Rockstar Romance: Julian (Contemporary New Adult Bad Boy Rock Star Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 3) (70 page)

Jessica was surprised at the taste of Banek’s lips and tongue—sweet, almost citrusy, more pronounced than any man she had ever been with as his tongue slithered against hers. Banek added another finger, and Jessica broke away from his lips with a cry at the full feeling of his thick digits working inside of her, faster and faster as she became more turned on, slicker and slicker with fluids. Banek’s fingertips brushed against her g-spot and she cried out again as a white-hot jolt of electric pleasure shot through her.

Banek rubbed up against her g-spot again and again, even as he continued to work her clit with his thumb, and in a matter of moments Jessica could feel her self-control give way as the first waves of orgasm washed through her, blotting out all thought. She moaned out again and again as he continued to touch and stroke her, as if he wanted to know just how long she could keep going. Jessica arched and twisted, more and more sensation crackling through her veins until she was certain that she might actually die from pleasure.

She sagged against Banek and tried to find the words to ask him to stop, blindly and limply tapping on his broad shoulders as aftershocks of her orgasm rippled through her. Banek slowly withdrew, bringing his fingers away, holding her up easily, and Jessica caught a fleeting glance of him bringing his hand up to his mouth, licking her fluids off of his fingers, as she closed her eyes in exhausted satisfaction.

Jessica realized as she came back to herself slowly that at some point Banek must have lifted her onto his lap; she could feel the press of his body against hers, the smooth, hairless velvet of his skin in contact with every inch of her. She opened her eyes, blinking against the haze of pleasure that still consumed her mind, and took in the expanse of gray-purple flesh. “I never really considered myself particularly kinky,” she said, still struggling slightly to catch her breath. “But I guess I can’t call myself vanilla anymore.”

Banek chuckled lowly, bringing her face up to his to kiss her once more. “I don’t know what this ‘vanilla’ means,” he told her, barely breaking away from her lips. “But if being vanilla means that you won’t have sex with me, then I’m glad you’re not that.” Jessica laughed, shaking her head. Glancing down, she could still see that Banek was hard as a rock—and that his cock was just as improbably large as she had remembered. She was soaking wet, drenched from her orgasm, and suddenly the prospect of taking him didn’t seem quite so onerous or impossible.

“I will definitely have sex with you,” she said slowly, shifting on his lap. “But we have to go slowly. Even as wet as I am, that’s…” she pointed at his genitals. “It’s big.

“Very slowly,” Banek agreed. “I understand from my research that it might be easier if you’re on top.” Jessica took a deep breath; she couldn’t deny the buzzing hum of renewed desire building up inside of her. She wanted more. She wanted to know what that ridged, bumpy cock would feel like rubbing along her inner walls.

Jessica straddled Banek’s hips, licking her lips as she positioned herself over the tip of him. Banek brought her face to his and kissed her hungrily as Jessica sank down onto him. She moaned against his lips as he filled her up inch by inch, pushing past the tightness of her body. “Oh,” Jessica murmured breathlessly. “Oh, Banek. Oh, God…” her breath caught in her throat as Banek’s cock pushed deeper and deeper inside of her, until her hips met his. Jessica paused, breathing slowly and deeply, as her muscles flexed and clenched around the strangely appealing cock. For just a moment, she felt almost uncomfortably filled; but as Banek rocked his hips slowly, making the ridges of his cock rub all along her inner walls, Jessica found herself moving along with him, moaning over and over again.

She barely realized that her speed was picking up as she and Banek moved together, touching each other everywhere their hands could reach, exploring each other’s bodies. Jessica cried out as Banek’s enormous member rubbed everywhere inside of her, pressing continuously against her g-spot, rubbing it at all times and making it impossible for her to hold back the orgasm she could feel building up inside of her. Jessica struggled against her climax, wanting to savor the feeling of Banek, the pleasure he was giving her; but in a matter of moments, it seemed, she was unable to hold back for even a second longer. Once more, wave after wave of pleasure washed through her, even as she continued to lift herself up and push herself down onto the bumpy, ridged cock that gave her such intense pleasure. Banek moved faster inside of her, and Jessica heard his guttural moans filling the air as his body tensed.

Jessica cried out as she felt a flood of almost syrupy, tingling fluid gushing into her. Banek shouted something in the strange language she had heard him use before, thrusting into her hard and fast as he reached his own climax, her body gripping around his cock as her orgasm intensified. Jessica continued moving, pushing down, taking him deep inside until the darkness overwhelmed her and she collapsed against him, utterly exhausted.

