Bad For You Page 4

  I hit the thin membrane of her innocence, and I hesitate. No man has ever been here before. I will be the first. And the last.

  I apply light pressure, testing the barrier and her eyes widen, her lips part. Her whole body tenses.

  Shit, I don't want to hurt her.

  I have to do it fast.

  "P-please," she whispers. "Don't stop."

  I grab her hips, mouth the words, "I love you," and slam my hips forward. My dick tears the thin membrane then sinks deep inside her tight channel.

  “Oh!” Her spine arches off the bed. Her chest stills. For the briefest moment, she freezes, her whole body a tight knot. “Hurts. Too big.” Her fingers rake the bed.

  I hold my breath, waiting, clinging to what little control I have left. She grips my dick so tightly I bite down hard on my lip. It feels so. Damn. Good. The instinct to possess, to claim, is almost more than I can take.

  I count the seconds, marked by the thudding beat of my heart.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Ten.

  A hundred.

  A thousand.

  A million. A lifetime.

  I wait, desperate to fuck her hard, to give her the pleasure that she deserves.

  But I don’t move. I wait. My breath caught in my throat.

  Gradually, she relaxes. Her body softens.

  Finally, my cue.

  I ease almost all the way out, leaving only the swollen head inside her and then thrust home again. This time she doesn't freeze up; she groans.

  “Yessss,” she murmurs. She rakes her fingernails down my forearms and the final thread of my control snaps. I plunge deep inside her, thrusting in and out, in and out. She rocks her hips in time to my thrusts, taking all I give her. Taking it eagerly, greedily.

  Now I’m not fucking her. We’re fucking each other. Sharing passion. And pleasure.

  My movements grow jerky as the pressure in my balls builds. I want to cum. Right now. But I hold back, jaw locked. I won’t cum yet. Not until my sweet princess does.

  I know what to do.

  I thumb her clit and her hot, tight channel ripples around me.

  My balls tighten even more. Heat blazes through me. My cum is right at the base of my dick. Burning. Balls throbbing.

  "Cum, baby,” I command. “Cum so I can pump you full."

  I stroke her clit a few more times and watch her surrender. A wave of liquid heat washes over my cock, her channel milks me and my balls explode, sending my cum deep inside her. I thrust over and over, driving it to the entry of her womb. She is mine. All mine.

  No asshole will ever touch her again. Only me.

  I am her husband now. Her master. Her protector.

  I will cherish her. And serve her. And spoil her. Just as I promised.

  Wave upon wave of glorious bliss pounds through my whole body, followed by tingling pleasure. And finally little aftershocks. I don’t pull out until every little twitch has ceased and my cock is soft as marshmallow.

  My arms and legs shake as I climb onto the bed and gather her to me. I suck in air. There’s no fucking oxygen left in this hotel room.

  She giggles. It's the sweetest sound I've ever heard, outside of when she begged me to fuck her. I run a hand down her arm. Her skin is so smooth, softer than the satin of her dress. "Are you okay, princess?" I ask.

  "Oh yesssss," she answers, smiling. "I’m great.” She sighs. “Really, really great.” She flops an arm across my stomach. “I can’t believe we did it. We waited until our wedding night. When can we do that again?”

  My dick gets instantly hard. “Later, I growl.”

  She giggles and gives my erection a hungry look. "Are you sure we don’t have time now?" She curls her hand around the base and gives it a pump. "You're hard again already. And we have lots and lots and lots of time to make up. Three hundred and sixty-five days."

  I grab her wrist. “There’s nothing that I would like to do more than fuck you again. And again. And again. But we need to get back to the wedding. And I want to make sure I don’t hurt you. Because if I do, your brother will kill me.”

  “You aren’t going to hurt me.” She leans over me and brushes her mouth against mine in a teasing, tormenting kiss. “Are you sure we can’t do it one more time?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I roll over, pinning her to the bed. She smiles up into my eyes, and I fall in love with her all over again. How can I deny her anything?

  I can’t.

