Badass In My Bed 3 (Badass #3) (7 page)

“One more, baby. Come for me one more time.” He bites my neck.

My head thrashes from side to side. He’s overwhelming me and I’ll die if he stops, but I don’t think I can take it. “I can’t.”

But then he does something with his hips he’s never done before, and the motion rubs his cock against a place inside me that short circuits my brain, makes my pelvis twitch, and I come with a scream, shuddering like I’m being electrocuted, shivers skittering across my skin.

He groans, and with three more thick pumps, his body stiffens and he comes with long, hot spurts I can feel inside of me before he collapses on top of me, our legs tangled together, lungs burning with exertion.

Dazed, I lie on the floor like a heavy breathing puddle, so sated I can’t even wrap my arms around his back and hold him tightly to me. My heart is galloping. “That was…”

Dylan pushes up onto his arms and gently strokes my face. “That was what?”

I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure you just replaced half of my vocabulary with happy moaning sounds and exclamation marks.”

He brushes gentle kisses to my cheeks, forehead, and the corners of my mouth. “I can live with that. Talking is my second favorite thing you do with your mouth.”

I slap his shoulder and blush. “You’re so bad.”

“And you love it.” He pulls out of me, and another parade of exclamation marks flutter through my brain.

He rolls to his back and pulls me to him.

I sigh happily and settle against his body. “I love this.”

“What? Floor sex?”

“No. Well, yes. But…” Shyness overcomes me.

His fingertip presses under my chin, angling my face up to meet his gaze. “What do you love, Rachel?” His lips graze mine.

In this tender kiss, I find my words. “I love how after, you pull me close without a thought. Like it’s a given and you need me snuggled in just as much as I do. Like you tuck me against you so you know I’m there, like you’re reminding me I’m yours, even when you’re not inside me.”

“You are mine. In case it escaped your attention, we belong together. In bed and out of it.”

I prop myself on my elbow. “Did you mean it when you said I could move in? I’m a teensy bit homeless right now and my schedule’s wide open.”

He laughs, eyes filling with dark promises that make heat pool in my core as he trails a hand lazily up my thigh. “Baby, I’m taking you home and you’re not leaving my bed for a very long time.”

I melt into his arms. “Promise?”

My bow glides across the strings of my cello, pulling long, sensual tones out. I remember the way Dylan’s fingers ran through my hair when we said goodbye two weeks ago and inject some of that feeling into the music I play.

This band wanted something a little deeper to make their sophomoric rock fusion resonate, but keep it on the sexy side, so I’m laying down string tracks. Their first album went triple platinum, so to say this is a career coup for me is an understatement.

I know I nail it because the producer, Nick, goes very still in the booth. When he hates what you’re playing, he fidgets terribly. I continue playing it through one more time, making the chords arch like my body beneath Dylan’s when he’s fucking me just right, cock hitting me at that perfect angle. Music and Dylan are intertwined for me now; they both fill me with the same powerful emotions. I play the best when I channel my feelings for him into my instrument.

Love is the purest emotion in the world; music is the purest language. It’s no wonder the two come together and transcend.

Behind the glass, Nick gives me a thumbs up and speaks through the intercom when the last notes fade. “Good job, Rachel. We’ve got it. That’s a wrap, guys.”

I try not to look too pleased with myself, but this is the third job he’s hired me for in the last two months and from the look on his face, it won’t be the last. Nick heard me live one night—I’d been traveling with Fallen Angels, and they’d invited me onstage to play a few songs with the new arrangements that now included strings. Traveling with Dylan and making music together is amazing, but when Nick offered me the job recording for this band, I accepted immediately. I love playing with Dylan, but I still want my own career as well.

One job has led to another, and a few newer jobs have been lined up for me, including a solo piece on a movie soundtrack.

It’s kept me busy while Dylan’s on a mini tour of the south.

But he’s back today.

I pack up my cello, smiling thanks at the compliments coming from the band in the booth and their manager. This glowing happiness about my new life hasn’t faded after three months; I really made the right decision when I left the orchestra.

It didn’t hurt Blaine, my leaving. He’s still the director, and under his ministrations, they’re having their most lucrative season to date. I’m not surprised—he cares too much to allow them to be anything but the best. Even better than that, a little birdie told me he’s been seen a few times with the same man, out on the town with him, no longer in the closet about who he is. The board doesn’t seem to care.

I’m happy for him. I know the damage living a lie does to your heart.

I snap my cello case shut and stretch my calves before standing.

“Rachel, I’m going to insist you get into this booth right the fuck now.” Dylan’s voice filters through the speakers, snapping my head up.

The band members behind him are glowing, but their huge smiles pale in comparison to the one he’s giving me. I head for the door, and he meets me right outside it, wrapping me in a hug.

I’ve missed these arms. “I thought you weren’t back until tonight!” I snuggle closer, breathing him in.

“We decided to come home after the concert, drive straight through, and sleep on the bus instead of staying over in Dallas.”

It’s only been two weeks, but it’s the longest we’ve been apart since I moved into his mansion—ours now.

“I missed you.” I used to be more embarrassed about public displays of emotion, but when you find the one you love more than breathing, you don’t give a shit who sees you hugging. Besides, the band members look even more impressed now that Dylan St. John has crashed the end of their recording session and can’t keep his hands off their cellist.

“I missed you too.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear his next words. “Have you been a good girl while I was gone?”

“Of course.” I’m pretty sure the night his bandmates busted us naked Skyping doesn’t count since he was an accessory to those sexy shenanigans.

