Badass In My Bed 3 (Badass #3) (6 page)

Blaine snorts. “This guy’s pretty preachy. Is he angling for a talk show? He should stick to singing his auto-tuned three-chord progression songs.”

I take a gulp of my water, wishing I’d accepted a wine instead. “You’re right. I don’t want to hear this. You can change it if you want.”

Blaine pulls up the guide, which unfortunately only shrinks the picture of Dylan and the band, the sound painfully clear when the interviewer says, “That sounds like good advice. Do you avoid regrets in your life?”

Dylan shifts uncomfortably in his seat and scrubs his hands down his stubble. “No. I’m carrying the biggest of regrets at the moment. For a woman. For
the
woman. I offered to take care of her. I offered her my lifestyle, thinking that’s what she’d want to hear. I tried to impress her by sharing the fantasy instead of the beautiful reality we created when we were together.”

The girls in the audience sigh, eyes wet with tears.

Mine are too, but I can’t even move to blink them away, scared he’ll stop talking.

Dylan looks at the camera. “I offered her all these
things
trying to sweep her off her feet, just to try and get more time with her. Things aren’t important to her, and I know they’re not. And I somehow didn’t mention that I loved her. I’m an idiot. I love her and I let her walk away, and that’s the regret biting at me like I’ve been dipped in acid.”

Blaine changes the channel, breaking the spell.

Somehow, I find my voice. “You know what? I can’t do this.”

Blaine sets his wine glass down. “That’s fine. I can call you a cab if you’re not up to it.”

With shaking hands, I set the water on the table. “No. I don’t mean this night. I mean the whole thing. The marriage. I’ll regret it in the future, and not just in the future, but I regret it today. It’s over.”

Blaine’s face darkens, but his voice is calm. “You can’t do that. We have an agreement.”

“An agreement to have a child neither of us wants. What the hell are we doing?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

I laugh. “Do you honestly think anything I agreed to will hold up in court?”

“You signed a contract. Need I remind you your job is on the line?”

I stand, jamming my hands on my hips, feeling better than I have in weeks. “Yeah, the director made a young, impressionable girl sign a marriage contract for a baby and a place on the orchestra. No one would believe I wasn’t coerced into it. And you know what? I don’t even care. Take me to court if you really want. Sue me. But of the two of us? You’ve got more to lose if the truth comes out. Thank you for the opportunity, Blaine.” I stride to his front door feeling lighter. Feeling more than I have in months despite the uncertainty my future now holds.

“I understand what you’re saying, Rachel, so let’s make very certain you understand me too. I may not sue you for breaking your contract with me, but I can certainly guarantee you will not be working in my symphony any longer. Nor will you find a place in any other orchestra that my influence extends to, and I think you will find that will be almost anywhere you choose to apply. I will give you one last chance to stop being foolish and take the future I am offering you. But if you walk out that door, you’re committing career suicide.” He stares me down, clearly expecting me to come to my senses and apologize. But he’s read me wrong. For the first time in months, I
have
come to my senses.

“I’m sure you will find someone to replace me, Blaine,” I say seriously, “but I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not, letting someone else define my life. I quit. There’s more than one way to make music. I’m going to do what makes me happy; otherwise, I’m going to wake up fifty years from now filled with regrets about the person I never became because I was too scared to be true to myself. I’ve let other people’s expectations strangle my potential and suffocate the best chance I’ve ever had at happiness. I’m not going to take that any longer. I’m going for the things I want, as of now, on my own terms. You should try that too.”

Three days go by in a blur of activity and hope. Everyone was surprised when they found out I was quitting the orchestra, but it’s not an uncommon thing for musicians to move on. I told them I’d been given an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

Most people assumed I’d just realized Blaine wouldn’t be less of an asshole even if we were married. There’s a lot to be said for that point of view. As long as he looked like the jilted one, no one on his beloved board could fault him for being single again.

Paul still hasn’t forgiven me for not being completely honest with him the whole time. I feel bad about it, but realistically, we were never going to be friends—not with a one-sided crush standing between us like an elephant in the room. Still, he texted me and congratulated me on my new job—his way of making peace. It made me feel better, anyway.

I tape another box closed and scribble a summary of its contents on the top with a marker. What I can’t fit into two suitcases, I’m putting into storage—at least until I figure out my next move. My plane leaves in two days which isn’t much time to pack, but that’s when the couple I’m subletting my house to moves in.

Giving up my chair was surprisingly easy. Not long ago, I thought it was everything I wanted, a dream coming true. I guess that when you find a better dream than the one you thought you wanted, there are no regrets. I’ll miss this little house though. It was the place I gorged on videos of Dylan and clips of his songs when I discovered who he really is.

This is where, lying in bed in the dark, I allowed myself to dream about the future we might have. I’d lie there staring into the darkness and imagine him walking up my stairs, opening my door without knocking while I shivered in bed waiting for him. He’d stride in like he owned the fucking place; then he’d fuck me like he owned me too. Some nights, I’d imagine he said nothing at all as his long body stretched out over top of mine. Others, I’d pretend he told me he loved me with gentle hands and wild hips.

