Close Read online

  Somehow I manage to keep my hands to myself without exploding. The song ends, and then we’re turning into my driveway. Thank God. I couldn’t have lasted another five minutes with my hands on the wheel and the gearshift instead of her body. I enter the code at the gate, impatient with the slowness as it swings open. I park the car in front and jog over to open her door and help her out.

  I might fuck her six ways from Sunday tonight, but I’m still a gentleman.

  “You know, we’re really not that far from each other,” she says, stretching a little as she stands up. My eyes follow the way her hemline rises as she does. “I’m in the Hills too, but on the other side. Maybe fifteen minutes’ drive time. Pretty decent for LA standards.”

  I already knew that. When I was trying to find her, I searched everything available online. Some home décor magazine had done a profile on her house, and I’d eagerly pored over every detail. And yes, perhaps I’d jerked off a couple times to the photo of her sitting on her bed with a glass of champagne in a lace dressing gown thingy. The point is, I’d already made a note that the commute was very doable. Especially by, as she said, LA standards. I’m beyond delighted that she’s come to the same conclusion. If I weren’t going on tour . . .

  But of course, I am going on tour, and she’s already made it clear she’s interested in only one thing.

  One thing I’m happy to oblige.

  One thing I’m ready to get started.

  I close her car door and put my hand at the small of her back, relishing the heat of her body through her dress, as I escort her to the front door. She turns her head from side to side, examining my Mediterranean-style villa with the same intensity she examined my body with earlier.

  “Was this . . . Mike Myer’s place? The one his wife got in the divorce?”

  I’m impressed. First the Bugatti, then the house. Natalia has a surprising list of interests. “You have a good eye for architecture.”

  “Or I have an addiction to beautiful celebrity houses. I’d heard it was sold to some anonymous buyer. Look at you, keeping your purchase secret. How very mysterious.”

  I shrug. There’s more I could say. I could spin off onto a diatribe about reclaiming my privacy and needing a place of solitude to recharge my batteries in between tours, but this is not something I want to discuss right now. Because I’m opening the door, and then she’s walking in front of me, her backside making me rock-hard as her hips sway ever so slightly with every step, and suddenly I don’t want to be discussing anything at all.

  I shut the door behind me and enter the code so the security system will stop beeping, then I follow her into my moonlit house. The scene could not possibly have been set more romantically. The dark, the moon, the sultry weather . . . all of it spells the kind of seduction that belongs in a Natalia Lowen movie.

  Only tonight, I get the other starring role. And I plan to make it award-winning.

  I find her in the main living room, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the far wall.

  “What a view,” she gasps quietly as she looks out over the canyon. “What a house! I’d love to see all of it. Are you going to show me around?” She starts to turn back toward me, and jumps when she realizes how close I am behind her, completely in her space.

  “The only tour I’m interested in right now is all the places on your body I can lick and make you moan,” I murmur. There’s just enough light coming through the window for me to see how her pulse jumps in her neck at my words.

  Then, like magnets clicking together, we press automatically against each other. She throws her arms around my neck and I place my hands on either side of her face before crashing my lips against hers.

  I kiss her greedily. Hungrily. Like a starving man. Like I’ve been waiting for this kiss all my life—and maybe I have. I kiss her until she’s breathing heavily and grinding her pelvis against mine, rubbing my cock just right, turning me into stone.

  She’s panting and flushed when I pull away to unbutton the back of her sexy little mini dress. It falls to the floor, and with her thong still safely in my pocket, she’s now standing in nothing but her fuck-hot high-heel gold shoes. She’s an absolute goddess in the moonlight. Her expression innocent. Her body, dirty and seductive with her perfect tits, nipples standing proudly, and her pussy shaved clean.

  And I feel oh-so-naughty, defiling America’s Sweetheart like this.

  Which only makes me need to be even dirtier with her. I want to do everything to her. Kneel down and eat her out. Lick her from back to front. Savor her climax on my tongue while I finger her in the ass.

