Hard Rock Roots Box Set (131 page)

Holy crap. This is happening. This is seriously happening.

“Turner,” I start, but he's already behind me, sliding his arm around my waist, pulling me tight against his hard, warm body. “Turner.” My voice softens, melts into a groan of desire as he runs his tongue up the side of my neck, flicking his tongue ring against the black stud in my ear.

His smell overwhelms me, this heady twist of tobacco and whiskey and male satisfaction. Guess he liked what I did in the elevator. Not bad for a virgin, right?

“What do you think, Knox? I could fuck you over the back of the couch? On the floor? In the shower? Preferably all of the above.” I let my eyes flutter closed as Turner moves his hand up and cups my breast, squeezing hard, kneading the flesh with those gorgeous fingers of his until my lips part and my breath escapes in a rush. His charm's on full tilt, all of his focus and energy on me right now. I'm sure he's done this for other girls, but … he doesn't have anybody else's name tattooed on him that I can see.

“Bed,” I whisper, because that's where I want my first time. In a bed, here, tonight, with this man. “Let's go to the bed.”

I turn in his arms and toss my boot to the floor, my ankle throbbing as I start to move backwards towards the bedroom. The tattoo, it didn't hurt nearly as badly as I'd expected. In fact, I liked the pain. Loved it. It was pain with a purpose, with a definite end, with a reward waiting at the finish line. This tat might be my first, but it won't be my last. That's for damn sure.

Turner follows me until the backs of my thighs hit the bed, running his knuckles along my cheek as I lean into the touch and suck in a sharp breath.

“Relax, Naomi Knox,” he says with that stupid grin of his curving across his face. “I got this. Trust me, if there's one thing in this world that I'm good at, it's the devil's dirty dance.”

“Devil's dirty dance?” I ask with a laugh and then a gasp when he pushes me back onto the bed, reaching under his shirt and yanking it over his head with a series of colorful curses.

“Fucking fresh ass tats and shit,” Turner mumbles as I scoot back and slam my body into the mass of pillows, eyes wide, a single boot on one foot, a sore splash of ink on the other. I watch him climb onto the bed and come to me like he's crawling across the stage at one of his shows, his eyes dark and swirling with rock 'n' roll tainted lust and desperate need.

“Take it slow,” I whisper as he puts an arm on either side of my body, his poised above me in a glorious show of hard muscles and wicked sexy body art.

“Are you scared, Knox?” he asks me, voice a sensual purr, a reminder that this man can move crowds and turn tides with the simple sound of his tongue sliding across his lips.

I narrow my eyes and curl my fingers into the blankets.

“I'm not scared of fucking anything,” I snap. And that's true. I'm not. I'm fearless. Fucking fearless. But I want this to last, so screw Turner, I'm going to make it last, damn it. “Not a frigging thing.”

“Good,” he says and then he's pressing his mouth into mine, clicking his tongue ring against my teeth as he destroys my lips with his, claims me in a single second that's ten times as meaningful as the tattoo bleeding across his back.

I kiss him with everything I have, pressing our mouths together, but keeping our bodies apart. I can feel the heat from him radiating against my skin, burning me up like a violent sun in a summer sky, but I don't move anything but my tongue and my lips.

“Shit,” Turner whispers as he nips my bottom lip and then kisses his way down my jaw towards my ear. “Shit. Fuck. I want you so frigging bad,” he murmurs as I groan, my back arching when he reaches my throat and starts kissing his way down.

Each curse he breathes against my skin makes me crazy, like I'm tasting a little part of his soul with each filthy expletive. This man's too twisted up and colored with emotion to speak without them, to express himself properly without taboo dripping from his lips like poison.

I lean my head back as he kisses his way down to the swell of my breasts, moving his right hand under my shirt to graze my bare skin, sneaking his way to the clasp on my bra and unhooking it with the simple flick of a finger. Practiced perfection right there. At least somebody here's done this before.

