Gripping her hips, he pressed her into the bed, restricting her movement. “Still, flower. Or I’ll stop.”
He grinned at the way her muscles tensed beneath him. When he pressed his tongue between her lips, her groan registered at the base of his dick. No drum beat, no chord change, and certainly no lyric ever sounded as good as a Willow when she was turned on.
He tongued her at the pace he knew she loved before sliding two fingers inside her, curling them upward to hit the place he knew would detonate her. It took four seconds before she pushed free of his restraint, her back arching as she came.
“God, I love the taste of you,” he said, wiping his chin on his forearm. “My turn.” He reached for the oil and drizzled it on her chest. Once he’d placed the bottle back on the table, he began to massage her breasts. Round, sweeping movements alternated with tugs and squeezing of her nipples that became juicy and red under his ministrations.
When her body was warmed up, he placed his knees either side of her ribs, and used his hand to press his dick to her sternum. “Squeeze them together for me, flower,” he said, gruffly.
The sight of her breasts enveloping him was so fucking hot. Easing back and sliding between them even hotter. “Jesus, Will. Feels so good.”
He looked from his dick to her face, all flushed from her orgasm. It was primal instinct, the need to mark her as his. He sped up, and she adjusted her grip. His dick slipped out and he groaned.
Good fucking thing because he was two seconds away from completely desecrating her by coming all over her chest and face.
Willow placed her hands on his thighs. “Are you okay?”
“Never better. Come here.” There was a chair by the window, and he sat on it, pulling her between his legs. “Turn around, straddle me, and ride me.”
Without thought, she did as he asked. Shuffling back until she was right where she needed to be, hovering above his dick. He loved her arse that she kept in shape with all those squats and lunges. He loved the curve of her spine and the set of her shoulders. He loved the way her waist nipped in.
From the back, there was no reminder she was pregnant.
It was just the two of them for a precious moment.
Perhaps he’d meant to tell her how good it felt. Or how hot she looked, reverse cowboying his dick. Instead, an unintelligible groan escaped him as she sat on him. She leaned forward, placing her palms on his knees, and began to move.
“Yeah, just like that,” he encouraged, gripping her hips, helping her lift and lower, taking him deeper each time.
“God. That feels so good.” He could feel her nails digging into his skin, the slight pinch of pain helping bring everything into focus.
“I love you, Willow.” He stroked his hand down her spine, then tapped her arse.
She glanced over her shoulder to look back at him. Her cheeks were pink, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, and a sparkle in her eye. “I love you too.”
Sheer curtains protected their privacy, but the idea that the London skyline and all those people were just the other side of them turned him on even more.
“Oh, Luke,” Willow cried, her movements losing rhythm. She was really close. He could feel her walls tightening around him as she squeezed him.
“Come on me,” he urged, gruffly, getting off on the way she lost that sheen of innocence when an orgasm was within reach.
She rolled her hips against him, shaking as she fell apart.
Without giving her time to recover, he lifted her off his dick, and shoved her back onto the bed, before sliding his dick back between her tits and gripping them himself, using his thumb to keep his dick in place.
He was so close.
Watching her ride him, knowing she loved him. “Yes,” he muttered, looking to the ceiling as he took a deep breath.
“Do it, Luke. Come on me. Please.”
The orgasm crashed down his spine, drawing his balls up tight as he came on her. “Flower,” he gasped as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him.
When the shudders eased, he looked down at her, noting his cum on her neck and love and acceptance in her eyes. Gently, he let go of her, placed his fists either side of her head, and kissed her.
Her tongue met his softly.
Tenderly.
And he wanted her again.
The last thoughtful gift he could remember was the drum kit that had been his Dad’s idea. A way to bang out the boisterousness he often took out on furniture and his toys.
He’d flown once, and he couldn’t wait to do it again.
His mind was clearer than it had been in years.
Life was funny.
Sometimes you just had to trust the universe that it had a plan to help you learn all the lessons you needed to learn in life.
Willow was his teacher. Soul mate. Lover.
Words flowed into his mind. In a sequence. A chorus.
A song danced in the edges of his mind. He should work on it with Matt.
But first, he needed to perfect the melody.
“Shower?” he said, offering Willow his hand.
“Great idea. I’ll go get it started while you order some food because I’m starving.”
And as he tried to get room service to understand that he wanted a Snickers bar sliced with strawberries on top, he realised he already had it.
20
Willow plumped her pillow and turned to face Luke’s side of the bed. Surely it wasn’t the fact he wasn’t here that was keeping her awake. They’d only left for France the previous day. A mini promo trip for the album that was apparently crushing it over there.
She was too hot with the covers pulled over her, and too cool with them pushed down to her waist. And the skin on her stomach itched. Not obsessively, but enough to be irritating, despite all the cocoa butter she applied.
It didn’t help that Manchester was having a rare heat wave, and the apartment building, built to retain heat, felt like a toaster oven despite opening the windows wide. And hadn’t this damn country heard of air conditioning? Or at the very least, fly screens, so you could open the window without a million buzzing flies coming in and making themselves at home.
She flopped back to face the window and reached for her phone. Three a.m.
Holy shit.
That couldn’t be right.
Three hundred and seventeen messages.
As her heart began to race, she pushed herself up on the bed and turned on the lamp. It must be spam. Someone had gotten hold of her details and decided to prank her or something.
She opened her email, and holy crap. Major news network email addresses. What the . . .
Clicking on the first one, her breath caught in her chest.
It couldn’t be right.
Putting her name into the search engine, article after article appeared.
Faking it: Why Willow Warner is the biggest social media fraud of all
Fallen angel: How America’s princess tried to buy fame
Nothing Shamazing about Willow Warner
She clicked on it and read the article.
Willow Warner, 23, has been paying rock star Luke Bryson to pretend to be her boyfriend after getting knocked up after an alleged one-night stand with the drummer.
Jesus.
She should stop reading. But she couldn’t. An insider saying she planned it all along. That she was blackmailing Luke. That her biggest collaboration deals were at threat of being pulled.
That she was mean.