Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (10 page)

I lick my lips, our faces so close I can practically taste the latex on my tongue.

She slips the condom over my steel hard cock using both hands. Her thumb swipes once more over the tip, causing a reflexive jerk of my hips.

She leans up slowly and presses her mouth to mine. With one hand against my chest, she pushes.
There is no fucking way I'm moving off of her right now.

She pushes again, harder.

"Please," she says against my lips.

Fuck me if I don't push up onto my arms.

Sliding around beneath me, she manages to sit up and manipulate me into sitting on my legs.

Frowning, I move forward, but she puts a hand out. I narrow my eyes, waiting.

She crawls over and straddles my thighs. Instinctively, I palm her ass.
Jesus Christ, her ass is made for my hands.

One small arm wraps around my shoulder as the other snakes between us, gripping the base of my cock. I groan and bury my face in her neck, sucking on her skin. She positions me at her entrance and drops down hard, taking all of me in one motion. I press my teeth against her flesh and she moans.

Her arms wrap around my shoulders as she rises and falls in rapid succession. My fingers curl into her bare ass, digging deeply into her porcelain skin and spreading her cheeks.
There will be marks.
I grip harder, ensuring it, and guide her against me.

The slap of sweaty skin and panting fills the room. The scent of latex, arousal, and pussy surrounds me. Every pint of blood in my body rushes to my dick. Sharp aching tightens my balls.

Releasing one perfect globe, I grip her hip and pull her against me harder.

"Oh, fuck." Her moans grow louder and dirtier. "Fuck. Your dick is amazing."

Sliding my hand inward, I find her clit with my thumb and rub.

"Jesus. Christ. Don't stop," she screams, her thighs tightening on my ribs. Her hips pump faster, seeking orgasmic bliss.

Her dirty mouth makes it nearly impossible to hold back. My dick throbs painfully, the tip aches to release, and my balls may never drop again.

"Jackson." My name sounds like a fucking prayer.

Liza fists the hair at the back of my head with one hand and pulls my face from her neck.

Fuck, if she makes me look in her eyes, see that naughty gleam, I'm gonna explode. I focus on her parted lips and the flush of her damp skin. She pulls on my head again.

Our eyes lock.

"Come with me, Jackson."

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Come with me…now."

Releasing my hair, her head drops back and she screams out for the heavenly father before calling out to me like the charmer she is. My cock pulses hard at the sound of my name and for a moment, my mind goes blank. Then, in a violent combination of clarity and ecstasy, all the energy in my body explodes into hers.

I drop my forehead to her chest, my heavy breaths washing over her tits. I want to cup one and roll the hard tip in my fingers, but I'm completely fucking spent.

She squirms, an attempt to move, and my sensitive cock can't take it. I grip her hips and quickly pull her off. A shudder rolls up my spine and I stare down at my softening cock, removing the condom.

What kind of fucking shit is this? Is it broken?

Liza rolls from her back to her stomach, the movement catching my eye. She's still trying to catch her breath, but inching to the edge of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

She looks back over her shoulder. The picture she creates is one a fucking artist would love to paint or sculpt. Her naked skin a blank porcelain slate: flawless. That ass: something to be worshiped. The curve of her hip: the perfect place to kiss, lick, bite.

"To get my clothes?" It sounds like a question.

Knotting the condom opening, I drop it next to the bed and move to her.

She stiffens, but doesn't try to run. It wouldn't matter. I'd catch her.

I grab her by the knees and pull her back to the middle of the bed. The contrast of my inked skin against her clear perfection causes a pang in my chest.

Ignoring the feeling, I angle my body on the bed so I can lay the back of my head on her thigh, right where it meets her ass.

"Are you hungry?" I slip one hand underneath her knee, holding.

"No," she answers, and then yawns.

"Tired." It's my turn to yawn.

"A bit." She giggles out the response.

"Sorry, if I bore you to sleep."

Turning my head, I rest my cheek against her skin. I'm a sick fuck, 'cause the smell of sex, of us, coming from between her legs is oddly satisfying.

"You'll just have to make it up to me." I can hear the smile in her voice.

