The admission breaks something loose in my chest. My hands move to his shoulders, pushing him back until he hitsthe counter. The new position lets me press my thigh between his legs, drawing a groan that sounds like victory. “Show me,” I demand, rolling my hips to create friction that makes us both gasp. “Prove it.”
In one fluid motion, he reverses our positions, lifting me onto the counter with a strength that sends heat flooding through my system. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as his mouth reclaims mine, the new angle allowing him to control the kiss completely.
Hands fumble with buttons, each new inch of exposed skin demanding immediate attention. My shirt lands somewhere behind us, followed quickly by his.
I gasp when I see theJtattooed on his chest, but I don't have a chance to ask about it before he's on me again.
“Bedroom,” Bastian growls against my neck, but makes no move to release me. His hands map my back, my sides, my chest. Each point of contact is a brand against my skin, marking me as his in ways I’ve spent years pretending I haven’t wanted but couldn’t deny.
“Then move,” I challenge, but my body betrays me by pulling him closer. My fingers trace the muscles of his shoulders, learning textures and patterns I’ve only admired from a distance. He feels better than any fantasy. Solid and warm and perfectly real against me.
The journey to his bedroom happens in stages, neither of us willing to break contact for long. Boots and socks disappear somewhere in the hallway. My back finds the wall beside his door as his mouth works its way down my throat, drawing sounds I barely recognize as my own. His hands settle on my hips again, thumbs stroking bare skin just above my waistband in maddening circles.
“Still think I’m running?” he asks against my collarbone, the words vibrating through my chest. Before I can answer, his teethfind sensitive flesh, marking me. The thought that I’ll see the bruise there in the morning sends fresh heat through my system, making me arch into the contact.
“Shut up,” I manage, pulling his mouth back to mine. The kiss turns deeper, slower, heavier. His hands slide lower, cupping my ass and pulling me tight against him. The increased contact draws moans from both our throats, the sounds mixing together like harmony.
We stumble through his doorway until the back of my knees hit his mattress, but before I can fall, he spins us around. My body covers his as we land together.
“God, look at you,” he breathes, hands roaming my chest and tracing my tattoos with reverent attention. The praise makes me flush, but before I can deflect, he flips us again so I’m under him and his mouth is following the path of his fingers. My hands fist in his sheets as he works his way down my body.
His fingers find my zipper, the sound loud in the room’s heated air. I lift my hips to help him remove the last barriers between us, then his mouth is on my cock, hot and perfect and exactly what I need.
“Bastian,” I gasp, the name carrying years of desire compressed into those two syllables. His response is to take me deeper, drawing sounds from my throat that would embarrass me if I had any capacity for shame left. My fingers find his hair again, the silky strands tangling around my grip as pleasure builds like lightning in my blood.
17
BASTIAN
Every sound Taylenmakes vibrates through me like guitar strings struck too hard, raw and perfect and slightly dangerous. His fingers tighten in my hair as I take him deeper until my mouth is full of him.
His hips buck slightly, but I hold him steady, savoring the way his muscles tremble under my palms. Each gasp, each plea of my name feeds something hungry inside me. Not just desire, but a darker need to prove something. To show him what we’ve been running from, what we could have had if he’d stopped pushing me away.
“God, Bastian,” he moans, the words breaking on exhale. I hollow my cheeks in response, drawing another desperate sound from his throat. His soft skin tastes like salt and winter air.
I pull back slowly, letting him slide from my mouth. His protest dies as I begin moving up his body, mapping territory I’ve dreamed about since that birthday party years ago. My lips find the sharp curve of his hip, my tongue tracing the line where muscle meets bone. “You’re perfect,” I murmur against his skin. “Every inch of you.”
His breath catches as I work higher, paying careful attention to the ridges of his abs, the definition years of physical labor have carved into his frame. A light sheen of sweat makes his skin gleam in the dim light, and I chase the salt taste with my tongue. “So beautiful,” I tell him.
The flush spreading across his chest turns deeper at my words, but he doesn’t look away. His eyes hold mine as I continue my exploration, marking my path with gentle bites and soothing kisses. When I reach his collarbone, I pause to admire the way color blooms beneath his skin where my teeth have been.
“What do you want?” I ask against his throat, letting my breath ghost over his sensitive flesh. His body shivers in response, but his mouth curves into that familiar sarcastic smile.
“World peace,” he drawls, the words ending on a gasp as I bite down harder. “Maybe an end to hunger. You know, the usual.”
Something dark and possessive rises in my chest. My hand finds his throat, not squeezing, just resting there with deliberate pressure. His pulse races against my palm as his eyes go wide, pupils blown with want. “Try again,” I growl, watching his reaction closely. “What. Do. You. Want?”
The moan that escapes him sounds like surrender. His hips roll against mine, creating a delicious pressure that makes me gasp. “You,” he admits finally, voice rough with need. “Inside me. Now.”
I lean down to capture his mouth, savoring not only his taste but how his body hums with frustration because he needs more. “Do we need condoms?”
“You tell me. I’m not the one being followed around by roadies and groupies. Someone new in every city. I’ve read the headlines.”
The implication that I fuck every willing body stings, but it’s not like he’d know any different. The Hall of Fame band members aren’t portrayed as saints for a reason. But for the last fifteen years, we’ve been hiding Kay. We were never the wild kids everyone thought we were, but as soon as Kay came along, it was as if we all had permission to not do the wild stuff we were expected to do. We were protecting Mik and his daughter. Headlines were carefully leaked by our manager, Daisy. But Taylen believes it, and that’s not something I’m comfortable with.
“Stop.” The word comes out harder than intended, making him blink. “How long do you think it’s been since I’ve been with anyone?”
His expression shifts, caught between sarcasm and uncertainty. “I don’t… That’s not…”