Since seeing the interview at Blaine’s house, thoughts of Dylan make me smile. It was a giant wakeup call that came just in the nick of time, and every day after, it’s like something inside of me clicked into place.

Maybe I should feel less certain about my future, but faith comes easily. So easily, I know it’s him before I open the door on Friday morning when someone hammers on it with a fist.

But my breath still catches when I see his perfect face, despite the tension clenching his jaw. “Dylan.” My voice comes out husky. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes past me into my living room. “I don’t even know. It’s not like I have any new, compelling arguments about what you’re getting yourself into, but I had to see you again.” He turns and levels me with an intense stare. “Maybe that’s not all. Maybe I couldn’t go the rest of my life with this regret staining every minute of every day.” He sighs. “I had to tell you that I love you, just once. Even if it changes nothing. Even though it won’t make a difference.”

My heart stutters then swells, sending happiness tingling through every cell of my body. He loves me, and right now, I don’t know how my feet are still on the floor I’m in such danger of floating away. “It makes all the difference, Dylan.”

He carries on like he hasn’t heard me, angrily pacing around, caught up in his own inner turmoil. “I mean, marriage contracts and babies for a lousy job? The whole thing is asinine. You’re too talented and too important to throw your life away like this. I don’t care if you don’t want to be together. That’s fine. But you’re not marrying that asshole.” He runs his hands through his hair and bends slightly at the waist, letting out a loud noise through his clenched teeth before straightening and taking a step toward me. “No, that’s a fucking lie. You not wanting to be with me is the farthest thing from fine.” He spits the word out. “I need you in my life. I love you.”

Thank God. I hide my smile behind my hair until I can get it under control then grab a picture frame and hold out my hand to him, looking at the side table. “Can you hand me that packing tape, please?”

Agitated, he grabs at it and stretches his arm out before the boxes and tape register. “Wait. Why are you packing? Are you moving in with him already? Speeding up the happy family timeline?” His sarcasm turns to horror. “Tell me you’re not,” his gaze shoots from my ring-less ring finger to my belly, “pregnant already.”

“No, I’m not pregnant.”

He gestures at the boxes all around us. “But you’re moving.”

“Yes. I’m moving because I can’t afford this place anymore.”

He frowns and taps the tape against his thigh like it’s a tambourine. “Why not?”

I smile and sit on the arm of the couch. “I quit my job. This place isn’t that fancy, but now that I’m unemployed, it’s out of my range.”

His eyes widen. “Why would you quit that job? It meant everything to you.”

“I thought it did.” I set the picture down and tilt my head. “Then I saw this badass rock star on a television interview talking about regret. He had a lot of good points, and I realized something.”

He takes a step closer, eyes suddenly all pupil and intensity. “What was that?”

My belly flutters with a thousand butterflies. “That he was right. That some decisions aren’t worth making because they will haunt you forever.”

He takes another step closer. “Which decisions?”

“Marrying my gay director and having his kid, for starters. Signing my life away would have been a catastrophe.” I stand and take the tape out of Dylan’s hand. His entire body is rigid like he’s trying not to pounce.

I can’t wait for him to.

“So I quit my job and told my director to stick his contract—both of his contracts.”

“Why would you do that?” He closes his eyes when I take his hand, every muscle in his body rigid from holding himself back.

I kiss his palm. “Because I want to be with you. Because I’m yours.”

His hand fists into my hair and tugs my head back, baring my throat to him. He savages it with kisses that make my eyes unfocus and my toes curl.

I’d crawl across broken glass to get to this man. Hell, I burned my life to the ground after all, just for another chance with him. He has no idea I have a plane ticket to LA and he came to me anyways. Christ, how could I ever have thought I could live without this man?

“I love you.”

He gathers me in a tight embrace, cock swelling against me. “I fucking love you. Where were you going?”

I blink, unable to focus on anything except the wanting more of his lips. “What?”

He smirks. “The boxes? You’re moving again. Where were you going?”

“My plane ticket says LA. I know this absolutely perfect man who lives there, in a mansion in the Hills all by himself. Maybe he’ll let me sleep on his couch.”

“Maybe you can sleep tied to his bed, but I doubt it. There won’t be much sleep.” His lips slant over mine, claiming my mouth with an urgency mirrored inside my belly. His tongue plunges deep inside my mouth, running over my tongue and teeth and whipping me into a frenzy.

I fumble for the button on his jeans, and he tears my t-shirt off over my head. I tug at his t-shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his skin on mine. He undoes my strapless bra with one hand, and tears it off, flinging it across the room. He caresses my breasts, pushing them together, rubbing the nipples against his palms and bending to lick one then the other. They harden to tight buds beneath his teasing tongue and ache for more. He lavishes attention on my breasts until my fingers twine in his hair and I’m practically purring before focusing on my shorts, tugging them down my legs as he gets to his knees in front of me.

