Strum Your Heart Out (15 page)

I clear my throat and offer my perfect calm smile. "I thought you could read my mind."

"Usually."

"You're so obnoxious sometimes, you know." I take a step toward the dance floor. "Ever consider that I have something on my mind that I don't want to talk about?"

"No."

"Or that I'd rather not talk at all?"

"No." He slides his hand around my hip. "I have to know everything about you. I have to know every part about you."

"What about the ugly parts?"

He runs his fingertips over my cheek. "There are no ugly parts."

I bury myself in my drink. Sugar and citrus and loads of tequila. But this isn't coming out easier. "You've really hurt your bargaining position by admitting how badly you want to fuck me."

He grabs my ass and holds my body against his. "I see that hint of desperation in your eyes. You want it even worse than I do."

I shake my head.

His lips close over mine and he kisses me so I almost topple over.

Fuck. That's amazing.

The kiss breaks. I go back to my drink like I'm not even fazed, but I'm not selling that story. I'm flushed and panting. My legs are shaking. My arms are riddled with goosebumps.

I don't know who wants it worse, but I want it so badly I could kill someone.

Drew, I have to warn you about something. It's not a big deal, but I have some scars on my thighs. Who am I kidding? It's a huge deal and I wouldn't even consider letting anyone else touch them.

I will the words to form in my throat, but they don't. Drew's expression gets serious. If I don't act fast, the next thing out of his mouth will be something about not fucking me until I tell him what's wrong.

I take a deep breath. "I should probably tell you something."

"Is it important?"

"It might be."

He raises a brow. "Kendrick, you know if it's important."

"It is." I take a long sip. "But I'm terrified it's going to change the way you feel about me."

"There's nothing you can say that will talk me out of fucking you." Drew finishes his drink and sets it on a side table in one smooth motion. He moves back toward me. His hands skim the hem of my dress. "But first, I want to have you here."

My breath catches. Here as in on the dance floor here? That's so... I can't even...

I can't even believe I'm considering this.

Drew grabs my wrist, the left. I go to pull my hand to my chest but stop myself. He looks at me funny for a second but he shakes it off.

We move to the middle of the dance floor. No pretenses. No waiting. No conversation. His lips slide over mine. His hands go to my hips and he grinds against me.

My body is buzzing already. I hold his head against mine so I can suck on his lips. He tastes so good. Like Drew. The word dances around my brain. It's better than the music. Better than anything I've ever felt.

I rock my hips against his in time with the bass line. He's hard and he groans with every brush of my body against his. I turn and press my back against him, my ass against his crotch. He sinks his teeth into my neck. He drags his hands to the neckline of my dress.

I arch my back to press my crotch against his. Drew lets out a low groan. He sucks on my ear so hard I almost scream. His hand trails over the jut of my hip bone, until his fingers are right over my clit. The dress is in the way, sure, but there's no mistaking the pleasure flooding my body.

My cheeks flush. I'm suddenly aware that we're in a crowded club, surrounded by other people. I straighten my back and turn around so I'm facing Drew.

He sucks on my neck. Then my ear. I dig my hands into his hair. I let out a low moan.

We're barely dancing now. I'm too caught up in the sensations in my body to tune in to the music. I only shift my hips to press my body against his, so I can feel his cock straining against his jeans.

Every shift of his hips sends a wave of pleasure through my body. I relax into his touch, utterly powerless to feel anything else.

He traces the neckline of my dress then slides his hand under it. His fingertips brush against my nipples. A shock of pleasure rushes straight from my sex to my toes. I'm going to go mad if he doesn't fuck me properly.

He plays with my nipple until I'm panting. His lips sink into mine. His tongue plunges into my mouth. I hold onto his arms for dear life.

Drew breaks our kiss. He brings his mouth to my ear and adjusts my dress so I'm fully covered everywhere. "Follow me."

His hand slides to my hip. He leads me off the dance floor and toward the back of the club. There's a small hallway and a door marked
Crew Only
.

