Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) (13 page)

“You make your stuff for the people who love it, not the ones who don’t. Just try to remember that.”

“I guess,” I mumbled.

Tucker stood and took my hand in his. “Hey, let’s keep going. I want to see more of the Louvre than crowds anyway. I’m sure you can show me a good time.”

“That sounds like a come on,” I replied, snorting a little but leaning my head against his shoulder anyway. “Sure, we can go to the sculpture section.” As we walked, I was silent for a minute before saying, “I just…I want to be someone good. No, that’s not it at all. I don’t want to just be ‘good;’ I want to be legendary. I want people to think of shoes and my name is literally the next thing that comes to mind. I want to…” I stopped then. I couldn’t tell even Tucker the next part. That all I wanted was for my mother to respect me, too. That I wanted to make my past up to her.

We strode into the main collection of busts and statues in the Louvre, which began with the ones from the ancient Greeks. “Hellenistic” was the word I learned back in high school. I only remembered it because it made me think of Helen of Troy and how much I wished in high school I could be like her, shed that awkward period and launch a thousand ships.

“But maybe you need to mix things up and not try as hard,” Tucker said.

I frowned. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Of course, if I’d wanted some passive yes man at my side, I wouldn’t have started whatever this affair was with Tucker at all. I liked his lack of restraint, that wild side of him that called to my own.

“Look, Nikki, I think you’re this amazing and elegant woman. Your designs are kickass but some are over-the-top. What if you pulled back a little on some of them? Made them less like stilts. Take off a few studs,” he said, gesturing to my shoes.

“But this is my calling card. Being extreme, pushing boundaries.”

“Yeah, but does it represent who you are? In your soul? Because from what I know of you, it doesn’t seem to. I mean, you’re fun as hell, wild and passionate, but you’re classy and down-to-earth, too. Where’s that in your designs? Point Break got reamed because we were trying to be something we’re not with our sound. You’re doing the same thing. You have this amazing, classy eye and you’re just creating something so over the top that it doesn’t match you at all.”

“You can’t know that,” I countered, wandering through the rows of massive statues, the white marble dwarfing both of us. “I’ve worked so hard to be different, to have an edge and not just be a crowd-pleaser.”

“I don’t think that going simpler is necessarily about being a crowd pleaser.”

I shook my head and stopped at a statue standing on a pedestal about two feet off the ground. Reading the plaque, I smiled to myself. It was “Winged Victory of Samothrace” and the brass placard mentioned that sometimes it was called Nike, like the goddess of victory and, well, now one of the most famous shoe brands in the world. Still, this might be the closest to actual victory I’d ever get, just standing besides its statue. It didn’t seem very victorious now because while you could see the body in her flowing white robes and the massive wing spread out behind her, the head and arms were gone.

A battered victory.

Probably the best I could hope for.

Impulsively, I slipped off my shoes and set them on the stand in front of the statue’s feet.

Giggling, I looked back at Tucker. “See, someone likes what I’ve created.”

He pulled out his phone and took a few flash pictures and inspired me to do the same. “Nice. A famous model in the Louvre posing with an original Nikki Lorenz design.”

“Excuse me, Madam,” the nearest guard barked at me. He was a thin, reedy man with a huge mustache, bushy and outdated. “You can’t just put your shoes there.”

“Just a sec,” I said, and continued taking pictures.

“I’m serious, Madam. You have to stop now and you have to leave. We also don’t allow flash photography. It dulls the paint on the portraits and on the statues.”

Tucker touched my elbow and reached for my shoes with his other hand. “Look, we don’t want any trouble. We can move on over.”

The guard nodded. “At least your friend seems to understand.”

Tucker held out my shoes with a grin just as a bored-looking teenager looked over at us.

Suddenly, she squealed, an ear piercing shriek that made me wince. “Oh my God! It’s Tucker Benning!”

It was like in the comics when someone turned on the bat signal. Instead of a mad rush of cops and reporters, however, a throng of teenage girls appeared out of nowhere to rush us, all of them shrieking at decibels that made my head hurt. I was going to have the biggest migraine. As I watched, the girls and even some of their moms started surging forward.

“Crap!” I shouted as I reached for my shoes and felt Tucker yank on my arm. “I think the party’s over!”

We rushed out of there, weaving through the crowds before we made it out the front doors and kept running. I made the mistake of looking back behind me once and saw a surging sea of women and girls screaming and rushing for us. Tucker ducked into an alley as fast as he could and yanked me up against a wall. He was breathing hard even as he held me and I felt his breath, hot and fresh, against my cheeks.

Leaning close to him, I whispered in his ear. “So does this happen to you often?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m used to holing up to wait out the storm.”

“Oh?” I say, my voice still low even as I blew a little on his ear. He shuddered, and I was having far too much fun teasing him. It was too easy where Tucker Benning was concerned. “Are you saying you don’t ever let yourself get caught?”

“Mostly I like to do the chasing. But variety
is
the spice of life.”

“Hmm. You like variety, huh?” I asked, my voice more of a purr than anything else.

He brought his head lower and kissed me, his tongue playing skillfully with my own. “I like you,” he said. Reaching down, he cupped my hips then boosted me up.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt his erection pressed against me through the fabric of his jeans, a promise of all the things that would come tonight when we were back at his hotel. I couldn’t wait…only I was supposed to be doing something tonight…

Tonight. Tonight!

“Shit,” I said, resting my forehead against his.

“What is it?” Tucker asked.

“I forgot about my birthday party tomorrow night. Officially the big 2-7. I wanted to shop for a special outfit tonight.” I bit my lip, then said, “Do you feel like helping me pick out a dress or are you still busy ducking your loyal legion?”

“Will you try on things tight and red?”