I’m in trouble.

His gaze locks to mine as he nuzzles me through my panties, and I reach behind me for something to use to hold myself up with, but come up with nothing. Arousal drips from me, and agonizingly slowly, he pulls my panties to the side and takes a long lick, flattening his tongue, swiping from my drenched pussy up to my throbbing clit.

My hands land on his shoulders as I wobble, but his arms wrap around me, holding me steady while an onslaught of pleasure swirls over my clit. His hot mouth locks on it, and I moan as he suckles me dizzy.

“Please,” I urge him, but I don’t know if I want more of this or his cock inside me.

His teeth close on the fabric, and he drags my panties off that way. The second they hit the floor and I step out of them, he’s moving me backward with rude hands I can’t get enough of, pressing me against the wall while he runs his hands over my skin like he’s reminding us both I’m his. Spreading my feet wide, he reaches between my legs, smiling when he discovers how wet I am for him.

I’m always wet for him.

“Mmm, baby. Either you really love packing, or you’re happy to see me.”

“I want to see all of you,” I whimper, tugging at one of his belt loops.

He bends and sucks a nipple deep in his mouth, circling it with his tongue while he strips off his jeans—no boxers on underneath, I happily note. My hands are greedy, and I wrap them around his cock, stroking the smooth length. My mouth waters at the thought that he’s here, he loves me, and he’s going to be inside me very, very soon.

He knocks my hands away and shoves two fingers deep inside me, and I almost come right then. After being numb for so long, it’s too much at once when he adds his thumb to my clit, using my dripping pussy to cover my skin with silky wetness. God, I couldn’t have stayed away from him. Thinking I could was delusional.

With my arousal as lube, the fast cadence of his fingers brings me soaring toward release.

“Come for me, baby.” He bites my shoulder.

I unravel in silence, quivering like my bow, coming so hard it steals my voice. Weak kneed, I sag into his arms, and he catches me, easily supporting me with his free hand without faltering the quick strokes on my g-spot or the fluttering of his thumb across my clit.

His teal gaze smolders into mine, sending shivers down my spine. “No, Cello Girl.” He pulls his fingers slowly out of my pussy. “I want to hear you when you come for me.” He pushes them back inside, and I moan. “I missed the sound you make when you come. We both know you’ve got a dirty little mouth that likes doing dirty things.” He slides his slippery fingers inside my mouth, and I suck them clean, keeping eye contact because I know he loves it.

I love it too. I love tasting what he’s done to my body, tasting the pleasure we’ve made together mingled with his skin.

“I want to make you feel good too.” I want him in my mouth, but he’s got other plans and nudges my feet wide apart with his and positions himself at my slick entrance with his hand.

“I can’t wait that long, baby.” His thick cock spears into me, and his hips lift me onto my tiptoes, and I’m home.

It’s too much. It’s relief. It’s everything. I lay my head on his shoulder and wrap my arms around him. Here, with my badass deep inside me, I’m complete and content and just where I want to be. He grabs my thighs, wraps my legs around his body, and fucks me hard against the wall.

Hard enough to erase the awful separation we suffered.

Hard enough to make the rest of the world disappear.

Hard enough to hurt just a little bit, which makes the pleasure more intense.

Every smack of my back against the wall turns me on more, filling my ears with the perfectly wild rhythm of us.

I claw at his back, wanting him deeper. “I want to feel your weight on me.”

He indulges me, and we slide to the floor, and he crushes my body to the hardwood floor while his hips undulate, rubbing his cock against the sweetest place deep inside me, and I’m moaning then crying out then screaming, “Yes.” All I want is this for the rest of my life.

Dylan smiles and sucks the words from my tongue, nips the grin from my lips, rolls my nipples between his fingers. No words are needed. He’s everywhere at once, pulling more pleasure from my body than I ever thought possible to feel, and yet, there’s so much love in every brush of our skin, every glance between us, every bite and suck and scratch and lick I don’t know how my body and heart can take it.

So much passion we can only bear together, like we were made for each other for just this purpose. Making music or making love, everything we create together is beautiful and perfect because we are meant to be.

He rolls over to his back so I’m on top and grabs my hips, fucking me from below while I grind down onto him. His thumbs dip down to my clit, pinching it between them while I rock back and forth with him inside me. I spread my hands over his chest, lightly scratching his pecs and down his belly. He’s so chiseled and perfect. I trace his tattoo of the word “Trust,” with my fingertip.

I do. With this man, everything will be okay.

Mmm, better than okay.

My hips buck, and I lose control of my body, unable to move as heat spreads through my core, rippling out in deep spasms, milking his cock.

He wraps me up and flips me onto my back again, thrusting hard into my quivering pussy. I hold onto him with my arms and wrap my legs around his waist, never wanting him to stop. Again and again, he pistons into me with his velvet length, the delicious friction curling my spine as pressure builds. He palms one of my breasts and, with the other hand, reaches down to rub my swollen clit, making me cry out it’s so sensitive.