Drew opens the door carefully. The room is black, almost dead black, and it's stuffed with equipment for shows—costumes, amps, vanity. It's a tiny room, but it's empty.

He pulls me inside, pushes the door closed, and presses me against it in one smooth motion.

I open my mouth to speak, to really warn him, but before a word can form, Drew is kissing me.

He pulls the straps of my dress off my shoulders and pushes it to my waist. I'm not wearing a bra, thank God. To torture him and maybe myself.

He kisses his way to my breast and flicks his tongue against my nipple. My hands go to his hair. I press my back against the door. God, he feels so good.

"Drew," I gasp. "Now."

He brings his lips back to mine and kisses me hard. I lift my dress enough to kick off my underwear and then I pull it back in place.

Drew pulls the condom from his pocket. I unzip his jeans and push them off his hips. Then the boxers.

Holy shit.

He's huge.

I wrap my hand around his cock and rub him until he shudders. He bites my neck hard, groaning into my skin.

I unwrap the condom and slide it over him.

He grabs onto my hips and lifts me. I take a deep breath and hook my legs around his waist.

There's that sharp tug of rubber as he slides inside me.

He thrusts into me. It's deep enough to hurt. I gasp, digging my nails into his shoulders until the pain turns to pleasure.

This is exactly where I should be.

He holds me against the door and thrusts into me. "Fuck. You feel good."

I attempt to verbalize some kind of agreement but it comes out as a loud moan.

Drew brings one hand to my mouth and slides two fingers between my lips. There's something magical about those hands. They do something to me.

I suck on his fingers, pressing my tongue against their soft pads. He holds me against the door, thrusting into me harder and harder and harder.

Every muscle in my body is awake and alive. Hell, every nerve is tuned to the same frequency and they're headed straight to an orgasm.

I suck on Drew's fingers so I won't groan. It's not enough to contain the pressure building inside me. His hands dig into the delicate skin on my hips. A few inches from my scars, but right now I don't care.

The only thing that matters is him inside me.

I pull my mouth off his fingers and kiss him as hard as I can. He plays with my nipples. It's just soft enough to send pang after pang of desire shooting through me.

My body buzzes. I hold him tighter. Kiss him harder. Buck my hips to drive him deeper.

He groans into my neck. His nails sink into my skin. He's close. I'm fucking Drew and he's close.

I must have died and gone to heaven.

He rubs his thumb over my nipple. There. I break our kiss to let out a low groan.

He does nothing to keep me quiet. He rubs me the same way. He thrusts into me until I let out a scream. And then he keeps doing it. Just. Like. That.

The pressure tenses and tenses, until it's almost too much to take. I hold him tighter. Groan louder. Rock my hips to push him even deeper.

There.

An orgasm rises up inside me. Tighter and tenser and harder.

He thrusts into me again and I teeter over the edge. I come in spasms, all that delicious tension releasing into pure ecstasy.

"Drew," I groan.

His name is still the best thing I've ever heard.

Drew kisses me deeply. He shudders. Almost there.

Almost all mine.

I lose myself in the feeling of him inside me. Drew is about to come. I pinch myself to check if I'm dreaming.

Wide awake.

He groans into my mouth. There's this desperate need pouring from him to me and back again. I've wanted this for so long. And he has too.

And it's perfect.

He releases the kiss and groans my name into my ear. "Kara." His nails dig into my skin as he thrusts one last time.

And he comes. I can feel his cock pulsing, even with the condom. I can feel it in his breath and his hands and the muscles in his chest.

"Fuck." Drew releases me.

I unhook my legs, plant them on the ground, and pull my dress back on.

He shifts back into his jeans and discards the condom in a trash can on the other side of the room.

And then he's back to me.

He's mine.

He squeezes my hand. "You're amazing."

"Drew." I wrap my arms around him. "Take me home so we can do that again."

"I thought you'd never ask."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On the ride home, I play with the hem of my dress to keep my mind from spinning out of control.

Drew and I had sex.

