Page 52 of Dirty Rock

Thank God I wasn’t on anything, otherwise I’d have embarrassed us both by bending her over, tearing her jeans open at the seams, and impaling myself inside her.

My fingers dug into her flesh, and even her hip bones turned me on—so prominent. So grabbable. So tiny and perfect. I let my gaze drift over her T-shirt as we moved, swaying, gyrating, and grinding together, and I imagined the pert little nipples that lived beneath the cotton material of that shirt and her bra. I fantasised about them being in my mouth or rolling them between my fingers until her back arched from the bed.

My right hand slid around to press down on the lower part of her stomach, and her lips parted next to my jaw, letting a stream of her cotton candy breath wash over me.

Jesus.

Her mouth curled into a seductive smile, and her fingers curled into my hair at the nape of my neck. I’d already been floating from the alcohol we’d drunk, but now I was fucking high because of her.

The way she did the things she did.

I wanted to slip fingers inside her.

Let my tongue slide over her skin.

I wanted to spank her arse.

I wanted to watch her tongue trail up my dick.

I wanted all the things I wanted with a woman.

But I also wanted this. Just this. Her leaning back against my chest. T-shirt against T-shirt. Body to body. Me holding her tight, swaying from side to side. Music all around us without having to be the performer. I wanted the more, and as it turned out, the last person on Earth I imagined ever giving it to me was the woman in my arms.

Her eyes flickered open like she’d just been woken from a silky dream or a body-bruising orgasm.

I smirked down at her. “Just so you know… I now fuckingloveUB40.” I made my move without thought, lowering my lips to Julia’s without any thought of regret, the band, or what the morning would bring.

She was warm honey to my ice-cold life, and I tasted every drop. I swallowed her sweet breaths, wrapped them around my tongue and kissed her a thank you in return—even if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what I was thanking her for. I wanted to bruise her with this kiss. I wanted her to feel my lips there in forty years, when she would no doubt be married to a high music exec, with two perfectly raised children, and a wall filled with framed accolades she’d picked up along the way. I selfishly wanted her to remember this moment for the rest of her life, no matter how far apart we ended up from each other. So, I kissed her firmer, pouring everything into it. I took her honey, and I gave her my poison.

Chapter Seventeen

“That one was for our favourite girl, Jules!” the guy behind the microphone cried.

We paused—my lips hovering over hers as our eyes fluttered open.

“Although she looks a little preoccupied right now,” the dude chuckled, making me look up at him from under the peak of my cap. He was a balding, older fella, probably around fifty or sixty mark. I could never really guess ages once someone hit that point in their lives.

Whoever he was, I wanted to throw him to the stage floor and hit him repeatedly with his microphone. He’d just interrupted one of the most sensually erotic experiences of my life, and the bastard knew it.

“Sorry, man,” he offered, sensing my murderous glare as Julia and I straightened up.

While I looked pissed off, she looked happy and floaty with her flushed cheeks and unstoppable smile. She pressed both hands to her mouth and blew him a two-handed kiss. He pretended to catch it before he clutched it to his heart, and a weird zap of jealousy hit me right in the gut.

“I love you, Eddie!” Jules cried out to him, bouncing on her toes.

Not one single person was looking at me.

Just her.

I frowned, not used to the anonymity, before the music flared to life again and Jules turned back to me with obviously erect nipples beneath her T-shirt, and not a care in the world who saw them.

“Who taught you to kiss like that?” I asked bluntly.

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes, her face full of amusement. “You jealous they got there first?”

“Yes.”

Jules closed the distance between us. “Best I don’t ask who taught you, hmm? That’s a lot of arses for me to beat… or send thank you cards to.”

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