“Shirt off,” Turner says, sitting back just enough to grab the tank and yank it over my head, toss it aside like it's personally offensive to him. My bra comes off next, sliding down my arms and landing on the bed next to us.

I don't try to hide my breasts from him, don't cross my arms over my chest. I just sit there while he takes it all in and curses again, dropping his mouth to my nipples and flicking that pretty little tongue of his against each pert, pink point.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, the sensation eating me up and finding its way right down to the sensitive spot between my legs. “Holy shit.”

“Holy is right,” Turner says as he cups my right breast with his hand, slides his thumb over my nipple. “Straight from fucking heaven. You really are an angel, aren't you?” I have no idea what he's talking about, but he's drunk as hell so I don't care. I lean my head back and let him taste me, tease my nipples until they're almost painful. When Turner bites down on the tender flesh, I almost come right there, like a … okay, well like a teenager.
Guess that's okay considering I am one.

“Harder,” I grunt and he grins so wicked that I feel my hackles raise. His teeth press into the soft flesh of my breast as I bite my lower lip and thrash beneath him. When Turner slips his left hand under my skirt and teases the wet spot on my panties with his fingers, I almost scream. Nobody's ever touched me there before, not once. Just me, a few times, and even that was rare. Privacy's hard to find in most foster homes.

“Jesus Christ. I'm going to shoot a load in my jeans, Knox. What are you doing to me?”

I put my arms around Turner's neck as he returns to my mouth for another kiss, pulling away again quickly and standing up off the bed. He kicks his boots and pants off like it's no big thing, like he's not standing naked before me while I gaze on in wonder at his bare body. From head to toe, Turner's every bit the idol I've worshipped, the god I've prayed to. It isn't fair for somebody to make me feel like this, like I can't live unless I'm touching them, tasting them, holding them.

“Crap,” I whisper and my voice gets this strange, achy softness, like it did when I was singing to Turner back in the concert parking lot. “Crap, crap, crap.”

I can hardly
look
at him, at his cock covered in tattoos, at the spiderweb and bat designs that trace up and onto his taut belly. Mostly, it's his face that gets my attention, that arrogant smirk of his as endearing as it is infuriating.

“You want to see what else this mouth is capable of?” Turner asks with a ridiculous amount of swagger as he climbs back onto the bed and shoves my knees apart. “Besides slaying the crowd, I mean.”

“You're so full of it.”

“Not as full as you're gonna be when I fuck the ever living hell out of you tonight.”

Turner slides his hand over his hair, teasing his mohawk back into a mussy spike before he curls his fingers around the waistband of my skirt, getting close to my face, grinning at me as he jerks it down and off my feet, leaving me in nothing but a pair of wet panties. “You're a goddamn vision, Naomi Knox.”

“I try,” I say, but the sarcasm's lost when Turner drops down between my thighs and slides his fingers across the sensitive skin. The touch of his hand's enough to make me scream, so how the hell else am I supposed to deal with anything more? “Touch it,” I whisper, but he's not listening. Turner Campbell doesn't listen to shit. “Get it over with. Touch me there.” He ignores me, avoiding my pussy as he kisses and nibbles at my inner thighs, making me crazy, making my body twist and wriggle, wrinkling the perfectly made bed.

I seriously almost consider kicking him in the face when he drops his mouth to my clit, pressing a kiss against my panties that turns my bones to liquid.
Oh. My. God.
When he reaches up and starts to slide those off, my heart starts beating like a kick drum, pounding out a rhythm I know I've never heard before.

Hot breath against my body, the slide of a wet tongue in places low. Turner puts his beautifully filthy mouth to work between my thighs, working me into a frenzy of bucking hips that he holds firmly in place with his hands, bringing me to this almost painful edge of pleasure. I want to make him stop, kick him away and say that's good enough, but I can't. I can't move, can't do anything but lay here and feel him warm and hot against me.

And then he slides a finger in, makes me whimper and clamp down hard enough that he can barely move it, barely slide it in and out. I've done that before, put a few inside like that, but this is so different, so much better. The pleasure's crazy, almost too much. I feel my body begin to pulse and flicker like the spotlights at a rock show.

