Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (8 page)

He didn’t screw me. He didn’t even try to.

This was Jag Steele and he was a whore. A known whore…one who had just left me completely alone and turned on as hell.

He was the type of guy I loathed, the type of guy that was the epitome of everything I was against, and I had just been completely fucked in the head by what had just happened.

Chapter 10

I tossed and turned most of that night. I was pissed because I liked him, and that made me feel like an idiot. We may have had similar pasts, similar issues, but we were too different. Honestly, I felt like my giving into him the way I had pretty much made me a fucking hypocrite, and that bothered the shit out of me.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

I was legitimately worried about what I was going to do. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, and realized I didn’t really have anything to worry about. I’d given into him, which meant he’d won. Jag had gotten his way. He proved that there really wasn’t a girl he couldn’t seduce, so I doubted that I would have to do anything. It’s not like he was going to call and ask me to go on a date or anything. I mean, surely he had someone else to serve as a distraction. That’s what I thought.

The next day, much to my surprise, Jag called me, already waiting outside my apartment, and asked me to do something with him.

I was stunned, and curiosity got the better of me. Everything I’d imagined about him wasn’t exactly clicking with how he’d come across the night before, and I knew if I was going to get him out of my head I’d have to prove that he really
was
nothing more than a selfish, self-consumed asshole.

That day did
nothing
to prove that to me.

Ten hours later, we’d gone shopping and to a movie. I’d spent the entire day with him.

There’s no point in giving you all the details of that day, because what matters is that at the end of the day, I found myself in his car in front of my apartment building, making out with him like a teenager, groping and moaning all over each other. I sat out there fucking around with him, laughing to myself when I noticed that the windows were covered in fog.

Those hands of his were tangled up in my hair, which sent me over the edge. He gently tugged on it, then pulled it hard enough to force a groan from me.

The second his hands let go of my hair, they grazed over my breasts, flooding my body with heat. His hands moving roughly over me was almost too much for me to handle. It made me want to fuck him, which I knew I shouldn’t, but damn did I want to. And then he bunched my dress up and slowly snaked his finger across my thigh. My back arched as I shifted in the seat from the sensation of his fingers slinking over my bare skin. His tongue fought to take control of my mouth, caressing deep and hard and long, the unmistakable taste of his lips nearly making me drunk the harder he kissed me.

His finger found its way to the edge of my panties and all I could think about was how badly I wanted him to touch me.

Skin to skin.

I involuntarily pushed my hips forward and he laughed against my mouth. Each slight stroke, each centimeter closer he got to sneaking under my panties made me hotter and aggressive. I couldn’t even breathe properly because he had gotten me to the point of absolute madness.

Then I felt that rough fingertip of his graze the outside of one lip, slipping over the mess he’d made of me from the torturous teasing he’d been subjecting me to for an hour. Then…he pulled his hand away, pressed one tender kiss against my mouth, and stared at me, his smug expression making it clear that he knew he owned me at that moment.

And he did.

“What?” I managed to desperately pant out. “Why’d you stop?”

One corner of his lip pulled up into a sadistic smile. “I think that’s enough for now.”

Are you kidding me? Enough of what? No, it is not!
I had never been that desperate to feel someone touch me in my life.

“Are you kidding me?” That question came out as more of a growl than a question.

“Nope.” He didn’t flinch, smile, nothing. He stayed expressionless while his fingers rubbed together, slippery from the moisture he’d swiped from me.

“Hell, no.” I swallowed and caught my breath. “We’re not!” I grabbed at his zipper and he playfully jerked his hips away.

“I said that’s enough—”

I was possessed, I was horny, and I would be damned if he was calling the shots on this. “Do you want me to suck you dry, or not? Because just like you say fucking is your first talent, sucking dick is mine!”

What in the actual fuck just came out of my mouth?

I think my comment shocked him just as much as it did me because his eyes widened and he blinked a few times, his jaw loosening just a touch.

Shrugging, he tossed his hand in the air and leaned the seat back. “Well, if that’s what you want to do, then by all means…”

He raised his ass from the seat as I yanked his jeans down. His ridiculously large dick slapped back against his stomach, and I noticed a small glint in the dim light pouring in from outside. Lodged through the tip of his dick was a shiny silver barbell, and another was horizontal underneath his head.
Holy fuck!

I didn’t even realize I was verbalizing my shock. “Shit!” I swallowed, trying to gather myself. “You’re pierced!”

Jag tilted his head to the side. “I’m a fucking rock star. What’d you expect?” His hand rubbed up my arm, to my neck, and down to the base of my head.

What am I doing?

“Change your mind?” he asked, his voice gruff and strained.

Without hesitation, I grabbed him, the heat of his flesh searing through me. He was hard and hot and fucking…shit.

I pressed my lips against his head, the metal bar cool against my mouth as I kissed him. That sensation coaxed a soft groan from him.

Tracing my tongue up the length of him, his dick twitched in my hands. I circled around the barbell before slamming my mouth down around his head. My grip on him tightened and I forced my way down him, my tongue wrapping around him and pressing over the veins. As soon as my hand twisted up the base of his shaft, he squirmed in his seat, and I’m not going to lie, I liked that, I delighted in it.

I slowly pulled up on him. I left the tip of his head in my mouth and flicked my tongue over the indention the piercing cut through, then swallowed him back again.

Quick.

Hot.

Hard.

His fingers spread out in my hair before fisting a good portion of the strands and pulling me down on him. “Shit. That feels,” a soft growl scraped up his throat, “unbelievable. Fucking amazing.” A sated moan followed his statement, and his hold on my hair loosened.

