Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) (29 page)

Jesus it was good.

I was so turned on that I felt swollen down there… but I was soaked. Dripping.

He felt bigger than I’d ever felt him before. Thicker. Just the sheer size of him pressed firmly up against the inside of me… but with the lube from the condom, and my own juices, he slid inside easily, all the way.

I groaned with pleasure as he rocked back and forth, his entire length slowly easing up inside me, filling me completely.

His hand reached around to my breasts again – but this time he was more forceful.

Hungrier.

He clutched at my left boob, his fingertips pinching my nipple harder than before, and he growled in my ear, low and feral and full of desire.

I felt his hips draw back from my ass, and his cock slid almost all the way out of me – just his head teasing me, threatening to slip out – and then his cock plunged back inside and his hips pressed firmly against my ass.

He slid his left arm underneath me so that I was lying on my side, wrapped in his arms. He hiked up my t-shirt above my breasts, and I lifted my arms so he could pull it all the way off me – but he didn’t. He left the t-shirt in place, but with my boobs exposed, and suddenly he was manhandling me, his massive hands pawing at my breasts, fondling me, cupping me, clutching me as his hips rocked back and forth, the hard muscles of his lower abs slapping my ass, driving his cock deep inside me, all the while kissing my ear, growling, groaning, and making me hotter and wetter.

I guess it was kind of trashy to be fucking with my underwear and t-shirt on, but I didn’t care – I loved it. All I gave a damn about was how incredibly turned on I was, how big and thick he felt inside me, how strong his hands felt as they pressed against my breasts, how hard his body was slapping against my ass, and how good he was fucking me.

I was dimly aware that I was making little high-pitched “Unh – unh – unh” noises, but I was beyond caring. I think it was because of the angle he was at, entering me from behind. With every thrust, the head of his cock was hitting my spot, my G-spot,
some
damn spot that felt so good and liquid-hot and amazing that I just kept getting higher and higher, and wetter and wetter, and louder and louder.

Suddenly he rolled onto his back and carried me along with him. I was no longer on my left side anymore, but lying on my back on top of his firm, muscled body as he clutched at my breasts and pinched my nipples and growled in my ear and kept fucking me like a beast, his cock filling me up and pounding away hard and thick and amazing as it stroked again and again over that amazing spot, my ecstasy getting higher and higher, and a pressure building inside me, kind of feeling like I had to pee a little, then a little more, a little more urgent, but I didn’t want to stop, I didn’t want to quit, because I was getting so close, I was getting so close to coming, I was right there, oh God I was going over, I was coming as he continued to thrust and rock and slam up inside me, rubbing over my spot –  

And suddenly I lost all control, and I felt this kind of
goosh
as I came, and as I was screaming and my whole body was racked with waves of pleasure, I felt this panic as a little voice whispered in my head,
Holy shit, did I just pee myself?

Then I realized that, no, it wasn’t pee.

I’d heard about it happening to other women, but I had never,
ever
thought it would happen to me.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to freak me out.

The little voice went into overdrive – though it was trying to reassure me:
You still have your underwear on – sort of! It’s okay, it’s fine, it wasn’t much! He probably won’t even notice!

But I think I immediately tensed up, which clued Derek off.

He stopped thrusting.

There were these three seconds of long silence, at which point the little voice inside my head was like
No no no no NO –

And then he asked, “…did you just squirt?”

“No! Shut up!” I squealed as I pulled myself off him and rolled away, not wanting to look at him.

He laughed –
laughed,
which somehow made it worse. “Come on, that was super fucking hot – ”

I felt his hand on my arm.

“Stop!” I said, mortified, batting him away.

“Come on, don’t be like that – ”

His hands wouldn’t quit, pulling me closer to his body no matter how hard I tried to squirm away.

“Cut it out!”

“Come back here and do it again,” he whispered huskily in my ear.

I turned around and beat my hands against his chest. “I hate you!” I yelled.

He looked at me, a frown on his face – not angry, just mystified.

I couldn’t explain it at that moment, but I think it was that I hated how much power he had over me. That at a moment when I was angry at him, he could still make me want him so badly. That he could overpower my senses with lust. That he could make me lose complete control and do something that I had never done before, something that was really embarrassing –

A wry smile crept across his face. “Do you
really
hate me?”

No.

I’m just afraid of how much you make me feel.

“…yes,” I said grumpily.

His smile bloomed into a full-on grin. “You
really
hate me?”

