“I can’t fuckin’ handle you, Laurel. You’re too much of too many different things.”
Something in those words lanced straight to my core—and not in a sexy way. “Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s why I ham up being the stereotypical shallow dumb blonde LA girl. It’s easier.”
He shook his head. “Bullshit. That’s the cowardly way out of being your real bad-ass self.”
“But you yourself just said you can’t handle me. I’m too much.”
He snorted. Touched his lips to mine. “You can’t tell sarcasm when you hear it?” Another kiss. “I dunno if sarcasm is the right word. A joke. Saying the thing you don’t mean, to emphasize how much you don’t mean it.”
I felt his lips touch mine, again and again, delicate, dry little half kisses peppering my mouth, my upper lip and then one corner and then the other, each one making my heart skip a beat, skip a beat, skip a beat.
“So you can handle me,” I breathed.
He slid a hand around my waist to cup my buttock. “I dunno, Laurel…can I handle you?”
I huffed a laugh, tilting my head up to bare my neck for his descending trail of kisses. “Such an idiot.”
He laughed, not at all offended. “Yup.” His touch slid down over my backside, the hem of my skirt, and then found the bare backs of my thighs. “This fuckin’ skirt, though—this what I can’t handle.”
I pulled his beanie off, and his thick, curly black hair fell around his face; I gathered it in my hands and held the back of his head as he pressed kiss after kiss down my throat to the generous expanse of cleavage above the buttons of my shirt.
“What is it with you rock stars and these out-of-season beanies?” I asked, breathless.
He laughed, backing away to focus on undoing the top button. “It’s a whole look. I dunno. It is kinda stupid. My head gets hot and then my hair gets sweaty and turns into a frizz bomb. But it looks cool, so…” A shrug, as he undid another button. A few more in quick succession. “Did your tits get even bigger than the last time I saw you, or what?”
I played with his hair, laughing. “Push-up bra magic.”
“Well, I approve.” He had my shirt open, and sat back to simply stare at my chest. “Goddamn. You make me want to do some seriously dirty shit to you.”
I let him search my waistline for the zipper of my skirt, which was on the side rather than the back. “Oh? Such as?”
He found the zipper finally and lowered it, and now my skirt was open but on, to match my shirt. “Gross things that you wouldn’t like.”
I laughed as he reached under and around the back of my shirt to unhook my bra. “What are you doing? And again I say, like what? I can be dirty.”
He shook his head, ignoring both questions. Pushed my shirt backward, letting it fall off, and in the same movement, slid the straps of my bra off of my shoulders so that garment fell off at the same time, and then without missing a beat knelt and dragged down my skirt and the skimpy black thong I wore under it.
And just like that, within the space of a single breath, I was naked.
He knelt at my thighs, hands gripping my ass cheeks and pulling me to his mouth. “Can’t get enough of this.” A lick, a kiss, sending lightning searing through me. “Of you.”
I gasped, and my hips flexed. “God, Titus. I can’t get enough of you doing it to me.”
He shook his head, sighing, groaning. “I can’t stop.” A flick, a lick, a kiss, a hot breath, fingers now inside me, tongue drilling me and driving against me. “I like you too much.”
Oof. That…made the anxious, nervous hammering of my heart all the worse.
This felt good, too good, and I wanted the dirty. I wanted the rough. I didn’t want his tender words. I didn’t want to know he liked me. He was a rock star. He was famous for his errant sexual promiscuity, infamous for the stories of threesomes and more, for letting girls desperate for him line up outside their bus so they could get a turn with him, and his willingness, stamina, and impossibly short refractory period to please them all.
I was fine being another conquest, another of the many girls to get a sample of Titus Bright’s intensity, his glorious body, his sinfully killed mouth, his wondrously massive cock.
I was fine with it. Totally fine.
I was not looking to be the girl who thought she could tame him, who thought she could capture his heart along with his body, not to mention his fidelity.
I didn’t think that. Didn’t want that part of him. This was just sex. Nothing more.
God knew I wasn’t about to go handing out the keys to my heart to anyone. Mainly because there were no keys—or, more accurately, the keys led to a vacant space, a black hole, an empty cavern where no light existed.
There was nothing there to give.
I had no business pretending otherwise. No business even wondering what it could be like to…
He interrupted my thoughts with a renewed assault on my sex, which shook me, left me gasping and heaving. He got me to the edge and drove me over without mercy, without slowing. I came with a hoarse cry, and my knees gave out.
He let them.
Caught me, and tossed me onto my bed with a bounce. Knelt over me and set about devouring me all over again, until I was quaking with the fury of a second climax, hard on the heels of the first, and then a third moments later, until I was sweating and crying and screaming, thrashing under him.
He let me down from the mountain, then, but only because I begged him to.
“Stop, Titus, stop. Let me…god, fucking god, Titus,” I gasped. “You’re crazy.”
“Feeling that sweet pussy come all over my mouth is the best fuckin’ drug I’ve ever had,” he murmured, crawling up my body, still fully clothed. “And I’ve tried ’em all.”
I had to touch him. Had to make this dirty rather than sweet. Yanked at his shirt. His shorts. Fumbled awkwardly at his underwear until he laughed and kicked them off, and then he was beautifully naked above me. I grasped him, caressed him. Fondled his balls and used both fists on his length until he was growling.
I scooted backward, up the bed, away from him. Lay on my back and cradled my breasts between my arms for him. “Tell me the dirty things you want to do, Titus. Better yet…show me.”
He crawled up the bed after me, cock swaying heavily, hard and thick and long, plump fat head leaking, weeping. “You really want to know?”
He knelt over me, straddled me, staring down at me, his gaze rife with appreciation.
“Do I look like I’m teasing?”
He caressed my breasts. “You look like the most goddamn gorgeous creature on the fuckin’ planet. You look like I want to steal you and hide you in a cabin in the mountains for a fuckin’ month so I can keep you to myself, so I can have my wicked fuckin’ way with you all night and all day until neither of us can fuckin’ walk.”
I sat up a little more, and he straddled me, towering over me, his hips at chest level. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
He pressed his thumb against my lower lip, then against my nipple. “These fuckin’ tits, though, Laurel. I want to fuckin’…” he groaned, sitting down on his heels to cup my breasts in his hands. “I want to lick them and kiss them and taste your nipples…” He lowered to do exactly that, moaning at the taste of me. “And I want…” He lifted up, onto his knees. “I want to fuck them, Laurel.”