Rock Addiction by Nalini Singh
Her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, Molly's eyes lingered on his mouth and on the lip ring he'd figured out she loved. He felt his mouth curve. "Molly," he said, pitching his voice low and deep, his entire body primed for her until it was only his grip on the cold metal of the railing that kept him from petting and stroking and seducing her right on this balcony.
The color on her cheekbones darkened, her lashes coming down to shade her eyes. "Since nursery school," she said after almost half a minute. "We should go inside. It's cold."
Wrapping her up in his arms, he spoke against the shell of her ear. "Is this better?"
Molly didn't answer, but her arms came around him a few seconds later.
It felt... right.
Rubbing his cheek against her temple, he suddenly remembered his stubbled jaw. "Sorry. I don't want to mark up your skin." Not quite the truth. He liked seeing her creamy flesh reddened by his kisses, his touch, intended to rub his jaw along the sensitive inner skin of her thighs in bed tonight before he tasted her.
"I don't mind." A quiet murmur, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hip dangerous temptation under his hand. "Do you want to--I mean, should we--" Her fingers clenched in his T-shirt. "I suck at this."
Enjoying his soft armful of woman, Fox stroked her from the top of her spine to the sweet curves below. "I think you're perfect." Natural and unaffected and with an open desire that made him her slave, if she only knew it.
"So, should we..."
Fox knew she was attempting to wrench this night back under control, push them into the bedroom where it was safe. He could even guess at the reasons why she didn't want to become any further involved with him. Hell, he wouldn't date himself. Not with the reputation he'd earned as a young musician, a rep that had never quite worn off--and that didn't take the relentless media attention into account. No sane, intelligent woman would want to be caught up in his world, her every action scrutinized, her life put under a microscope.
Fox had nearly punched out a reporter last month, and he'd been living this reality for years. So yeah, he understood. He just didn't plan on allowing any of that to get in the way of his pursuit of Molly and the nameless but increasingly powerful thing between them--because he'd protect her. She wouldn't be thrown to the wolves, would be safe with him and the band.
"Takeout," he reminded her instead of speaking his thoughts aloud. The instant he did, Molly would realize he'd never actually agreed to her one-month time limit and pull away. He couldn't allow that; he needed the time to coax, cajole, and pleasure her into trusting him. Enough to give them a real shot.
An hour and a half later, Molly found herself uncertain of what to do. She'd never had a passionate affair before, felt gauche and lost.
Closing the distance between them, Fox took her hand, led her into the bedroom. "Such big brown eyes." He cupped her face between those rough-skinned hands that felt so exquisite against her skin. "What're you thinking?"
That voice. Hard rock and pure sin, it made her breath catch, her stomach somersault. "That I don't know what to do," she admitted, since he already knew the exact breadth of her experience.
Fox rubbed his thumb over the plump flesh of her lower lip. "We do what feels good" was his simple answer. "First"--his eyes intent on her face--"you tell me if I need to wait till tomorrow."
It took her a second. Then, fingers curling on his T-shirt, she shook her head. "No, I think it'll be okay." Her muscles ached, but there was no pain.
"You just say stop if it isn't." His mouth was on hers as soon as she nodded, his kiss intoxicating.
By the time their lips parted, her hands were under his T-shirt and on the hot skin of his back, her nipples rasping against the fabric of her bra. She was acutely aware of his hands on her backside, the hold blatantly sexual. When he shifted to undo the button and zip on her skirt, she allowed the black piece of clothing to drop to the carpet, the style loose enough that it didn't catch on her hips.
Nudging away her hands, he tugged her sweater over her head himself. "Beautiful."
Molly knew she wasn't beautiful, not like the starlets and models who lived in his world, but he made her feel that way, his voice gritty with appreciation. Clasping his hand over her nape again, he drew her in for a kiss as wet and as demanding as the need between her thighs. "Take off your bra for me, baby."
