My Heart's Blood (Hard Love & Dark Rock #1) (9 page)

"Yes, Anne?" I said.  And then, with my eyes still locked on hers, I pressed my lips to the soft swell of her mound, just above the downy hair.

"It's just… I'm not…"

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

I saw the blush deepening in her cheeks, her bottom lip practically quivering.

"I've never… I've never had anybody kiss me… down there."

The look on her face, the yearning and vulnerability in her eyes, made my chest fill with sudden tenderness.

But tenderness wasn't all I felt.

I vowed to myself, then and there, that I'd make her feel so good, so overloaded with pleasure, she wouldn't have the presence of mind left to feel embarrassed.

And with that thought burning in my brain, I tightened my fingers on her dress and pulled it the rest of the way off in a rush.

Chapter 19

Anne

It was like my fantasy come to life.

Trace LeBeau—the man I'd dreamed about since I'd first heard his voice—was kissing me, touching me, sprawling on top of me in bed.  I could feel the taut firmness of his body above mine, could feel the alarming, unmistakable hardness at the front of his jeans as it pressed against my thigh.  And now he was working his way down to my breasts again, his stubble deliciously rough against my tender skin, his lips greedy and bold on my body.

Low down in my belly, and between my legs, I was absolutely blazing with desire, so hot and wet and aching-for-more that I could barely breathe.

But then Trace kissed down past my ribs, and kept moving.  By the time he'd reached my belly, the first twinge of self-consciousness came slicing through my passionate need.  And by the time he'd reached my mons, just a few inches above the focal point of that hunger and heat, my shyness and embarrassment spiked toward full-on panic.

I propped myself up onto my elbows, saying whispering his name.  "Trace, I…"

He paused, raising his head to look at me.  His eyes looked dark and hungry, unmistakably so.

"Yes, Anne?" he said, and planted another kiss, his lips pressing against the thin skin over my pubic bone.

The touch of his lips, the look in his eye, made another bolt of desire shoot through me.  But my shyness still had the upper hand.

"It's just… I'm not…"

He looked at me imploringly, the hunger in his eyes now joined by a hint of curiosity.  He asked me if something was wrong.

"I've never… I've never had anybody kiss me… down there."

And then that curious look in his eye completely evaporated, leaving nothing but raw hunger.

He gave me a wolfish grin, and then yanked the dress off of me with so much force it lifted my hips up in the air.

The panic caught hold of me again—more than panic, fear, as if I actually thought he wanted to eat me alive.  My hands went to his head, my fingers gripping his hair, my thighs squeezing shut like a vice.  But I wasn't fast enough.  Before I could stop him, he'd dropped his head between my legs and pressed his mouth to my aching, dripping-wet, most private place.

I felt his tongue on me, parting my lower lips, dipping into the slickness between them.  And then—like thunder lagging behind the lighting—the pleasure hit me a moment later, a bolt of it, pure and blinding and raw, shooting straight from my pelvis to my brain.

I heard myself groaning and gasping and moaning, felt the sound raw and ragged in my throat.  My fingers twisted in his hair, but instead of trying to pull his head back, I found myself pulling him closer.

"Ohh shit, Trace!"

His tongue was working in me, lapping at me like a dog drinking water, sliding over my vividly-tender nub again and again.  He brought one hand up and pressed it against my skin just above that throbbing cluster of nerves, drawing the hood back taut, exposing more of me to his relentless tongue.  With every wet stroke I felt another spark of pleasure shooting up into my core, like electricity arcing into me.

"Oh my god, fuck!"

I raised my head, my eyes springing wide open, looking down at him.  He had his eyes closed, a reverent look on his face.  And his tongue kept moving and moving, dipping and sliding in me, stoking the heat and the pleasure higher and higher.

Trace LeBeau, the rock star, with fans all over the world, who'd just given a triumphant performance that would surely be all over the news tomorrow.  The man I'd fantasized about since before I could even wear a proper bra.  Whose songs had been the soundtrack to my life.  Whose face had graced the poster above my bed.  Whose lips had shaped the words that had etched themselves into my soul.

And now that face and those lips were pressed tight against the most private part of my body.  My breasts were quivering and jiggling between my stretched-down arms.  My knees were up in the air, thighs pressed against either side of his head, heels crossed over his upper back.  He had his arms wrapped around my legs, his hard biceps pressing into the backs of my thighs, his right hand anchored on my mound, pulling me taut.

