Page 85 of Dirty Like Me
We’d probably barely gotten an hour of sleep.
“Your naked show.” He ended the song with a flourish. “You won the bet.”
I rubbed my eyes. Obviously I was adjusting to life on the road with a bunch of rock ’n’ roll lunatics, because I barely felt drunk, much less hungover. “This wasn’t what we bet.” The sheet slipped down and Jesse’s gaze went with it. I was naked too.
“You said I had to play my next show naked.”
“Very clever. But not what I had in mind.” If this was the only naked show I was gonna get though, I was milking it for every drop. Which meant I was getting dressed, now, to make his nakedness as conspicuous as possible.
I got out of bed, taking the corner of the sheet with me. I held it against my chest with one arm, barely managing to keep my ass covered as I dug out some clothes.
Jesse tilted his head sideways, following the sheet with his gaze as it rode up over my ass cheek.
“So, you’re saying… my performance left you unsatisfied?” he asked, his words dripping with innuendo.
I blushed as the sensations of last night came flooding back. I bit my lip, recalling the way he’d hooked my leg over his arm, spreading my thighs as he drove himself deep… God, I had never been fucked like that. So… intensely. Every time I thought I couldn’t take any more, he gave more, which only made me want more. The man made me insatiable. I lost count of the orgasms somewhere in the double digits. At that point, it pretty much became a blur of bourbon and pleasure until I passed out from raw exhaustion and happiness.
“Your performance was, um... perfectly adequate,” I said, refusing to give a more enthusiastic review of either last night orFoxy Lady. His ego didn’t need it.
“Adequate.” He grinned. “Sounds... underwhelming.”
“Yeah. That,” I muttered, pulling on my clothes. Clearly, he didn’t believe me. If the orgasms didn’t tell him otherwise, maybe all the filthy things I’d whispered in his ear while he was giving them to me did the job.
Apparently bourbon loosened my tongue, much like every other type of alcohol I’d ever met.
I flopped onto the bed as he started into a new song, one I didn’t recognize. I lay back on the pillows to listen as he started to sing.“Katie I’m sorry for being a dick… can you forgive me for being a prick…?”
I grinned.
“That’s all I’ve got so far,” he said, ending on a final strum.
“What’re you sorry for?”
“For snooping in your sketchbook the other night while you were in the shower.”
“Oh. That.” I kicked his knee, gently, with my big toe. “You should be sorry.”
“I’m not sorry for getting jealous.”
Jealous? Jesse Mayes? Of some random dude in a bar?
A random dude I wasn’t even interested in?
“You're in there too, you know,” I said, nodding at the sketchbook, which was lying on the floor.
He eyed the sketchbook, then dove for it about a millisecond before I did. He snatched it up and settled back onto the bed, ditching the guitar. I tried to wrestle the sketchbook from him, never mind the fact that I was wrestling a very large and muscular, not to mention naked, man. A naked man who had me on my back in two seconds flat, pinned down by his large, muscular body, his cock stiffening against my thigh in the process. “Show me,” he said, his voice all gravelly with lust.
“I thought you snooped.”
“I just looked at the last sketch. The one of that dilhole from the bar.” He ran his nose up the side of my neck, his hot breath caressing my throat. “Then everything turned red and I forgot to keep snooping.”
“Amateur,” I muttered, but clearlyIwas the amateur, because I was already starting to pant as his teeth nipped my neck, followed by his lips. “I forgive you,” I said with a swallow. “As long as you don’t do it again.”
His lips grazed my earlobe. “Show me the one you did of me and we’ll call it even.”
I laughed. “What ‘even’? I didn’t do anything.”
“You flirted with the dilhole.”
