Her body arched violently as she came, bucking so wildly that she almost dislodged him. But he held on, used his tongue and teeth and lips to ride her through one cli**x and into another.
He was a man possessed, utterly enchanted by, completely addicted to the exquisite feeling he got from giving her pleasure. He could stay like this forever, his c*ck throbbing, his mouth buried in her incredibly sweet, incredibly responsive sex. Making her come would be his new obsession.
He’d had a lot of women in his life, had used his fame and charm and looks to take whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Had used sex to keep his demons, and his failures, at bay.
But sex with Jamison was different. Because Jamison is different, a primitive voice in the back of his head warned even as it urged him on. Thrusting his tongue inside of her, he sent her over the edge to one final cli**x before skimming his mouth across the curve of her hip to the flat plane of her stomach. Unable to resist, he sucked on the soft flesh of her waist until he marked her, relished the high-pitched cry she didn’t even try to hold back. Then he soothed the small hurt with his tongue and lips before pulling back.
“What—” she asked, dazed. Confused. She was trembling, but he knew it was from pleasure instead of cold. Her skin was nearly feverish.
As was he. His balls were on fire, his c*ck burning with the need to bury itself in the wet, silky heat of her. Lowering her to the ground, he turned her so that she was facing the trailer. Part of him wanted to see her face when they made love, to see her eyes go all cloudy and unfocused. But he didn’t make love that way. He never had. It was too personal, made him feel too vulnerable. And while he wanted to know everything about Jamison, wanted to get as personal with her as he possibly could, he was afraid to let her see what was inside him. Afraid she wouldn’t let him touch her if she knew just how f**ked up he was.
“Ryder!” Her high keening cry dragged him out of his head and back to the present, where he so obviously wanted to be.
Determined to get inside her—to stay inside her-- he pressed on her upper back so that she was leaning forward, her ass thrusting back for him. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the obligatory condom. Unbuttoned his pants, rolled it on. And then, intertwining his fingers with hers, he thrust into her from behind.
She cried out, arched wildly, tugged as if to free her hands from his grip. But he held on, covering her with his body. He couldn’t let go now if she begged. The moment he’d slid into her, the music had started in his head. A sweeping, electric number that lit him up even as Jamison destroyed him with pleasure.
He was rough, rougher than he’d intended, but he’d lost control. Any gentleness he’d had in him had been used up in the long, sexy moments of going down on her. But even as the music swamped him, he made sure that every cry he pulled from her was of pleasure, made sure that every slam of his body into hers took her one step higher.
He wrapped an arm around her to make sure she was protected from the cool metal of the trailer, and then he rode her hard and fast. Each thrust was a frenzy of raging need, each stroke a declaration of control and ownership and vicious, violent need.
And Jamison was taking it. No, she was begging for more, her muscles clenching tightly around him. He reached down, pulled her legs further apart. He needed to go deeper, needed to drive his c*ck so hard and deep inside of her that he’d never forget the feel of her. Never forget the music pouring through him.
Sobbing, Jamison dug her fingernails into his hands, hanging on for dear life as his thrusts moved her onto her tip-toes. “Do it!” she gasped, her body shaking uncontrollably as her sex clenched tightly around his dick. “Please. You have to.”
The music got louder. His body screamed for relief. But he refused to give in—not now, not when she was so close to coming again. He was desperate to feel her orgasm, to feel her body as it spasmed wildly around him.
Easing back a little, he brought his hand down, gently stroked her cl*t in rhythm to the music in his head. “No, baby, you have to,” he whispered, following the words with a desperate lunge inside of her. “Come on, Jamison, baby. Let it take you. Let it—”
She screamed, her back arching beneath him like a bow as the waves exploded through her. Gritting his teeth, he kept up the hard, steady strokes until sweat streamed down his body. Until his muscles cried out for relief. Until yet another orgasm whipped through Jamison and she cried his name while she came.
Only then—as the music reached a shattering crescendo—did he give himself up to a release so violent, so powerful, it was like rock and roll itself.
…
When it was over, when she could finally think again, Jamison laid her head back against the cool metal of the trailer and just breathed. She’d had sex before, even made love before, but nothing and no one could have prepared her for this. For Ryder.
He made love like he sang—darkly, dangerously, and with an incredible attention to detail that left her a quivering, boneless mess. For the first time in a long time she felt satisfied. Even more, she felt soft. Like everything inside of her had melted into a puddle of goo.
Which wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t felt her heart—and the barriers she’d very deliberately erected between herself and Ryder—melt right along with everything else.
Panic began to set in with that realization, obliterating the post-orgasmic glow that made her want to stay right where she was—even if that place was backed up against an equipment trailer—forever. Heart racing, hands trembling, fear vibrating through every nerve ending she had, she waited for Ryder to put her down. To move away. To slide the defenses he wore so seamlessly back into place.
But he didn’t. Didn’t do anything but rest against her, his face pressed into the curve of her neck, his body pressed into her own. She could still feel him there, inside of her, was desperately afraid that she always would. In the last few minutes, Ryder had done more than f**ked her. He’d taken her over completely.
Panic became full-blown terror. Suddenly she wanted to struggle against him. To demand that he put her down so that she could find that distance again. She needed to breathe, to think, to be by herself if only for a few minutes so that she could rebuild the defenses he had shattered so completely.