  “To hell with the wedding pictures.” With our gazes locked, I plunge into her sweet depth.

  Epilogue

  Taylor

  My heart is in my throat.

  And it isn’t beating anymore.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever get bored of watching my husband race. It’s thrilling. I swear, more adrenaline pumps through my veins than his.

  But at the same time it’s terrifying. Every time he gets in that car, time slows to a crawl. I don’t hear the crowd or the roar of the engines. I don’t see dust or smoke. I am focused on one thing. On that car. The one holding my whole world.

  He’s in the last turn, trying to cut past the leader, who is ahead of him by mere feet. The cars nearly collide as they jockey for position around the bend. I hold my breath, hands clapped over my mouth. Win or lose, I could care less. I just cannot lose him—my Robert. My lover. My best friend.

  And the father of our child.

  Inside my stomach, our son wriggles, little feet kicking at my ribcage as if he senses that his father is in danger. He hasn’t even been born yet and I already feel like he’s the mirror image of Rob—a real pain in the butt (literally) and fiercely strong-willed but also devoted, loving and gentle. I am the luckiest girl in the world to have such a wonderful, generous husband. And I can’t wait to meet our son, Robert Junior in two months.

  Rob’s car skids slightly as he finally gains the lead and my heart stops yet again. They’re in the home stretch now.

  The gap between his car and the former leader is growing.

  Almost there!

  And it’s another win for my husband!

  Another race finished safely.

  I jump up and down (rather, I try to jump up and down—I’ve gained a freaking ton of weight with this kiddo) and wave my arms. He climbs out of his car, yanks off his helmet, and comes straight to me. Within seconds, I’m wrapped in his arms, our mouths sealed and my heart brimming over with joy.

  When Rob first proposed to me I had no idea I could ever be so happy. It’s almost surreal, how insanely perfect our lives are now that we’re together. We laugh together all the time. We make love. We talk. And sometimes we cry. We share everything, the good and the not-so-good. I have no regrets. None.

  Rob cups my face and says, “I love you always.”

  I respond, like I have every day since our wedding, “I love you forever and a day.”

  The race is done. It’s the final race of the season. Now we focus on what’s coming next.

  He loops an arm around my (expanding) waist and together we walk, our strides matched, into the next chapter of our lives.

  ROCK ME DIRTY

  ALEXA KAYE

  Copyright Alexa Kaye 2016

  Twenty fucking years I’ve given my fans, my agents, my band members—everyone but me—what they wanted. I gave them everything I had.

  But I can’t anymore. I’m dead inside. There’s nothing left to give.

  Until I see her. The girl wearing fucking wings. White. Angel wings.

  She turns to me and her eyes find mine. And a blast of electricity rips through me. And I feel it. I feel the music like I haven’t in years.

  I don’t know a damn thing about her. At least, I don’t know things that don’t matter. Her name. Where she lives. All I know is that she has somehow ignited that fire in me again.

  She’s my angel. My siren. My salvation. Mine.

  There’s only one problem—she doesn’t know it yet.

  Warning: this siz
zling story of insta-lust comes with an extra dose of cheese. If you’re expecting a deep, philosophical read, try Hermann Hesse.

  Chapter 1

  Cole

  Drugs. Booze. Pussy.

  Money coming out my ass.

  It’s all gotten so fucking old.

  I’m done. Over it.

  Standing in the wings, I close my eyes.

  Tonight’s house is packed. It’s a good crowd. The kind I would have given my left nut for back in the day. They’re screaming. They’re yelling. They’re chanting my fucking name (part of my name, not the whole thing)—Cole Zaden. But I don’t give a shit.

  Before you call me out for being a ungrateful prick, try walking a mile or a thousand in my shoes. Every punk dreams of being a rock star. Of having all the pussy you want, drinking and shooting up until you don’t fucking remember your own name. Of living a non-stop party.

  Sure, it’s cool. For…oh, the first five years or so. But try living that life for twenty years. Anything gets old after that long.

  I’m empty. Hollow.