I release her knee and roll to my stomach. Leaving my cheek against her thigh, I bring one hand to the right cheek of her ass.

"How long have you worked at the club?"

My question catches her by surprise. The muscles beneath my cheek and hand tense.

"A few years."

I don't like how guarded she sounds.

"Are you from here?"

I brush my thumb over her skin, feeling the muscles relax a little.

"No."

"Where are you from?"

"Pennsylvania."

"You aren't comfortable with questions." It's not a question.

"Why are you in L.A.?" she asks, turning the tables.

I shrug.

"Promotion. Music stuff." It's not a total lie, but part of my contract with the show is keeping my identity as a judge a secret.

"So, you'll be heading back home soon." This isn't a question.

"Tell me about you, Liza." I trace invisible patterns on her skin.

"Not much to tell." I feel her shrug and then she sighs. "I came to L.A. thinking I would be famous. Turns out, a lot of people have the same idea." She laughs quietly.

"How did you find the club? To be honest, I wouldn't have given that fucking place a second glance from how it looks on the outside."

"Waitressed with a girl who told me about auditions. I went to check it out and the rest is history."

The room falls silent, but it's not an uncomfortable silence. It's too fucking comfortable.

"Do you often go back to hotels with people who come to watch the show?"

It's a shitty question and I know it, but being with her is too easy. Time with my snake charmer is up.

Her body stiffens.

"Why would you say that?"

"I didn't
say
anything. I asked a question."

"You know exactly what you're saying." Her body disappears and my head hits the bed. I immediately miss her presence.

"Don't get pissy. It's just a fucking question." Rolling onto my back, I rub my face. I want to jump up and drag her back to me.

"Fuck you, Jackson. You got what you wanted from me, don't be an asshole about it now."

The bed shifts and I angle my head, watching her walk toward the bedroom door. Without thinking about why I need her to leave, I roll from the bed and catch her around the waist. She squeals as I lift her into my arms.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asks, more confused than mad.

"I didn't say you could leave."

Kneeling on the bed, I lay us both down onto the mattress.

"I don't take orders from you. I'm not a whore or whatever you want to believe I am."

I pull the rumpled blanket over our naked bodies, tucking the white cotton around her.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice exasperated. "I was leaving, just like you wanted me to."

Mid-tuck, I freeze. She figured my shit out.

"I'm not stupid," she whispers.

"No." I settle in and wrap my arm around her, making sure she doesn't get up. "You're worse."

She exhales loudly and I know she's going to speak, curse me, and do what I need her to do, but I won't let her leave. I can’t.

I cup her cheek, bring her face to mine, and press my mouth to hers, ending the conversation before it starts. Something inside me shatters. My chest burns and I deepen the kiss.

This kiss is different—sensual, soft, explorative. It's goddamn meaningful. Holding her face, I bring my body flush to her side, but it's not close enough. I wrap one leg around hers, pulling her into me.

Breaking away from each other, I drop back to the pillow and hold her head to my collar bone. We breathe heavily into the silence.

And if I wasn't fucked before, I am now.

Chapter Seven

Liza

A sound wakes me. Disoriented, I look around, remembering where I am and who’s next to me. I lift onto an elbow and look over at the bright white numbers on the bedside clock.

3:12 A.M.

Twisting my body, I peek at Jackson. He's stomach down, facing away from me. The butterflies in my stomach settle a little. With the practiced movements of a one-time mother of an infant, I ninja my way out of the covers and stand by the bed.

Jackson lays with a white sheet low enough, I can see the beginning slope of his ass. Part of me wishes he'd wake and stop me like before, but the smart, common-sense part knows I need to get home.

I close my eyes and inhale the scent of him, sex…us. Saving it to memory, I turn for the door. Every muscle in my body aches deliciously with the memory he left on my body. At the door, I risk one last look at him before quietly pulling it closed and collecting my things.

Slipping from the hotel room—without the bra I couldn't find—I make sure the door closes soundlessly. I look down both sides of the corridor and take a breath when I find it empty. I start toward the elevators and my skin prickles, uneasiness and the feeling of being watched shoving at my back. I glance over my shoulder and find the corridor still empty. Reaching the elevators, I press the call button more times than necessary. The moment the elevator arrives, I dart inside, pressing the
close door
button repeatedly.

