Rock Addiction (Rock Kiss #1)(85)

“Maybe I don’t want your mouth.” Her hand gripping his hair, tugging him up with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

Smoldering heat in his blood. “Oh, you’ll be doing that one day soon. In front of me.” It would be an erotic fantasy come to life. “But since you’re being so uncooperative today”—he stroked his hand down one silken thigh, to her restless movement—“maybe you don’t deserve an orgasm.”

Chest heaving, she wrapped both legs around his hips to hold him to her, the denim of his jeans scraping against the cream of her skin. “You are a bad man and I adore you.”

Ah f*ck, but she knew how to cut him off at the knees. Totally hers, he kissed her, one hand at her throat, the other on the plump curve of her breast. When she broke the kiss to gasp in air, he took his hand off her throat to run his mouth over the slope of it, continuing downward until he reached her breasts. It only took a second to push down the cups, bare her to him, her nipples lush berries in his mouth.

“Fox.” A husky moan, her hands on his shoulders. “I want you.”

That did it. The leash snapped. “Be a good girl for my cock”—he reached down to push aside the gusset of her panties, undo his jeans—“and I’ll use my mouth on you later.”

Molly’s skin tinged hot pink, but his smart, sexy librarian didn’t back down. “I always am for you.”

Pretty damn sure he’d spill then and there, he shoved up her thigh and pushed into her in a single thick thrust, both of them sprawled out on the hood.

“Fox!”

“I have you.” Bracing his hands palms down on either side of her head, he looked into brown eyes drenched in pleasure, the pupils dilated, and found he wanted to hear the words Molly gave him, the ones that made him feel ten feet tall. But he didn’t know how to ask for them, how to tell her how important those words were to his soul.

Then she raised her fingers to his lips, tracing the shape of his mouth. “My gorgeous, talented Fox. I’m so glad I wake up next to you every morning.”

Shuddering, he stroked her thigh and found the patience to rock her slow and easy, his Molly who didn’t only fight for him, but who gave him what he needed with a generosity that tore him to pieces. As the world splintered around them, he could only hope he gave her the same, hope that she saw no lack in her life.

He couldn’t lose her. Not his Molly.




Three weeks later and Molly felt as if she was living in a dream world. The band was now officially on tour and had been for the past five days. Though they were surrounded by crew, and had—until an hour ago—been accompanied by a reporter from the most iconic magazine in the industry, Molly was the only one who was attached on a strictly personal basis.

She’d expected to be cornered by the reporter sometime during the fourteen days he shadowed the band, beginning with Schoolboy Choir’s pre-tour preparations. She’d even worked out strategies to answer what she’d guessed would be intrusive questions, but the man had treated her with a kind of absent politeness, otherwise ignoring her existence. Molly had been delighted but mystified.

It was Maxwell who cleared things up for her.

“He thought you were flavor of the month,” the crew boss said with his customary bluntness. “Since he’s planning to write the definitive article on the band at this point in their career, he’s not going to bother to include what he thinks is a bit of *.”

Molly could feel herself turning bright red. Booming with laughter, Maxwell hugged her close to his bulk. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll kick himself later when he realizes his ‘definitive article’ has a hole the size of Alaska because he couldn’t see what was right in front of his face.”

“Damn straight,” Molly said, tugging on her Schoolboy Choir cap when Maxwell released her.

“Good girl.” His grin could’ve been of a proud father. “Boys don’t have a concert tomorrow and we’re not on the road, so get ready to paint the town red after tonight’s show.”

Molly might’ve been surprised at how circumspect the entire band had been the past five days, if she hadn’t understood the demanding physicality of the concerts. Dedicated to their music as all four men were, giving a mediocre performance simply wasn’t acceptable—it wouldn’t only disappoint their fans, it would mean letting down the other members of the band.

As a result, they were more than ready to blow off some serious steam. “Wear the red skirt,” Fox said, patting her on the butt after he’d showered off the sweat from the show. “With the sparkly top.”

The “sparkly top” was a low-cut sequined halter in shimmering gold he’d bought her two days ago after spotting it in a boutique window across from their last hotel. Trying it on with a strapless push-up bra and the skirt she’d fixed after Fox tore it in New York, Molly whistled at her own reflection. She looked hot. Feeling confident and happy, she spent time straightening her hair before pulling it back into a sleek ponytail. A bit of careful makeup, with the focus on knockout red lips, and she was done.

“Oh holy hell.” It was a harsh groan from the open bedroom doorway, Fox having slipped out to the living area of the hotel suite to raid the room service cart while she dressed.

Turning around on skinny black heels, she propped a hand on her hip, her stomach flipping at the heat in the smoky green of his eyes. “I love this outfit.”