  “Lights up,” the stage manager says.

  Fuck.

  The noise is deafening.

  I can’t go out there. I can’t do it anymore.

  The boys are waiting. Angus on the drums. Jimmy on the rhythm guitar. Big D on bass. They all look my way. The first notes peal through the stadium and the crowd goes even wilder.

  Fuck.

  The intro is over.

  There’s my note.

  It’s time.

  But I can’t do this anymore.

  Frozen in place, I look out at the bodies smashed up against the foot of the stage. They’re faceless, nameless things, demanding, taking, and clawing out my fucking soul. All of them. Every one of them.

  Twenty fucking years I’ve let them have what they wanted. I gave them everything I had.

  But I can’t anymore.

  The band repeats the intro. Jimmy jerks his head.

  Fuck him. Fuck them all. I’m dead inside. They can’t have any more.

  Something catches my eye. A flash of white. On the far side of the stage.

  It’s a girl. Wearing fucking wings. White. Angel wings.

  She turns to me and her eyes find mine. And a blast of electricity rips through me. My heart starts throbbing to the beat.

  I feel it. I feel the music like I haven’t in years.

  I lift the mic to my mouth and the words come out. “Baby, I’ve been waiting. Waiting for you.”

  I don’t know a damn thing about her. At least, I don’t know things that don’t matter. Her name. Where she lives. All I know is that she has somehow ignited that fire in me again.

  A couple of the roadies hurry onstage to throw her off the stage. But I cut them off. There’s no fucking way she’s going anywhere.

  She’s my angel. My siren. My salvation. And I’ve never even spoken to her.

  Our connection goes deeper than words.

  Everyone but my angel fall away as the song’s lyrics tumble out of my mouth and the throbbing beat pounds through my body. Her cool blue eyes, so wide, so full of fucking innocence never leave mine. This song is hers. And the next. The whole set. She never leaves my side. And the music keeps flowing. Easy. Like it once did.

  Suddenly I hear them all. The people down there. The echo of their screams. But I don’t hate them now. I open my arms and let the music take a hold of me. It fills my chest, bellows out of my lungs and rockets to the far corners of the stadium. I am bigger than any man. I fill the whole building, every dark corner.

  And all because of her.

  The instant the last chord rings out, I grab her wrist. She can’t leave me. Not tonight. Not ever. I’d thought my life was over. But I was wrong. It was just beginning.

  I pull her with me, backstage. She follows silently. We weave between throngs of fans waving backstage passes and busy roadies hauling equipment, preparing to tear down the set.

  I need to get her alone. Somehow.

  The dressing room is out. There will be dozens of girls there, hand-picked by the roadies and band members, giddy, young, stupid, thinking they’ll be the next Mrs. Angus or Jimmy. Stupid bitches don’t know those boys won’t ever settle on just one.

  That was me, too. Fucking my way through stadiums full of pussy. Until it got boring and I gave it up.

  My dick has decided it wants a good, hard fuck now, though. And I’m tempted to give it what it wants. As soon as I can find somewhere where I can be alone with my angel.

  We head to the loading dock. The truck’s parked, back doors yawning wide, waiting for the gear. We hurry down the steps and outside, to the idling limo parked nearby. A small pack of die-hard fans shout and wave t-shirts and programs at me but I ignore them, pushing my angel into the car.

  Silence. At last we have silence.

  “Where are we going?” she asks as she adjusts her wings so she can sit beside me. Her voice is light, sweet, and high-pitched. I could listen to that voice forever.

  “Take us to the hotel,” I tell the driver as I press my leg against hers. A shock of lust rages through me, and my dick gets harder. I grit my teeth. I haven’t wanted a pussy this bad in years.

  It’s dark. The car’s interior illuminates strobe-style as we cruise past evenly spaced streetlights. I can’t get a good look at my angel. I want to see every inch of her. The smooth ivory skin on her abdomen and thighs. The pretty pink, pebbled nipples. The folds of her cunt, glistening with her juices.

