Page 22 of Oops Baby for the Rockstar
She laughs, breathless.
Sitting back on my heels, I grip her cheeks and spread them again. One long breath in—enough to savor her sweet-salty tang, enough to feel the humidity of her pussy wash over my face—and then I’m diving forward, running my tongue up her seam in one deep stroke. Tasting the most sensitive, most intimate parts ofher, and feeling her soft flesh brush against me from both sides. Jamming my goddamn face into her pussy and eating my girl alive.
“Oh,shit!”
Tamsin smacks the tree trunk, her knees wobbling where they’re trapped in place by her jeans. I laugh darkly and keep licking, sucking, nibbling. Wet, smacking noises fill out private wood, and it’s so fucking primal that my hindbrain lights up with pleasure.
Yeah, no, I’m not gonna worry about table manners at a moment like this. Iwantto be loud. Want Tamsin to hear each hungry groan, each smack and slurp, so she knows all the way down to her bones exactly how much I’ve been starving for her.
That night, in my hotel room, I laid her out on the bed and made her come on my tongue. Of course I did. But even that treasured memory pales in comparison tothisexperience, to kneeling in the dirt, panting and shoving my face between Tamsin’s spread ass cheeks, listening to my girl muffle her wails as her arousal coats my cheeks, my chin, my nose. Our mutual desperation adds a vicious edge to the proceedings, makes everything rough and sloppy and perfect.
I’m saturated in her. Tamsin’s scent is in my pores.
When I pull back and bite the peachiest part of her ass, thumb still working on her clit, Tamsin tilts her head back and lets out a broken cry. The force of her orgasm rattles through her like an earthquake, shaking her knees, her thighs, her ponytail. Moisture gushes between her legs, slicking my thumb, and I keep rubbing, keep working her through it all.
Then she collapses forward, pressing her forehead to the tree and breathing hard, but this isn’t a night for mercy. There’ll be no intermission. Already I’m pushing to my feet, head spinning at the sudden rush of blood, stepping close, and tugging my scratchy zipper down.
See, I wear leather on stage because that’s the rocker look. It’s expected, and according to my agent, it’s ‘a solid fifty percent of my sex appeal’, the cheeky prick. Besides, by now it’s familiar, comforting, worn in and cleaving to my body like a second skin.
But right now, burning up with arousal for Tamsin in this moonlit wood, I’m sweating like a sinner in church inside all this leather. The backs of my knees are damp. I’m cooking inside my clothes.
“After this,” I say, notching the head of my cock against Tamsin’s slick entrance, “we’re going back to my hotel room, and we’re getting in the shower. Both of us, because I need to douse myself in soap and water, and because I can’t let you out of my sight ever again. I want you close to me, always.”
Tamsin laughs weakly and pushes upright again, her hands braced against the tree trunk. Her ass nudges back, urging me on, and I grit my teeth against a moan. I’ve barely lined up with her entrance, and already she feels so damn good. Hot and slick and tight.
“Who knew that Jett Santana is the clingy type?” she teases.
“For you,” I correct, gripping her hips and starting to press forward. “Only for you.”
And the tight grip of her channel, the way her body sucks me deeper and strangles my thick cock, reminds me of the other revelation in Tamsin’s letter. The extra confession, tossed in there so casually that it would be easy to miss it altogether.
“Virgin,” I breathe, pressing deeper with my teeth clenched. “You were a virgin that night. Christ, you’re still so tight, baby. Am I hurting you?”
Tamsin shakes her head, her long, dark ponytail dancing against her pale back. And listen: I’m just a man. If I’m fucking my girl, and she taunts me with a ponytail like that, you’d better believe I’m gonna reach out and wrap it around my fist. I mean, she’s practically waving a red flag at a bull.
“Oh, god,” Tamsin says as I tug on her hair, arching her back like a bow. I’m deep in her now, grinding my hips in little circles so she can get used to my girth. So we can get used to each other, really, because all the nerve endings in my shaft are sending constant little zaps of pleasure to my brain, and I don’t want this over too soon. “Oh,god.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
“You feel so—”
“I know. So do you.”
Tamsin scrabbles against the bark, blindly seeking purchase with her fingers. “Is it always like this?”
Heat scorches through my insides, making my pulse race and my skull squeeze my brain. It’s an innocent question, I know it is, but the thought of Tamsin with another man—the thought ofeitherof us with anyone else—makes acid gnaw at my belly.
“No,” I grate out, because she deserves a real answer, even if I’m melting down like a jealous prick back here. “No, it’s not usually like this, baby. This is special. This is once-in-a-lifetime shit.”
Tamsin nods weakly, my grip still firm on her hair, and presses back against me, encouraging me to start thrusting. I do. Slowly at first, then building pace and strength until my teeth clack. I’m careful with angling my thrusts, gentle with the life growing inside her belly, even though I know there’s no way I can hurt it really.
“I figured as much.” Tamsin grunts, forcing out the words between panting breaths. “Otherwise, it’s like, how would anyone ever get anything done?”
My shocked laugh echoes through the trees. “Too true.”
“They’d be too busy screwing in every empty closet, every office, every alley.”
It’s good to hear Tamsin is as blown away by this as I am. Because I, also, am wondering how I’m ever gonna get anythingdone again in my life, now that I’ve found what heaven feels like. Wet, tight, warm heaven, that squeals when I spank it on the ass.
