Badass In My Bed 3 (Badass #3) Page 3

  His walls should be the stormy blue of waves crashing on the shore.

  Or the blackish reds of the beating pulse behind my eyelids when I closed them too tight because he was driving into me over and over.

  The deep purple of the marks he put on the pale skin of my neck.

  Pulling my skirt up, I shove my hand down my panties, roughly circling my clit the way he did. Everything about him is bigger, louder, more vivid than anyone else. I plunge three fingers of my other hand inside, wishing they were his thick cock thrusting in and out of my wetness. I get myself off in an embarrassingly short amount of time, coming with a huge spasm while picturing him doing it to me in his new bedroom, bending me over the bed like he had in his hotel room that first time.

  But that was before he found out I was engaged.

  Guilt immediately chases away the warmth of the afterglow. Right now, Dylan still hates me. It’s not going to be a happy reunion.

  I turn off my laptop and head to bed.

  The black iron gate is imposing and makes my steps falter before I reach the intercom. What if he isn’t home? What if he is but won’t even let me inside? I take the envelope with the four-page handwritten letter out of my purse. If he won’t hear me out, fine, but at least I have it all on the page, purging the truth from my system like lancing a boil. Just writing it all out made me feel a little lighter.

  Apologizing doesn’t guarantee forgiveness. It’s up to him if he wants to read it, and even then it may not be enough to change anything. This apology isn’t about me. It’s about him. I know I hurt him, and I need to repair that.

  My hand trembles when I reach out and press the intercom. And press it again. I can see the security camera, and I stare straight into it, daring him to look into my eyes and send me away.

  “What do you want?”

  Even angry, even through the speaker, that rich voice affects me, spiraling across my skin.

  “Hello?” He’s impatient before I can even form a single word.

  “I needed… I wanted… We should talk.” I’m unable to form smooth sentences, too wound up in the hope he’ll let me in and the fear he won’t. “May I come in?”

  Minutes seem to tick by agonizingly slowly. The sun beats down, heating my hair, making sweat prickle as it forms between my shoulder blades.

  “Dylan?”

  He buzzes me in. I yank the gate open before he can change his mind and stride up the stone walkway to the shade of the house. He knows I’m here, but I still lightly knock on the heavy double doors.

  Another minute or so goes by before he appears, blurred behind the frosted, beveled glass window, and opens the door.

  I take a step back from his hostile glare.

  “What do you want?” He crosses his arms.

  “To explain.”

  “You already told me. Remember?”

  I hold up the envelope. “No. I apologized, but I didn’t explain.”

  “I don’t really want to hear it.” But he keeps the door open when he walks away.

  I shut the door behind me, following his rapidly retreating form through the foyer and into the living room. He sits on the black leather couch, spreading his arms wide, laying them on the backs of the couch. His dark hair’s a little longer, and a stray lock flops down over his eye. I want to brush it back from his face, but I know I can’t. I’ve lost the permission to touch him. His dark blue t-shirt makes his eyes seem darker, but maybe that’s due to anger instead. A shudder runs through me at the memory of the way his body reacted to mine the last time he was mad, in his dressing room and then again later at the hotel…

  He raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

  I hold out the letter. “I wrote it all out here. I understand you might not want to see me, or hear what I have to say, but if you’d read it and see… Maybe, someday, if you want to—”

  “Read it to me.”

  “What?” My arm drops to my side.

  He sits forward, rubbing his palms together, resting his elbows on his knees. “You came all this way. Might as well tell me what it says. Let’s see how convincing you can be.”

  I flinch. “This isn’t an act, Dylan. I care about you, and the last thing in the world I wanted was for you to be hurt at the end of this.”

  He laughs. “Oh, I’m not hurt. Why should I be? You won’t be the last girl who stepped out on her man to do it with a rock star. I changed my mind. The letter can wait. Follow me. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  Stunned at his lightning fast change of heart, I follow, soaking in the sight of him like water into sunbaked earth. His jeans are slung low on his hips and showcase his tight ass as he leads me up a winding staircase.

  He turns and catches me staring, smirks knowingly. “Like the view?”

  “I’m—”

  “Apparently, the marble for this staircase was mined in Italy and brought over here in the seventies.”

  “Dylan—” I trip on the top stair, stubbing my toe in my haste to keep up. “Ouch.”

  “And in this guest bedroom. There’s an original Warhol. I’ll give you a print of it for your love nest.” He strides down the hall, not bothering to turn around. “Here’s the bathroom with the whirlpool tub I told you about, when I thought you might come here under different circumstances.” His speech comes faster now, not giving me time to reply. “And here’s my bedroom. I bet it looks completely different than the one you’ll share with your fiancé—”

  “Dylan, stop!”

  He turns and leans against the wall. “What?”

  “You need to know you meant—you mean—something to me. I hate that I hurt you, even a little bit.”

  “Yeah right.”

  I swallow hard. “I lo—”

  “Shall I show you the pool we were going to swim in, when we talked about our houses, and our lives? Or at least I thought we were, because, you know, I would have mentioned a fiancé!” He’s practically shouting, chiseled jaw clenching until the tendons stand out.