  But my cock is far too anxious for the worship she deserves.

  So when she breathily says, “Will you at least show me the bedroom?” I pick her up, her legs wrapping instantly around my waist, and carry her to the master.

  I keep kissing her as I carry her up the stairs, and my head continues to buzz with all the things that I want to do to her. Tie her up? Take her against the wall? Fuck her in my bed until the sheets beneath us are a tangled mess? I can’t decide. Every option sounds too good to miss, and I don’t want to miss out on anything with her.

  By the time I get to my room, I’ve figured it out. I have to see her. Watch her as I thrust inside of her, as I stroke her clit, as she crumbles into exhaustion. Her image was the first thing that attracted me to her, and for all the times I’ve fantasized about her, this time I need to see her react to me.

  So I set her down in front of my wall-length closet and turn her around so we can both see her gorgeous form in the mirrors that line the closet doors.

  Her eyes widen slightly and she turns her head to glance over her shoulder, even though I’m standing right behind her. “You like to watch?” she asks, her voice light and breathy—and dare I say, hopeful.

  “I like to watch you,” I respond, anchoring my hands on her hips as I buck my aching cock up against the cleft of her ass.

  She moans, her head falling back onto my shoulder.

  I kiss along her exposed neck, licking and nipping softly with my teeth. It takes all my strength not to suck, not to mark her, not to leave bright red hickeys along her delicate skin. Not only would it be impolite considering her career, but it would also be the first thing the paparazzi noticed if she passed any photogs on her way home tomorrow.

  I’ll have to save my sucking for lower on her body.

  Now, though, I’m happy playing with her breasts, my hands cupping them, the flesh fitting my palms just perfectly. I gently squeeze and plump their perfect teardrop shape, flicking my thumbs across her nipples. She moans softly, pushing her ass backwards to grind against my still imprisoned cock.

  “Take off your clothes,” she says. “Put it inside me.”

  I will—believe me I will—but not yet. Not until she begs.

  “Shh,” I hush her. I slide one hand away from her breast, down over her belly, lower, to the swollen lips between her legs. “I’m busy here. Can’t you see?”

  At my prompt, she opens her eyes just as I slide my fingers in between her folds to rub against her hot swollen bud. She looks in the mirror, watching as I play her, and it’s such a fucking turn-on watching her watch herself. I memorize every reaction, every twist of her features. I inhale every sound she makes, admiring the melody of their song. It’s beautiful and haunting, a tune that will stay with me for as long as I live.

  Her breath comes faster and her body tenses. She puts her palms flat on the glass in front of her to help steady herself. I take my other hand off her breast, lick my fingers, and press them inside her from behind.

  The sound she makes is pure ecstasy. I didn’t have to wet my fingers, she’s so soaked. I move in and out of her at a rapid tempo without any resistance. She tightens, her channel walls closing in around me, and I just thrust my fingers more vigorously, more intensely. As she pulses and quivers and comes around me, I let out a groan myself, both from watching her fall apart and from imagining how goddamn good it’s going to feel when
it’s my cock inside her, squeezed over and over again.

  I leave her as she is recovering, dashing to the nightstand by my bed.

  “Where are you going?” She sounds desperate.

  I meet her eyes in the mirror, and while I have her attention, I stick my fingers into my mouth, and suck off her juices. “Condom,” I say, grabbing one from the top drawer.

  She makes an indescribable sound, something like unf, her knees buckling just a bit. “How are you so good at this?” she asks. I think it’s a question for herself, so I just grin as my reply.

  I am good at this. I’ve had more than my fair share of practice, and in all those years of jumping from one bed to another, I’d never realized until now that all that experience was just preparing me for her. How will anyone ever live up after this? How can I ever bring another woman to my home again?

  The thoughts fade away as I strip my clothes and don the condom, and by the time I return to her, I’m only thinking about this. This next moment. The moment when I finally drive inside her.