“Not yet, baby. You're not going anywhere without me,” he says as he lifts his head and looks up at me from between my legs, grinning from ear to ear, rising up like a phoenix from the ashes, pressing our naked bodies together as we lock lips and I taste myself on his mouth. Sweet, salty, strange, I kiss Turner Campbell and hardly notice what I'm spreading wide and welcoming his hips against mine. There's a gentle pressure at my opening and then he's sliding forward and I'm gasping into his mouth, my body tightening up at the invasion of his hot, thick cock inside of me.

“Relax, Knox. I got you, babe. I got you.”

I wrap my arms around Turner's neck as he slides into me, the pressure of his body opening mine up, teasing me with the smallest edge of discomfort as I struggle to breathe slow and keep my muscles relaxed.

“I'm okay,” I whisper into his shoulder. “I'm okay. Don't stop.”

Turner pushes a little deeper, locking our pelvises together as I stare up at the ceiling and breathe deep, letting him in, holding him tight. The pain is there, but only for a moment. When Turner starts to move, his bare cock teasing the ridges of my cunt, I surrender completely.

And I've never done that before. Not for anyone.

Just for him. Just for Turner Campbell.

“I love you,” I gasp out, even though I shouldn't say it, even though it's so fucking textbook for a virgin to murmur during her first time. I'm telling the truth though, and it's not just hormones and biology. I told you, I'm fucked. Super fucked. So fucked up that I can hardly look at the world without scowling at every single thing in it. This, I've chosen this. I've found another fucked up soul that blends so seamlessly with my own that I know. I know. I get it. “I love you.” I say it again and again and again.

“More,” he growls as he pushes into me, slides out, thrusts back in. We move with each other while I murmur sweet nothings in his ear and he kisses my neck, bites me, fucks me. We're both sweaty and tired and hurting with painful spots of fresh ink, alcohol gunning through our bloodstreams, strange new feelings tickling the black bloody stains where our hearts should be.

It's so perfect I could cry.

Turner thrusts into me hard and I open up, lifting my hips to meet him, one of his hands curling under me to cup my ass with tight fingers. Our eyes lock, my breath hitches, and he picks up his pace, sliding the slick wetness of our bodies together until I can't take it anymore, until all those weird feelings pile up and rip from my throat in a scream as guttural and gritty as the ones he belts out onstage.

My body clamps down hard and Turner grunts, but he doesn't stop, not even as I come around him, fighting and thrashing against the pillows like a wild fucking animal in heat. He holds me there with a firm but gentle grip and he doesn't stop.

Turner keeps fucking me until he comes, too, slamming into me hard, calling out my name as he comes inside my sweaty, satiated body, the word
Knox
like a rhythmic curse from the lips of the world's greatest rock god.

Naomi Knox is wrapped in my arms, curled up tight against me in the warm, warm waters of a bath. There's a big ass one in this bathroom, like a hot tub or some shit. It still weirds me out, all this luxury and comfort. I grew up in a trailer with a shower that spewed cold water most days, that only managed lukewarm
if
my momma spent what little money she had on the electricity bill. And then, it was usually only because she and whatever step-daddy she'd dragged into my life wanted to watch TV, do something other than fuck and shoot up on the dirty couch in the front of the trailer.

I keep this girl's curvy body tucked up against my own and for the life of me, I can't figure out what I'm doing here. My drunk's starting to fade, but the night's a strange blur of orange-brown eyes and golden haloed hair. I'm gonna fall asleep before long, probably wake with a massive hangover, but before I do, I just want to hold her. Why, I don't know. Probably still won't in the morning. Right now, I don't give two wild fucks.

“I've never bathed with anyone before,” I mumble into her hair. She smells like me right now, drenched in my scent, full of my seed. Fuck. I'm going all primal and whatever. Can't help myself. Guess it's wired into my DNA.