****

Banek cradled Jessica in his arms, smiling to himself as he watched her come back again. He had been forewarned that sometimes sex with a Khateen rendered human women incapacitated; but to see it in action was no less interesting. “Welcome back,” he said, brushing a lock of Jessica’s dark hair out of her face as she opened her eyes.

“That was amazing,” Jessica said. She stretched against his body and Banek felt her tense momentarily against him; his latent empathy flickered, feeling the ripple of tenderness she reacted to.

“Are you hurt?” Banek asked, concerned.

Jessica shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said with a little grin. “Just…maybe let’s wait a little while before we do that again.”

“You
want
to?”

“Oh, totally. You can’t take
that
away from me!”

Banek kissed her lightly on the lips, trailing his hands over her body. “I’d like it a lot if you’d be the subject for my research.”

Jessica looked at him intently for a moment. “Wouldn’t you prefer—after all that romance reading—if I’d be your lover?” She raised a dark eyebrow and Banek grinned.

“You can be both, can’t you?”

Jessica caught her bottom lip between her teeth and then giggled, curling up close to him. “How long are you going to be here? I’m not going to be your lover if you’re only here for like, a few weeks.”

Banek laughed. “I’m here for the foreseeable future. And just think of what untold wealth you could give me for my colleagues. I’ll take care of you, Jessica.” Banek kissed her; he realized that he was beginning to really understand the intent behind the human concept of romance.

“Then how can I say no?” Jessica pulled at him ineffectually and Banek read her intent; he laid down on the couch, cradling Jessica’s body against his. He would bring her to his place soon enough; for now he was content with—as he privately joked to himself—
fieldwork
.

THE END

PART ONE

Rachel groaned into her pillow as the sound of Muse’s “Hysteria” ripped her out of the depths of an intense sleep. She reached out blindly, groping for her phone on the bedside table, trying to decide whether or not it was worth it to cue the snooze function. It would only net her an extra nine minutes—just enough time to start drifting off again before the alarm came back on—but the weight behind her eyes, the heaviness of her arms and legs against the soft, warm bed, was so tempting to give into.

She pulled her face free of the pillow and opened her eyes, staring dumbly at the still-playing alarm flashing on the screen. She knew if she didn’t make up her mind soon, she would be fully awake, and there would be no point in tapping the snooze icon. Groaning again, she tapped the icon and dropped the phone onto the bed next to her, curling up. She could at least pretend, for the moment, that she didn’t have anywhere to be.

Rachel was still hovering in the mental space between asleep and awake when the alarm went off again; her brain had started to perk up into function, insistently cataloging everything she would have to get done that day, in spite of the deep-seated desire to return to sleep.
God, I don’t want to go to work,
she thought, sitting up in bed and reaching for her phone to shut off the alarm for good. She could have, theoretically, hit the snooze button one more time; she only needed twenty minutes to get ready for work, and the alarm was set to forty-five minutes before she had to leave. But she was awake; there was no point in pretending anymore.

She took a deep breath and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, climbing down and scrubbing at her slightly greasy-feeling face. Rachel decided that a big glass of water, a toothbrush, and some face soap would complete the process of transitioning out of sleep and into waking life. But first, she absolutely had to get the coffee started.

Rachel wandered out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, blinking sleepily as her feet shuffled along the rug; for the moment, she was determined not to check her email, or even to look and see what was going on amongst her friends online. The quiet of the house, so early in her day, was not to be interrupted by considerations of the incredible mess waiting for her when she arrived at work. Her body moved automatically as she went into the small apartment kitchen: turning on the faucet, rinsing the coffee pot, scooping coffee into the basket, reaching up to retrieve a glass from the cupboard. Slowly but surely, her body was coming awake, her brain losing the lingering fog of sleep.

While the coffee brewed, Rachel downed the glass of water in a few rapid swallows, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, sitting down heavily at the tiny table in her dining room—a second-hand rescue from when a distant aunt had passed away while she was in college, and her cousins had needed to get rid of as much of the woman’s hoarded furniture as they could. She poured herself a cup of coffee and added milk and sugar, giving it an experimental, necessary sip before she finally unlocked her phone and tapped on the email icon.

A resigned sigh gusted through her lips as the screen loaded, showing somewhere between fourteen and twenty new emails. Rachel took a deep breath and began to skim the previews, her eyes taking in subject lines and the first sentence or so of the messages themselves. She mentally prioritized them based on who they were from, whether or not the subject line said “urgent” and her own experience. It had been a little over two years since she had gratefully taken the job of Administrative Assistant, feeling the hot breath of student loan debt collectors on her neck. She had worked hard to get as many scholarships as possible to make her way through college, but Rachel had been forced to resort to loans when there was simply not enough money.

