Rock Chick Reckoning (Rock Chick #6)(39)

Then I walked to my acoustic guitar, grabbed it and sat on the edge of my mauve chair, settling the guitar on my thigh, close to my knee, deciding, if I played quietly, maybe I wouldn’t wake Mace.

But I had to play, it had been two days and too much happened. I needed it.

And Guitar Hero didn’t cut it.

My fingers moved up the neck, feeling the strings, snagging the frets. I strummed a few chords. Then put a few more together.

After awhile, I forgot everything. Eric, the way he looked at me, what he said to me and that entire scene. My new alarm system. Police checking in on me. The Rock Chicks in danger. Someone wanting to murder me. That same someone already murdering Lindsey. I even forgot Mace someone already murdering Lindsey. I even forgot Mace and Juno, who were in the same room with me.

My long since cal used fingers moved along the frets, strummed and plucked at the strings, and, softly, I closed my eyes and began to sing The Beatles’ “Blackbird”.

And I kept my eyes closed, softly singing and strumming, picking and sliding until I plucked the last two notes. I opened my eyes and saw movement.

I looked to the bed.

Mace was awake, elbow in the pil ow, head in his hand, eyes, I could tel , even in the mostly dark, on me.

Just like he used to do. Just like always.

“Kitten, come to bed,” he said softly.

Just like he used to say. Just like always.

Out of habit, having sunk into living the memory of what we once were, I didn’t hesitate.

I put the guitar in its stand, turned out the light and walked to the bed. I rounded it, Mace rol ed, Juno moved to accommodate me (such a good dog), I shimmied out of my shorts and I slid under the covers.

Mace’s arm wound around my middle and he pul ed me deep into him.

“Feel better?” he murmured into my hair, knowing how I needed my music.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

He kissed the back of my neck.

“I missed that too,” he told me, talking about me playing and singing and him watching and I felt a shiver slide across my skin.

I knew not only did he mean to say that out loud, he meant to say what he said earlier out loud too.

And I didn’t know what to make of that at al .

* * * * *

I woke up with his hand under my tank top, not just under it but honing in on my breast. “Mace –” I said, sounding sleepy.

His hand cupped my breast, the rough pad of his thumb slid across my nipple then back.

“Mace –” I said again, stil sounding sleepy but my voice had dipped lower.

His thumb was joined by a finger, there was a gentle squeeze then a rol .

Pleasant happy tingles shot everywhere, a goodly number of them directed themselves straight between my legs.

Oh lordy be.

I twisted my head to him, my intent to say something, to protest but he pul ed up, leaned in and kissed my open mouth. The kiss was deep, hot and he pressed his h*ps into my bottom at the same time he did another squeeze then swipe of this thumb. I felt his hardness against my behind and more pleasant tingles, far more intense, scored a path through every nerve.

I kissed him back, I couldn’t help it, I didn’t try.

We kept kissing then his mouth moved along my cheek, to my ear, his tongue traced its curve. His hand left my breast and trailed down, over my bel y, between my legs then he cupped me there.

“Tel me what you want,” he murmured in my ear, his deep voice already rough.

“Touch me,” I whispered.

He touched me, his fingers pressing in, finding me immediately. I moaned and started to breathe heavily, my mouth open, Mace’s lips and tongue at my neck.

I pressed my h*ps into his lap and nuzzled. He made a noise that came deep from his throat and vibrated against my neck.

I twisted my head again and we kissed, hotter, deeper, his fingers playing me over my undies. I quit kissing and started panting.

His fingers moved away.

“What do you want?” he asked against my mouth.

I didn’t delay, I couldn’t and I didn’t try.

“I want you inside me.”

His thumb went into the side of my panties, pul ing them up over my bandage and yanking them down to just above my knees. He positioned and entered me.

God, it was beautiful.

My neck twisted the whole time so I was facing him, his hand came back to my breast, his thumb and finger teasing my nipple, our mouths together, alternately kissing and breathing, my h*ps pressed into his as he thrust into me.

I got close but held back.

“Kitten,” he muttered. He felt it, he knew it, he didn’t like it.

He never did, he always wanted me to let go.

I always wanted to wait for him.

“Are you close?” I breathed.

He didn’t answer, instead he demanded, “Stop holdin’

back.”

“I want it to happen with you,” I told him.

His hand left my breast, went between my legs, his fingers pressed and circled.

I gasped his name, his mouth ground down on mine and he drove into me deep right before I came.

I was dazed and stil coming down when, mouth stil on mine, his strokes going deeper, faster, I knew he was close, his voice now hoarse, he said, “Christ, you feel sweet. No one f**kin’ sweeter.”

It was again something I suspected he didn’t mean to say out loud but I was beginning to think Mace didn’t do anything he didn’t mean to do. A different kind of warmth spread over me in a thick layer on top of my happy post-orgasm-Mace-stil -inside-me feel.