She’d spent years of her life lusting after Ryder, wanting him beyond all good sense and comprehension, but now that she’d had him she was only more confused.
What did this mean for them? For her? For him? Were they together? Or was she a moron for even thinking like that? Of course you are, she told herself as she fought the urge to shove him away. It was stupid, ridiculous really, to imagined she was anything special when she thought about how many women Ryder slept with in a year or a month or even a typical week.
She wanted to be different, wanted this moment between them to be more than that, but how could it be when she’d thrown herself at him like just another groupie? Twice now he’d touched her and twice she’d gone up in flames without him taking her for so much as a cup of coffee. It was preposterous to think she was anything more to him than a quick lay. A good time.
And yet even as the thoughts formed, she knew she was being unfair to Ryder. Knew she was letting the hysteria get the better of her. He was her friend, had been her friend and her champion and her hero for more than a decade. Just because they’d slept together—just because they’d scratched the itch that had been building between them for days now—didn’t mean that she was suddenly nothing to him. Of course she meant more to him than some groupie whose name he didn’t know.
So did that mean they were going to be friends with benefits now? she wondered. And if they were, how did she feel about that? Could she keep her feelings for him at bay long enough to indulge in that kind of relationship? Or would the fact that she was crazy about him—or just plain crazy—preclude them from being anything more than what they were at this very moment?
“Hey.” Ryder lifted his head. “I can practically see the wheels spinning in your head. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, forced a breezy tone she was far from feeling. “Are you kidding? That was fabulous.”
“It really was.” Jamison heard the smile in his voice, and smiled in return despite her misgivings. It was hard to stay freaked out when Ryder laid on the charm.
She waited for him to pull out, to move away, to make some excuse about needing to get back to the bus. He did none of those things. Instead, he put a hand under her chin and tilted her head back and to the side until she had no choice but to meet his eyes.
It was hard, harder than she would have imagined possible considering he was still inside her. Somehow, though, these quiet moments with him felt more intimate, more frightening, than letting him into her body had.
But she wasn’t a wimp, wasn’t some little girl to run away from her fears or the consequences of her actions. So, instead of shrugging him off or wallowing in her own insecurities, she put on her big girl panties and forced all the conflicting emotions down deep inside of herself. Chose instead to focus on the practical. “We should probably get back to the bus soon.”
“What if I don’t want to go back?” He shifted a little, angled his h*ps so that he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of her. “What if I want to make love to you again?”
Jamison gasped, arched back against him as she felt her body respond. She couldn’t help it. Despite the fears and doubts that had taken up residence inside of her, she knew she wouldn’t turn Ryder away. Not when he was in this playful mood. And not when he wanted her. It might not be the same way she wanted him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did at that moment but him and the pleasure they could bring each other.
“God, you feel good.” He thrust against her, groaned when her still sensitive sex clenched around him. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“So don’t.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
He laughed and she felt the vibration of it deep inside of herself, in her heart as well as her body. Ryder didn’t laugh nearly enough. “I’m sure that would go over well. I could just see Jared’s face if I walked onto the bus with you riding me like this.”
“It’s not Jared’s business what we do.” She tightened herself around him, stroked him from the inside.
“Do that again.” His voice was deeper, huskier than it had been even a moment before.
She did and his head fell forward until his forehead rested on her shoulder. “God, you feel good, Jamison.”
She lit up a little, thrilled deep inside that he’d used her name. That he hadn’t called her baby. “So do you, Ryder.”
He didn’t say anything more, just reached between their bodies and stroked a soft thumb over her clit. She was still sensitive from all her previous orgasms—not to mention the hard, driving rhythm he’d set while he’d f**ked her—and still she responded to him. She couldn’t help it. There was a part of her that believed she would respond to him forever. That wherever or whenever he wanted her, she would come running.
The thought terrified her all over again. So that even as she teetered on the brink of a brand new orgasm, she reached a hand behind her, pushed at his hip. “Stop.”
She sounded so turned on, so breathless, that she wouldn’t have blamed him had he ignored her. It wasn’t like she could disguise how much she wanted him, after all.
But she’d underestimated Ryder. He stopped immediately, not just the stroking of his thumb but everything else as well. “Sensitive?” he whispered against her damp skin as he pulled out of her in a warm rush that left her feeling immediately bereft.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fought back the tears as she nodded against the trailer. If only he knew just how much.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that.”
“I wanted you to. It was—” She turned her head so that her eyes met his for the first time since he’d slipped inside of her. “Wonderful.”
He smiled then and her heart stuttered a little in her chest. Because it wasn’t the smile he gave the hoards of screaming fans, wasn’t the smile he gave the other guys or his friends or even the women he slept with. She’d seen all those smiles a hundred—a thousand—times through the years. No, this was his Jamison smile. The one he kept just for her, and the fact that he was giving it to her now helped settle her like nothing else could.
After all, who was she to complain about the way things had played out? Wasn’t this what she’d wanted all along? For Ryder to see her like a woman? For him to hold her and love her, if only for a little while? When they’d first started making love, she’d sworn to herself that she would take whatever he had to offer without strings or complaints. She wasn’t planning to go back on that promise to herself within minutes of fulfilling it, was she?