Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (12 page)

I can’t explain it. I wish I could. But the closest I can come to describing what being with Jag Steele felt like would be to say that, at times, it was like a never-ending, intense, irrational fairy tale. It made me feel how I imagine Sleeping Beauty would have felt the moment she realized she was really a princess. It was like an imperfectly perfect daydream. It was a phenomenally constant state of fucked-up bliss.

And what’s not to like about that?

Dinner did nothing but build the sexual tension. Jag couldn’t keep his eyes off me, eyeing my thighs, biting his lip, and letting out barely audible groans.

The waitress cleared the plates from the white linen table cloth, blushing when she made eye contact with Jag. “Would you care for any desert this evening?” Her voice shook slightly as she cleared the last plate.

Jag arched a brow at me, flashing his white smile. “Her,” he said, pointing his fork at me. I felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment, although that comment did turn me on.

The waitress’s eyes rounded and widened. “Um… I…” She stammered over her words, and Jag erupted in a fit of laughter.

“They have really good cheesecake here. I fucking love cheesecake, you wanna try it?”

I nodded, still unable to speak from the inappropriately sexy statement he’d just embarrassed the waitress with.

She smiled nervously and spun around to escape the table.

“Jag!” I scolded.

He shrugged. “Well, it’s the truth.”

“Doesn’t mean you say shit like that in a restaurant like this.” I glanced around at the upscale, stuffy atmosphere, worried someone had overheard him and was silently calling me a groupie-whore in their head.

“Tell me.” He leaned over the table and folded his arms.

“What? Tell you what?”

“Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know I like you.”

“Jag, really?”

He nodded. “I love hearing it.”

“I think you like to make me grovel.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “How is that groveling?”

“Because by me saying that, I am practically begging you to fuck me.”

He chuckled and cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you think?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Grovel…nope. I like hearing it because you are the
only
girl that didn’t just assume I liked her. You are the
only
girl I ever had to chase, you are the
only
girl that I’ve ever cared if they believed I liked them. I like that I like you, and I like hearing you say that you believe it. It makes me feel real.”

I smiled and then whispered, “I believe you, Jagger Steele. I believe that for whatever reason, you like me.” I paused, watching him gloat. “And I like that you like me.”

The waitress returned, walking slowly and coughing when she got within ear shot. I figured she was announcing her arrival in an effort to protect her virgin ears from Jag’s filthy mouth.

Jag grinned at her. “Can you bring the check? Depending on how horny watching her lick her fork makes me, I may need to make an abrupt escape from here…unless being famous gives me a pass on fucking her right here on the table.”

Every muscle in the waitress’s face went limp, her jaw dropped, leaving her mouth dangling open in a stupor. She blinked several times as she placed the plate in front of us.

I guess Jag’s mouth takes some getting used to.

I kicked Jag’s shin underneath the table, which caused him to jump and yelp a little.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “He’s a drunk and has no filter on his mouth, obviously!”

She smiled.

“I’m not a drunk!” He shot a nasty look at me while reaching under the table to rub his leg.

“I’ll bring the check right now,” she said, and hurried away, holding her hand over her mouth to conceal her giggle.

I glared at him. “I
cannot
believe you. Shit like that embarrasses me.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, princess. I won’t do it again. I promise. I get a little carried away sometimes.”

Jag handed me a fork, and after I’d had a bite, he cut into the cheesecake. He stuck the fork in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head as he licked the decadently thick dessert from the prongs. “Fuck, that is so damn good.”

The waitress returned once more and laid the tab on the table, then immediately ran away, probably to avoid another comment from Jag.

I took another bite while he fished cash from his pocket and stuck it in the folder.

“Who carries cash these days?” I asked, almost immediately regretting that question.

“People who buy drugs…”

He took another bite and I tried to ignore that comment.

Jag moaned, pulling the fork from his mouth and dropping it onto the tablecloth. “Shit, that is almost as good as your pussy.
Almost
. You ready?”

My skin flushed.

I placed my fork on the table and wiped my mouth with the freshly laundered napkin. “Yeah.”

“Good. I really want to give your pussy a good fucking with my tongue before I tear it up with my dick.”

Comments like that should have pissed me off, and they would have coming from anyone else, but with Jag, filth like that caused a hitch in my chest. Talking like that was the way Jag did romance, and, for whatever reason, it worked.

His words were the most potent form of foreplay, and the fact that I would have to endure a thirty-minute car ride with him, thinking about finally getting to fuck him, I was certain would be a pretty cruel form of torture.

*****

We barely made it to Jag’s front door before he slammed me up against it and kissed me hard, his tongue snaking into my mouth. His hands desperately groped over me, trailing from my shoulders to my breasts. After a few moments, he pushed away from me, leaving me panting while he unlocked his door.

He tossed his keys on the counter, combed his hands through his hair, and strutted toward his bedroom, spinning around and motioning me to follow with a single finger and a deep-seated grin.

Shit. I don’t know if I can actually do this. I’m so worked up, so nervous.

This was all too real. I wanted him. He wanted me. And fucking him was just going to let him burrow deeper into my soul.

Had he just slept with me at the beginning, it would have been completely meaningless, which would have made it safer for my heart. But waiting, even though it was only for two weeks—which with Jag seemed like a fucking decade—gave this act meaning. Waiting made it more than just a fuck, it meant there was something between us. It meant that we cared about each other on some level. He respected me enough to make me wait when he could have easily had me long ago. That realization made my stomach knot up.