I laughed, pulled him closer, and kissed him silly before pulling back. “I think that can be arranged.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tucker

I like women.

I mean, obviously.

That said, I’m not the kind of guy who usually sticks around to cuddle. I’m definitely not the guy who will watch a romantic comedy with you or the person you should take home to mom. Hell, I didn’t do relationships—and that meant shopping with a woman was definitely not something I was used to. But Nikki had a way of making me say yes to things that I never would have before. She made me
want
to say yes. Which is how I found myself in the middle of a boutique in Paris just as the sun was setting, playing with my iPhone as I waited for her to come back out from behind the dressing room curtain.

It wasn’t that the hours didn’t drag by. They definitely did. However, the few minutes in between, where I got to see Nikki in her dresses with slits, tight fabrics, and even the playful hints of leather, were awesome.

And they were making my pants so tight that it should be a crime what she was doing to me.

The damn minx knew it too, knew how to tease me until I’d be begging for anything she was willing to give. I was scared of the amount of power she had over me already, how much I was changing for her, but, at the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from falling for her. It was just too easy. She was like this tornado. Sure, she tore through places and destroyed things, but that was part of her appeal. Nikki was as spirited and fiery as her red hair, and she was playing with all of that passion this afternoon in the store, picking dresses she knew would leave me screaming for more.

This next number was no exception.

She pulled back the curtain and smiled back at me, biting her lower lip and waiting for my response. “So, do you like this one?”

‘Like’ wasn’t even close to the word for how I felt about it. I fucking loved what she had on. It was a red mini-dress, one that was cut high on her thighs. It was made out of some fabric that hugged every one of her curves and was sleek but sexy. I couldn’t tell what I loved more--the way the neckline dipped almost criminally low over her cleavage or the creamy expanse of her thighs. Maybe I didn’t need to choose.

“You’re fucking amazing, Nik.”

She pouted a little, those lips of hers encouraging dirty thoughts in my brain (not that my brain needed much help). Still, I wanted those lips around my cock and I wanted them there now.

“That’s all?” she asked, twirling around again, and my cock jerked at the welcome sight of her rounded and firm ass.

God, this woman was killing me.

“Well,” I said, sauntering into the changing space and pulling the curtain closed behind us. We were both rich and famous, so screw it. If the attendants weren’t happy with what we were about to do then they were just going to have to live with it. “I think the most important part of a new dress is seeing how it looks crumpled up on the floor because that’s how I intend to see it next, Nik.”

She grinned. “Not for the three-thousand-dollar price tag. I’m not tossing this on the floor for you. But I have other ideas.”

“Do tell,” I said, grinning.

Smoothly, despite the sheer tightness of the dress, she slid to her knees and unzipped my jeans. My eyes rolled back in my head as if they’d made their own decision to do it. Maybe they had. I wasn’t in control of myself right now. I had Nikki Lorenz guiding every move, and I wasn’t upset about that. I wanted to feel everything, to let her control every sensation. She was worth the wild ride she gave.

Her fingers reached in and cupped my balls. I shivered at first feeling them on me. She brought her other palm up to her hand and gave it a quick lick, and the sight—in addition to the fact my cock was rigid before her, already dripping with precum—made me feel like I was about to lose my mind. I moaned loudly when she wrapped her wet fingers around my shaft. The first few movements were slow and subtle, just a hint of her soft skin against my own. But then she began to move faster, the urgency in her hands as obvious as the urgency in my dick. My balls tightened as she massaged them, passing them expertly between her thumb and forefinger; her other fingers tightened on my shaft and it was heaven, that friction working over me, the feel of her skin all around me.

I thrust into her grip, trying to do anything I could to enhance my pleasure.

Then she brought her mouth to the head of my cock, her soft, full lips wrapping as easily around my dick as I’d imagined. I groaned in pleasure as she started laving her tongue over my head. Then she squeezed my balls just tightly enough and I found myself coming as she swallowed all of it. I was amazed at how skilled she was as it, that she didn’t spill a single drop.

Afterward, when I was leaning against the wall of the dressing room, my legs feeling like Jello, she stood and grinned back at me. “I had to make sure we didn’t ruin the dress.”

I groaned softly even as I tucked myself back where I belonged. “But you’re still getting the dress, right?” I asked, zipping myself up. “It’s definitely a hit.”

She nodded. “If it gets that kind of reaction. I’m getting one in every color.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic.

* * *

“I’m not sure I’m an escargot person,” I said an hour later at dinner, crinkling my nose at her appetizer.

After we’d bought her dress, we’d headed to a restaurant she knew of that was out of the way, one far from the touristy section of town and a place we were both less likely to be recognized or harassed by fans and photographers. I’d ordered some chicken and green beans. It wasn’t that I minded trying the treats and delicacies that other cultures had to offer. Some of the crazy shit Japan came up with, like aloe soda, was great, but snails? I had my standards and something I could see crawling out of the garden wasn’t it.

“You never know what you’ll like in your mouth if you don’t try it,” she said pointedly, and I instantly recalled the feel of her blowing me in that dressing room, then swallowing every shot of cum I gave her.

Jesus.

“I’ve tried things all over the world but I don’t do anything in shells or with more than four limbs. I think those are good standards. I guess I’m just a regular guy after all.”

She snorted. “Right. Point Break’s been famous for a few years now. You have personal assistants and managers and lawyers and all that stuff. I know you must.”

“True, but I’m basically the same guy I was when Liam and I started the band in high school.” Even as I said the words, they rang false. I wasn’t the same guy I’d been even last week, before I’d met Nikki. This trip to Paris, being with her, it had changed me, or maybe it had just completed a change that had been steadily happening over the years, but one I’d been fighting with all my “Tucker the Fucker” bullshit.