Now it was a game.

Which I didn’t mind as much, because I didn’t have to open up, I didn’t have to tell him how deeply he affected me.

I didn’t have to be honest – not with him…

…and not with myself, either.

“Yes,” I said brattily.

He pulled me on top of him as he lay on his back. I braced my arms against his chest (his firm, gorgeous, naked chest –
sigh…
) and kept myself as far away from him as possible.

“How much do you hate me?” he asked, his voice dropping sexily.

“A lot.”

“Do you hate all of me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you hate…
this
part of me?”

He shifted his body underneath me, and suddenly his cock – still rock-hard and thick, with the condom still on – slid into the groove of my pussy. I felt the wet pressure kiss my clit, and I shivered.

“…yes…” I said, entirely unconvincingly.

“Do you hate it when I do… this?” he whispered, and his hands clutched my ass, the fingertips caressing my wet, exposed lips.

“Yes,” I said, almost trembling as his fingers traced across against my most sensitive parts.

“Do you hate it when I do… this?” he asked, and did a crunch, lifting his upper body off the bed so that his mouth could reach my breasts dangling above him.

His lips took me in, wet and warm, sucking first at one nipple, then the other.

I shivered, and let myself grind the slightest bit against his long, thick cock.

“…yes…”

Without saying anything else, he lifted my t-shirt up over my head. I raised my arms and let him peel it off me, after which he threw it across the room.

Then he hooked his fingers in my underwear and pulled down. I raised my ass and let him slide off the soaked cloth, then took over and kicked them off to the floor.

Now I was naked, sitting astride
his
naked body.

As he looked me in the eyes the entire time, he took one powerful hand, put it on my waist, and lifted. I rose up off his body – and with his other hand, he took hold of his head and positioned it right between my swollen tips.

“Do you hate when I do… this?” he growled, and slowly forced me down on that gorgeous cock.

“Unnnnhhh,” I groaned as he slid inside me, inch by inch.

“Do you hate it?” he asked again.

“…yes…” I whispered, as I began to lift myself up and rock back down, slowly, again and again, letting him deeper and deeper inside me.

“How about this?” he whispered, and pulled my upper body down against his chest. His legs spread out, forcing mine along with his… and then I felt his hands grab my ass cheeks, cupping them hard… and then his fingertips tickled between my legs where they joined my body, sliding over wet skin, until they came to rest between my pussy and my asshole, and he just…
clutched
at me gently, that soft, delicious pressure massaging a place no one else had ever touched as he pumped his hips slowly and that big, thick cock slid slowly in and out of me. He put his mouth against my ear and breathed out, “Do you hate that?”

“…yes…” I moaned, my fingernails raking across his rock-hard chest, my hair dangling over his face in a tent, as he moved in and out of me, filling me up, his fingertips toying sensually with that shameful/delightful/unnamable place between my legs.

“Do you hate it when I fuck you soft and slow?” he whispered in my ear.

I was arching my body now, grinding myself down on his cock, making it press harder at points where I wanted it, trying to get back that sensation of him rubbing over my g-spot.

“Yes,” I moaned, my skin heating up as I fucked him back.

“Do you hate it when I fuck you just a little bit faster?” he whispered, and suddenly he drove his cock into me, surprising me, making me gasp as his hips smacked against my thighs and ass.

“Yes…”

“And you hate it when I fuck you deeper?”

He strained hard against me, and I swear I felt him go deeper than ever before.

“Yes…”

“You hate that?”

He was slipping in and out of me faster, harder, our bodies slapping wetly together.

“Yes – ”

“You hate it when I fuck you?”

“Yes – ” I moaned, my eyes closed, as his fingers pressed harder between my legs, and my breasts slid across his sweaty chest, my nipples tickling.

“You hate it when I fuck you so good?”

Faster, harder, thicker, deeper –

“Yes, yes – ”

I could feel his breathing becoming shallower.

“Don’t come,” I pleaded, my eyes closed, my voice high and breathy.

“I’m not going to come,” he whispered back. “Not yet. Are you going to come?”

“Yes,” I whispered, feeling it building up inside me again, sweet and aching and wanting so badly to be released.

“Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes – ”

“Are you going to come hard for me?”

My eyes were closed, and I was grinding and bucking hard against him, using every inch of his cock.

“Yes, yes – ”

“Are you going to have that gorgeous little pussy come all over me?”

