Page 82 of Living on the Edge

He’s going about it in an offhand way…but there’s no doubt in my mind that’s what he’s trying to say. I’m frustrated, though, because he seems to be back pedaling already.

“Angus, I’m not afraid of the press. I’m one of them. What are they going to say? Oh, gee, a grown-ass woman is dating a grown-ass sexy, bad-boy drummer.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “They’re going to say a broke, struggling journalist just latched onto the heir to the Hollingsworth fortune—” He holds up a hand before I can protest. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just telling you what thepressis going to say. And then they’ll talk about how my family bought us a record deal. Maybe even how I’m the only reason you have a job atRock Harder…”

I narrow my eyes in annoyance. “But none of that is true.”

“That’s never stopped them before.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“I don’t know. Does it?”

“No.”

“It should.” He reaches out and pulls me against him. “I’m almost a decade older than you, I grew up with the insanity, and I’m still reeling from the aftermath of what’s going on now. Yes, some of this I brought on myself, but the rest of it is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know who I am in the first place.”

“I can handle it,” I say firmly. “I’m new toRock Harderbut I’m not new to the music business.”

“But you’re new to the Hollingsworth business.”

“Look, if you don’t want to…dowhatever it is you’re hinting that you want to do, why did you say anything in the first place? That just tells me you want to. Do this. Whatever it is.” I’m fumbling with my words because asking him if he wants to go steady feels ridiculous, but I’m not sure we’re in a position to talk about a full-on relationship.

He grips me by the arms and lifts me just a little, so our faces are inches apart.

Then he kisses me.

With the same passion and intensity from a few minutes ago, but these kisses are different. He’s trying to tell me something. Show me what he wants. And for whatever reason, he’s having a hard time expressing himself.

So I kiss him back with what I hope is the answer he’s looking for.

And a moment later I feel his hard length probing my entrance. He lifts me off my feet and I hook my ankles behind his back. He slides in slowly this time, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispers.

“Ditto.”

“I want you all the damn time.”

I smile.

“Ditto.”

“I don’t know if I can be the kind of boyfriend you need.”

“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t be here.”

He thrusts up, bottoming out, and I moan, all thoughts of conversation forgotten.

“Your pussy’s so fucking tight,” he moans against my mouth. “You keep clenching like that, and I’m not gonna last.”

I squeeze a little harder, and he shudders. “Fuck, baby… why are you trying to kill me?”

“I love watching you come undone,” I whisper. “Knowing that I’m the one who can do that to you—this time, I want you to come for me.”

I don’t know what it is about what I just said but he lets out a low, guttural growl before he starts slamming into me. It’s rough, borderline painful, and the most brutal lovemaking I’ve ever experienced.

But I love it.

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