Snare (Falling Stars #3) (20 page)

"The way you play those drums makes me so hot," the other purrs, putting her hand on his arm.

At her touch, my chest tightens and a sharp stab of emotion twists in my gut.

Great. I get to witness his ritual. No thanks.

I shove back in the chair and start to collect my things.

"Get out," he growls, taking me by surprise.

Turning around, I find him staring intently at me.

My eyes flit to the women next to him and their cocky little smiles.

"Give me a second," I clip, turning back to my things.

"Go." His order brings me back around.

Mouth open and ready for a fight, I freeze.

The women stand slack-jawed, their eyes wide.

"You want us to—?"

"If I have to say it again, I'll physically remove you," he threatens.

Stalking forward, he backs the women out of the room.

I swallow down my fighting words as I watch him shut the door and lock it.

"I'll be out of your way in a minute," I whisper.

He turns, his eyes zeroing in on me.

Long, thick legs move, prowling toward me.

"You didn't have to kick them out," I say, and silently curse myself for sounding so nervous.

"They weren't invited," he rumbles, taking the power cord and camera from my hands. Setting them on the table, he steps right into my personal space.

I push my hands on his chest and step back at the same time. He places his hands over mine and follows my retreat.

"I wasn't in here as an offering to your ritual," I quip.

Xena pulses, her battle cry to conquer the ginger.

One brow rises over his left eye, and he asks, "My ritual?"

Still retreating, I fight the urge to jump him and instead try to get my hands back—unsuccessfully.

"Yeah, I heard all about your after performance ritual and working out the adrenaline…" I let the words fall when my back meets the wall and he traps my arms between us.

Warmth tingles in my belly.

Dear goddess, why must he smell like warm, earthy man? Fuck, the raw manliness of his body is enough to make any woman a walking wet spot.

"I guess I had a tendency to take advantage of the
offerings
, as you put it, after a concert," he admits with a shrug.

"Well, you shouldn't let your
offerings
get away," I say, nodding toward the door.

"They followed me," he clarifies. "I didn't ask them back here."

"Okay," my voice wavers, "but you could still—"

"I already have what I was looking for," he interrupts, leaning his face into mine.

"I'm not—"

His lips crash to mine—warm, wet, and conquering.

Holy shit, this is so much better than I remember. My dreams have not done this man justice.

Being my slutty self, the moment his tongue touches my lip, I open for him. In fact, I don't just grant him access, I suck his tongue into my mouth, earning a groan.

He releases my hands and his arms cage me against the wall.

I slip my hands up his chest, over his broad shoulders, and around his neck. Delving my fingers into his hair, I try to pull him closer.

I'm acting like a bath salt smoking junkie trying to eat his face, but I need more.

A knock at the door penetrates the lustful fog around us.

He breaks away from the kiss, and, over his shoulder, shouts, "Go away!"

Turning back to me, he leans in again, his mouth a breath of a space between us.

I turn my head. "Someone could walk in."

Undeterred, he brushes the hair from my neck—kissing, sucking, and nibbling.

The throb between my legs turns into a battle song. When the rhythm becomes unbearable, I squeeze my thighs together for relief.

Xavier's knee presses into the soft flesh of my thighs, pushing them apart.

Fitting his leg against me, he presses right where I need him. The feel of his hard length against my stomach flushes my skin, causing a thin layer of sweat to form.

"Oh my God," I moan.

He grinds harder and gently bites at the crook of my neck.

The hair of his beard grazes the sensitive skin just above my shoulder, teasing with a light touch.

His right hand leaves the wall and presses against the side of my throat. His thumb brushes under my jaw before he moves down to cup my breast through my shirt. Using his thumb once more, he brushes it over my nipple, but the padded bra gets in the way.

I groan and arch my back, trying to feel his touch.

His hands leave the wall and fist my shirt, yanking it out of my skirt in unrestrained motions. My body jerks and a moan escapes my lips before I remember the bodysuit beneath my clothes. Not the sexy kind, but the utilitarian, fat-sucker kind. It's like a finger bang from Frosty the Snowman.

Shit.

I drop my hands from his hair and press them to his shoulders, pushing him away.

"Stop," I squeak.

He runs his hands up the bodysuit until he reaches my bra. His fingers dip inside and pull my breast out. When his thumb brushes the hard tip, I forget my concern over the bodysuit and climb his thigh like it's an Olympic event.

I grind on his leg, unable to control the moans and heavy pants escaping my mouth.