And now we're going to do it again.

It's enough to make me dizzy.

He stops at a red light. His attention turns to me. His lips curl into a smile. He drags his fingertips over the inside of my knee and up my thigh.

And there it is: the only snag in such a perfect plan. I can't put it off anymore.

I have to tell him and pray he won't run away.

He's staring at me with that same penetrating look he always has. His eyes are wide, filled with this strange mix of enthusiasm and concern. Usually, that kind of concern makes me feel empty and exposed. On Drew, it's not so bad. It's almost sweet.

The light turns green and Drew hits the gas. My attention goes back to the road. His hand stays on my thigh. Close enough to my knee that I can delay this conversation until we're home.

***

Drew throws open the sliding door. Cold air rushes inside. It doesn't faze him at all.

He looks at me with wide-eyed enthusiasm. His voice is light. Teasing. "We still haven't gone skinny dipping."

"It's still freezing."

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the concrete. He raises a brow. "Don't you want to see me naked?"

My cheeks flush. I try to think of some excuse that isn't
I'm not ready to tell you about this yet
but nothing comes.

He takes a backward step, planting his foot on the concrete outside. His hands go to his jeans. Button, undone. Zipper, unzipped. The things fall to the floor.

Nothing but boxers.

Heat builds in my body, until the air doesn't feel cold anymore. Even my cocktail dress is far too much clothing. If I don't get in that pool, I'm going to catch fire.

It's glowing with an aqua sheen. The light dancing off Drew's torso is utterly gorgeous but it also means there's nowhere to hide.

Deep breath. Here goes nothing.

"Drew, I have to tell you something," I say.

He drops his playful expression. "Important?"

I nod. "I'm terrified you're going to run away."

"How could you think that?" Hurt flashes in his eyes. "You're my best friend."

"But that doesn't mean..." I bite my lip. "Can I get that promise in writing?"

His eyes pass over me. That same penetrating look. That same concern.

This might be the last time he ever looks at me as anything besides the pathetic, damaged girl.

My chest gets heavy. A deep breath does nothing to break it up. He's staring at me all curious and confused and there's nowhere to go.

I try to hold Drew's gaze but it's too intense. I look at the concrete instead. "I used to cut."

My stomach drops. It's like I'm on one of those free-fall roller coasters, only there's no bar for me to hold. There's no harness keeping me safe.

"I have scars all over my thighs," I say. "Deep, ugly, red scars."

I finally meet his gaze. His eyes are filled with the most awful hurt.

"When?" His voice is heavy.

"In high school."

"When in high school?"

This isn't how he's supposed to sound. He's supposed to hold me and stroke my hair and tell me it's okay. He's not supposed to stare at me with all this awful accusation.

Like I'm letting him down.

Like I'm failing him.

Like I'm not good enough.

I keep my eyes on the concrete. "It started when my dad was sick and everyone was expecting so much from me." I run my fingers over my shiny silver wrist watch. "My wrist at first, but that was too hard to cover. So I switched to my thighs."

Drew's stare guts me—rips me into little pieces and pastes me back together again.

"We were friends," he says. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't tell anyone."

"I would have helped you."

"When?" I ask. "Because the way I remember it, you ditched me the second you got popular."

His voice softens. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?"

He runs his hand through his hair. There's this look of agony on his face, like there's more to the story.

But he doesn't say anything. He never does.

It's always questions directed at me. He's always desperate to know all of my feelings. But the second I bring up something that hurt him, he shuts down or changes the subject.

My temper flares. "You have to do more than show up at my house with a guitar and a promise that we can be friends again." I play with the hem of my dress. "I didn't want a pity friendship and I still don't."

His expression hardens. "And what about the last six months?"

"No one knows about this. No one but my asshole ex-boyfriend who dumped me for it."

He reaches for my wrist, the right, and holds it tightly. "You think I'd dump you over this?"

"We're not anything that can be dumped." I take a step backward. "Where do you get off getting upset about this? What secret have you ever told me?"