Shivering at the sound of that voice meant for sex and sin, she pulled the straps down her arms, then undid the hooks to drop the black lace bra on top of her skirt. It left her dressed only in matching panties and the thigh-high tights Fox looked at with a smile of pure male approval. It set her skin afire with nerves.
His hands on her. No warning, no hesitation, his palms covering the bare mounds of her breasts. Shocked into a moan, she arched into him, shuddering at the feel of his rock-hard body against the softness of her own. When he released her needy flesh after a single squeeze, she wanted to whimper, beg for more.
Tracing the top edge of one leg of the tights, his other hand flat on her lower back, he said, "Funny how these make me have the dirtiest fantasies." He nipped at her kiss-swollen lower lip, his statement making her want to squirm. "In the bed."
She had no motivation to disobey that order. Slipping under the sheets, she watched him strip with clean efficiency. The T-shirt went over his head to reveal a chest that had her hands fisting on the bedspread, shoes and socks were nudged off, jeans ripped off... underwear, too.
Her body twinged, reminding her she'd had that muscled male body on her, in her. And was about to again. Sucking in desperate gulps of air, she swallowed as he got into bed and leaned on his elbow beside her, his erection pressing against her thigh.
"There go those thoughts again," he said, tugging the sheet down to expose her breasts. "I should've had you naked an hour ago, shouldn't I?" He rolled one nipple lazily between thumb and forefinger.
Biting back a whimper, Molly nodded. "Yes." Any time to think and she began to wonder what in the world she was doing. "I never thought I'd be here, like this." Naked in bed with a rock god.
"I'm damn glad you are." A smile so smoldering it devastated her senses, then his cock thrusting against her abdomen as he came over her after shoving the sheet totally aside. "It's just you and me in this bed." He braced himself on one muscled arm, tattoos bright in her peripheral vision. "Outside world doesn't exist. So give in and enjoy."
"Give in and enjoy."
There were so many things wrong with that statement when it came to the life Molly wanted to live. "I'm not sure I can do that. I'm not a rock chick. I'm a librarian."
"Stereotypes, Miss Molly?" The eye contact searing, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties. "Tut, tut."
Her hand clenched on his arm, muscle and tendon moving under the golden silk of his skin as he slid those long, strong fingers through her slick folds, the callused tips lusciously abrasive. Unable to hold the dark intimacy of his gaze as he cupped her with sexual possessiveness, she shifted her attention to his mouth--but her view disappeared the next second, chocolate-dark strands of hair in her vision.
Heart rabbiting against her ribs and body primed for the hot, wet suction of his mouth on her nipple, she waited. She should've known Fox would never be predictable. He ran his tongue leisurely up one breast, then the other--as if she were his favorite flavor of ice cream and he intended to take his time and enjoy her lick by lick. Her skin was sheened with perspiration, her hand fisted in his hair by the time he closed his teeth over part of one breast, biting down just enough that it was pleasure, not pain. "Fox."
Raising his head at the breathy sound, he released her breast to take her mouth, his tongue stroking aggressively past her lips in a kiss that smashed right through her boundaries and insisted she respond.
Out of my depth, I am so out of my depth.
It didn't matter, not here, not now, with his body on hers, his mouth demanding. Stroking her tongue against his own, she tried to hold him to the kiss, but he broke
"Anyone ever tell you," Molly managed to say, "that you like to have control?" It took extreme effort to get the words out, her brain completely scrambled with what he did to her.
"Why do you think I'm the lead singer?" A smile with just enough arrogance to be irresistible.
Molly was unable to take her eyes from the masculine curve of his mouth, the piercing having its usual wicked effect on her senses.
"I like to be the boss."
She'd already figured that out and part of her, the part that had been forced to become an adult at fifteen, the part that had driven her to carve out a better life for herself through merciless determination and absolute discipline, said she should protest.
Except, the thing was... she was tired.
Tired of being always responsible, of never permitting herself to let go in case she went too far and ended up right back in the hell that had killed her parents and splintered her life. Being with Fox couldn't fix her past, couldn't eradicate the fear and need inside her... but maybe she could surrender the reins for a fragment of time and not feel guilty about it. After all, this gift-wrapped box would vanish in a month.