  The anticipation is almost too good to let end. It’s equally unbearable to let go on.

  Standing behind her, I line myself up at her entrance. She spreads her legs, making room for me. With my palms gripping her hips, I meet her eyes in the mirror again, a silent check-in to make sure what I’m about to do is still cool.

  “Can you just do it already?” she demands, giving me a clear answer. “I’m dying he—”

  Before she finishes her sentence, I shove inside her, pushing as far as I can go in one stroke.

  Her breath stutters and she draws in a quick inhale, her lips forming a nearly perfect O.

  And, fuck, I totally agree.

  Being inside her is incredible. She’s so tight and wet and burning around me. She feels so good, I’m not even sure I can take it when I start moving. And then I do start moving, rocking in and out of her, and it feels so good that I think I can never stop.

  I do the next best thing—I take my time. Slowly—achingly slow—I pull in and out, my gaze darting from her face in the mirror to the sight of my cock, disappearing inside her pussy then showing up again, wet and glistening in the dim light. It’s so hot. So fucking hot, I keep the gentle steady pace, curving my hand around her ass cheek, and squeezing the delicious skin. Then wrapping my hand around to play with her clit, then her nipples, and back to her slick seam, gathering pussy juice before I bring my hand up to her mouth.

  “Suck,” I order, and her cheeks get darker. She hesitates, and I wonder if this is too far for her, too beyond her realm. What kind of fucking sick bastard am I, asking the celebrity good girl of the nation to suck her cum off my fingers?

  But then she leans forward and takes them into her mouth, the entire length of them. My dick jumps inside her as if it’s the part of my body that’s being treated to her mouth. As if she’s sucking off my cock, and all of it drives me crazy. Wild and mad.

  I pull out of her, then take her to the bed where I push her gently down to her back, her ass at the edge of the mattress, her legs limp as they dangle to the floor.

  I push her legs up toward her knees, positioning her feet at the edge of the bed, then, with my hands still wrapped around her shins, like a steering wheel, I drive into her at full force.

  I come quickly then. Grunting out my orgasm, filling up the condom. At the same time, she sits up as I bend forward, our mouths eager to find each other. I’m still half hard inside her while we kiss and tongue, our hands roaming across each other’s bodies.

  Soon I’m hard again, and I have to replace the condom so that I can fuck her again, this time with her on top.

  I come twice more before we finally collapse near dawn. I lose track of how many times she’s come.

  “And now I know the appeal of sex with a younger man.” Her eyes are closed, her lips grinning.

  And she turns over, snuggles into my pillow, and falls promptly to sleep.

  I tuck in the blanket around her then throw my head back on the pillow beside her. I’m exhausted. Exhausted from the show and from our marathon sex. Yet sleep doesn’t come easily.

  I replay her last words in my head, wondering if her admission is proof that this was just a fun experiment on her part.

  Or is it a hint that she’d be interested in more?

  Chapter Nine

  Good Girls Don’t Do Rock Stars

  Natalia

  Natalia: How’s Vegas? Is it hot?

  Nick: Not as hot as you.

  Nick: It would be hotter if I had my fingers inside of u rn.

  Natalia: Mmm. Tell me more.

  Nick: Like how hot u r when I’m looking up at u from between ur legs?

  Natalia: Yeah. That’s good.

  Natalia: I might have to change my panties now.

  Nick: I want u 2 sniff them and then tell me how hot u r.

  I giggle at Nick’s latest message as my insides turn to lava. The boy knows how to talk dirty, that’s for sure. He’s almost as naughty on his phone as he is in his bed. Almost. And either way, I’ve got this mixture of turned on and nervous running through me that’s completely unique to him, to us.

  Natalia: You’re making it hard for me to sit still through my brunch.

  “Are you sexting with Nicky-Poo again?” Rowan asks from across the table, her forkful of Chinese salad paused in mid-air. She finishes delivering the bite to her mouth, then, before she swallows, says, “If you are, you should definitely share with the class.”