I followed Jag into his room, expecting him to grab me and throw me down on his bed, but he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed the nearest guitars, strumming out some chords.

I cocked my hip to the side, anxiously tapping my foot on the floor as I watched his skilled fingers pluck over the strings; all I could think about was how that skill transferred over to the way he touched me.

Falling back onto his luxurious bed, the comforter fluffed up around me and sent a poof of Jag filled fragrance into the air. I inhaled and all that scent did was make me wetter than I already was.

“Don’t you have to go back on tour tomorrow?” I asked, the thought of it making me sad.

Jag didn’t respond. He walked to his iHome and flipped through some songs, and music blared through the speakers in his ceiling. It was a song from their first album, actually, one of my favorites.

Suddenly, I was really hot.

Nervous.

Uncertain.

I sat up the moment Jag reached the bed, and he immediately pushed me back down, climbing on top of me as he growled, “Oh, no, princess, where do you think you’re going?”

Straddling me, he pinned my shoulders down to the bed, his lips curling into a closed-lip smile. Then his lips violently crushed over mine, his teeth scraping against mine as he kissed me deeply. Each time his mouth closed, the kiss grew more intense. He pressed his body over mine, thrusting his dick against me and groaning so low I could barely hear it. Pulling away from my mouth, he let his lips roll over my neck, his heavy breath fanning over my sensitive flesh. “Fuck,” he growled, his hands working their way underneath my ass and grabbing me. Jag’s chest rose in deep swells, uneven, ragged. His eyes locked on mine and then he kissed me again while his hands wandered up the small of my back. That was the most passion I had ever experienced in a single kiss, and I no longer cared what giving into him meant for my heart. I needed him. I wanted to belong to him, even if I knew it would never last. Just for a short while, I wanted him to be mine.

Tearing his shirt over his head, I tossed it to the floor and allowed my hands to glide down his defined back, my fingertip tracing over the ripples of muscles.

Jag’s warm lips trailed down my neck, across my shoulder, then back across my chest while his fingers diligently slipped the straps of my dress down. Reaching around, he unzipped the dress little by little, agonizingly slowly, dragging that moment out as long as he could stand before pushing the thin material down, separating his body from mine only to kick the dress from my legs. When his body pressed back over mine, the sensation of his skin against my bare breasts bled into me.

He buried his nose in my hair, then sang the chorus to the song,
his
song blaring through the speakers, his hot breath blowing over my ear.

“Drugged, possessed, I need you. I need to hold you, touch you, breathe you. Numb, raw, I want you. I want to hold you, touch you, breathe you.” The last word came out as a growl and his hand snaked down my stomach, his nails lightly scratching against me.

He laughed softly in my ear before panting and biting down on it when his hand skimmed over my panties. I knew as wet as I’d become, he could feel it through the silky material, and the sudden proud smile that flashed over his face made it apparent that he had.

My fingers twirled through his hair, gripping it to tug his head to the side so I could whisper in his ear, “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me this time?” My hips involuntarily grinded against his as I spoke.

He sat up, his hands sliding back over my body, squeezing my breasts in his palm before he unfastened his fly. “Oh, princess. I can promise you I’m about to fuck the shit out of you.”

It sounded like more of a threat, and my breath quickened.

Jag kicked his jeans off and then ripped my panties from me. He grabbed my legs, tracing his hands from my feet to my calves to my thighs and then between my legs. His finger brushed over me and he bit down on his lips, his eyes closing for a second before he lowered himself down and spread my legs with one fluid movement of his hands. Every nerve ending in my body fired up and my legs attempted to shut from the sheer pleasure of it, from the anticipation of having him.

Jag glared up from between my legs as he swiped his tongue over me. “Nah, you don’t want to do that, I promise.”

He forced my legs open wider and skirted his tongue across my clit. The next swipe was harder, rougher, and he moaned just before he bit down on my clit. The slight pain traveled through my body as a slow fire, and the next sensation I experienced was Jag devouring every last inch of me with his mouth.

Teeth.

His teeth kept intentionally scraping against me, biting and nipping me, and he kept pulling my clit into his mouth with a deep moan. The same way he’d kissed me earlier was exactly how he was fucking me. Deep, hard, needy, absolutely passionate, and it left me teetering on the edge of a hard orgasm.

He pulled away, a pleased smile curving his lips as he buried his finger inside me. “And the way this feels, so flawed and corrupt; I just want to be real; I just need this to hurt.”

Holy shit!
He was singing the lyrics to his song while he was between my legs. His tongue brushed against me again, and he continued to sing, his words vibrating against my flesh.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I scooted away and reached down, shoving his boxers off. “Shit.” The word escaped my mouth before I realized it. I was really about to have sex  with a guy I had no business with, with a guy I liked more than I should, with a guy unlike any other man I had ever known. A man that would fight for me, one that respected me…and one that was addicted to drugs.

I had to stop my thoughts. I didn’t want to go there—not then. I pushed Jag back. He laughed as he fell into the mattress. That moment became so real, so raw, so us.

Crawling toward him, I grabbed his thick dick in my hand, pulling it to my mouth and tracing my tongue up its length before swallowing it back.

His taste made everything inside of me tense up in a very delicious, very dirty way. I ran my tongue along the crest of his head, savoring the silky texture, the well-defined ridge that I couldn’t help but imagine deep inside me. He made my mind twist into some perverted heap, and I loved it.

His eyes hooded, and his mouth slightly parted when he tossed his head back and mumbled, “Fuck.”