  “Why did you even let me in if you weren’t going to listen to me?”

  “I almost didn’t, but you never know when a groupie’s going to claim pregnancy or rape. My publicist thought it was best that I address you head on since you weren’t going away on your own. At least this way I know there are no hidden cameras or people eavesdropping on your bullshit.”

  His words physically hurt like a hot poker stabbing me in the gut. He agreed to talk because he’s scared I’ll do something that would hurt his reputation? What’s with all these men in my life and their images? Father, Dylan… Blaine, who I’m going to be chained to for the next five years. What kills me the most and makes my chest ache with unshed tears, is how little Dylan knows me if he can even insinuate I’d do something so hateful, spiteful, and underhanded.

  I shake my head. “I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “So leave. Nothing’s stopping you, Rachel.” He shrugs a shoulder, the coldness in his eyes chilling me.

  “I’m going.” Holding my breath, I spin and hurry back down the stairs on shaky legs. My chest is burning, but so are my eyes, and if I don’t get out in about five seconds, he’s going to see me cry. The letter hits the marble floor with a small slapping sound, and I bend to retrieve it because my words won’t do anything but give him more ammunition in his hatred for me.

  I did that to him, which only makes this worse. He should hate me. I just wanted a moment of my own before I went from good girl to good wife, and instead I ruined everything.

  I grasp the handle and turn it, opening the door a few inches before Dylan’s hand slams it shut.

  He’s standing behind me, so close I can feel him breathing, even though he doesn’t touch me. My zing of true fear is tempered by the way his closeness completely distracts me. I want him to mash his body against mine, to let me feel every inch of him.

  He slides his other hand out to touch the door, bracketing me in his arms with his chest lightly touching my back, but not p
ressing me into the door like I suddenly need.

  He nuzzles the back of my neck. “I lied. I let you in because I can’t stay away.”

  I’d said the same words to him once.

  He presses a little closer to me, and I melt.

  “I don’t know what it is about you, Rachel. I don’t believe in cheating. I swore I’d never talk to you again for his sake, despite hating him for having you. I knew that if we talked, I’d want to see you. And I knew if I saw you, I’d have to have you again.”

  “Then have me.” I spin in his arms and caress the lean lines of his ribs. “Please, please have me again.”

  We both moan when he slowly brings his mouth to mine, and that same, undeniable electricity crackles through us, intensified because of the long weeks and lonely nights apart, stronger because we never thought we’d have this again, but here we are. It’s like breaking the surface and gasping in sweet air when you thought you’d drawn your last breath as the darkness was closing in.

  His tongue slowly delves into my mouth, tangling with mine as his hands slide down my arms to take my hands, intertwining our fingers together. So much passion and want and need, yet we both go slowly, savoring the sweet ache of having each other.

  This kiss feels like living.

  It’s everything.

  He pulls back and restes his forehead against mine. Our breaths are slow but deep, so deep, trying to inhale each other’s presence. His air is the only thing I want to breathe, but I don’t want the truth to come between us.

  “I wanted to explain to you—”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t care. Right now, I just need to be with you.” He caresses me, hand trailing down my ass to the backs of my thighs.

  I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and wraps my legs around his waist. Even through our jeans, I can feel how hard he is for me. Perfect, since I’m already wet for him. My body’s always ready for him.

  His gaze swallows me whole, and I wallow in the gorgeousness of being in his arms again. With ease, he carries me up the stairs and down the long hallway to his bedroom, every step nudging his hardness against my swollen pussy. By the time we get to the bed, I’m practically mewling with need.

  “I know, baby.” He sets me down on the bed and expertly slides off my jeans. “I’ll be inside you soon.”

  Lust for him makes me weak, but I peel my shirt and bra off before he slips my panties down my legs and tosses them to the floor. I scoot backward until my head reaches the pillow, never taking my eyes off of Dylan and his casual striptease at the foot of the bed. The sight of his cock springing free makes my mouth dry, and I lick my lips and trail a hand down my stomach, reaching out for him.

  His eyes are hungry, gaze burning mine as he crawls up the bed. I spread my legs wide to give him full access, and he kisses a path up my belly and between my breasts as he positions himself above me.

  He kisses up my neck and jaw and the corner of my mouth before pulling back to look down at me. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you t—”

  His cock fills my aching pussy, and I gasp at the tight fit despite how soaked I am. His gaze locks onto mine, and I can’t look away, letting him see every expression, every reaction to what the feeling of his cock moving in and out does to me. He raises my hands above my head, which thrusts my breasts out, and rubs my sensitive nipples against his chest. I arch my back farther to feel more and more.

  His lips trace my jaw and the delicate shell of my ear then nips my earlobe before moving lower and sucking on my neck, sending a sharp spike of pleasure straight to my core and making my pussy quiver around him. He groans and grinds the base of his cock against my clit at just the right angle. My hands convulse in his as he rides me slowly, steadily, to my first orgasm, gentle kissing the cries of pleasure from my mouth.

