Last Second Chance (22 page)

He arched a brow. And she got it.

“Oh wait, this wasn’t about pleasure. It was torture. I forgot.”

He leaned forward, hovering above her. “How do you feel right now, Stella Jo?”

She glared into his face and withheld her words. Fuck him. He wanted to be an asshole, rile her all up, and then let her down? Then he could go to hell. She’d told him how she felt, what she wanted. But playing games was not her thing. They were playing a dangerous enough one as it was.

“Tell me. Tell me how you feel.”

His hand reached over and clasped the riding crop. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting him hit her with it again if he wasn’t going to finish what he’d started.

“I feel pissed, all right? And if you hit me with that fucking thing one more time and do not let me come, then you better leave me tied up.”

His answering grin made her want to slap his face.

“What do you want to do to me right now?”

“Slap you. Hard,” she answered honestly as hot tears filled her eyes.

“But you can’t, can you?” The gleam in
his
eyes further ignited her fury.

Her chest heaved, bringing her breasts into her own line of sight. “No. I can’t. But I doubt you plan to leave me like this forever.” She would’ve shrugged to feign nonchalance if it were physically possible.

“Tell me what you’re going to do when and if I untie you.” He stared down at her, clearly exerting his dominance.

Just as she opened her mouth to answer, he thrust two fingers roughly inside her.

“Oh!” she cried out unexpectedly.

“Tell me or I stop,” he said, plunging in and out steadily.

“I need to know… I need to know where this is going,” she whispered as she fought for breath. She had no idea how much more her body could take.

His arm flexed as he controlled every bit of her pleasure with his hand. Licking his lips, his eyes met hers. “Seriously? I think a better question might be where is it
not
going. And whether or not I plan to untie you.”

“I-I’m going to… I’m going to…” She let her head fall back as she enjoyed his assault.

When his mouth descended on her left breast, her body bucked against him.

“Please untie me.”

He sucked her already hardened nipple into his scorching-hot mouth and released it with a wet sound. “Why? Tell me what you’re going to do.”

She moaned as his mouth ravaged her other breast.

“I want to touch you,” she confessed.

“Where?” His tongue trailed a path between her breasts and up her neck.

“Everywhere.”

After kissing her softly on the lips, he crouched above her and began untying her wrists.

“Ankles too, please, sir,” she requested quietly.

“Not yet.” A small grunt of disapproval escaped her lips, and he captured it with his mouth. “You can touch me now.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders, clutching tightly as he returned his hand to that needful spot between her thighs.

“I can’t fucking wait to be inside you,” he practically growled in her ear.

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t like to rush things.”

She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been on the cusp of a heaving orgasm.

“Tell me, cowgirl. Let go. Let me hear you.”

She cried out as she came. “Harder. I want it harder.”

He complied, adding a third finger. “Come for me, Stella. Come hard for me, cowgirl.”

She tore at his back with her fingernails as he deepened his thrusts. Her entire body felt as if it were about to explode around him.

“Van,
oh God.
” Just as he hit that spot, soothing that painful ache, she came, and he covered her mouth with his. She poured her carnal pleasure right into his mouth, biting and moaning against him. He took what she gave—kissing her with a nearly violent enthusiasm that equaled hers.

“Good girl,” he murmured into her hair as she fell back to Earth from whatever the hell had just happened to her. “Good girl.”

W
hen Stella came to, her ankles had been freed. She wrapped herself around the warm body next to her.

“You back with me, cowgirl?”

She grinned into his side. “Mmhm.”

“You begged, you screamed, you threatened me with physical violence. I’m guessing you felt something.”

She felt her face flush as she buried it into his chest. “You are so bad.”

“Or so good, depending on your perspective.”

“Why was it… I mean, why did you, um…” She felt stupid. After what they’d done, talking about it shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it was. Apparently she was still the same old Stella, despite the multiple earth-shattering orgasms.

“Why did I tie you up and make you beg?”

She nodded against him, still unable to look him in the eye.

“Why do you think?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

He rolled onto his side and brought his face to hers. “I took away your control so that you could let go. So you could focus on feeling and not thinking. You’re always so in your head. I had to pull you out somehow.”

Well that made sense. If anyone else had done something like that, she’d have expected it to be for purely selfish reasons. But somehow this man seemed to know what she needed even more than she did.

“And it was one hell of a view. I snapped some pictures on my phone while you were unconscious.”

She gaped at him, glaring when he grinned.

“Kidding. I’m in rehab, remember? I’m not even allowed to have a phone here.”

She relaxed against him. “Yeah, I remember.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that laced her words. Why couldn’t he just be a regular guy she was dating? Why did it have to be so damn complicated?

“Speaking of which, I should probably go.”

Stella glanced over at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was well past lunchtime. She hadn’t realized she’d napped for so long. “Jesus. How long was I out for?”

Van shrugged as he sat up. “’Bout an hour.”

“Sorry.”

