Make Me Sin (28 page)

He smiles at my sour look, swipes the avocado from his face, licks his fingers, and pushes away from the opposite counter he’s been leaning on as he watches me work. He moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Yeah? How bothered?” He slides his hand up my ribcage under my shirt and fondles my breast, tweaking my nipple between his fingers. It instantly hardens.

I’ve given up wearing a bra at home, because A.J. takes it off as soon as I walk in the door anyway.

Pretending to ignore him, along with the flush of heat that spreads from my lower belly down between my legs as he continues to pinch and stroke my nipple with his rough fingers, I shrug.

His other hand slides down my hip, then between my legs. I’m wearing jeans; he rubs me through the fabric, his fingers warm and hard. Automatically, I spread my thighs a little for him, but keep right on making the guacamole, mashing the ripe avocado in a bowl with a fork as if I’m not being wonderfully molested by a big, brawny male with whom I just happen to be madly in love.

He takes my indifference as a challenge. “Not so bothered, hmm? How about hot?”

Unbuttoning my jeans, he pulls down the zipper, and slides his hand past it, into my panties. When his fingers brush over my clit, I almost moan, but catch myself in time.

I shrug again and go right on with the guacamole, which I now have zero interest in.

“Oh, yes, definitely hot,” he whispers, his mouth at my ear as his fingers probe deeper. “Hot and
wet
.”

My hands fall still. I close my eyes, breathing shallower as A.J. puts his lips against the pulse in my throat and sucks me there, one hand pulling and rolling my nipple, the other buried between my legs, stroking and slipping in my wetness. When he pinches my clit between two fingers, I finally give in and moan, long and low.

His voice turns to a growl. “I’m going to fuck you on this table, angel.”

He shoves the bowl of guacamole aside, yanks my jeans and panties down and off, turns me around and grabs my hips, then lifts me onto the cold metal table. Moving fast, he pushes me onto my back, takes both my legs and sets them on his shoulders, then bends and puts his hot, expert mouth where his fingers have just been.

I moan louder, arching against the table. My fingers dig into his hair.

“Fucking delicious, baby.” I look between my spread thighs to find him staring up at me with glittering eyes. He swipes his tongue slowly through my wet folds, and I shudder. “Mmm. But we can’t let this guacamole go to waste.”

Before I realize what his intentions are, he scoops a big glob of fresh guacamole from the bowl beside me and smears it between my legs. I gasp. It’s cold and wet and—

And oh dear God his clever, clever tongue. His full, luscious lips. He’s eating it out of me. He’s licking me clean.

I fall back against the stainless steel. Out of my mind with pleasure, I cup my breasts in my hands, pinching my nipples as he’d done moments before, every ounce of my focus on that amazing, carnal feast going on between my legs.

I feel something new, slippery and a little stinging. I open my eyes to find A.J. grinning wickedly at me while he squeezes the juice from half a lime into my exposed cleft. Without taking his gaze from mine, he lowers his mouth again and begins to suck.

The pressure builds. I feel it, coiling tighter and tighter deep inside me, sparking my nerves. Our eyes stay locked together as he eats me, his tongue flicking faster and faster, his teeth scraping over my clit.

“A.J.” It’s a warning; I’m right there. I’m just about to come.

He unzips his own jeans, frees himself, takes his jutting cock in his fist and starts to stroke it, still sucking my pussy, his gaze still on mine.

“Please. Please. A.J., God, please give it to me, I need you now now
now
—”

He rears up and plunges deep inside me, burying himself to the hilt. I groan, flexing my hips to meet his thrusts, holding on to his forearms to keep from sliding as he grips my hips in his hands and fucks me mercilessly, his face hard, his eyes ablaze with lust and love.

“You belong to me.” He sounds like an animal, snarling and wild, his voice almost unrecognizably rough.

Knowing that I’ve affected him as much as he’s affected me sends a thrill straight through my body.

“Forever,” I whisper. My eyes slide shut. My head falls back. I come.

Within seconds, he follows with a roar, pulling out abruptly before he comes inside me. He collapses on top of me, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me so hard I forget everything else. There is only me and A.J., joined in perfect harmony.

Joined forever.

“
Forever,” says my angel.

With that one word, she not only breaks my heart, she breaks what’s left of my miserable, selfish soul.

T
he Memorial Day party at Nico and Kat’s ultramodern compound in the Hollywood Hills is less of a party, and more of a wild, celebrity-studded, booze-soaked bacchanal.

Hundreds of people are here—many of whom I recognize from film or television—splashing in the pool, lounging on sleek deck chairs, dancing to the DJ who’s set up on a raised platform by the pool house across the lawn. It’s a catered affair, with black-tie waiters hoisting trays of hors d’oeuvres above the heads of laughing, half-drunk guests. The whole thing is a scene right out of
Entourage
. In fact, I think I see Adrian Grenier, the lead from the show, across the yard doing body shots from the cleavage of a bikini-clad girl.

We’ve only just arrived, but I can tell A.J. wishes he were anywhere but here. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Kat begged me to come because we haven’t seen each other in weeks, but now I’m wondering if I’ll be able to really spend time with her at all. This crowd is insane; she must be crazy busy playing the good hostess.

