Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) (16 page)

With a gasping giggle, Nat pushed her hands harder to the window and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Whoa. Fucking me off my feet, Campbell?”

Raw desire etched Jax’s face. “Whoa is right. How ’bout we…” He shifted without warning, gripping her hip with one hand as he took a step back, his cock still buried deep in her heat. She went with him, knowing exactly what he wanted. It had always been this way with them; they’d known exactly what the other wanted and needed without uttering a word.

Bending at the waist, she straightened her leg out behind her, turning herself into a T, palms pressed to the glass. “Fuck me harder, Jax,” she demanded. “Drive me through the window.”

“Hell, yeah.” Jax let out a ragged breath and slammed hard into her sex, pumping forward now rather than up. Nat braced herself against the glass, the position—one of their favourites back in their day—allowing him to thrust so much deeper with greater force. Hitting her in all the right places. Propelling her closer to a precipice she craved.

His fingers continued to tease the tiny nub of sensitive flesh, sending ribbon after ribbon of intense pleasure unfurling through her core. His other hand roamed her back, her waist, her arse, her thigh. He held her and fucked her, faster and deeper with every stroke.

“Tight and hot and perfect.” His growl flayed her, as wild as his penetrations. “And mine. Fucking mine. Always mine.”

Nat’s heart accelerated. She moaned, not just at the rising pressure in her very centre, but at his strangled words. She doubted he knew what he was saying. She didn’t care. Not when he was about to deliver on his challenge. Not when he was building to a crescendo so intense she wondered if she would survive.

Not when she was about to—

He smacked her arse cheek in a stinging slap, detonating her orgasm in a convulsion of pleasure beyond belief. She threw back her head, her cry loud. “Fuck, oh fuck, yes, yes!”

He didn’t slow down. He withdrew his cock to its rim and slammed back into her, its massive girth sliding against her constricting, pulsing pussy walls. Its crown hit her G-spot over and over. He smacked her butt again.

“Two!” she burst out, her second orgasm shattering her voice, her soul. Her knee shook. Her whole body trembled. She scraped her nails on the glass and arched her back, undone by the intensity of the second climax coming so close to the first. “Oh God, two! Two!”

Behind her, Jax groaned. And then, without warning, he pulled out of her pussy, spun her to face him and slammed her back to the window.

She gasped and then moaned as he hooked the back of her knee in his elbow, yanked her foot from the floor and pumped up into her sodden, throbbing sex once more.

She clung to him, the sudden change in position doing nothing to abate the pleasure crashing through her, consuming her. Owning her.

The cool glass pressed to her shoulder blades and backside, reminding her bliss-fevered brain they were on display for anyone to see. The thought the watching world could see her being taken by Jax with such animal ferocity released a flood of squirming lust in her and she scored her nails over his shoulders as her third orgasm erupted.

“Fuck, yes,” Jax groaned, his lips and teeth rasping her throat, her jaw, her ear. “That’s three. Fucking come all over me, baby. All over me. Your cunt is so wet and sucking my cock and I love it. I fucking love—”

She captured the words with her mouth, her kiss savage. Greedy. Demanding.

He bit at her bottom lip, his strokes up into her pulsing heat erratic. He clawed her breast, pinched her nipple. She gave herself over to the raw carnality of the act. Surrendered to the elemental pleasure only Jax had ever been able to give her.

When a knock sounded on the door, she didn’t flinch. Or stop.

And neither did Jax. Staring into her eyes, teeth clenched, sweat streaming down his face, he drew her knee closer to her shoulder and pumped harder and faster up into her pussy.

“One more, baby,” he begged against her lips, his voice a note of strained pain and pleasure. “Fucking give me one more so I can explode with you. Wanna explode with you. Wanna fucking empty my load in your—”

The knock on the door came again, followed by a muffled, “Room service.”

“—hot, tight cunt,” Jax finished, the words barely more than a groan, his face twisted with agonized rapture. “Wanna—”

Nat came. For the fourth time. She threw back her head, smacking it against the glass behind her, and came. Hard.

She dug her nails into Jax’s shoulders and ground her sex to his thrusting cock. Their flesh slapped together. The wet sounds of his penetration of her body filled the air.

And then, with a roar, Jax slammed up into her.

“Oh God, yes!” Nat rode her climax and his, undone by the fire of their joining, her head spinning. “I can feel your come pumping from your cock, Jax. Oh, God, Jax, I can feel your…”

He silenced her with a wild kiss, bit her bottom lip once again and then, with one final, fierce thrust, buried his face in the side of her neck and stood motionless.

Their ragged pants filled the room.

Somewhere else, in a different world, on a different planet, room service knocked on the door again.

With a shaky chuckle, Jax raised his head from the side of her neck. “Champagne?”

She let out her own unsteady laugh, her heart and breath rapid. “I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to lift the glass.”

“I’ll pour it over me and you can lick it off.”

Once again, room service knocked. Louder this time. Sharper.

“Sir?” a familiar voice called, alert with alarm. “Are you okay? I’ve just arrived and room service tells me you’re not answering the door and there are…noises coming from in there.”

Jax grinned. Without looking away or lowering her leg from where he still held it at their side, he turned his head a little over his shoulder. “All good, Bruce,” he called. “Nat and I have been—”

Nat slapped her palm to his mouth before he could finish.

His eyes twinkled above her hand. Sliding his elbow from the back of her knee, he curled his fingers around her wrist and removed her hand from his mouth. “Give us a few minutes, Bruce.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pulling a deep breath, he shifted away from her, enough for his cock to withdraw from her sex.

Nat couldn’t stop her small whimper of regret. Damn, she really did enjoy the feel of him buried to the hilt inside her.