It feels so good and I'm getting so close. Clawing at his shoulders, I press my breast into his hand and push my body down against his leg harder.

"Not yet, tiger," he rumbles against my neck, his beard no longer a soft brush against my skin.

"Yes, now," I grind faster, trying to reach my orgasmic gold medal.

His leg disappears from between my legs and the loss stuns me.

Pulling my hands from where I've latched to his shoulders, he gives me a slow, cocky grin.

"What are you—"

He drops to the floor and kneels before me.

Thank God I waxed the snatch patch before this trip.

"If you're going to come, it's going to be done with a proper fucking, not dry humping," he explains.

Lifting my left leg, he places it over his shoulder and pushes my skirt up.

"Are these hooks, like a bra?"

His question reminds me again of the bodysuit.

Mortification washes over me and I start to pull my leg away while pushing the skirt down to cover my exposed crotch.

"It's a bodysuit," I mumble.

"Nuh-uh, tiger," he says, swatting my hands away and securing my thigh to his shoulder.

"Xavier—" I start to protest when his fingers disappear between my legs.

"All fucking underwear should be like this," he growls, releasing the hooks like a goddamn pro. "Fuck," he groans, "you're bare."

"Yeah," I pant, anticipation pumping through every vein, and confess, "hair gets in the way."

His nose presses to the crease between my pussy and thigh. Inhaling, he sighs, "You smell good."

His tongue sweeps the crease, causing me to squirm. When he repeats the lick, a squeak escapes me. Digging my fingers into his sweat dampened hair, I try to guide his tongue where I want it most, like goddamn Golam in search of The Precious.

"I'm getting there," he mumbles against my skin.

When I whine, he laughs.

The vibration is just another tease to my sensitive flesh.

I open my mouth to demand he give me The Precious, but I don't have to. His tongue snakes around one swollen lip, sucking it into his mouth.

Dropping my hands from his head, I flatten my palms against the wall.

"Holy shit, Xavier," I pant.

He repeats the French kissing action on the other lip, using one of his big hands to push me open wider.

"Oh, yes," I moan, flexing my fingers into the concrete at my back.

Two thick fingers slip inside me without warning and I grind down on them.

"Oh, fuck."

He moves his mouth to my clit and presses a kiss before sucking it into his mouth.

Unabashed, I fuck his fingers harder, lost in the feel of his tongue as I try to reach my peak.

"Son of a—" My hands dive back into his hair and fist. Orgasmic bliss bursts from between my legs, flaring out through each of my limbs.

Coming down from the best high ever, I glance down and watch him suck his fingers. My pussy clenches again.

"Tiger, you taste as good as you smell," he says, his voice raspy.

I slouch against the wall and pat his head.

"You did good," I praise.

"Good?" he asks, astounded.

He takes my leg from his shoulder and stands, pressing his body against mine. His hard-on presses into my stomach and I fist my hands at my sides to stop from petting him.

I wonder if he's ginger all over.

My pussy throbs again at the thought of riding his dick.

"By the way you rode my face and fingers, I'd say it was better than good."

He presses his mouth to mine. The taste of myself on his lips and the smell of arousal on his beard only makes me want to touch him more.

I want to argue, but damn this man knew how to go down to poon town.

"Okay," I concede, "better than good. Did you get lessons from a lesbian?"

"Why would it have to have been a lesbian?" he asks, a smile already on his face.

"Because only lesbians know the ways of the pussy
like that," I answer.

"Oh really?"

I nod, and explain, "They have one and also know how to eat one. That puts them at an expert level most men cannot reach, or ever hope to attain."

"You speaking from experience?" Xavier asks on a laugh, running a finger along my jaw.

"Maybe," I hint.

Something flashes in his eyes before he licks his lips, and asks, "What room are you in at the hotel?"

"Why?"

"Because I'll need to know the number of the room I'll be fucking you in," he answers, running his finger down my neck.

"What makes you think I'm going to fuck you?" It's a dumb question, I'm totally gonna fuck him. However, I also want to mess with him.

"I'm pretty—"

"Xavier," Red shouts, banging on the door, "I've got press waiting for us."

The sound of the doorknob jiggling draws my attention. Watching it twist makes every muscle tense.

Xavier notices.

"Hey," he cups my face, "the door's locked."

"I need to get cleaned up," I slip away, hurrying for the bathroom.

Inside, I close the door, lock it, and grip the sink. Taking deep breaths, I fight back the panic.

What the hell was I thinking, fucking in a public place? Anyone could've walked in. Anyone could've been watching or in the room.