Perhaps that was why she said it, why she confessed one of her deepest fears. Because he was safe, would forget her and her secrets as soon as the month was over. "I worry."
Fox brushed strands of hair off her face. "About what, baby?"
Heart aching at the tenderness she hadn't foreseen, she said, "Of who I'll become if I give in."
Fox didn't break eye contact at the uninvited emotional intimacy, though theirs was meant to be a strictly physical relationship. She was the one who lowered her lashes. "Addiction runs in my family." Gambling, alcohol, women, love. It was the last, most dangerous addiction of all that had destroyed her mother.
Tipping up her chin, Fox sucked her upper lip into his mouth, then shifted his attention to the lower one. Breasts deliciously crushed against the taut wall of his chest, she shivered and curled her fingers around his neck, unable to get enough of his kisses.
"Do you think you'll become addicted to mind-blowing sex?" A teasing question except there was no humor in the eyes that locked with hers.
This was getting too serious, too fast, but she was the one who'd opened the gate. "If I give in to this," she whispered, "what other boundaries will I break? What other addictions will I develop?" That was the fear that haunted her always, shaping each and every one of her decisions.
"Have faith in yourself." He pressed his lips to the shockingly sensitive spot below her ear, her shiver reflexive. "I do."
Molly knew Fox was sweet-talking her to get her to do what he wanted in bed, his sexual experience apparent in the way he played her body like he played the crowds while onstage. None of that altered her unexpected, dangerous desire for him. "You were meant to be a one-night stand." The biggest risk she'd ever taken. "Look where I am now. It's a slippery slope."
Fox's answer was a kiss that took over her mouth, enslaved her senses. Her body attempted to rise toward his in a luxuriant wave, was halted by the weight of him pinning her in place.
When he broke the sumptuous intimacy of the kiss to look into her eyes once more, she was lost in the deep green. "Have faith, Molly," he said again, and she crashed.
Drowned.
Chapter 7
Molly struggled up into a sitting position some time later, tucking her no doubt wildly tumbled hair behind her ears and pulling up the sheet to cover her breasts. Just in time. Fox walked into the bedroom the next instant, holding a plate of cheese and crackers in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. She exhaled at the sight of him.
He was naked.
Except for the tattoos. A jagged tribal design in black ink ran along his left shoulder and licked at his neck before continuing down the left side of his back to his hip, the design sleek rather than bulky. His left arm, in contrast, was covered by a gorgeous stylized dragon in brilliant color, its body wrapping around Fox's arm multiple times. Around the dragon were hundreds of tiny leaves--shaded from spring green to autumn brown--all in motion, as if the dragon had disturbed them in flight.
It truly was a piece of living art.
Those two were the biggest pieces, but on the right of his ridged abdomen fell three vertical lines of fine text that she'd read last night. They were from Schoolboy Choir's first hit song, penned by Fox and Noah, with David and Abe providing the hard rock tempo that had helped shoot it to the top of the charts.
"We all have this tat," he'd told her before he left the bedroom. "Different locations on the body."
"Even David?" The drummer always looked so elegant and urbane.
Fox had grinned. "You'd be surprised what David has under those Ar-mani suits he likes to wear."
Now, as Fox bent to put the bottle of wine on her dainty bedside table, she glimpsed the intricate pattern of black ink on the top of his right arm that he'd told her had been created for him by a friend who was a tattoo artist. Incorporating musical notes and hidden words, it was a puzzle that could be unraveled only by someone who really knew Fox.
That arm was otherwise bare of ink, except for a horizontal line of characters directly above his pulse point.
"What language is that?" she said, brushing her fingers over the characters, still not quite believing she had the right to touch him.
"Move your hand to the left and down and I'll tell you."
Heat in her cheeks as she saw he was semi-aroused. "How can you..." She waved in the general direction of his groin.
"Because you're built and I have a high sex drive." Grinning at her renewed blush, the lean dimple in his cheek devastating, he passed her the plate and got into bed. Or onto it.
