The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(37)

Pixie faced him, and for a moment, he could see the words she wasn’t saying. Trent and Cujo’s protectiveness, her reluctance, her embarrassment. The reason she hadn’t slept with anyone wasn’t a choice. It was a fear. Borne of the kind of misery she’d suffered. She was like him, and while his heart hurt for her, it meant she understood him. And he understood her.

“Tell me again, Snowflake.” He pulled her toward him so they were eye level.

Gently, Pixie shook her head. He placed her hand on his chest.

“Give me the chance to tell you what my heart felt, rather than what my head thought.”

“I’m a virgin. There. Are you happy?” She wriggled in his arms, which given the topic of conversation had his cock standing to full attention. Not that it was going to get any relief any time soon. He was going to woo the crap out of this woman before he took her to bed for the first time.

“I’m f*cking ecstatic, Pixie. And nervous as shit. That you’d even consider sharing something as precious as that with me is the greatest gift ever.”

Pixie tucked her head into his shoulder, her hands down by her sides. Moments ticked by. Then he felt her warm lips brush his neck, and he tightened his grip on her. They blazed a trail along his neck and under his jaw until her lips found his.

She wiggled her hands out of his embrace and held either side of his face, which made him feel . . . what? Cherished?

He ran his hands along her sides, feeling the soft swell of her breasts before he moved to hold her face in the same way she held his. Following her lead, he deepened the kiss, reminding himself that no matter how strong the urge to lift her onto the kitchen counter and take her was, they had a lot of ground to cover before that could happen. A fire lit in his chest. He burned for her. Yet for once, he was looking forward to taking the time to help Pixie explore her sexuality.

Breathless, he pulled away from her. Her pout was adorable, all swollen pink lips. “We need ground rules, Snowflake.”

“We do?”

“Yeah.” He ran his hands through her hair, over her shoulders, and down until they rested at the small of her back. “I want you to feel safe with me. So rule one is, you choose the when, and I’ll choose the what.”

“You’ll choose the what?” she asked breathily.

Yeah. The what . . . because he loved control in bed more than music.

He nodded. “Trust me.”

“Are you not going to ask me why?” Pixie eyes went wide.

He didn’t need to think about it. “No,” he said shaking his head. “Because you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But will you answer this one question for me?”

“What is it?” she asked nervously.

“Your reason. It’s not simply a case of saving yourself for the right person, which I would totally respect, is it?”

Pixie shook her head. “I’ve tried this before, Dred. And it never ends well.”

Lucky for him that every other * who was given the chance messed it up. “This will. Because rule number two says I promise to stop if you say so. I want to try. I want to strip you and lick you. I want you to strip me, and lick me, and enjoy it. And if we get to go further, I want to run my fingers over you and in you unless you tell me to stop. I don’t want to ask permission each time I touch you, or to bring it up again and remind both of us what’s going on. I want to savour it. Savour you.”

Because he couldn’t resist, he kissed her again. The rules were working, her hands gripped his shoulders, her body pressed up against his, and it felt like heaven. He ran his hands lower and squeezed her ass, pulling her closer, and bit back a smile when she groaned against him.

“Can I add a rule?” she asked, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his.

Dred nodded, anxious to hear what she had to say.

“You can’t treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m not going to break, Dred.”

“Agreed.” To support his point, he slid his hands inside the back of her jeans, grazing the smooth skin of her butt.

When she gasped, he laughed. “Ready to see our rehearsal?” he asked, changing the direction of the conversation and hopefully redirecting the blood away from his cock. He was ninety percent concerned about Pixie and ten percent ready to take her in every way known to man, so distractions were good.

He gave her the full tour of the studio, something he’d never done with another woman. It was all the groupies ever wanted to do, but he didn’t want to leave a trace of history in the place he went to be inspired. Lingering impressions of people in his workspace would influence the music he created there.

Practice lasted a couple of hours. Remarkably, Dred had been able to focus after the bomb Pixie had dropped on him. Nikan had been playing around with the chorus of a song they were working on where all four guitars played a hugely complex yet different series of notes, and it was taking a while to get the timing right. They stopped for a break before lunch to discuss making some changes. Pixie was busy laughing as Lennon tried to teach her a basic eighth-note rock groove using the hi-hat, bass, and snare. She was useless at it, but when Lennon took over to show her again, she started to sing the opening to “Billy Jean.”

He did a double take. Her voice was . . . perfect. Like tone, pitch, depth. Everything about it absolutely perfect. He’d heard her hum, even sing quietly, but this had power.