Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1) (15 page)

He relaxed back into the cushions, vastly entertained. His mood had been all over the place that day. There'd been the sexual frustration—back, but now greatly tempered by his satisfaction over Cilla's responsiveness—the pissed-off feelings he'd had about Payne, and then those strange, angry twinges he'd experienced when seeing Cilla with another man. But now he had her in his arms, he'd set her off in record time, and the only thing he needed to do at the moment was savor this new, mellow mood of his.

He'd been edgy all his life, worse since his grandfather died followed by Gwen. But something about Cilla seemed to knock off his sharper corners. His personal Fay Wray, taming the beast.

His knuckles traced another path over her cheek. "There's no such thing as a premature orgasm when it comes to women."

"I think I could maybe have waited for one item of clothing to come completely off, Ren. And certainly what happened wasn't the least bit...polite to you."

"I'm fine, Cilla."

She finally opened her eyes and slanted a look at him through her lashes.

He could read her thoughts. "Nobody's keeping score."

Her aggrieved expression made him stifle another laugh. If she wanted to share a few more kisses—and whatever that led to—with him, he wasn't going to worry about it. Like his father, he was that selfish. He'd wondered if he'd be too much for her, too rough, too demanding, but now he knew he had soft and gentle—surprise, surprise—in him.

Settling deeper into the sofa, he sifted his fingers through her hair as tension continued to seep from him. It was like that first night on Gwen's patio when they'd shared the quiet night and again at the outlook on the trail that gave them the primo view of L.A. Maybe it was home, maybe it was Cilla, in any case he felt deep in his skin and deep in the moment. All good.

Not the usual whatsoever—when he was all about making up time by hurrying someone else along. There wasn't the typical impatience he felt with the world either. Or dissatisfaction with it, like life had let him down.

Shit, and didn't that just sound fucked. He'd had a crappy family life but still a damn entitled one.

He rested his chin on the top of Cilla's head and dialed himself back to chill. Breathing in her fragrance, he draped one arm around her waist and used his free hand to play with her soft hair. The curls and waves of it clung to his fingers as he combed through the soft stuff. Her body was heavier against his than before and he enjoyed her slow slide into half-slumber.

"Great hair, Cilla," he said, watching it drift down as he released a lock and it floated toward the rest. "So many twists and turns to it."

"Then maybe I shouldn't be so mad at Tad," she replied, her voice drowsy, "for cutting it."

Her words took a moment to sink in. Then tension shot into his muscles.
Tad had cut her hair?
No. That couldn't be what he'd heard. Her body was soft and warm and he made his voice the same. "Say again? Tad encouraged you to cut your hair?"

"No." She ran her fingers through the stuff and tucked it behind her ear. "After we broke up... I sleep like the dead."

He'd seen it for himself, the two times they'd shared a bed. "Yeah...?"

"I'd given him a key to my house. You know, how you do."

Ren had never lived with anyone nor had he ever given a woman access to his house, let alone his heart. "Okay. And...?"

She took in a breath, seeming to come completely out of her half-doze. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

On heightened alert, he tightened his hold on her. "Because I'm asking."

Another moment's hesitation, then she spoke. "He was angry when I broke up with him. He said he wanted to get back together, even though he'd also said I needed to work on...well, you know." She flicked Ren a quick glance.

"And now you know that part of you is just fine."

She grimaced, then slid off his lap. Ass on the cushions, elbows on her knees, she put her head in her hands. "When I was sleeping one night..."

Fuck
. "Cilla? When you were sleeping one night...what?"

"He came in and cut off my hair. Left the hank of it on the bedside table along with the scissors and his set of keys."

His blood pressure rocketing, Ren's jaw dropped. "
What?
"

"When I was asleep—"

"I heard you." He leaped to his feet, feeling as if the top of his head might explode. His hand shoved in his pocket for the car fob. "What's that asshole's address?"

Cilla’s head twisted and she stared up at him in silence.

Every second of it felt like a century as his blood coursed beneath his skin, lava-hot. "Damn it, Cilla, where does he live?"

"Um...Why?"

