Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (74 page)

He licked a fiery trail up the cords of her neck. “Not ulterior. Dual.” And then he lifted his lips from her skin. “Is that okay?”

With a groan, she spun to face him, looping her arms around his neck, and using her weight to pull him down to her tiptoe level. His kiss tasted of chocolate, butterscotch, and roasted almonds.

Starved for more than the stolen touches she’d been getting lately, she met each thrust of his tongue with a tangle, twist, and suckle of hers. His arms tightened almost painfully, and she could suck in only shallow breaths in what had become a boa-constrictor embrace. Still, she pressed more tightly against him.  

When her lips were throbbing from the friction of his and her tongue had gone from a tickly tingle to a tingling throb, he eased up, and she took in a long dizzying breath. He ran his lips down her jawline and to her neck while his hands tunneled beneath her shirt. His touch on bare skin drew a moan and a desperate need for her own fingers to breach the barrier of his shirt. Earlier today, she’d admired the abnormal sight of Gage’s tucked in shirttails, but now, she let out a mewl of frustration when she tugged at the fabric.

Apparently, he was impatient too. In one swift smooth move, he peeled her shirt over her head and left her arms entangled while his hands slipped into the cups of her bra. She stilled beneath his touch, focused helplessly on nothing except his fingers as they explored and then slowed to play. Her still-tangled wrists fell to rest on the top of her head and then the back of her neck when her chin dropped as she watched. Instead of moving his hands away long enough to undo the back clasp, he’d removed each breast from its silky pocket. When his hands finally abandoned this private playground, they landed on her hips, and she felt her back sliding up the cool metal of the fridge. His mouth clamped on one aching tip, sucking, nipping, and bathing it with his tongue. With a thump, her hand freed itself from the shackle of her shirt and slammed against the fridge before burying itself in his shaggy hair. Her other hand flicked the garment aside and clamped onto his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscular flesh. The whimpers of pleasure coming from her throat were soon as much from frustration when he didn’t slow down to give equal attention to the achy twin peak. 

“The other…” She finally strangled out, and then sighed when it was that easy. His attention switched immediately, and he spent a long lavishing minute before pulling back.

A flick of his fingers undid the bra. He peeled it down her arms, and she accommodated by slipping free of the straps.

His admiring gaze lingered on the area he’d just worshipped so completely. “Damn, I missed this. So much.”

“Me too.” In total agreement, she raked her nails lightly over the scruff of his jaw.

When his eyes lifted to hers, she felt as if she were drowning in their brown vortex. Her legs had wrapped his waist at some point, and he hitched her weight up, adjusting, before heading to the bedroom.

Her back hit the mattress, and she was stunned for a moment to find herself staring up at herself. Mirrored tiling covered the entire ceiling. She swung her gaze over, finding him already stripped out of his shirt and working on his jeans. His eyes were on her, as she lay transfixed by the mirror, and a hint of a knowing smile curved his lips.

Like?

Like.

Again, she felt a simple, unspoken dialogue between them. Instead of joining him in the frantic undressing, she pulled a jeaned knee up and clasped her hands behind her head as she turned her attention back to their reflections on the ceiling.

When all of his clothing lay in a pile on the floor, he crawled up from the foot of the bed, pausing to rid her feet of shoes and socks (and gave the arch of one foot a long lick!) before stretching out. Settling between her legs, he feasted, starting on the areas of her breasts he’d neglected in the kitchen frenzy. The tip of his tongue traced the curving valley beneath each. He nuzzled between them and kissed his way down her body. Above, she watched the ripple of his muscles and salivated on the view of his bare ass. The eye in the sky view of his dark shaggy head between her legs was erotic, intensifying the lightning bolts of pleasure rocketing through her core with each swipe of his tongue.

G
age could count the times he’d cooked on one hand. Sure, he’d thrown extra toppings like jalapenos on a frozen pizza and dumped canned soup into a bowl. Other than that, he’d scrambled eggs a couple of times. That was it. So surely, he could be forgiven for the state of these grilled cheese sandwiches. He flipped one so that the almost blackened side was face down on the plate and cut it in rectangle halves instead of diagonal so he could distinguish between the not so burned meal and the burned. Careful to drain the juice first, he spooned a few olives onto both plates and then dumped a handful of chips on each. Lastly, he draped a cloth napkin over each plate before picking one up in each hand.

Relocating them through the bedroom, onto the balcony, he deposited them on the table. After a quick check of the sunny horizon, he sprinted to the kitchen and back, and finished the table setting with two wine glasses and a bottle of Beaujolais Blanc.

Glancing through the panes, he stalled, admiring the sight of a nude sleeping Scarlette. She lay on her stomach, her hair spread around her.

They’d seen sights half the day, famous art, and street art, but no masterpiece surpassed the heart shaped ass framed in the windowpane.

All his.

“Scar.” He crawled over her and brushed his lips against the softness of her shoulder and down her arm until she stirred. “Scar, wake up.”

She mumbled into the pillow, and his eyes traveled the expanse of velvety skin from the delicate shoulder blades, the valley of her spine, landing again on the ass that was his eye magnet. Between the tan lines of her waist and thighs, it enticed him, perfect and white.

Other than his wildest imagining when furious with her, why in the reality of her now had he never had the urge to…?