"Under the sheet," she ordered, trying to retain some sense of control when she knew it was far too late where Fox was concerned. "I can't focus with you naked."
A very male laugh, a hand in her hair as he drew her to him for one of his slow, drugging kisses.
"You know how to touch a woman." It came out throaty, soft.
"I've had a lot of practice." His smile didn't disappear, but there was a sudden, disturbing falseness about it.
Molly knew she'd be fooling herself if she believed she knew anything of Zachary Fox, the man behind the rock god, but she couldn't stay silent when every instinct she had screamed at her to speak. Fighting her discomfort at discussing such an intimate thing, she said, "I'm not going to turn on you because you are who you are." She'd known exactly who it was she'd invited into her bed and that his sexual experience far outweighed hers.
"Especially," she added, fingers curling into the sheet, "when I'm the beneficiary of all that practice."
His smile became vividly real again, gorgeous and of a man who was enjoying being with her. It troubled her how quickly he could do that--withdraw from a situation while appearing involved... but that was only something she'd have to worry about if they were on the road to a relationship. That simply wasn't in the cards, even had Fox not been seriously out of her league.
The media, tabloid and otherwise, was fascinated by him.
After having been savaged to shreds during her father's ignominious fall from grace, any kind of media attention was Molly's worst nightmare. It had been endless, article after article, whisper after whisper, innuendo after innuendo. She'd fought and fought, refusing to allow the agony of it to crush her, to give the bullies at school the satisfaction of seeing how badly she was bleeding inside, but then a policeman with a solemn face had come to tell her she was an orphan, and she'd broken.
The fractures had never quite healed right.
But it wasn't Fox who'd caused the teenage girl she'd been such terrible hurt, and at that instant, she couldn't forget the pain she'd sensed behind his earlier words. "Did a woman hurt you?" She knew she'd crossed another line as soon as the words were out, couldn't find the will to fill the air with others in order to call
An unreadable expression on Fox's face. "No, it wasn't a lover." With that inscrutable answer, he leaned across to claim a tender, suckling kiss before getting his lower body under the sheet as she'd asked and reaching for the food. "Here." He popped a bite of cheese into her mouth and she understood the topic was closed.
Chewing, she swallowed and told herself it was better this way. Because the more she saw of the real Zachary Fox, the more she liked him. "Those characters aren't like any Asian language I've seen," she said, focusing on his body instead of on emotions that had no place in a temporary relationship, "though they're close."
"Hmm." He fed her another piece of cheese.
Molly scowled, though she wanted to trace the curve of his lips with a fingertip. "Are you going to tell me?"
"What? And ruin one of rock's greatest mysteries?" He ate a cracker with cheese on it, a wicked smile in his eyes. "What the fuck is that on Fox's body? Was he stoned when he got the tat? Did he just get a drunk tattoo artist?" A raised eyebrow. "Or is the bastard pissing with everyone for the fun of it?"
"I won't tell anyone," Molly cajoled, feeling young and playful in a way she'd never expected, in a way she'd never been. "Cross my heart."
"Do I look like a sucker?" Tapping her nose with a single finger, he reached over for the fancy wine Molly had bought in case Thea had time to come over, her sister being a wine buff.
Leaning down over the side of the bed to snag a Swiss Army knife from his jeans, Fox used the corkscrew to pop the cork, then drank straight from the bottle. She must've made a sound, because bringing down the bottle, he winked. "I'll replace it with something better." Holding out the wine, he said, "Bet you've never done that before."
Molly shook her head. "I don't drink."
"So this is all mine?" Fox grinned. "Excellent."
Having braced herself for questions, she blurted out, "Most people ask about the not-drinking," then wanted to slap herself for making it an issue. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut around Fox?
"It's bad musician manners to bring it up," he answered, "'cause you never know who might be in AA or detox." Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her close. "But since you already did, and also since you don't show any signs of an alcoholic jonesing for a drink, I'm guessing you've been around someone who drank?"