“Oh fuck – yes – oh God, yes – ”

The sensations were getting closer, higher, sweeter, more and more –

“Will you do something for me, Kaitlyn?”

“Yes – ”

“Do something for me, ‘cause I want to come with you – ”

“Yes, anything, yes – ”

“Are you about to come?”

“Yes, yes, God yes – ”

He took one hand and gripped the back of my hair at the nape, forced up my head so he could look me in the eyes, helpless and completely surrendered to him as I felt the surge of pleasure between my legs reach that tipping point where there was no going back.

“Scream for me when you come,” he whispered.

Suddenly I was coming, and I screamed, louder than I’d ever screamed before, the pulsing waves of pleasure shooting up from deep inside me, from where I clutched his cock with my pussy, riding it, feeling it deep inside me, the pleasure shooting through my legs and up my spine and into the crown of my head, pulse after pulse of bliss rolling through my skin and body and into the very core of me, and suddenly he was yelling, cursing, grunting, moaning, and I felt him explode inside me, his cock spasming and growing, one-two-three-four, faster and faster, harder and thicker, pressing against me as he rammed inside me, my hips grinding against him as my screams subsided into moans, and then I collapsed on his chest, sweaty and gasping as he held me in his arms and cradled my head against him. I could still feel his cock surging and pulsing with tiny aftershocks, one every three seconds… then every five seconds… then every seven seconds… until he stopped completely, and we just lay there, breathing at the same rate, the sweat from our bodies mingling as our skin slid against each other like wet silk.

“…I still hate you…” I whispered, mostly playful, but with a tiny core of anger I couldn’t deny.

“…I know,” he said, and I knew he was grinning from the sound of his voice.

So the sex was super-hot that once… although it rarely was after that.

Part of it was me – but part of it was definitely him. He almost seemed to go out of his way to be a dick sometimes. Paying more and more attention to really hot groupies backstage, or flirting more brazenly with attractive women.

For awhile I thought maybe he was doing it to provoke a reaction in me – maybe stoke the same fires that had fueled our little bout of ‘hate sex.’

And it kind of
did
work that once.

But you know how it feels really good sometimes to get angry? Just righteously pissed off? Super-fucking
mad?

It’s powerful. Like you have a nuclear-powered engine inside you.

But the problem is, if you don’t get over it, it starts sapping energy out of you instead of creating it. It takes a lot of fuel to keep anger going, and it starts leeching off of the energy reserves that power everything else.

And I found myself getting angry, and
staying
angry, more and more often.

Angry and jealous and insecure and depressed.

So if he meant it to provoke me and turn me on, it backfired. I actually stopped being responsive and wanting sex as much because I was just
hurting
.

And when we
did
have sex after that, I noticed it became less and less about foreplay and sensuality, and more just… ‘banging.’ He tended to do a perfunctory warm-up to get me halfway going, then we cut straight to the main act.

Don’t get me wrong, what we
did
do was really good… better than the best sex I’d had with anybody else. But that heightened sense of sexual tension back in my dorm room four years ago? The hallucinatory sensuality of the desert? The way he had touched me and seduced me when I was angry at him?

Those things virtually disappeared. It was like they receded in the rearview mirror as we drove away, leaving them in the dust. I caught glimpses of them again, but the glimpses were always fleeting – and then it was ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ (even if the ‘wham-bam’ part lasted a good fifteen or twenty minutes).

But in the end, I don’t think he flirted with other women to provoke me and turn me on.

He did it because that was what he was, and that was what he did. He sought out female attention and validation, however he could get it. And he wasn’t going to change it for anybody.

Which, to my mind, was being a dick.

If you’ve got a woman in front of you who you say is your girlfriend, but you still act like you’re a single guy out to get his next piece of ass?

You’re a dick.

I know, I know, I shouldn’t have expected to hook up with one of the most desirable men on the planet and then believe that he would want to settle down.

Except I kind of did.

When a guy tells me I’m his girlfriend, I expect him to fucking act like I’m his girlfriend. Not just when he wants a little ooh-la-la.

Killian’s words kept returning to me.
Not
the part about Derek lack of maliciousness, or how his actions were just part of his ‘nay-chuh.’ If I’d actually concentrated on those things, then maybe I would have dealt with everything better.

No, I kept asking myself,
Is this Derek being a scorpion?

And is this me being the frog?

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop – to feel that horrible pain when we were halfway across the river, and for the both of us to drown.