He shook the thought away. But it persisted. An enigma.

As satisfying as he had found his new kink to be, why had he never had the compulsion with Scar to…

His fingers curved…

Smack
.

The slap resounded in the room.

In the split second image he had of his handiwork before she flipped immediately over, he hated the pink mark, marring the perfection of his white heart.

“Ouch?” Eyes wide with surprise, her indignant inquiry was a clear ‘what the hell!’

“Sorry.” He stretched the length of his body against her and muttered the earnest apology while sharing her pillow and peering into her eyes.

“Are you?” One of her hands rose, swiping at the hair in her face. “You get off on that?”

“Used to.” The answer came natural. No lies between them like this.

“But not anymore?”

“No promises.” With that light tease, he sifted silky tousled tresses of her hair.

“Hmm…” Her lips quirked in a very interested grin, so intriguing he thought about rolling her over and giving it another try.

Instead, he tugged at a thick strand. “Now, get up. We have reservations.”

 “No.” Her expression was now less than enthused. “Really?” He nodded and couldn’t resist brushing his lips to hers. “Can we cancel?” Her fingers splayed the hotness that was her stomach. “I’m still full from gorging all day.”

Thankfully!
The meal he’d just served up wasn’t fit for eating. “Can’t cancel. You gotta get up.” Bounding off the bed, he tossed her the shirt he’d been wearing earlier. “Put this on.”

Her brows, knitted together in a pouty frown, shot up when she took in the shirt. “That?” Those beautiful blues roved his face.

“Sure.” He enjoyed teasing her. “It’s not a fancy joint. You don’t even have to wear panties. Just that.”

He pulled her up and ran his fingers down one of her legs, stopping at the knee. Her head turned toward the main apartment area, and she sniffed. “What’d you burn?” Understanding dawned, and she quit fussing, slipping her arms into the shirt.

“Nothing.” He denied. Okay. Maybe little fibs.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The gaping shirt had his eyes glued to her tits and the rest of her barely covered body until she clutched it closed when she stood. With a flourish, he indicated the table just outside the French doors.

She seemed impressed, her eyes widening, but she stepped away, instead of to the threshold. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

He eyed the streaks of orange in the sky and the beginnings of the setting sun. “Hurry,” he called after her as the bathroom door swung closed. A minute or so passed and she didn’t emerge. Lurking outside the door, he listened to the running tap and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Scar, you done?”

The water stopped, and a second later, the door swung open. She’d buttoned the shirt, and she spoke while patting her face dry with a hand towel. “What’s the rush?”

“Told you. Reservations.”

Pointedly, she glanced beyond him at the setup on the balcony and curved a silly grin. “Will they go to someone else if we’re late?” And then she screeched when he closed in and picked her up.

“We’re not going to be late.” He deposited her onto the padded iron loveseat and sank down next to her. “Wine?” Holding the bottle aloft, he poured without waiting for her affirmation.

“Please.” She toyed with the corner of the napkin over the plate in front of her. “May I?”

“You may.”

With absurd formality, especially given she was wearing only a shirt and he was wearing only jeans, they bounced their dialogue back and forth with goofy grins.

The smile fell from her face, and her lips formed an awestruck ‘O’ when in the distance, the lights of the Eiffel Tower blinked on, glowing against the dusky skyline.

Abandoning the sandwich triangle she’d been politely nibbling, she brushed her fingers off, and turned enough to lie against him.

“Best reservations ever.”

With the tickle of her hair against his chest, , and the worries of the outside world feeling as far away as the city spread below and beyond them, he couldn’t agree more.

They remained, watching the city lights wink, blink, and glow against a black velvet backdrop that was the night sky. His thoughts were all over the place. “Hey,” he continued sifting through her hair as he spoke, letting the tresses spill through his fingers. “I've been thinking of you naked and wet in that tub.” To demonstrate the effect images of her in the antique claw foot tub had in him, he clamped onto her wrist and dragged her hand from the little swirly patterns she was making on his chest, to the achy, blue jean covered bulge between his legs. “Oui, ma Cherie?”

“Oui ma Skunk Rocker.”

“Mon Skunk Rocker,” he corrected.

“Hmm?” She was busy with the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Nothin’…” The word was a blissful sigh through his lips as her fingers slipped inside the open fly.

He felt like a king overlooking the twinkling lights of Paris while her hand and mouth brought him to the edge. He was dragged from this fantastical fugue when she jumped to her bare feet.

Singsonging over her shoulder, she disappeared through the door. “I'll start the bath.”

It took him a moment before he followed, leaving the dishes and locking the balcony door behind him. Standing in the square of light spilling into the shadowy bedroom, he shucked off his jeans and watched her shrug off his shirt.

In perfect synchronicity, their phones announced an incoming text. This phenomena was likely their tour manager hip to their absence from the hotel. He wanted to ignore it. Nothing was more important than her naked body against his. Even as he considered it, the phones beeped again.

It would only take a second to confirm they were fine, and it would possibly avoid the brouhaha tracking them down would create, not to mention a possible end to their romantic getaway.

Grabbing up his phone, he verified the sender was indeed exactly who he’d suspected. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, he locked eyes with Scar who was settling in the tub as he poised his thumb for a return text.

But the info in their manager’s second text had him momentarily forgetting even Scarlette’s fine naked ass.