Most of my thoughts aren't completely logical, but a panic attack doesn't care.

Chapter Seventeen

Xavier

"Sid?" I call, and knock on the bathroom door.

I try the knob, but it doesn't budge.

Dropping my forehead next to my hand on the door, I lower my voice. "Just tell me you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she quietly chokes out.

"Open the door, Sid," I beg.

"I said…I'm fine."

But she doesn't sound fine.

"Xave," Red's voice comes through the dressing room door, "come on, man, the press is waiting."

"Sid—"

"Go," she barks.

Swallowing a large dose of guilt for something I'm not sure I did, I straighten.

I open my mouth to plead once more for her to let me in, but the other door clicks and Red emerges, keys in his hand.

"They've been waiting for a half hour…" Red starts to bitch, but then takes in my expression. "What's wrong?"

"Call Liza," I say, pushing away from the door and brushing by him. "She needs to check on Sid."

Four strides down the hall away from the dressing room and I spin around.

I can't just leave her there alone.

Red's hand meets the center of my chest.

"What the fuck did you do?" he growls, eyes narrowed.

"Did you call Liza?"

"Answer me," he demands.

"Where is she?" Liza rushes up, panting.

"Dressing room, in the bathroom. She locked herself inside and won't come out," I explain.

The guilt and conflict must be evident on my face. Liza places a hand on my arm and gives a small smile. With a quick nod, she darts off and disappears behind the dressing room door.

Red drops his hand.

"I swear to God," he shakes his head, "you hurt her, me and you have a problem."

Still unable to turn away from the direction of the dressing room, Red is forced to walk around me. He grips my arm on the way, dragging me from the one place I want to run back to.

Damn it, what happened?

I'm an asshole, a distracted mess.

Thankfully, tonight's just a small gathering of reporters, so we only have to take some pictures, record a couple audio clips for local radio stations, and field a few questions. Some are about Ethan, which Chantel from PR redirects, and we give a few generic responses to the others.

When I'm free of the press, I rush back to the dressing room, only to find it empty.

Standing in the open bathroom door, I grip the frame and sigh.

What the fuck happened? What the fuck did I do?

"Liza took her to the hotel." Jack's voice draws my attention.

He stands a few feet away with a large black bag hanging over his shoulder. He pats it, and says, "Liza's."

I nod.

"I'm about to jump in a car for the hotel if you want to tag along," he offers, jerking his head toward the door.

"Is she okay?" I ask, taking a step forward.

He shrugs. "She's got some shit in her past, man."

"What shit?" I press, following him out of the room.

"I'm not trying to lose my balls by talking about Sid's shit. Besides, I don't even know the whole story." He raises one long ass arm and waves to some of the stage crew.

On autopilot, I mimic his gesture.

"I'd rather her be the one to tell me anyway," I state.

I'm going to convince her to trust me.

"Oh, and just so you know, I'm not giving up her room number, either. So, don't ask," Jack says over his shoulder. "I'm still trying to get glitter out of my life. I'd hate to see what she comes up with next."

"Glitter?" I question.

Jackson visibly shivers.

"You don't even want to go there, but I suggest you put a lock on your underwear drawer in case of future fuck ups," he warns.

We fold ourselves into the back of a waiting black car and pull away from The Garden.

After Mel texts me the room number I need, I shower, and slip into a white t-shirt and gray sweat pants. I give my girls a call to check in, tease-scold them for being up so late, and tell them goodnight.

When the text from Jackson comes, telling me Liza is back in their room, I pocket my cell, grab my room card, and make my way a couple floors down.

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I use the stairs.

At her door, I raise my fist and knock.

Come on, Sid.

After a couple moments, I knock again.

"Go away," she shouts from inside the room. "I'm trying to sleep!"

"Open the door, Sid," I demand.

After a long pause, she shouts, "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yep," I answer.

"I'm fine. Go away, Xavier!"

"Not going anywhere until you let me see that you're okay," I counter.

"You can stand out there all night," she threatens. "I'm going to sleep."

"Last chance," I say, knocking again.

When she doesn't respond or open the door, I scream and bang on the door, "Please, Sid. Think of the kids! Don't leave us!"

"Oh my God," she screeches from the other side of the door.

"I'll even let your new girlfriend live with us," I fake sob. "Just don't leave the—"

The door jerks open and Sid stands before me, scowling, her hair in a messy knot, arms crossed over her t-shirt covered chest, and hip holding the door open. The t-shirt is so long, I barely make out the heart-covered boxer shorts she's wearing.