Paranoid much? Jesus, one-night stands with rock stars are horrible for the nerves.

The doors slide open to the lobby and no one gives a second glance as I swiftly step toward the rotating door. Keeping my head down, I exit the hotel and use my peripheral vision to find a cab to drive me away from my one night with hot as fuck, way-too-easy-to-fall-for, Jackson Shaw.

"He should come with a warning label," I mumble into the backseat of the yellow taxi.

"Someone got in late." Kel's voice pulls me from my restless sleep on the couch.

Having gotten in so late, I didn't want to wake them by messing with the squeaky pullout. I groan and rub my eyes.

"What time is it?" I ask in a half-yawn.

"Almost nine-thirty."

I open my eyes to find my brother looking down at me with concern.

"What's wrong?"

Unease lining his face, he sits on the coffee table.

"What happened last night, Liza?"

Pushing up to sit, I face him.

"Nothing. I went out with Beth and—”

"Did you get hurt?" His brow raises.

"What? No." Scrunching my face in confusion, I ask, "Why would you think that?"

"Then what happened to your lip." He points.

Bringing my hand to my mouth, I fight a wince.
Shit, shit, shit.
I jump to my feet and hurry to the bathroom.

"Mom, where are my—?"

The closing of the bathroom door cuts off Lucas' question. Guilt stabs at my chest, but I focus on my reflection in the mirror.

So caught up in the moment, I didn't even feel how hard our mouths met, but the evidence is staring me right in the face. I explore the swollen red mark on my bottom lip with my tongue. The taste and smell of Jackson assaults my senses. Shaking my head, I flip on the faucet and splash water on my face.

"Liza?" Kel knocks on the door. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I blurt, reaching for the hand towel. Patting my face dry, I pull open the door.

Kel and Lucas stare at me with concern in their eyes.

"Guys."

I tilt my head and toss the towel next to the sink. Stepping forward, I take them both in my arms.

"I'm fine. Bethany kept me out later than I planned. I'm just tired."

"Do you wanna skip my game so you can get some sleep?" Lucas asks.

I lean down and kiss the top of his head.

"I wouldn't miss your game for anything. Now, go finish getting ready." Releasing both of them, I step back. "Your shin guards are hanging in your closet." I ruffle his hair.

"How'd you know what I was looking for?" he asks, but turns into his room before I can respond.

"What's going on?" Kel frowns.

I place my hand on his face and smile.

"Beth accidentally bumped me in the mouth last night while changing. It's nothing," I say, cringing internally at the lie.

"Yeah, okay," he offers, and walks down the hall.

I close the bathroom door again, turn on the shower, and wait for the water to heat. The scent of Jackson wafts off my clothes as I strip and my body reacts, thinking it can still have him. Taking a deep breath, I turn for the shower and catch my reflection in the mirror.

I gasp at the dark purple and red sucker bites peppering my left breast.
Clearly, he has a favorite.
Lifting my hair, I take in more evidence of my night. Light bruising on my ass confirms his hands had spent time there. Carpet burn mars a spot on my lower back. Angry red marks show where my bra rubbed last night.

"You almost done?" Kel's voice and the knock on the door startles me. Without thinking, my arms shoot out, covering my body like he can see through the door
.

"Almost," I respond, jumping into the shower.

After taking the quickest shower ever—part of me mourning the idea of washing Jackson away—I wrap a towel around my body, another over my shoulders for complete coverage, and step into the hallway.

I rummage through the storage drawers beneath my clothing rack and grab a pair of black workout capris, matching sports bra, and a loose yellow t-shirt before hurrying back into the bathroom to dress.

I situate my shirt, making sure the V-neck doesn't expose any of my Jackson reminders, tear a brush through my hair, and apply tinted moisturizer, eyeliner, and mascara. After years of wearing elaborate, sexy pin-up makeup, going out without something makes me feel exposed.

"Mom, the game is in thirty-five minutes," Lucas yells down the hall.

Running some frizz reducing hair serum through my hair, I twist and wrap the length into a loose bun and tie a yellow bird print bandana around my head to complete the look.