About a year into working for Elite Advertising, Rachel had come to the conclusion that the job was never going to get any better. She knew that her superiors had low-balled her on their initial offer, counting on her desperation to get a job—any job. She knew that they had no intention of appreciably increasing her pay, or giving her any kind of promotion; she had proven herself to be too efficient to make the argument that additional responsibilities merited an increase in pay. Whenever she tentatively raised the subject, she was met with “But you’re so capable; this will only take up a few minutes here and there in your schedule.” The thought of abandoning the job, of finding something better, had occurred to her more than once—but the very real possibility that she would leave one dead-end only to step into another held her back.

Rachel shelved the topic of the day’s work in favor of checking in on her friends for a few minutes. She glanced at the time—she still had ten minutes before she needed to start getting ready in earnest. Scrolling through her feed, Rachel frowned enviously at pictures of one friend’s exotic vacation—something she could never scratch up enough extra cash to afford—and a coworker’s new car.
They can afford to bump pay for the sales team, but not for the girl practically running the place,
she thought bitterly, closing out the app before her resentment could bloom out of proportion.

She decided to rub a little more salt in the wound, and opened up her banking app, thinking that she would make a couple of plans—maybe pay a couple of bills—before she got dressed and made up for the day’s work. Logging in, Rachel went through her usual mental routine of trying to estimate just how much she
should
have in the bank, recalling the groceries she had bought a few days earlier, the lunch she had treated herself to after forgetting the Tupperware holding her leftovers. When the screen finished loading, she glanced at the total and her mouth fell open in shock.

“Two million dollars? What the hell? What—how—it’s got to be a mistake,” she said, shaking her head and blinking her eyes to clear them. But the total still showed the same amount. Rachel tapped the account details option and saw, to her amazement, that it had come from a transfer, showing as posted just that morning.

Her mind spun for a moment. It still had to be a mistake; someone had tried to send a transfer to their kid, or to a family member—maybe even a corrupt politician—and had gotten some of the digits wrong on the account number. Rachel looked at the time, wondering just how long the hold period would be for the customer service line. She chewed on her bottom lip and considered. On one hand, she absolutely had to get ready for work—she would be late if she didn’t. On the other hand, Rachel thought it was entirely possible that, assuming the transfer into her account was a mistake, she would probably face a much bigger problem later on down the line if it wasn’t corrected quickly.

She called her boss, leaving a voicemail saying that she had to take care of a personal issue and would be a few minutes late getting in. Rachel then pulled out her debit card and dialed the number on the back of it, fidgeting in her pajamas as she entered her account information and passcode. She tapped her foot lightly on the floor as the hold music played, her heart beating faster.
What if it isn’t a mistake?
She thought, her brain barely—barely—daring to hope. But how she could have ended up with two million dollars in her bank account without it being a mistake of some kind was impossible to comprehend. No one she knew had that kind of money. The wealthiest of her friends and family were only making—at most—a hundred thousand or so per year.

Her mouth was dry and she sipped at her coffee, forcing herself to breathe slowly. The customer service agent finally came on the line, and Rachel explained her dilemma. “That is…certainly an odd situation,” the woman on the other end of the phone said, sounding nearly as surprised as Rachel was. “I’ll be happy to look into that for you in a little more detail. Would you be okay with holding?” Rachel told the woman that she would, even though her skin was crawling, even though she felt an instinctive fear that just by alerting the bank to the discrepancy, she might—at any moment—find her door kicked in by unknown “others.”

When the woman came back on the line, Rachel eagerly told her that yes, she was still there. “I’ve looked everywhere possible,” the woman said, with a mixture of confusion and certainty in her voice. “There is no way that the transfer is even possibly a mistake. I was even able to call up the original bank form that was used—and your name was specified, along with your account number. We use a redundancy system to guard against errors; it doesn’t always work, but it’s clear that someone apparently wanted to give you two million dollars.” The woman paused. “I guess… congratulations?” The phone almost slipped out of her fingers, and Rachel barely managed a coherent reply before ending the call.

As she sat in numb silence at the table, a dawning realization came over her.
I don’t have to go to work today.
She smiled slowly.
If I’m careful, I don’t have to go to work ever.
She began to laugh, eyes wide, shaking her head in shock at the turn of events.