Sweet Ache

Hawkin sits with his Verbz on, head down, hand beating to a rhythm I can’t hear, eyes closed as he becomes a part of the music. I know he’s stuck on some lyrics for a song he and the guys started writing the night he left my house so I assume he’s still working through his creative roadblock. Regardless of what he’s doing, the man is a visual orgasm in his worn jeans with a hole in one knee and his shirt of choice today has a Van Halen logo on it.

How many old-school rock shirts does he have?

And then the memory hits me and I chuckle as I walk down the stairs unbeknownst to him. The dark eyeliner I put on him in addition to his hair I tried to tease as best I could. What the press would have paid to have pictures of him like that as we battled on Guitar Hero. As we laughed so hard until we ended up moaning together.

I hit the lowest step, my eyes trained on him, and the desire coiling tighter in my core with each step. I’m suddenly worried that maybe I’m making more of this than he is, that I’m going to be caught off guard when he sees me and then where will I be? I shake off the thought that is so unlike me, hating the insecurity it brings. And I clear my head in perfect time because Hawkin glances up and sees me.

Surprise passes over his face but the wide grin and warmth that softens his eyes the minute he sees me clears away all worry and is an aphrodisiac all in itself.

“Hey,” he says, pulling the earphones from his ears and straightening up as I close the distance between us.

I step in front of him, nerves humming, hands twisting together, and his eyes locked on mine. “Hi,” I say tentatively when all I want to do is step into him and press my lips to his. But I refrain, not wanting to take whatever this is somewhere he doesn’t want it to be. “Sorry to interrupt …” My voice trails off, while his eyes darken with lust as he flicks them over the low V neckline of my shirt and down the length of my legs and back up.

“You’re not interrupting,” he says. Does he still want me? Was it a one-time thing? Why aren’t you kissing me? “Do you think you could go check the PA connections? They don’t seem to be working properly.”

I glance over to the podium where nothing is turned on and back to him, ego and hopes confused and slowly deflating, the rendezvous I was hoping for nonexistent despite my initial surge of optimism. “It’s not on. You need to—”

“No.” He cuts me off in a stern voice as he reaches out to grab my bicep. My eyes flash up to meet his, catching that half-cocked smile that lifts up a corner of his mouth when he speaks. “You need to check in the room over there, Trixie. Now.”

Oh. OH! Took me long enough to get what he’s trying to say and his eyebrows rise in amusement the minute he knows I understand what his intentions are.

And hell if I don’t love bad intentions when they’re of the sexual nature.

Looking up at him from the veil of my eyelashes, a diminutive smile plays over my lips. “Yes, Professor Play,” I respond in the most innocent voice possible—which is harder than hell considering I passed over being innocent a long time ago. Besides, breaking the rules is so much more fun sometimes. I make sure my hips are swinging up the goods I have to offer him as I saunter to the small alcove where we shared our first kiss—and my senses are already so heightened chills race over my skin when I hear him behind me.

When I step into the shadowed alcove, my stomach flutters with excitement, my sex already moist from the thoughts of what is going to happen next. I stand still in that silent state of suspended desire as I wait for his touch to ignite my skin. The sound of his breathing fills the space around me, and I’m not waiting any longer.

Desperation has me turning to face him, and his mouth is on mine instantly. His lips bruise and brand, tongue claims and owns the moan his hands already gripping my ass from beneath my skirt coaxes from me. His kiss shows me how hungry he is for me, the groan he emits reflects a raw carnality that says he’s going to take without asking and hell if I’m going to stop him.

Because nice and slow is sometimes good but a no-holds-barred, fist in my hair, back up against the wall quickie is most definitely a good thing. And that sure as hell appears to be where we’re headed.

Yes, professor…. Please, school me. Here. Now. Hard. Fast.

The words flicker through my mind, incomplete thoughts as we are drawn toward each other’s flames, knowing damn well we’re going to get burned.

“God, I want you,” he growls into my mouth as my hands match his, pulling our bodies together, nails digging into heated skin, mouths meeting again with a volatile passion.

He presses me back against the wall as our fingers fumble with clothing. My hands undo his button and zipper to push down his jeans and grab his rock-hard cock as he uses his feet to knock my feet apart so that he can pull my panties aside. He dips his fingers between my folds and tightens the one hand in my hair, another groan falling from his lips as he finds me wet and ready for him from just his kiss alone.

His fingers touch me where I want them the most, the place that has ached the past few nights when I’ve gone to bed thinking about him while his melodic timbre speaks to me on the other end of the phone line. The pads of his fingers rub gently over my clit, adding a slight friction to the already sensitized nub there. The pleasure of his hand and his mouth on me causes my legs to slightly buckle from the sensations he’s evoking in me.

“That good, huh?” He murmurs against my lips as he releases my hair to slip his arm around my waist to help support me as I succumb to his dexterous fingers. He laughs as I arch my hips out toward him in a begging motion when he removes his touch. “Gotta make sure it counts,” he murmurs seductively, my lips showing the ghost of a smile.