Ripped (Real, #5)(68)

“Why the f*ck is it too late?”

“I don’t want you to open up, because it makes me feel like I should too, and I can’t.” I stare at him. “I won’t.”

He looks at me, battling with something in his head.

Then he presses his lips to the crook of my neck. “You’re so lovely,” he whispers. “Even when you’re not smiling, you’re so f*cking lovely, Pink,” and the whisper is almost a song. I’ve never heard it before, but the feel of his breath as he murmurs into my skin sparks me up like nothing ever has. “Let me in. Tell me what to do so you can let me in—”

“You lied to me,” I say.

“It wasn’t a lie. I’ve never lied to you. I can lie about you—you taught me to lie about you when you wouldn’t let anyone know I was yours—but I never lied to you, Pink.”

“I didn’t—”

He presses a finger to my lips, his expression pleading with me not to fight with him. “It’s all right. I wasn’t good enough then, but I’m good enough now,” he says.

“Oh, really? Because you have fame and money?” I smirk.

“Because I’m a man, Pink, not a foolish little boy. Because I weathered shit, and I still grew and made something of myself. Because I’m here now, with you, and I won’t be driven away. You cast me aside before, but I won’t let you do that again. That’s why I’m good enough now.”

“You really mean that?” I ask, both puzzled and strangely warm in my chest area.

“Oh, I mean it.”

Suddenly I feel it’s important to clear up the fact that I did not cast him aside—at least, not willingly. “It wasn’t you, Kenna. My mother would never have understood,” I explain, almost apologizing. Before I say anything more, I grab my glass and drain my cosmo.

Then sign for another.

? ? ?

THREE HOURS LATER we’re drunk. As we stumble into the room, Mackenna pulls my shirt up and my bra down, and suddenly his mouth surrounds the tip of my breast. I feel him jerk on his jeans, and his mouth only leaves my tits for the length of time it takes for him to get his shirt off.

“Fucking god, just look at you.” He dips his finger into my jeans and runs his mouth along my throat. I love it so much, I impulsively drag my lips over his jaw, running my hands over that sexy buzz cut hair.

“You drunk? Hmm? You drunk?”

“You’re drunk as f*ck,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but the kind of drunk that can f*ck you like you want.”

He goes and gets naked, then lights a cigarette.

He looks lickable.

The tattoo on his forearm peeks out as he takes a hit of the cigarette, the tip glowing as he does.

“What does that mean?”

He passes the cigarette over and I give it a hit, watching the smoke leave my lips.

“I tried quitting, you know,” I say.

“Yeah, I can’t quit for more than a few days. Especially touring. I get a f*cking headache, and the only thing that quits is my good mood. Come here.”

“Hmm. Most I’ve lasted was, well, there was this one year where I didn’t smoke anything but e-cigarettes, but then I started up again. My only rule is to never smoke at home. Or in front of Mags.”

“Nice.” He’s now referring to my body as he peels off my layers of clothing, and he looks at me as if he’s branding the image of me naked into his mind.

My nipples are puckered as though begging for his mouth. My * feels damp and his eyes snag there. “So pink and shiny, this shaven little *.”

He drags a finger over it, leading to my pink clit and lips.

“Fuck,” he says, rubbing that finger over my lips. “I’m salivating here, babe. You’re so beautiful.” He lifts his gaze and watches my expression as he slides a finger over my sex again. I tremble.

“Stop saying ‘babe,’ Mackenna.”

“Shh,” he says, heading for the bathroom in all his naked glory, returning with a condom.

“We haven’t even kissed and you’re hard. You’re always hard.”

“You assume your perfect tits and that sweet * won’t get me like this?” My eyes drop to his huge erection, and I lick my lips, knowing how much I want it. He takes my face in one hand, his eyes devouring me. “There’s something innocent and alluring about you. Some innocence you don’t hide. I want to feed myself into your mouth, baby, and I want to watch you feast on me.”

He rolls a condom over his cock, and I groan in hunger and drop to my knees, his hands cupping the back of my head. “Come here,” he coaxes, pulling my head toward his straining cock. “Come here and open your mouth.”

“I want you, but not with a condom.”

“It’s flavored just for you, Pink.”

I unroll it and his eyes darken dangerously. I smile drunkenly up at him, then I open my mouth around him, and the flick of my tongue seems to catapult his desire, because he groans and fists my hair as he starts pumping. “Oh, baby. Oh, sweetheart. Ahh, Christ, Jesus, don’t stop, Pink. Don’t f*cking stop until I’m dry. You like that cock? You wanted nothing between your perfect tongue and my f*cking cock? Are you going to swallow me, Pink? Tell me how badly you want to f*cking swallow me.”