"I'm coming," I call, walking down the hall and meeting them at the door.

Lucas stands in his uniform, soccer bag slung over his shoulder.

Kel holds his messenger bag close and opens the door.

Sliding my feet into flip flops, I grab my bag, slip on a thin black jacket, and we're out the door.

"So, what made you decide to go out last night?" Kel asks, holding the stairwell door open.

I shrug. "Celebrating."

We begin descending to the main floor.

"Celebrating what?" he presses.

"Still having a job," I blurt.

Kel and Lucas both stop, looking at me.

"What happened to your job?" Lucas sounds worried.

"Hey, nothing happened." Stepping close, I smooth my hand over his head.

"Then what do you mean, Liza?" Kel asks, his question laced in annoyance.

"Thom sold the club." I look from Lucas' relieved face to Kel's suspicious one. "There had been talk, even from Thom, but last night was the first night we got to meet the new owner. He basically assured us our jobs were safe and he's not overhauling the place, but there will be some changes."

Kel's face relaxes a little.

"Now, let's get moving or we'll be late."

With a gentle shove from me, Lucas starts walking down the last flight of stairs.

"So, do you like the new owner?"

"Kel, please stop worrying so much."

Stepping off the last step, I dig through my bag for sunglasses and slip them on.

"I'm just asking," he grumbles.

I sigh and slip my arm around his, guiding him out of the apartment building.

"I guess. He seems good. He'll definitely bring in new people and the celebrities are going to be—”

"Celebrities?" Kel tugs my arm, stopping us.

"Come on!" Lucas shouts from twenty paces ahead.

"Keep walking," I say, pulling on his arm. "The new owner is Steven Redman. He's from—”

"Corrosive Velocity," Kel finishes. "Holy shit, Liza. They're amazing! He's your new boss?"

The excitement in his voice makes me laugh.

"Yep. He's already brought one of the other group members and a…another guest to the club." Memories of Jackson flash through my mind. His long, skilled fingers curling into my skin and inside me.

"You cold?" Kel's question confuses me.

"No, why?"

"You shivered," he responds with a shrug. "Please tell me you can get me an autograph."

"I can probably do better than that." I squeeze his arm. "I'll see if I can introduce you. Then you can ask for one yourself."

Kel's arm slips out of mine to wrap around my shoulders. I curl my arm around his back.

"You're the best." His lips press against the side of my head.

"This is almost too precious to interrupt."

My heart begins to race, palms sweat, and stomach flutters from the sound of his voice, a mixture of panic and thrill rushing through me.

Kel turns to face Jackson at the same time I do.

"You're—"

"Don't mean to interrupt your moment, but you forgot this."

Jackson's hand disappears behind him only to return with my lace bra in his hand.

"You must not have been able to find it in the dark light of early morning. Thought you might want it back."

With a flick of his wrist, the lace lands against my chest.

Reflexively, I grip the bra to my chest, ball up the material, and shove it in my bag. My eyes burn with tears I fight not to shed.

How in the hell am I going to explain this to Kel?

"What's your problem?" Kel's angry question surprises me.

"Kel—”

"I don't have a problem," Jackson sneers. "She's your problem, my man."

"Mom," Lucas yells, running to my side, “we're going to miss the bus."

"Are you for fucking real, Liza?" Jackson throws an arm out toward Lucas. "Seriously, you're a goddamn mom, too? Wow. I bet he's so proud."

A whimper escapes my throat when he nods to Lucas.

"Don't talk to my mom like that!"

Lucas moves, standing between Jackson and me.

Putting both hands up in surrender, Jackson backs away.

"Don't worry. Your mom gave me all I needed from her."

His words are as sharp as a dagger and he throws a look, confirming his intent to hurt me before turning and walking away.

"Mom?" Lucas looks up at me, his brow furrowed.

"Let's go. We don't want to be any later than we are," I say, putting an arm around his shoulders and leaving the scene behind us.

We arrive at the field at the end of warm-ups. After apologizing to Lucas' coach, I sit next to Kel on a set of bleachers. The silence between us is uncomfortable and the longer I think about what happened, the angrier I get.