  Because class and open-mouthed chewing are definitely things that belong in the same place.

  “Rowan,” Hadley hisses in warning. “Leave her alone. She obviously doesn’t want us to know. We’ll steal her phone when she’s in the bathroom, like always.”

  “That’s not true! There’s just nothing to know.” I set my phone on the table. Then, after a beat, turn it screen down. And remind myself to set a new passcode. “We had a night together, and it was fun.” Most incredible night of my life, more like. “And now we’re just bantering, all friendly-like. It’s normal.”

  I push my sunglasses up higher on my nose, grateful we’re outside and the girls can’t see my eyes to tell how terribly I’m lying. Because bantering is definitely not what I’d call the majority of conversations we’ve had by text since Nick left town for his tour two weeks ago.

  Also, I might have improved one hundred percent at dirty bedroom business since that night. I’ve probably only gotten worse at fibbing.

  “Oh, totally normal. That’s what I do with all my ex-lovers too,” Rowan says. “Share recipes and YouTube cat videos and stuff.”

  “Right,” I say, not quite sure if she’s being sarcastic. Rowan is awfully friendly with her ex-lovers, after all. When you sleep with everyone you know, it all becomes one big party, I suppose.

  “Nat, you know that’s not a real thing, right?” Hadley asks. “Bantering all friendly-like with a guy who buckles your knees every time you think of him? Girl, what you call banter, I think most people refer to as sexting.”

  I shrug like she’s being ridiculous and then take a sip of my mimosa. Maybe the booze can be held responsible for my blush. “It’s a new thing. I’m a new woman after Garner. I’m a woman who starts trends. Banter trends.”

  “Hairstyle trends. Not lover trends.” Hadley immediately looks regretful. “Sorry. But it’s true.”

  I slide my glasses down to glare at her directly. Then my phone pings with an incoming text. I reach down to grab it, but it’s no longer in front of me.

  “‘If I were at brunch with u, there’s no way u’d sit still. If u did, or made a sound, I’d know I needed to push my fingers in deeper,’” Rowan says, reading from my phone while fanning herself with her free hand. I should have reset my passcode when I thought of it. “Good lord. That’s hot.”

  I turn fifty shades of red. “Rowan!” I try to snatch my cell back from her hands, but she holds it out of reach. “That’s private!”

  “It’s fucking amazing,
is what it is. I’m offended you aren’t sharing this with us. I thought we were friends. Are we not her friends anymore, Hadley?”

  I scowl and sit up taller to grab the phone. I almost reach it before she moves it to her other hand.

  “Over here!” Hadley says. Rowan tosses it—badly—to her, and I cringe until Hadley catches it safely in her hands.

  Then Hadley passes it to me.

  “Traitor!” Rowan huffs.

  “We are still her friends. Also, as her life coach, I think it’s my job to help build her up, not shame her.” Despite her words, she then frowns in my direction. “But honestly. You didn’t think you could tell us the two of you are still hooking up? As a friend and a life coach, this is information I require.”

  “We aren’t still hooking up!” Why do I feel so regretful about that? “He left for tour immediately after our night together. And I was straightforward about what I wanted.”

  “Which was?” Rowan and Hadley ask in unison.

  I lower my head bashfully and mumble, “Really dirty no-strings sex?” I don’t know why I make it into a question, because it was totally what I asked for. Just thinking about it now makes me want to crawl under the table in embarrassment.

  Saying it out loud makes me consider quitting acting to move to Antarctica.

  “Oh. Wow,” Hadley exclaims. “This is a big step for you.”

  “Right on,” Rowan says with a chuckle. “But why can’t the dirty stuff happen more than once, exactly? I mean, I only decide to make it a one-nighter if it sucks. Why waste good talent? There’s a few guys I bang on the regular with no commitment, if you need a loaner. It’s the way to live, I’m telling you.”

  I’m not you, Rowan. I say silently to myself.

  I don’t have a bad girl rep like you.