We make our way through the crowd. It seems everyone recognizes A.J. He’s clapped on the back and nodded at, he shakes hands with several people but doesn’t stop to talk. The women who ogle him he ignores completely, making me feel all sorts of smug. We take up a spot next to a white Lucite bar in one corner of the yard, and I order a chardonnay from the bartender.

Because it’s mandated by law, the weather is a perfect seventy-two degrees. The view from the backyard is spectacular; I see all the way from Malibu to downtown. The ocean is a shimmering strip of navy in the distance.

“You okay?” I only ask because A.J.’s face is about as warm as a slab of granite.

“Parties,” he says, gazing around the scene.

I take that to mean he doesn’t like them, because he doesn’t add more. I’m about to tell him we can go as soon as I see Kat, but then I spot Grace across the pool, waving madly at me.

“Grace!” Excited, I wave back, motioning for her to come over.

Her martini held high over her head, she shoulders her way through the crowd. When she gets tired of being jostled and spilling vodka down her arm, she throws her head back and downs the drink, and then sets the glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Then she’s standing in front of us, flaming red hair and a tight white dress and a pair of leopard print Louboutins that add six inches to her already statuesque frame. She looks like an Amazonian goddess. Several people nearby are gawking at her, girls included.

Almost half of her life is missing from her memory, and yet she’s stronger and more self-assured than anyone I know.

She pulls me into a hug, enveloping me in the scent of vodka and Clive Christian, her signature perfume.

“You look great,” she murmurs into my ear. “I can’t even see the scar.”

I had the stitches in my cheek out last week. The plastic surgeon I went to did a little laser resurfacing afterward. The skin is still pink, but I’ve covered it with a special redness-reducing foundation and powder Kat recommended. I’m almost as good as new.

Almost. Every time I see a cop car now, I break out in a cold sweat.

“Thanks, Gracie. I missed you.”

She pulls back, holds me at arms’ length, and examines me. She smiles broadly. I can tell what she’s thinking:
Someone’s finally been properly fucked
. I grin back at her, nodding.

“A.J.,” Grace says, turning her warm gray eyes to him. “Thank you.”

He smiles at her, befuddled but interested. “For what?”

Grace gives me a little shake. “For
this
.”

Then she shocks the hell out of both of us by throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. At the end of it, we’re all laughing.

It feels so good.

We stand and talk for a while, about nothing particularly deep or important. I know I’ll get the third degree from Grace as soon as she can get me alone, but for now I just enjoy the sun, the conversation, and the wonderful feeling of A.J.’s arm slung over my shoulders.

Then Grace, looking across the yard toward the house, does a double take. “Holy shit. Is that Bono?”

A.J. says with a smirk, “Stupid wraparound purple glasses give it away?”

“Haters gonna hate,” she replies, not looking away from the surprisingly short lead singer of U2. “I’m going to get an introduction. Judging by the way he’s fondling that cocktail waitress, I bet he and his wife need a
lot
of marriage counseling. God, I can’t wait to hear all about it. Back in a sec.”

She sails away. I have no doubt she’ll get her introduction; there are few things Grace wants that she doesn’t get. Actually I can’t think of a single one.

Then suddenly A.J. stiffens.

“Just a few more minutes and then we’ll go, sweetie. I just want
to make sure I say good-bye to Kat on the way out. I wonder if Kenji’s
here?”

When he doesn’t respond, I look up at him. But he’s not looking back at me.

He’s looking at the raven-haired, large-breasted, incredibly beautiful siren in the skintight red minidress headed our way.

My stomach drops. My eyes flash to his face. It’s clear from his expression that he’s not looking forward to speaking to her, which makes me feel a little better, but it’s also clear that there’s some history here that he’s very uncomfortable with.

Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable because I’m standing beside him.

The siren stops in front of us. I’ve never seen a woman with such perfect skin, hair, or teeth. She’s absolutely stunning. A model, no doubt.

And he’s had sex with her, no doubt. Her knowing smile and bedroom eyes are proof enough of that.

“A.J. Good to see you.”

He replies with a curt nod. “Heavenly.”

Heavenly
. Dear lord, I’ve come face-to-face with the infamous five-thousand-bucks-a-pop whore.

In spite of how much I instantly hate her, how I’d like to scratch out her eyeballs and tear her glossy hair right out of her scalp, I miserably understand why she can charge what she does. I’d bet men would pay her thousands just to look at her naked, and not even touch her.

She turns her eyes to me. No joke, they’re the color of sapphires. I pray they’re as fake as her boobs, or God is exactly as much of a bastard as A.J. thinks he is.

“And who is this?” she asks pleasantly.

“Heavenly, meet Chloe. Chloe, Heavenly.” A.J.’s voice is wooden, his back stiff.

If any other part of his body is stiff, I will murder him where he stands.

“Of course,” says Heavenly, looking me up and down. Her smile widens. It almost looks genuine. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Whoa.
What?
He’s told her about me? When? It takes me about three point five seconds to control myself, then I slip into sphinx mode, and calmly return her smile. “And you.”

