Page 107 of Sweet Distraction

“Shhh,” he whispers as his hand closes over my mouth and he yanks me into a dressing room—his dressing room—and kicks the door closed behind us.

Seems like he was looking for the same thing I was. Thank God.

My back hits the wall, and then his mouth’s on mine. Hot. Urgent. Starved.

His hands are on my hips, fingers digging in, his body flush against mine.

Rocket’s voice is gravel. “If you keep looking at me the way you were during sound check, before we went on stage, or in the greenroom earlier, I swear to God, I’m going to want to write a song about the things I want to do to you.”

“What do you want to do to me?” My words are breathless, but my body’s screaming.

“Everything.”

He kisses me again, teeth dragging over my lower lip, and one hand sliding under my shirt like he can’t stand that there’s a barrier between us.

“I want you on this couch. Want your legs wrapped around me. Want you moaning my name like you need me to stop but will die if I do . . . like you forgot you had rules.”

I moan against his mouth, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re insatiable.”

Rocket kisses his way down the line of my throat. “I’ve been watching you for days. Walking around like you don’t know how fucking hot you are.” A nip against my collarbone. “Not seeing every goddamn person in the room turn their heads when you pass by.” He presses harder against me, and I feel all of him. “Not knowing I jack off in the shower thinking about what you felt like, what you tasted like, because I couldn’t have you again.” He slides a hand between my thighs and groans. It’s a sound I’ll come back to in my naughty dreams. “I want you. Here. Now.”

I lean back and meet his eyes. I love how the green has darkened and how the roughness of his palms feel over my skin. “Then take me,” I whisper.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Rocket

Like I’m going to resist that offer.

Not when it’s been fucking days since I’ve had her.

Not after seeing her in that tight-ass top and jeans that hug her curves.

And especially not after the high of a fucking killer show. All I want to do is bury myself in her tight fucking pussy and come until my head dizzies and my balls empty.

There’s nothing gentle about our coming together. Not the scrape of her fingernails down my back or the way I peel her jeans down to her mid-thigh.

And definitely not the way I feel when I see those red lace panties, which are nothing more than strings and lace fucking tucked against my fucking heaven.

“Christ, Wills.”

“Red’s your favorite color, right?” she teases as she yanks on the buttons of my pants.

“Right behind the pink of your pussy,” I murmur as my hand dives into her hair and brings her against me.

I want to touch her everywhere. Fuck her everywhere. Lick her everywhere.

And if the trolley cart and voices outside the locked door are any indication, time is limited.

“Pink? Is that so?” she asks coyly as she makes a show of pushing against my chest to give her space.

Of wriggling her jeans farther down her legs to her knees.

And of slowly turning around and bending over so I have the perfect fucking view.

Her ass. Her pussy. The goddamn arousal glistening in the dim lights.