Jax traced a finger down the side of her jaw. He studied her, an ambiguous tension falling over his eyes. “I—”

Shaking her head, Nat slipped away from him and the window. Whatever he was going to say, she didn’t want to hear it. “I’m going to have a shower.”

She didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she hurried to the bedroom and its opulent bathroom.

Closing the door behind her, she allowed herself a moment to study her reflection in the mirror.

It wasn’t just her body that told her she’d just taken part in the most incredible sex of her life. Her nipples were hard, her breasts swollen, her skin flushed and her hair a tousled mess, but it was the light in her eyes that spoke the most of sated pleasure. She hadn’t seen that light in her eyes, despite the talents of her past sexual partners, for a long, long time.

Not since she and Jax had screwed their way around Sydney a different lifetime ago.

Catching her bottom lip—bruised from Jax’s ravenous attention—with her teeth, she searched for something else in the eyes looking back at her from the mirror. Something that had to be there—knowledge this was all just sex. Just sex.

It wasn’t there.

A lump filled Nat’s throat. That was a problem. A big one.

Turning from the mirror, she entered the shower and turned on the water with a flick of her wrist.

She didn’t rush washing her hair and body with the hotel-supplied toiletries. Nor did Jax join her. That was a good thing. She needed this time alone to remind herself why she was here.

Sex with Jax.

Just
sex with Jax.

No visits to the zoo, no coffee at a café. No conversations.

Just sex.

Revenge sex, even. For taking her AC/DC album.

Wondering if what was between them could be anything more—after all these years—was just stupid, and she wasn’t stupid. She was the Dean of the Con. Stupid people didn’t become deans of revered learning institutions. Stupid people didn’t have federal ministers asking them on dates either.

She had to remember Jeremy. Not that she thought he was
the one
, God, the guy liked Celine Dion for Pete’s sake, but she had to remember he was there, that he was interested in her, had made that interest clear, and he was funny and warm and…and…wore glasses and funky suits and…and…

Closing her eyes, Nat pressed her forehead to the wet, tiled wall under the showerhead. “What are you doing?” she muttered.

“Hiding out in the shower?”

She jerked her head from the wall and stared at Jax, who grinned at her from outside the shower cubicle.

“I’m making mental lists of who you should see for Nick’s replacement,” she said, the words like chalk on her tongue.

He laughed. “Bullshit. But I’ll accept the answer only because I haven’t got a hope in hell of getting it up for a while.”

Unable to help herself, Nat dropped her gaze to his groin.

He wore his black jeans again and nothing else. The fly was undone and, even as she tried not to, she found herself thinking about the absurd tattoo of the woman with the cardboard box for a head.

“It’s you, in case you didn’t figure it out.”

Lifting her gaze, she gave Jax a small scowl. “I don’t have any idea how to respond to that.”

He laughed. “You know, I think I like this new relationship we have going. I never used to be able to leave you speechless or flustered. You were always so completely unflappable, no matter what I said or suggested. It’s a bit of an ego trip.”

Pulse hammering at her ears, she splashed water at him. “There’s no relationship. Just—”

“Sex,” he cut her off. “So you keep telling me. Now hurry the fuck up and get out the shower. The Moët’s on ice, the chocolates are open and MTV is running a special on Nick Blackthorne. We can drink, eat and discuss the merits of Nick’s incredible band.”

Nat’s pulse turned to a heavy drum. What he’d suggested sounded like heaven. How easy would it be to fall back into their old pattern of wild sex followed by relaxed conversation about music?

Too easy. And not what she was here for.

Just sex, Natalie. Just sex.

“What about the whipped cream?” she asked, standing motionless under the cold water. “Challenge number three involves—”

“You letting me catch my breath,” he said with a shake of his head as he reached in and killed the water. “While we watch MTV. Trust me, I’m going to do wicked things to your body with the whipped cream later. Somewhere around sunrise, in fact—which is only an hour or so away, by the way—but for now, we’re eating chocolate, watching MTV and talking.”

Nat swallowed the lump once again in her throat. “Don’t do this, Jax,” she whispered.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice as strained as hers.

“Pretend we’re going to…work…again. We didn’t the first time, remember? All we ever had was sex. Nothing’s changed.”

He studied her. A long, silent gaze into her eyes. And then, with a soft snort, he grinned. “Now who’s got the ego?” he said, before snaring her wrist in a firm grip and yanking her from the shower. “C’mon, Teach. MTV and Moët awaits.”

Chapter Ten

Jax knew he was in serious shit when he looked at Nat curled up on the sofa in a hotel-supplied robe, her hair a mess of damp strands, a smudge of chocolate at the side of her mouth, her vitriol at the MTV Nick Blackthorne special’s inaccuracies tumbling from her in a jumble of words and indignant expletives, and realized he’d never been happier.

For the past twenty-one years of his life, he’d had some of the world’s most beautiful women in his hotel room and in his bed. Actresses, models, singers and starlets. He’d screwed his way around the world with more gorgeous, sexy groupies than he cared to number. He’d been idolized and worshipped. Women had thrown themselves at him, offered him anything he wanted.

Anything.

And yet here and now, with Nat ranting about the mistakes the show was presenting about the band and his life, not even sitting on the same
sofa
he was, let alone not being naked and offering him her body, he’d never been more content.

More…satisfied.

Sated.

The thought occurred to him he could sit with Nat, listen to her talking about anything, not just music but anything, and he’d been happy.

He didn’t need to be naked with her to feel that way. Just being with her was enough.

That thought was scary. As scary as all shit. And absolutely, utterly wonderful.

Fuck. What the hell was going on with him?

“Argh!”

He flinched at Nat’s frustrated growl, watching as she snatched up the television’s remote control and jabbed it at the cause of her vexation.