As I watched, his left hand slipped back out of sight.  A moment later I felt his finger pressing against me, against the tight entrance to that throbbing place where my legs met.  He slipped that finger into me, stroking me from within, pressing up against my pelvic bone and the downward pressure of his own eager tongue.

Another blast of pleasure flooded through me, making me cry out.

“Ah!”

There was nowhere to escape to, nowhere to hide.  The pleasure kept growing bigger and bigger, building toward what I knew would be an absolutely devastating orgasm, no doubt the biggest of my life.

I began to whimper like a little girl, my body shuddering and quivering, my hips bucking, pressing me up against his lips.  Electric tingles scattered all through my body, and my pulse was racing in my ears.

And then that earth-shaking orgasm was on me, rolling through me in waves of ecstasy.  My back came up off the bed, my boobs thrusting toward the ceiling, my pussy clenching down on Trace's finger in spasms.  I'm pretty sure I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Ohhh god, Trace!”

When it finally ended my whole body went slack, sinking into the mattress as the pleasure began to shiver and fade.  I blinked my eyes open and gasped in a breath.  Trace was still licking me, his tongue slow and languid, as if he were too greedy to stop.  But I couldn't take it anymore—the orgasm had left me so sensitive that even his soft, gentle tongue was too much.

I pressed his head back, closing my legs.  He fought me for a few last, greedy licks, and then relented, straightening his back, rising upright between my knees.

He had a happy, satisfied, almost beatific look on his face.  He smiled down at me, biting his lip.

"That was incredible," he said.  "You look absolutely beautiful when you come."

Another twinge of embarrassment went through me.  He'd seen me at my most unguarded and vulnerable, and the thought made me suddenly, unbearably shy.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't know.  Kissing me down there, it’s just…”  I shrugged my shoulders.  “You actually like it?"

"Like it?" he said, sounding surprised.  "God yes, I love it!  I love the taste of it, the feel of it.  I love seeing all your defenses come down, until you're absolutely naked in front of me, no pretense, no secrets.  I love knowing you that intimately, pushing you right over the edge and owning you for those moments.  Yes, I love it.  There's nothing I love more."

I felt my brows pulling down in a frown.

"You don't believe me?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders again.

"Well, do you believe this?"

He caught hold of my foot, pressing the sole against the front of his jeans.

My eyes went wide, desire pulsing within me again.  I could feel his dick, rock hard and throbbing against the arch of my foot.

"Do you believe me now?”

I nodded my head, catching my lip between my teeth, feeling the hunger surging through me again.

“I haven't been this hard in a fucking year!” Trace said.  “God, I want to fuck you so bad right now!"

Before I knew it, I was on my knees, my hands at the front of his pants, desperately trying to unfasten his jeans.  Any embarrassment I'd felt, any temporary exhaustion in the wake of that tremendous orgasm, was gone in an instant.  And in place of that, I was possessed with one single, burning desire.

"Do it, Trace," I said.  "Please!  I want you—I need you inside of me.  Right now!"

My hands managed to undo the button, and my fingers went to his zipper, jerking it down.  I looked up at his lips, and I smashed my mouth against his in a desperate kiss.

I could taste myself on his lips, and I could taste him too.  And suddenly it just made me want him even more desperately.

I needed to see him as he’d seen me—no pretense, no secrets.  I needed him to be there, in that place, with me.

I slipped my hand down the front of his pants, felt him filling my grip, thick and fever-hot.

And then, from beyond the door to the room, from out in the living room area where the party had been going on, I heard a scream, high and sharp and terrified.

It was Becca screaming.

"What the fuck?" Trace said.

He broke out of my arms and ran for the door, zipping his fly up as he went.  In a flash, he'd jerked the door open and disappeared down the hall.

I glanced at my dress, crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed.  I grabbed for it, but before I could slip it on, I heard Becca scream again, the sound even louder and more full of fear.

With the dress in my hand, and not a stitch of clothing covering my body, I ran after Trace.

I got to the living room maybe a second after he did.  And I froze, my eyes taking in the details.

Becca was on the couch, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror.

Joey Jones was on the floor, his shirt off and his pants undone.  His nose looked like it was swelling in front of my eyes, and blood dripped from it across his naked chest.

And Ronnie—Becca’s friend-but-not-boyfriend Ronnie, the Club Hemlock bartender who'd gotten us into the show—was pinned against the wall with a knife to his throat.

The Belletrists’ lead guitarist—Micah Green—held the knife, and his eyes looked as cold as death.

The story of Anne and Trace continues

in
My Heart’s Beat: Hard Love & Dark Rock, Part 2

-

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