Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(28)
He darted his tongue out, swiped it back and forth across her clit until her breath broke and her knees trembled. They f*cking trembled, and she fell into him, her hands clutching at his shoulder, her nails digging into his upper back.
He grabbed on to her, tried to hold her close, to steady her. But her hands were back in his hair and she was tugging at him, urging him to his feet even as he licked his way along her slit.
“My turn,” she told him, her voice husky but determined.
“I know,” he answered, pressing the words into the soft skin of her jaw as he licked his way toward her mouth. “I’ll take care of you.” He started to undo the delicate buttons of her blouse.
“No.” Her fingers were fumbling with his belt. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”
And then his jeans were open and she was on her knees in front of him.
It was so unexpected that for long seconds, he didn’t say anything. He just stared down at her, completely wrapped up in how goddamn beautiful she was with her flushed skin, her sparkling eyes, her kiss-swollen lips.
In that moment, he wanted her mouth on him more than he’d ever wanted anything—even smack. And still he cupped her cheek in his hand. Still he said, voice hoarse and more than a little strained, “You don’t have to.”
She grinned up at him then, and slid her tongue along the perfect bow of her upper lip. “Oh, I have to all right,” she told him, leaning forward to press a kiss against the tip of his very hard, very aroused dick. “I really, really do.”
And then she was pulling him inside her mouth, her tongue running along the underside of his cock. This time, his knees were the ones that shook.
Chapter Ten
She shouldn’t be doing this. She absolutely shouldn’t be doing this.
Every argument Poppy had given herself in the last three days—and especially the last thirty minutes, since Wyatt quit the band—went round and round in her head as she slid her hands around to cup Wyatt’s ass so that she could take him deeper.
She ignored them all—every argument, every worry, every consequence she knew would come from this—and concentrated instead on giving him as much pleasure as he’d given her. On making him feel as good as he made her feel.
Doing this was stupid; she knew it with every fiber of her being. Bad for her job, bad for her future, and—she was beginning to be more than a little afraid—bad for her heart. But how could she not give him this after seeing the vulnerability in his eyes?
How could she not take him inside of herself when that one glimpse had let her see just how lost he felt? How desperately he wanted, needed, to connect with someone?
She would be that someone.
Not because of her job, not because of her ambitions or the label or any of the reasons why she’d come here. But because of Wyatt. Because of the way he touched her, the way he held her, the way—three times now—he was so determined to give her pleasure when the other guys she’d known had always only been out for themselves.
She wanted to make him feel good so badly, to get him outside of his head for a little while and show him that he was worth it. That after the hell he’d been through he deserved all the pleasure he could take. All the pleasure she could give him.
And so she sucked him deeper still, and as she did, she scratched her nails over the flat? muscled plane of his abdomen. Down his perfectly defined V-cut. Along the light happy trail that led from his navel to his groin. He was beautiful, so f*cking beautiful, his skin pale, his hair soft and silky, his muscles long and lean.
For a moment, just a moment, she thought about how he’d gotten this lean, this toned, this hard. Thought of the drugs and the horrors of withdrawal and the hours he must have spent exercising just to keep from going out of his mind. It didn’t turn her off, didn’t make her feel sorry for him, though it did make her feel for him. As did the still fading track marks she could see ghosting along the veins that ran on the outside of his hips.
She wanted to touch them, to lick her way along them in an effort to soothe away all the hurt and ugliness they represented. But something deep inside warned her it would ruin everything if she did, and so she settled on letting him slip out of her mouth so she could press hot, open-mouthed kisses on first one hip and then the other. And if her heart broke just a little at all the pain he had suffered, well then, nobody had to know that but her.
Wyatt groaned, his hands fisting in her hair as she pushed his T-shirt up and out of the way so that she could see, touch, taste more of him.
She skimmed her way across his stomach, kissing every inch of exposed skin she could get her lips on. But then the shirt fell down, covering him up again, and she made a sound of frustration deep in her throat. She hadn’t been able to see him in that alley the other night. She wasn’t about to let that happen here.
He must have recognized the source of her frustration—or maybe he just wanted the shirt gone as much as she did. Either way, it took only a second for Wyatt to rip the offending garment over his head and drop it on the ground next to her torn panties. As he did, the muscles of his chest and stomach flexed and bunched, and it was all she could do to keep her tongue in her mouth.
Because, dear God, the man was sporting the first ten pack she had ever seen up close and personal. Hell, it was the only ten pack she’d ever seen, period. She knew drummers were ripped, knew they used their core more than pretty much any other musicians out there, but still. Wyatt had been toned when he’d gone to rehab. Now…now he looked like a god.