"Why?" Now it was Ren's turn to stare. "So I can go kill him."

"Ren..." A little laugh petered out to nothing and her eyes got bigger. "You can't do that."

"I don't know why the hell not." Anger buzzed through him like a hive of hornets. "Address, Cilla."

Her gaze trained on him, she rose from the couch. "Ren, no. That isn't necessary."

"Fuck it isn't." The hornet wings vibrated even faster, making him feel itchy all over and jacking up his temperature. He wouldn't be surprised to find his flesh smoking. "I've got to get to him."

Cilla walked toward Ren, palms out, a placating gesture. "Calm down."

"I'm going to kill him." The bastard had dared to hurt Cilla. First he'd slashed at her confidence in her sexuality—advising her to watch porn, good God—then he'd taken away what she considered her crowning glory by stealing into her house, uninvited.

"No, Ren." She put one small hand on his chest, over his heart. The other wrapped around his forearm, a cool touch that did nothing for his temper. He was vibrating with the power of it.

"It's just hair," she said. "I probably should have done something with it long ago."

"You didn't want to cut it. You never wanted to cut it. I remember you saying that."

Cilla looked down. "Partly because of you. You once told me how pretty it was and how you liked it long." She glanced up at him, a little smile quirking her lips. "I didn't get a lot of male attention when I was young and...and I kind of took that compliment to heart."

He stared at her, picturing that quiet child she'd been, with her big blue eyes and her long fall of hair. "Oh, Cilla."

She touched the short ends of it now. "I'm glad to hear you like it this way, too."

"It's very pretty, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to kill the man."

Her expression turned alarmed. "Ren—"

"Look, I have to do something," he said, still infuriated by the idea of what that fucking sneak had done.

"Then kiss me," she whispered.

"Not now—"

"Kiss me, Ren." She stepped into his body. "That's the something you can do for me."

He gritted his teeth, his cock going hard despite his temper as she pressed her hips to his. "It's not enough."

"It's what I need."

"Cilla—"

"Make me feel desirable," she said, her voice sweet temptation. "Show me a man finds me sexy. That
you
find me sexy."

"Of course you're sexy," he muttered, trying to ignore the hand that stole around to the small of his back and slid beneath his shirt. "But right now—"

Her mouth muffled the rest of the sentence. On tiptoe, Cilla kissed him, her small tongue sliding between his lips as he groaned. His body was stiff against hers, his rage had infused his muscles with cement, it seemed, but she didn't appear to notice as she wrapped an arm around his neck, and kept kissing, kissing, kissing.

She maddened him. He wanted action, his temperament compelled him to redress the wrong done to her. "I need to teach him a lesson," he said against her mouth.

"Teach me instead," she said, sliding her lips along his jaw. "Teach me everything you know about sex."

God. Her tongue was painting a wet design on his neck. His hands closed over her hips, in preparation for pushing her away. "We both know you don't need a mentor."

"I need a man, Ren. Right now I need you."

I need you
. The vessel that contained his anger broke then, shattering like a glass container to release new emotions, a tangled rush of them: inevitability, dread, yearning, lust, some feeling that was an uneasy precursor to loss. With sudden disquiet, Ren stepped back.

He should go! Find Tad and make him pay!

Cilla moved into him again, her body fragrant and her hold firm. On tiptoe, she whispered in his ear. "Fuck me. Take me to bed and fuck me."

He shuddered, those raunchy words out of her sweet mouth laying waste to his violent intentions as well as his Galahad hesitation. This was the result of being rock royalty—of being String Bean Colson's son. No will power. If Ren wanted something, well, he took it.

Later, he'd get to the asshole. Later, he'd deal with the insult and his anger. Now it was time for Cilla.
Fuck me.
She'd said that.
Take me to bed and fuck me.

Galvanized, his arms banded her body and he hoisted her up so he could take her lips the way he wanted to. As he slanted his head her legs came around his hips and he kneaded her ass as he made for the closest mattress.