  I set my hand on her knee. Is it my imagination or is it trembling a little. I glance down but it’s too dark to tell.

  “Are you nervous, baby?”

  She nods. “I’ve…I’ve never done anything like this. I’m not the one-night-stand kind of girl,” she confesses.

  Who says it’ll be one night?

  The thought nearly knocks me on my ass. I have never wanted to spend more than one night with a woman.

  That’s it. Something’s wrong with me. Brain tumor? Hormone imbalance? What the fuck is going on?

  “Of course you are,” I tell her as I slowly work my hand up her smooth thigh. The head of my dick is wedged against my belt, and it hurts like hell. But in a good way. It’s rock hard and ready to slam home the instant I get her panties off.

  Fuck it. I can’t wait.

  I call the driver. “Keep driving until I tell you to stop.” Then I slide my hand home, under the skirt that barely covers her ass, cupping her hot sex through her soaking panties.

  She shudders and clamps her knees together, trapping my hand over her moist heat but not allowing it to explore further.

  Fuck, now I have to have her.

  “Easy, baby.” I use my trapped wrist to anchor one thigh and gently push her other knee out. I swear I can smell her need. It’s so fucking sweet my mouth waters. “I won’t bite.”

  She quivers and relaxes her thighs, allowing me to open them a little wider.

  “That’s it. Yes, baby. Let me take away that burn.” I graze her folds with the tip of a finger and am rewarded by a precious little whimper.

  Damn, she’s acting like she’s never been touched.

  Has she? Fuck, am I playing with jailbait?

  I hadn’t considered the possibility that she might be underage until now. She’s acting too skittish, too inexperienced. I’d be the first to admit I’m a first class asshole. I’ve fucked more women than I care to count. I’ve whispered promises of gifts and even love to get into their pants. But never have I touched a kid.

  I yank my hands away. Both of them. “Baby, how old are you?”

  “Twenty…three?”

  Shit. She’s lying. “The truth. Is your mama going to have me arrested for seducing her high school cheerleader daughter?”

  “Okay, I’m twenty. That’s the truth. I go to Eastern. I’m a junior. Studying graphic design.”

  Twenty. I have a fucking twenty year old, innocent as fuck college girl in my car. She was in a crib when I cut my first
album. But she’s legal. I’m good. I’m better than good. I’m great. So is my dick. It wants this twenty-year-old cunt. I can only guess how tight she’ll be. Gauging from her reaction when I hook my fingers in the crotch of her panties, I’m guessing she hasn’t done a whole lot of fucking in her twenty years.

  “I’m…”

  “What, baby?” I ask, as I pull the soggy fabric aside. Her panties are so wet they tear from the slight tug. No big deal. I’ll buy her a new pair. I’ll get her a hundred new pairs. The tip of my finger slides into her hot center but hits a roadblock.

  She whimpers again.

  She’s a virgin. A fucking virgin.

  I’ve never had a virgin. Not even when I was in high school. Not even when I was a virgin. Back then I went with the path of least resistance, so to speak. I knew who put out. We all did. Those were the girls I spent my time with. There wasn’t any reason to mess with the others. They were too complicated, too much work.

  Though now I look at this situation in a different light.

  Now I’m older. I can lead this girl on a journey. Teach her what sex should feel like. I won’t fumble like a twelve-year old or come in my pants just from looking at her…I don’t think. Then again, just being with her makes me feel twenty years younger. And alive. Really fucking alive.

  “Baby, I’m going to make you so happy you jumped on that stage today,” I vow, adding, silently, and make you happy to stay in my bed forever. “Let’s play a game.”

  She has no idea what she’s in for.

  That pussy is mine. Only mine.

  Rock Me Dirty

  Bad for You

  Mine to Take

  Former preschool teacher, sales engineer, waitress, and office administrator, Alexa Kaye has finally found her dream job--writing dirty books. Being a romance book-aholic, her stories are (of course) loaded with all the scrumptious tropes that sparked her never-ending obsession with reading.