"You're an asshole," she growls.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," I explain.

She drops her arms from her chest and spreads her arms wide, revealing a white shirt with
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because I have big boobs
written over her breasts.

I grin at the shirt as my eyes linger on her chest.

"Did you come to check on me or my tits?"

Glancing up, I meet her eyes. The gleam of her fiery challenge flickers over them.

It's incredibly hot.

I shrug.

"Well, you came, you saw, you can go now," she says, forcing a smile and stepping back so she can close the door, but I reach an arm out, stopping it.

Her eyes focus on my hand before moving to my face and narrowing.

"I haven't come…yet."

"That was just sad," she quips, crossing her arms once again.

She's going for mad, but the twitch in her lips gives away her amusement.

"You're lucky I think your hard to get game is cute," I tease.

"Hard to get game?"

I nod and step inside the room, allowing the door to close behind me.

She takes a step back.

"I'm pretty sure I have permanent beard burn between my thighs, so tell me again about this 'hard to get game' you speak of," she quips.

I grin and move into her personal space, leaving only a foot between us.

She quirks one brow, and asks, "What are you doing?"

"Checking on you," I switch from teasing to serious.

A deep sigh escapes her.

"I'm sorry," I begin.

"You didn't do anything."

She drops her arms and even in the dim light, I can tell she's braless.

Christ, she turns me into a fucking teenager when I'm around her.

"If I did something, you have to tell me—"

"Didn't you hear me? It's not you, it's me," she growls, rubbing her hands over her face.

I blink, trying to fight a smile.

"Did you just classic break up line me?"

A smile splits her face.

"Nice catch, ginger beard."

"Seriously, though, I didn't mean to—"

"Look," she closes her eyes and takes a breath, "I get anxiety attacks. When Red tried to open the door, it just triggered…it set off my anxiety." She opens her tear-filled eyes. "You didn't do anything. Let's just forget it happened."

"You swear?" I ask, closing the distance.

Shutting her eyes again, she nods, visibly swallowing the emotions she's wrestling.

I take notice to the way her hands clench and relax at her sides. Glancing back to her face, I watch the inhale and exhale she gives, her body vibrating with tension.

Guilt assaults me, stabbing me in the chest. I take a step back.

At my retreat, her eyes snap open. I've never seen so many emotions on a person's face, in their eyes—confusion, fear, worry, hurt, need…

Need. I don't know what you have going on, baby, but I can work with need.

I reach out, grab the back of her head, and bring my mouth down on hers.

Sid's hands grasp my biceps and squeeze.

Instead of a devouring kiss like back in the dressing room, I take my time, savoring every part of her mouth.

She presses her body against mine and fists my hair, pulling my face closer.

Releasing her head, I wrap one arm around her back and the other around her shoulders. I guide her backward until her calves touch the bed and lay us down. Breaking the kiss, I move my mouth over her chin to her neck.

I slip my right arm out from beneath her body and run my hand over her shoulder to her collarbone. At her breast, I skim the edge and slip my hand over her stomach.

Her muscles tense, but relax when I slide my fingers under the waistband of her boxer shorts.

"No underwear," I say into her neck.

"I…don't wear them to bed," she pants.

I run a finger over her slit, and she gasps, "Oh, that's nice."

Her right hand finds my hair again and grips.

I pause, lifting my head.

Sid's hips buck toward my still hand.

"So, every night at my cabin—"

"Commando," she pants. "Less talk, more fingers."

She bucks again.

"Fuck," I breathe, both turned on and pissed at myself. I had her in my bed without underwear on for almost a week.

I capture her mouth with mine as my middle finger circles her clit.

"Faster," she instructs and her hips move quicker, searching for the orgasm she craves.

"Don't rush me."

I keep it slow, paced. She's mine tonight. Pulling my hand from her shorts, I grip the bottom of her shirt and drag it up.

She surprises me by grabbing the material with her free hand and pushing it back down.

"Quit covering yourself," I growl. "I want to see you."

"Trust me, you don't," she counters, locking the shirt in place.

I slide my hand beneath the cotton and groan, pressing my hard-on against her leg as I cup her breast. She releases a moan and drops her hand to the bed. I take the opportunity to reach down and lift the shirt over both breasts.

"Damn it, ass—"

I clamp my mouth over her nipple, silencing her complaint.

Cupping the soft, round flesh, I slowly suck, circle, and lick her nipple.