Page 77 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
Her rasp of a laugh only challenges me further. “Arms out, Trixie,” I command, causing her head to snap forward to figure out what I’m going to do next.
She holds her arms out to her sides and doesn’t say a word when I stare at her body momentarily as I figure how to work this, before stepping forward. Screw it, never hurts to try new things.
I take the guitar and place it at her back much like I had earlier before the jam session except for this time, I plan on it staying in place on its own volition. I match the neck of the guitar to her outstretched arm before looping the strap around her biceps once. Next I run the strap under the swell of her tits, my mouth dipping to taste and flick my tongue over each nipple in the process. She hums in appreciation, her eyes brimming with desire when she realizes my intent after I repeat things, looping the strap around the other biceps before reattaching it to the guitar.
When I step back and look at her, trussed up on my favorite guitar, strap pushing her boobs up so that her nipples are begging for attention, I know that even though I may be the one playing her like a guitar tonight, she sure as hell is unknowingly playing with my heart by standing here so willing, so open, infiltrating every part of my life.
She’s such a sight standing before me, I can’t hold back any longer. I place my hands on the side of her face and brush my thumbs over her cheekbones before kissing her softly. Taking my time, I build up the kiss and the moment to try to curtail that constricting feeling in my chest as I try to accept truths about what I feel for her that I don’t want to face yet. I want to give her soft and gentle before I work her into the frenzy that’s coming.
I’m still moving too fast, and I want to draw this out so I drop to my knees in front of her, fingertips trailing up and down her outer thighs and then tracing the lacy edge of her panties. Goose bumps chase across her skin, visual proof of how much my touch affects her as I pull the fabric down, my lips grazing kisses here and there as I follow their descent.
“Hawke.” She moans my name softly in that please stop, please don’t stop tone that urges me on further.
There are so many things I want to say, so may things I want from her right now, but as hot as the idea of telling her them are—spread your legs more, get ready to come, how bad do you want me—I say none of them. Sometimes the use of touch to speak is all the words you need.
She gasps when she sees me take a guitar pick between my fingers and her reaction is music to my ears. I begin to trace lines very slowly up each inseam, my actions causing her to spread her legs for the access I need. She begins to writhe, pushing her hips toward my face in front of her as I reach the apex of her thighs.
I can’t resist. She’s just proven the chink in my armor of restraint because no man is going to forgo his mouth on a pussy when it’s being thrust into his face. So I give into her temptation. I move both picks to one hand while my other hand parts her slick lips. My tongue flicks out and hits her clit, moving over the bundle of nerves before sucking on it.
She moans my name into the silence of the room, and I love the sound almost as much as watching her squirm from the onslaught of sensations caused by my mouth. Keeping her sex spread apart with one hand, I use the other to take a guitar pick and slide it softly over her clit.
“Oh God!” she groans, her hands fisting in their strapped position. I guess I don’t have to worry about if she likes it or not.
“Is there something you want?” I ask, grazing her clit with another flick from the pick.
She jerks her hips forward as I sit back on my heels, my dick more than begging to get in on this action. Her tits jiggle with the motion and I wonder just how long I can draw it out, bring her to the brink and then let her fall without crossing over the edge. I have no clue but it’s sure as fuck going to be fun trying to find out.
“Hey, Quin?”
She looks down to meet my gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her bottom lip is tugged between her teeth, and her eyes are hazy with desire.
“This studio is soundproof. Make sure you scream when you come.”
Chapter 23
QUINLAN
Stretching my legs out, the sheets slide over my bare skin that still carries Hawkin’s scent from the incredible sex we had last night. Incredible? That’s an understatement. How about the kind of sex that I’ll forever think of as the time that ruined me for anyone else?
The man is definitely creative with his instruments. Damn. He brought me to the brink and denied me so many times that when he finally granted me my orgasm, I willingly drowned in the wash of pleasure that felt like it lasted forever.
And if I didn’t know the answer before, I sure as hell know it now; Hawkin most definitely lives up to his last name and the rumor.
I let my mind wander over everything that happened between us last night. Watching their jam session was incredible but when Hawke started singing, it was almost like watching him purge the emotion he doesn’t think he has the right to feel or express otherwise. His lyrics were a confession, a trace of the tumult he feels on a daily basis. From the continuous glances shared between the guys when Hawke left his head hung low and eyes closed, I could tell that him baring his demons like that was unusual. And of course when he was finished with the song, I could tell he was just as surprised by his lyrical confession as the guys were.
So I did the only thing I could do. I let him gather himself for a moment before using humor to dispel the unease in those gray eyes of his. And then once I got him to laugh, I let him use my body to help him forget. Little did I know that Hawkin’s way of forgetting was by working me up into such a frenzy that I would have begged, pleaded, or borrowed for one more kiss, one more touch, one more look at him as he hovered over me before sinking into me.
I may not believe in the fairy-tale ending, but who cares? I’d challenge anyone to prove to me that Prince Charming can turn a woman out better than Hawkin Play did to me last nigh
t.
Bracing myself, I brave the bright light of the bedroom and open my eyes to find the bed empty beside me. I groan with disappointment but then notice the guitar pick placed on his pillow. My smile is automatic as is the ache stirring awake inside me at the little reminder he’s left me—although there’s no chance I’ll be forgetting last night anytime soon.
Lost in that thought, I roll back over to notice that it’s eleven o’clock. A cat ate the canary grin spreads on my lips because I’m an early riser, so the fact Hawke sexed me up so good I slept this late is a testament to just how fantastic last night really was.
And as much as I want to snuggle back under the covers, I want Hawkin more. I rise from the bed, muscles stiff from being oversexed, and I grab Hawke’s Pink Floyd shirt draped over a chair. It’s long on me and with my boy-short panties, I’m comfortable enough to cruise the house and look for him even with the other guys around.
After brushing my teeth and pulling up my hair in a messy ponytail, I open the bedroom door and pad down the hallway. Music plays near Gizmo’s room and Rocket’s distinctive laugh startles me from a room past the staircase. As I descend, I catch snippets of conversation floating up the stairs mixed with the clink of silverware against dishes from the kitchen below.