He pinned her with a strange look. “Do not apologize. I took some serious pleasure in wearing you out.”

That damn blush blossomed on her face again at the memory. It was one she planned to keep.

“You’re gorgeous always, but you’re fucking edible when you blush.”

His words lit her up inside. She wrapped her arms around him from behind as he put his boots back on.

“You know, I could, um, return the favor.” She slid a hand down his muscular denim-clad thigh.

Van leaned back and angled his head so he could kiss her. Softly at first. She wasn’t sure which one of them deepened the kiss, but soon she was straddling him on the edge of her bed.

He groaned. “As much as I’d love that, and as much as it’s killing me to walk away from your perfectly naked body, I’ve been gone a while. If anyone comes to check and sees I’m not at the barn, they might put out an APB or something. My manager’s supposed to drop by today.”

Stella slid aside so he could get up. She loved what he did to her, but she was done begging. For now. And he was probably right. He needed to go before anyone got suspicious. Wrapping her bed sheet around her body, she stood and walked him to her door.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he kissed her. “For last night and today.”

“My pleasure,” he responded with a wink.

“Not yet.” Stella let her hand caress him lightly over his jeans. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was rock hard.

“I better go before I can’t. See you soon, cowgirl.” Van kissed her once more before stepping out of her place. She closed the door and watched him glance around before heading across the property to his own residence.

Her mind couldn’t make sense of the situation they were in. Couldn’t conjure up a logical explanation for why they were risking so much when they barely knew each other.

But her body approved one hundred percent.

“W
ell I’ll be damned.”

Van had known his manager was coming to see him. He only had just over forty-five days left in rehab and it was time to start signing paperwork and discussing the deal with Epitaph. What he hadn’t expected was for his friend Drake Ellis, his band’s drummer, to come along with him.

“To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

Drake shook his hand and clapped him hard on the back. “Fuck, man. Look at you. All not dead and shit. Last time I saw you, you were a corpse, dude.”

“And yet you never sent flowers. Cheap fucker.”

Drake ran a colorfully inked-up hand through his mohawk. “Yeah well. I only send flowers to the chicks who give the best head. Sorry, man. You didn’t make the cut.”

Van placed a hand over his chest. “That hurts. You cut me deep, Ellis. You heartless bastard.”

Sid cleared his throat to interrupt the bullshit. “You two can save your emotional reunion for when Van gets out of here. Right now we need to go over the stipulations from Epitaph.”

Van led them to a back table in the private section of the Atrium. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Sid eyed both of them to make sure he had their full attention before he began. “So first things first. All members will attend all signing and record or tour promo events and will remain sober and not destroy anything.” He shot a pointed look at Van. Van shrugged. Man had a valid point.

There was more. A lot more. Stuff about drug testing, the label assuming a limited liability for anything Van fucked up or destroyed. There was even mention of a curfew while on tour.

A month ago, if anyone had tried to pull shit like this over on him, he would’ve laughed in their face and told them to kiss his ass. But with the taste of Stella Jo Chandler still on his lips, he couldn’t find much cause to get pissed about much of anything. They could’ve told him he had to donate a kidney and join the Teddy Bear of the Month club and the grin on his face would’ve remained as he signed.

She had looked so damn good all tied up and exposed to him. He hadn’t taken an actual picture like he’d teased her, but he certainly had a solid mental one that was going to keep him company for as long as he lived if he could help it.

“Van?” Sid cleared his throat. “Ransom, you with us?”

“Tune in, dude. This is the heavy shit.” Drake’s voice broke through and Van looked back and forth between the men, who were looking at him like he’d started humming show tunes.

“My bad. What?”

“You high right now?” Drake asked with wide eyes. “Or did they give up on the rehab part and give you a lobotomy?”

He shrugged. “It’s been a good day. That’s all.” Good didn’t even begin to describe it. If he were being honest, the past twenty-four hours had been the best of his life.

“Uh huh.” Drake side-eyed him skeptically, but Sid looked genuinely disturbed.

“I can’t be happy? What the fuck?”

Sid sighed and shoved some papers forward. “Of course you can. But if you could come down from cloud nine for a minute, you need to initial each of these X’s. This is the clause about not fucking up, Van. So read each one, please, before you sign.”

Van rubbed his neck and took the pen from his manager. The two of them all in his face had effectively faded the vivid memory of Stella screaming and begging. Well, mostly. He tucked it in the back of his mind where he could get to it later.

He looked down at the papers dotted with red X’s. It was all pretty much the same shit. No drugs, no hookers, no trashing hotel rooms or tour buses.

But the clause at the bottom was new.

Any breach of the contract could be proven, and Hostage for Ransom would have two options. Either be dropped from the label entirely or the member who’d fucked up would be kicked out and replaced.

Whoa. That was a dick move that no one had ever so much as suggested before. And he knew the shit was directed right at him. He could practically feel the target on his fucking forehead.

“So I screw up and my ass gets replaced? In my own band?” His voice was calm as he looked up at Sid and Drake.