  Nothing about this is sex. We’re making love. If our touches could talk, poetry would be filling the air. Mine and his. A thousand beautiful words live in his eyes, even if his lips are silent. He coats my skin with the words he isn’t saying, but I hear them in every kiss, every caress. I hear them and understand because my body’s telling him the same thing.

  How these lips were waiting for him to find and claim.

  How these breasts were made to fit his hands.

  How we were both made with musical souls so when words fail, we still understand each other in another language of expression and release.

  How I don’t want to cage him but instead soar with him so we’re both more than what we are because together there will be no limits; we make each other better.

  How my heart was dead in my chest until he brought me to life just by being himself and being with me.

  How I can see all of these feelings glowing inside him, smouldering against my skin like a bed of hot coals.

  Like the hot coals, we can’t be together for too long. It’s only safe for fast encounters and then space apart with cold ground below our feet. If we linger, we’ll burn right up. It’s both the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced and the most heartbreaking.

  Because it can’t last.

  Harsh like our terrible reality, I swivel my hips as his thrusts get deeper. Desperate, I milk every inch of his cock for all it’s worth, wringing every drop of pleasure that fills my pussy. The added wetness increases friction, and another slippery orgasm tears through me, threatening to split me in half. I pull at his lower back, and he presses harder into me though already spent. His cock is so goddamn deep inside of me, twitching to the frantic beating of my heart like we’re one soul, made for each other, made for this.

  But all we can have is something quick in bed because if we try to make a home here, our futures will be incinerated.

  Neither of us will find a life from the ashes we’ll make of each other.

  He pulls the sheets on top of us and wraps his arms around me, tucking me into the nook of his arm so I’m snuggled against his side. The way we fit together melts my anxiety about just what exactly I’m doing there and makes me want him again. I shouldn’t have slept with him. This wasn’t the closure I longed for.

  It was an opening.

  I could blame it on the endorphins he saturated my body with, or latent altitude sickness. Temporary insanity. The scandalously high thread count of his sheets. The way he said that it didn’t matter.

  I could blame it on a million things, but nothing could have kept this from happening. We are magnets. Put us close by, and no one can control the way we snap together.

  I feel closer to him right now that I’ve ever felt to another human being. I have to tell him about the contract so there are no secrets between us before I say goodbye, before I have to leave this in a good light. I can’t bear for him to look back on our time in anger.

  Goosebumps spread over my skin, sent from the places on my back he’s tracing meaningless patterns with his fingertips.

  I take a deep breath to plunge in, but he lightly pinches the back of my arm and beats me to it. “How did you find my house?”

  “I can’t tell you that without sounding like a total stalker.”

  He palms my ass and gives it a delicious little squeeze. “Maybe I’d like being stalked by you.”

  I sigh and arch into his touch.

  “No, but seriously, if I’ve got an employee with loose lips, I need to know. You could have been anyone, and they just gave you private information.” His body tenses.

  I silence his mini rant with a fingertip to his lips. “There was no mole. I remembered you said you’d purchased a house recently, and I figured since you’re such a huge star that would be online somewhere.”

  “And…”

  “And I found an article about the sale with one picture, so I did an image search. That brought up a cached real estate listing for this house complete with the address.”

  He nibbles my fingertip. “My sexy little private investigator. I’m glad you tracked me down.” His eyes grow somber, and his hand dances across my back again.


  “Me too.” The moment swells into something melancholy, and I decide to go ahead and just talk. Just tell him everything. “I’m not in love with Blaine. Never have been. We met only a few weeks before you and I did in Chicago.”

  Dylan’s hand pauses, but after a moment continues its soothing motions.

  “I auditioned for the symphony. That part was normal. He said I was good, but if I wanted to guarantee a chair, there was something more I could do.”

  His hand tightens almost painfully hard on my back. “Did he make you sleep with him? Because if he did anything like that, if he—”

  “No, nothing like that. We’ve never slept together. That night when he announced our engagement? That was our first kiss.”

  “The one on your head? But you’re engaged to the man.”

  “Yes, that one. I agreed to his proposal when he asked me after my audition, and we’ve had dinner a couple of times. That’s been the extent of our relationship.”

  “Why would you do that? This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Blaine’s gay.” I push up onto my elbow to better gauge his reaction. “Our marriage will be legal but completely fake. I’m a cover for the personal details he thinks are getting in the way of his ambitions. It seems like he was right. As soon as he announced our engagement, the board announced their decision to make him Director. I’m acting the part of dutiful, appropriate fiancé—and soon-to-be wife—in public only. I guess you were partly right about me being an actress. He’s never even been to my house, you know. Isn’t that weird?” A gentle puff of laughter escapes my lungs.

  Dylan’s hand grips my hip. “So, you’re not in love with him?”

  “No. I barely like the man. I don’t know him. Everything between us has been as orchestrated as the symphony.”

  “Thank God.” His hands pull me back down, and his mouth crushes mine with a desperate urgency, a quaking relief I feel through my lips. He spins us over until his body presses mine to the bed. I twine my fingers through his hair to pull him closer, deepen the kiss.