Her smile falters. She glances at A.J. I can tell she’s wondering what he’s told me about her, which, as we know, is nada. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this Rodeo Drive ho get the upper hand over
me
.

Heavenly decides to up her game. Her smile returns. In a throaty purr, she says to A.J.,
“Vy byli pravy. Ya lyublyu yeye.”

As if she’s kicked me in the stomach, all the wind is knocked from my lungs.

This is no ordinary hooker. This hooker
speaks
Russian
.

Instantly, I’ve conjured dozens of imaginary scenes of the two of them post-screw, sweaty and beautiful, murmuring sweet nothings to one another in their native language. I assume it must be her native language, too, because what prostitute has the time or energy for Russian lessons? And she has that Euro Bond Girl look about her, all slink and sophistication.

I’ve never felt jealousy like this before. Not ever. It’s like I swallowed a bowl of razors.

I know my face is beet red, just as I know the smile I’ve got plastered on my face has turned sickly. For some bizarre reason, my mouth is watering. Probably because I’d like to spit a big loogie in her perfect, stupid face.

Then A.J. says something to Heavenly that confuses me even more.

“I told you you would.”

“Would what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

A muscle flexes in A.J.’s jaw. “Like you.”

My head is exploding. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. A.J. told Miss Five K a Blow Job she’d
like
me? When, while she was bouncing up and down on his cock? Completely at a loss, I chug my drink, just barely managing to restrain myself from smashing it upside his head.

He had a life before me, this isn’t his fault, you knew about his “experiences,” he seems really uncomfortable so let’s cut him some slack, shall we?

The voice in my head makes far too much sense, so I remind it that there is a very real possibility this girl knows even more about A.J. than I do.

Which means I’m really not all that special.

Which makes all the blood drain from my face.

“Won’t you excuse me for a moment? I think I see someone I need to speak to,” I say, prim and proper, in my best Julie Andrews
Princess Diaries
impersonation. My intention is to turn and run, but A.J.’s arm clamps down over my shoulders, preventing me from moving. He holds me tight against his side. I don’t want to make a scene in front of
her
, so I stay put, face burning.

“You get an invite to this party, Heavenly?”

I can’t tell from his voice whether A.J. is angry or merely curious. I swallow and look away, heart pounding.

“No, I’m here with Slash.”

She came with the guitarist from Guns N’ Roses? This girl really makes the rounds.
I wonder what Slash’s wife thinks about that.

Then A.J. says something to her in Russian. She answers back. I have no idea what they’re saying, which obviously is the point. And now I’m so mad I could scream.

Just as I’m about to peel A.J.’s arm off me and throw the rest of my chardonnay in his face, Heavenly says, “You know my number.” Then she turns and glides away. Heads turn in her wake.

I vibrate with fury. Also I think I might puke.

A.J. takes the glass of wine from my hand and sets it on the bar. Then he takes my arm and steers me past the pool and into the house. People scatter in front of us like scared mice; A.J. is wearing his serial killer expression. The thunderclouds have returned over his head.

He takes me to a first-floor bathroom, locks the door behind us, and backs me up against the wide marble sink. “All right. Say your piece.”

Breathing hard, I cross my arms over my chest. “No, I think
you
should go first. And I’ll give you five minutes to cover all the important points, specifically
why
and
when
you talked to her about me, when the last time was that you slept with her, and what the
hell
you two said to each other at the end there, when it looked like you were making plans to hook up later.”

He says instantly, “I haven’t been with her since we’ve been together.”

“And when exactly did we get together? When you were visiting me at my apartment in the middle of the night, when you were grilling me about my entire life story but refusing to sleep with me, or after I moved into your place?”

He glowers. “You think I’m lying to you?”

That muscle in his jaw is really getting a workout.

“Don’t you dare try to turn this back on me! I had to stand there like an idiot while you and your ho had a nice little chat
in Russian
about God only knows what!”

“She’s not mine,” he says, voice hard, “
you’re
mine, and you know it.”

He crushes his mouth to mine.

I struggle, but he holds my jaw in one hand and pins one of my arms around my back with the other. It’s easier to give in than to fight him, so I let him kiss me, and pretend I don’t like it. When he finally breaks the kiss we’re both panting.

“I told her about you long before we ever got together, right after I heard you sing that day in your shop, back when you hated my guts. I’ve haven’t fucked her or anyone else since that day.”

His voice is rough, but his eyes are soft, and I want so badly to believe him. But the way Heavenly
looked
at him . . . the intimacy of her eyes, her voice. It’s eating me up inside.

“You’re forgetting about that brunette you left with, the one you met in my candle aisle!”

“I just did that to piss you off, angel. I didn’t fuck her. I didn’t even kiss her. She gave me a ride to my manager’s office, and then I took a cab home.”

He kisses me again, another demanding pull on my lips, and I can’t keep my head straight. I’m losing my train of thought. I draw back, but he doesn’t let me go far; he keeps his hand on my jaw, his lips very close to mine.

“What about what you said to each other at the end? What was that?”

He’s been looking at my lips, but his gaze drifts up, and he meets my eyes. He stares into them with sizzling intensity. “I told her she should go back to Slash.”

“And what did she say?”