Within moments, I had him groaning, his hips moving in rhythm with my mouth and one hand grabbing my thigh and squeezing.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he came.

No sooner had I swallowed the bitter taste of him down than he clamored across the console and pushed my skirt up around my hips and ripped—literally
ripped
—my underwear from me.

Tossing the torn cotton into his floorboard, he buried his face between my thighs. His tongue slithered over me, stopping on my clit and sucking it in before biting down on it. The sharp stitch of pain mixed with electric pleasure and my eyes slammed closed.

His mouth felt every part of me, devouring me with greedy movements.

Jag stopped, breathing over me as he mumbled, “Damn, you taste good. I could eat your pussy for hours,” before slamming his lips back over me and forcing his tongue inside me.

My thighs involuntarily tensed, and both his hands quickly spread them back.

“Don’t fuck with me while I’m enjoying you. Leave your legs right there.”

He was demanding and between my legs, and that entire dominant, I-own-you-right-now attitude killed me.

Words can sometimes have more power than touch, and damn if he wasn’t a master at both.

A few more hard presses over me and his finger sinking deep inside me, and I lost it. My muscles tightened, my breathing grew labored, and every fiber of me released.

I was breathless, hot and sweaty, almost paralyzed from the orgasm he’d just given me, and shocked that I had just given into him like that.

He made me crazy. 

After I took a few minutes to collect myself, I reached down and grabbed my now-useless underwear from the floor of his car.

“Uh-uh,” he said, snatching the material free from my hand. “Those belong to me now. You know, ‘you break it you keep it’?”

“Sure,” I muttered, attempting to hide the slight embarrassment creeping through me.

He walked me to my door in silence, placing his arm around the small of my back. “Thanks for keeping me company today. I like being around you, even if you think my music sucks.”

I stopped in front of my door and took him in. He was ridiculously attractive, and removed from all the glitz and glam of the stage, it was almost impossible not to like him.

“Thanks for taking me out.”

“Oh, shit. Wait right here,” he said, and ran off to his car. A few seconds later I heard his boots clomping up the stairs and bags rustling against the stair rail.

“I definitely can’t wear your shade, or your size…” He handed me the bags and swiped a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I like the pink stripe of hair. It fits you. Hot. Sassy. Girly in a really bad-ass way.” He gave me a soft kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

He smiled and turned, leaving me in absolute disbelief at what had just happened.

An hour later I sat there, staring at the sleek black Chanel bags, still in a daze. He’d forced me into shopping, ordering the shopper to give me practically a new wardrobe, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The lady had loaded me down with things I felt I had no business touching, much less owning.

Fuck flowers, that wasn’t good enough with Jag. He had to make an impression.

As they like to say in romance novels, I had come undone, but in a way that pretty much was unraveling each last piece of my being.

For a second I wondered if the guilt of him spending money on me had lowered my inhibitions a notch, and if that was why I insisted on sucking him off.
Shit, that pretty much makes me a prostitute.

Two days ago I hated him, I would have paid my rent money to deck him one good time square in the nose; and now I had the taste of him all in my mouth, and the image of that shiny silver barbell pierced through the tip of his beautiful, enormous dick had been permanently etched into my memory.

I had been scarred, but unlike all those other nasty scars I had, this one was one I liked, treasured, wanted more of.

But…

I shouldn’t have felt that way because I knew better than to like him. The thing that had a hold on him was what had given me all those nasty scars I hated. Things I hated and things I wanted…Jag was both. And that put me in a dilemma.

I wanted to hate him, I
really
wanted to despise him, but he made it difficult. It had been so much easier when he wasn't real, when he was just this industry-produced image who I'd thought couldn't have feelings or one stitch of intelligence inside him. Somebody I had never had an encounter with, someone that seemed fictional…but he was now very real to me, very,
very
real.

Honestly, he wasn't much at all like that guy I'd thought he was.

Alone, he really wasn't
as
arrogant, or cocky. He was actually kind of nice. He opened doors for me, he made me laugh, and he had this magical ability to make me forget that my life, up to that point, hadn't exactly been bearable. But above everything, what got to me were his eyes. They had depth to them. There were specks of hurt and pain, betrayal, and a sense of conquering hope inside them. And there was something about them that made me just…
feel.

Grabbing one of the bags, I pulled out the box of Coco Mademoiselle, carefully unwrapping the cellophane from its corners and prying the lid from the box. I popped the sleek white top from the bottle and spritzed my wrists.

The beautiful scent quickly filled the room. It was sensual and feminine, almost something I would have envisioned Marilyn Monroe wearing. It was everything I felt like I wasn't. And he was everything I didn't need, but how could I tell my heart that when deep down inside it swore that he was?

I sat in the floor, the perfume bottle clutched in my hands, and fought with myself. Right when I'd convinced myself I just wouldn't answer his call the next day and that I would return the ridiculous amount of overpriced items he'd bought me, someone knocked on my door.

Fuck. Please don't be him. Please. Just don't be him.

I looked through the peephole and saw Layla standing with her arms crossed in front of her chest. I opened the door as she was about to pound her fist over it again.

She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes on me. "What. In. The. Hell?" she growled, and pushed her way past me.

"What?" I slammed the door and slid the chain back through the lock.

"Jacquelyn said she saw you down on Rodeo Drive today."

Shit.

Layla's lips curled up into a knowing grin. "You know she works at Hugo Boss, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."
Now.

"Hmm." She fell down onto my couch and crossed her leg, drumming her fingers over her bare knee. "And she said you had on a pink maxi dress." Layla grabbed the bottom of my skirt and shook it. "This is
definitely
a pink maxi dress." She paused, one eye slightly twitching as her breathing grew heavier. "You know what
else
she said about you?"