Idol (VIP, #1)(65)

My lips twitch.

“Calm down, Elly May.” I mean it as a joke, but my voice doesn’t quite get there.

Libby stops her gawking and narrows her eyes. “Why do you look all pissy?”

I give her an affronted look before leaning in a little to whisper under my breath. “Whip was considering asking you out on a date.”

Pissy? Yeah, I’m pissy all right. What I don’t expect is Libby’s flush of pleasure.

“Isn’t that sweet,” she says, pleased as f*cking punch.

“Sweet?” I hiss. “You like the idea?”

The corner of her mouth turns down. She pokes my side, and I barely manage to hold in my yelp.

“Stop thinking with your dick,” she whispers.

Sadly, my dick isn’t the one doing the thinking. It’s the organ a little farther north, which is now pounding with agitation. I cross my arms over my chest and slump in the seat. Not exactly mature, but this is where she’s led me.

Libby’s pleased expression doesn’t fade but grows. “It’s just nice to be liked, you know? It means he accepts me being here. Besides,” she says, looking out over the room as people finish taking their seats. “I don’t think he was serious, anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure he was.” The f*cker.

“Then why is he over there sticking his tongue down that reporter’s throat?”

My head snaps up, and I’m greeted by the sweet sight of Whip making out with the pretty blonde who’s been trying to get interviews all night. Okay, it’s not a sweet sight, and I quickly avert my eyes. But my relief is palpable.

“You know,” I say conversationally, as I kick back, “I want to f*ck you right now.”

Libby jerks as if she’s been pinched and sits a little straighter, before getting a hold of herself and slouching as if she’s completely chill. Cute.

She gives me a smirk and sips her water. “And what?” she drawls. “Mark your territory? Assert your manly dominance?”

“Yep.” I slide my gaze to hers. “But mostly I just want to f*ck you all the time.”

God, I love the way her lips part as her body flushes with heat. So subtle, but there all the same. It makes me hard as steel, my balls squeezing tight. I don’t look at her but pretend I’m observing the room. The lights are lowering for the movie now, the empty chairs in front of us obscuring our lower halves.

My hand falls to the space between us and smooths along her hip. She delicately shivers as my fingers trace her thigh.

“What about you?” I murmur, toying with her skirt in the darkening room. “You want to f*ck me, baby doll?”

“Right now I want to kick you,” she gets out between clenched teeth. “Keep your hands to yourself. There are nosy-ass people everywhere.”

“They’re all watching the movie, not us.” Focusing on the screen, I keep my expression neutral as I ease my hand under her skirt. Her skin is smooth and warm. The movie starts in a blast of music and the familiar old logo as I trace over her knee and up her soft thigh. “And that wasn’t a no.”

She makes a cute growl in the back of her throat, but her legs part just enough to give me room to delve between them. Her inner thighs are hot and damp, and my cock twitches.

The storyline rolls along; my touch roams. Libby remains utterly still, but I can practically feel the tension vibrating within her. When the tip of my finger skims the crease where her thigh meets her hip, her breath catches, legs parting wider.

“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate this new skirt-filled wardrobe?” I whisper, drawing circles along her skin.

“Brenna’s idea.” Her hips shift just a bit, following my touch. “Right now I’m missing my shorts.”

I smile, my eyes on the screen, my fingers drifting to the edge of her panties. “Later, you can put them on and we’ll play Fuck the Farmer’s Daughter.”

She stifles a laugh, which turns to a strangled whimper when I pluck her panties. Her voice goes breathy. “I’m trying to watch the damn movie. I’m not interested in fooling around.” She moves a tiny fraction, nudging against my finger.

In the dark, I grin, heat and lust pulling my abs tight. “I’m sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “But I don’t believe you. I’m gonna have to check.”

“Killi—oh, hell.”

I’m thinking the same as my finger slides over slick, swollen skin. And it makes me feel like a f*cking god. Because I did that to her. I’m the one who gets her this wet. The one she needs. I’m the one she’s panting for right now, moving against my touch with a tiny whimper.

I’ll make it better. It’s my job now. My privilege. And I’ll be damned if anyone tries to take that away.



Libby



I really should stop Killian. We’re playing with fire, fooling around in so many public places. A reporter just implied that I whored myself to him. And here he is fingering me in a movie theater.

I should protest, but the man is a damn musician; he plays my body like a master, never missing a beat. I can’t resist that. I don’t want to, not when each sure, sly touch sends heat and pleasure shimmering over my skin. Not when I can almost feel him holding in a grin, his shoulder pressed against mine, his eyes on the screen as he oh-so-gently circles my clit.