He tossed her to the one where they'd first slept together and followed her down. She giggled, the sound so sweet that he attacked the fastening of her jeans to make her understand this was no laughing matter. "I'm going to do you," he said, yanking denim and silky panties down her legs to just below her knees. Good God. She was completely bare down there and the top of his head threatened to explode again, but for a completely different—better—reason. "I'm going to show you what you do to me."

In the low glow from the bedside lamp, he saw she was up on her elbows, her chest heaving. Her big blue eyes were trained on him as he licked his thumb then insinuated it along the groove of her intimate flesh. She jerked at the first touch and he sucked in a breath as he felt her juicy wetness spread over his skin.

"You're drenched," he said, flicking her a glance.

Her cheeks turned even pinker. "Ren."

"Say my name just like that," he whispered, nudging her clit with the pad of his thumb. "I like that plea in your voice."

She moaned, her head dropping back as he circled the knot of nerves. "I still have my boots on. You're still dressed."

Pushing up the hem of her blouse, he circled her navel with tip of his tongue. "You come again and I'll take off all your clothes."

"Ren..."

"You come
again
, and I'll take off mine."

Her skin was like nothing he'd felt before, smelled before, tasted before. He continued to play with her, his thumb rolling, pressing, teasing as he kissed her belly, scraped his beard against her hipbones, sucked the skin below her navel to mark her.

She squirmed in his hold, her breath coming fast, her whole body trembling.

"Good, baby?" he asked.

Her only answer was to draw up her heels, her legs widening as far as her pants would allow. He knew the restraint would only ratchet her desire higher and as he leaned up to take her mouth, he pressed his free palm on her shoulder, anchoring her to the mattress. More masculine control.

It made her wild.

She sucked on his tongue, she made low noises at the back of her throat, her hips tilted into the hand that played with her sex. He took his thumb from her and she froze, then jerked her mouth from his. "Ren," she said, sounding peeved.

"Be still then," he advised, stroking his knuckles along the inside of her thigh, in a light, calming caress. Down. Up. Her flesh quivered.

"
Ren
." This time it was breathy and sweet.

To reward her, he returned to the liquid-glazed flesh with more caresses. Her body was swollen and heated there, and the layers were opened like a lovely, luscious flower to his gaze. The tips of two fingers pressed into the soft entrance and when she squirmed again, he stilled them, sending her another quelling look. Her gaze trained on his face, she instantly stopped moving and then he said "Good," and slid the long digits into her, all the way, until his palm cupped her smooth and soft labial lips.

Her moan wrapped around his hard cock and tugged. "Pretty girl," he said, watching his hand start a gentle rocking action. "You're so pretty all over." An image of her breasts came to mind, framed by the stretchy lace of her bra that he'd tucked beneath them. Her pale nipples had drawn hard against his mouth, poking like berries against his tongue as he sucked on them.

Glancing up, he saw her gaze was fixed on him, and he could feel the tension invading her body. But she didn't move except for the quivering of her belly and the fluttering of her internal muscles against his pulsing fingers.
God
, he thought,
so damn sweet
. He reached with his free hand to cup her hot cheek. She turned her face to kiss his palm.

His heart spasmed against another punch of mingled dread and longing, leaving a painful ache in his chest.

"Cilla," he whispered, his voice rough.
Oh, shit
. What was happening here?

Her lips touched his hand once again and he drew it away to run his thumb over that valentine-shaped mouth. She ducked her chin, taking the digit into its heat and when she sucked, all his muscles steeled and his cock went so hard he nearly lost his mind.

Focus
, he told himself.
Focus on her pleasure
.

His fingers moved in the wet clasp of her body, twisting, thrusting, establishing a rhythm as he toyed with the engorged nub of her clitoris, swollen for him. Her hips rose into his touch and he didn't stop her or stop himself this time. Her little gasp was his final warning, and then she was crying out as the crisis came over her. There was no way he couldn't watch. His gaze shifted to her face as her cheeks flushed pink and her lashes drifted down. She rode out the long orgasm on his hand, her muscles tight around his fingers, her flesh wetter than ever.
God
, he thought.
Beautiful
.
So beautiful.

When she opened her eyes, he was tugging off her boots and socks. "Ren," she said, holding out a hand.