It took me by surprise, but I wasn’t an idiot. I kissed her back.
When she pushed her body against me, I growled into her mouth, my dick straining in my jeans. My hand moved into her hair and I held her against me as my tongue found hers. We pressed into each other, my other hand stealing to her soft breast, squeezing her gently though the dress. She melted into my hands and I had the overwhelming urge to spread her legs and do exactly what I was doing to her mouth to her sweet, soft pussy.
I dug my fingers into her thigh, probably bruising her, groaning as she swept her soft tongue against mine. My thumb skimmed her hard nipple. Then she pulled away and drew a breath, and I let her go.
She reached for her glass and glanced around but no one was paying much attention. We weren’t the only ones making out.
She dropped her hand to my thigh and left it there, close to the bulge in the crotch of my jeans. Dangerously fucking close. My heartbeat rammed in my chest, in my dick. If she moved her fingers one more fucking inch, I swore I was gonna blow.
“So… how come you never date ordinary girls?” She cleared her throat a little and took a shaky swig of champagne. “And by ordinary I mean not famous,” she added, using the line I’d used to describe her that night in the hotel bar.
As she met my gaze she looked horny as hell, her pink lips swollen from kissing me. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to push her back on the love seat, rip off those black lace panties and spread her thighs, and lick her all the way to a screaming, shuddering orgasm. I wanted to suck her off until she came so many times she forgot how to breathe. I wanted to screw her with my tongue until she forgot her fucking name.
Instead, I took a deep breath and exhaled.
“I have no idea,” I said.
CHAPTER 17
KATIE
Somehow we made it back to the hotel before the sun came up.
We went up to our room, Jesse, me, and the thudding music of every bar we’d been in tonight all muddled together, pounding in my brain. I had a cool dubbed-out remix of Baby Bash’sSuga Sugain there, still making me dance. I danced right into the hotel room as Jesse shut the door, but despite the cacophony in my head, the room was empty. We were alone for the first time all day.
Just the two of us.
It was the end of the first night of the tour, an incredibly long night. What felt like a whole lot of nights in one.
Anincrediblenight.
Jesse stumbled over to the beds in the near-dark and tossed his stuff off onto the floor. I turned on a light, wondering how the hell I was going to keep up with this pace as I stumbled taking off my new boots. It reminded me of the first night we’d spent together, in that other hotel room. Except this time I wasn’t planning on doing anything stupid, like stripping in front of him. Which was exactly why I’d paced myself throughout the night.
Mostly.
I’d done my best to make sure that this time Jesse was drunker than I was. This was no easy feat. The man could hold his alcohol. But luckily for me, everyone and their damn dog wanted to buy him a drink, so inebriation was a definite eventuality. The real kicker was when we’d crossed paths with a bachelorette party of eight drunken women, who’d insisted on sending us three bottles of champagne. Jude had flatly refused to help us drink them, apparently feeling responsible for our drunk asses and realizing, correctly, that he was the last sober line of defense between Jesse and a stampede of horny drunk chicks. So Jesse had ended up ordering Flynn, on threat of dismissal, to drink with us.
I was pretty sure Flynn was short-pouring his own refills though, just like I was, making sure they were ten percent champagne, ninety percent bubbles.
We never said it out loud but at some point in the night Flynn, Jude and I had definitely colluded to get Jesse trashed.
I watched him stagger a little as he sat down on the bed and yanked off his boots. I then shrugged off my lucky leather jacket, tossed it aside, and did something stupid.
I decided to help Jesse Mayes get undressed.
I couldn’t help it. Seeing him all cute and wobbly and drunk, I felt this ridiculous but overwhelming protective urge, maybe because he’d been so protective of me with the whole roadie-blowjob thing. Maybe it was stupid and misguided, but I really wanted to look after him. I felt like it was my duty as fake girlfriend.
And I got down on my knees to do it.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he told me. “I don’t always get wasted after a show. Wouldn’t wanna disappoint you with whiskey dick.”
I laughed and struggled to undo his jeans, which had an incredibly stubborn zipper. Or else I was just that drunk. He let me do it, leaning back on his hands to enjoy the show as I fumbled.
When I glanced up, his dark eyes were hooded, though not with drink. Clearly he was enjoying the fuck out of this.
“You are not that drunk,” I accused.
“Am I?” A grin spread across his face.