His wicked grin makes me belly flutter. “Then let’s get you home and remedy that.” He grabs my cello, and we speed walk to his truck after saying goodbye to everyone.

The drive home in his Jeep Wrangler takes forty-three minutes but feels like hours. By the time we pull into the driveway, I’m drunk with anticipation and uncomfortably wet. The fact his hand’s been between my legs teasing me into a frenzy with no release for the last ten minutes hasn’t helped.

He kills the engine, and I crawl over to his lap, crushing my lips to his, straddling him, grinding against his stiff cock as fast as I can, desperate for relief from the extended teasing he’s subjected me to. I nip his lip, dragging my teeth when he tries to pull away.

“You’re such an asshole,” I murmur against his lips. “You think it’s nice to torture your sex-deprived girlfriend?”

“I was just warming you up, baby. I need you nice and wet for how hard I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy.” He sucks my tongue into his mouth and reminds me very quickly that in a battle like this, he’s the one who always wins. Not like there are any losers when it comes to pleasure. He’s a very generous winner.

He grabs me and opens his truck door, thwarting my grinding efforts when I’m forced to wrap my thighs around him while he walks us to the door, unlocking and opening it while I do my best to get revenge by nibbling on his earlobe and sliding down his waist so every step reminds his cock of what’s only a couple scraps of fabric away. Unfortunately, his dick nudging my crotch only turns me on more as well.

His hands slide down to cup my ass, his fingertips prodding at my slit through my pants, stimulating my pussy but unable to press inside me. I’ve never hated fabric as much as I do right now.

He carries me up the staircase and down the hall to our bedroom, kicking the door open. “I’ve dreamed of being inside you a hundred times a goddamn day.”

Lust roars through me. I missed this filthy mouth. “Me too.”

He tosses me to the bed and strips me with shaking hands. “Cold showers and jerking off doesn’t cut it. I’ve got to get balls deep inside your tight little cunt.”

The thought of him touching himself in the little bathroom or when lying in his bunk on the tour bus while the rest of the band was only feet away drives me nuts. We skyped and had phone sex twice, and it wasn’t enough to take the edge off—for either of us, apparently. My hips move like he’s already inside me.

“I came home first, remembered you were at the studio and couldn’t wait to see you. I almost jerked off before coming to get you, but I didn’t want to come one more time outside of you.”

I strip my tank top off and then my bra, while he kicks his jeans off. His cock springs free, harder, fuller than I’ve ever seen it. “Holy shit, Dylan.” I lick my lips.

“The thought of being inside you and not being able to does this to me.” His eyes are hooded, lids heavy. “I’ve basically been walking around with blue balls like a goddamn teenager.”

Dirty talking is easier for me than it used to be. I spread my legs and reach for him, thankful he’s been in the same amount of sexual pain I have while denied his touch. “I’ve masturbated more these last two weeks than I have my entire life and it didn’t help.”

His cock actually twitches. “Fuck. Me.” He crawls up until his hard body’s stretched out on top of mine, pinning me to the bed. “How?”

“How what?” I’m distracted by his hips spreading my thighs apart.

“How did you fuck yourself while I was gone,” he growls, nipping my earlobe.

Oh. “My hands.”

“Where?” He rubs the tip of his cock all over my pussy, coating himself with wetness.

“Please, put it in!”

“Where did you do it, Rachel? Here in our bed?”

“Yeah. And…” I start panting when he runs his cock from my clit back to my pussy, just about inserting it before rubbing it up to my clit again.

“And? The bathroom?”

“Yeah.” I grab his ass, grunting with the effort to get him inside me.

He continues the ruthless teasing, easily avoiding my efforts. “With the detachable showerhead?”

I nod.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.” Frustrated, I arch my back. “I need you inside me!”

“Every day?”

“Yeah.” I blush, but that’s when he rams his swollen length all the way in, and tears of relief spring to my eyes.

Nothing feels as good as this, as this man driving hard into me, so turned on at the thought of me getting off while thinking of him he can’t take his eyes off me. He caresses my face, his hands the only part of him that’s gentle, well, except for the fierce love shining from his gaze. I don’t know if the rest of our lives will be like this, but God, I hope so. I love him so much.

“I love you more,” he whispers, kissing my temple then my lips.

I angle my hips severely when he pulls out, milking his cock for all I can until his self-control shatters and he pounds into me the way I’ve dreamed he would every day he’s been gone.

I come with a scream and the biggest smile.

Later, after we pass out with him curled around me, we wake and order pizza, eating it in a picnic on the living room floor like we did in my apartment the first night we met. He plays me something new on his guitar, and I tell him all about my recording sessions that have been occupying my days.

The Fallen Angels are only in LA for three weeks before heading out on another tour. We’re going to make the most of every single day, not taking any minute for granted. We lost each other once. It’s an experience neither of us care to repeat.

Stuffed with too many calories, we head back to bed for a nap, and when we wake, we make our way to the bathroom. I wasn’t lying about that showerhead. It’s my favorite part of the house.

We run a bath in the jetted tub, and he puts that showerhead to use on me while I suck him off. His superior technology wins, and he makes me come first, moaning around his cock.

After I come, he pulls me to his lap, nudging my hands away from his erection. “I got you a present.” He reaches into the cupboard where there’s a bright purple bag and pulls out a waterproof vibrator and a tube of lube. “Now, didn’t I make you a promise about this once?”

Being a good girl may keep me out of trouble.

But being Dylan’s badass girl feels
so much
better.