breast, sending flames of desire shooting through me. His teeth lightly grazing my nipples, turning them to sharp peaks. Then I feel his hands in my hair, pulling it loose so it falls softly around my shoulders. I see his satisfied smile in the dim light.

His hands straighten me until I’m back in a sitting position, and he helps me up. Until I hover above him, his hands guide me down onto his hard, thick length. Filling me. I shiver at the sensation of fullness. Nate’s hands on my hips urge me to move—so I do. I rise up on my knees and then give a swivel as I come down again, and I smile at his low groan. I continue increasing the pace until both of us are panting—our breaths harsh.

I tilt my head back, arching my back, my hands gripping his hair roughened thighs. I hear him give a guttural groan, and then both of us are flying. My orgasm is so intense—I see stars.

As Nate pulls me toward him, I land softly against his chest, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He shifts his weight beneath me so that I’m lying by his side. I turn, rolling closer, and throw my leg over his hip. Anchoring myself to him.

His fingers trail over my thigh absently, as if he’s creating silent music in his head. Snuggling closer, I close my eyes. Knowing I’m safe and sound in his arms.

Sometime during the night, I feel Nate as he pulls me closer. Then his arm around my waist tightens, and he’s positioning me on all fours. He pulls a pillow under me, and then I feel him on his knees behind me.

“That’s it, baby.” His hand presses down, so I arch my back. “Damn, you’re beautiful. I love watching you as you take me—Watching my cock sliding into you.”

I shiver at his crude words. He’s normally quiet when we make love. But not tonight.

His hands span my hips as he continues to pound into me. It’s rough and wild, and I revel in the claiming. I push back against him as he continues to slam into me relentlessly.

I’m glad for the pillow underneath me as he picks up the tempo. My knees feel weak; my head falls forward as he sets a grueling pace. I suddenly cry out his name as my entire body clenches hard. He growls out my name. Then, he finally lets out a shout, slumping forward over my back, his arm wrapping around my waist as he rolls, pulling me with him.

His arm anchors me to his torso, and we both fall into a soundless sleep. Spent.

I wake up to the soft patter of rain against the window.

Seriously? First Seattle, then Hollywood, and now here?

I groan, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in the pillow. “Tell me that’s just the shower running.”

A low chuckle rumbles beside me. “Sorry, Lace. It’s raining outside.”

I peek up to find Nate already propped against the headboard, phone in one hand. His dark hair is still messy from sleep, and the faintest hint of scruff shadows his jaw.

He looks obnoxiously good.

I stretch, letting the covers slip just enough to reveal bare skin. His eyes flicker down, and I grin. “Distracted?”

“You’re always a distraction—and you know it.” His voice is low and rough—exactly how I like it.

I stretch lazily in his obscenely comfortable bed as he stands and walks naked into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He then turns with a wicked grin. “Coming?”

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