Torn Between Two: The Torn Duet Page 4

  I closed my eyes as he lapped kisses up and down my neck. With his free hand, he cupped the front of my shirt, stroking my breast, causing my nipple to pebble against his touch.

  And, right then, I knew I’d let him take me. I knew I’d throw my no-one-night-stands rule out the window. It had been a three-year-long dry spell, and I suddenly wanted to end that dry spell with him tonight.

  I wanted sex. I wanted Hawke. I wanted to feel wanted.

  Chloe was right; I didn’t need to overthink things. I’d never had a one-night stand, but there was a first time for everything, right?

  And maybe I was in denial, but my last two relationships had ended badly, so this was exactly what I needed. A one-night fling. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and I sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to think this was going to end in anything more than pure, uninhibited, raw sex.

  With a sudden need, I grabbed the edge of his shirt. I wanted to feel the firm span of his stomach beneath my fingertips. His skin was taut and perfect.

  When I grazed his bare skin under his shirt, he shifted and captured my lips with his. His tongue was hot and insanely talented as it intertwined with mine—no hesitation, no restraint. It was as if, once he’d sensed my change in mood, it unleashed the sexual beast inside him, and he only advanced with more fervor.

  I moaned into his mouth, and my hands moved to undo the buckle of his belt. There was no stopping now, not when my body was on fire.

  In one swift movement, he stood, bringing me up with him and not breaking contact. My legs wrapped around his waist as he walked backward, holding me by my ass, pressing me against his growing erection.

  I pulled back and stared into blazing emerald-green eyes. “Where are we going?” I asked, gripping the tips of his hair.

  “I want to fuck you on the bed,” he said, his tone husky, horny, hot.

  “Romantic,” I joked.

  He bit my lip. “I’m going to love you and worship every inch of your body.” Then, he continued whispering the lyrics to “Love You Hard,” one of their Grammy Award-winning hits. There was no inflection in his voice as he recited the words to one of the best-written love songs of all time.

  “Nice. Who did you write that for?” I asked, my voice breathless.

  “For a woman I’ve never met before. For my future wife.” He flicked his tongue against my lips. “Enough talking.”

  I closed my eyes as I threaded my fingers through his hair that ended at the base of his neck. I matched his kisses, tongue for tongue, heat for heat.

  He gently guided me onto the bed. Through hooded eyes, his stare never wavered from mine as he lifted the back of his shirt and tossed it across the room. My mouth watered as I took in the art that covered every inch of his chest and arms. A real-life living mural of pure perfection stood before me. Black tribal art wrapped around both his arms and down his torso with colorful Chinese characters adorning each pec.

  He tipped his chin. “Your turn. Off with it.”

  With all the lights on, my cheeks flushed, and I stilled, motionless beneath him. Nervousness hit me at the enormity of what was going to happen next. Us naked. Him inside me.

  When I didn’t move, he went on his knees on the bed and dropped his hands to the edge of my shirt, gently lifting it above my head and tossing it to the side.

  He bent down and sucked on my breast through my lace bra. Thank the heavens I was wearing my pretty black undergarments. My head fell back as he sucked my nipple and bit down, the pain shooting straight to my core.

  My breathing labored when his kisses trailed up my neck and back to my lips.

  “I love the sounds you make.” His voice was rugged and rough and on the verge of losing control.

  Kneeling above me, he unbuttoned my jeans, and the anticipation was almost too much to take as I lifted my bottom, so he could tear off my pants. When he cupped my sex, wetness dampened my lace panty. My breathing accelerated as he slipped off his jeans, and his cock sprung free before he began stroking it.

  My eyes widened, and a light sheen of sweat formed above my brow. Being fully in the light embarrassed me, for no other reason than feeling inadequate, given I knew he’d been with beautiful runway models before.

  “Can you turn off the lights?” My tone was fragile and soft, opposite to how I’d wanted it to sound.

  He paused and flipped the lights off along with the television. The only light in the room now was from the skyscrapers shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  The sound of a condom ripping had my pulse racing, my palms sweating, and my heart stammering. As I peered up at his glorious body, I swallowed and pushed down all that anxiety because today, for once, I would live in the moment.

  He shifted above me, and a silent moan escaped my mouth as I felt him at my entrance.

  “Wait,” I said, breathless.

  “What?” He sounded equally breathless.

  “Uh…” Nervous butterflies stirred in my belly as the reality hit me hard. I was going to have sex with Hawke Calvin. My mind raced.

  Would he know it’d been a while for me? What if I sucked in bed? Shoot, would this classify me as a groupie?

  “Sunshine, I’m fucking hard as a rock over here,” he moaned, his tone deeply desperate. Want was written all over his face. “Do you want this or not? Because I really want to be inside you.”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  He moved my panties to the side and entered me without hesitation and without restraint, not even giving me a chance to let out a breath. I clenched my eyes as the fullness of him rocked inside my body.

  He dropped his head into my neck and lifted my ass, so he could drive deeper. “Shit, please don’t tell me you’re a virgin. Because you feel like a virgin.”

  “No,” I exhaled. “It’s just been a while.”

  He pushed into me from tip to balls, and low moans escaped from his lips. My fingertips wrapped around his neck, feeling the sweat against his skin, as he pumped harder and faster and deeper into me with every thrust of his hips. My teeth clenched with the impact and the feel of his satin skin against mine.

  “You feel so fucking good, Sunshine,” he said gruffly. “So tight.”

  I had no words because there was no doubt that he wasn’t a virgin.

  He was screwing me raw, his movements animalistic.

  A moment later, his thrusts intensified, and a familiar sensation began in the pit of my belly, like the first of a small spark at the top of a firecracker that was ready to explode.

  “Hawke,” I moaned, on the verge of combustion.

  I was close…so close. He must have felt it, too, because he shifted and quickened his pace. With the pounding of his hips, I closed my eyes, and my toes curled as pure sensation ran through my body.

  And then it happened.

  Sparks. Explosion. Fireworks.

  Hawke did not stop pounding into my flesh, causing the orgasm to last forever and ever, convulsion after convulsion. After one final thrust, he stilled and collapsed on me. My whole body was hypersensitive to touch as the sweat off his chest stuck to mine.

  Holy wow.

  He didn’t move and was still lodged in me. We waited for our breathing to even out and our pulse to slow down.

  A one-night stand in my twenties. There. Check. Done.

  Extra points for having sex with the most attractive man on the planet, according to seventy-five percent of the female population.

  He flipped over as his chest heaved from exhaustion. After he disposed of his condom in the garbage next to the bed, he turned on his stomach and conked out, his head still facing mine but his eyes closed.

  I hugged the sheets closer to my chest, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, not knowing what to do next.

  Did I leave now or wait for him to kick me out tomorrow morning?

  Then, he opened his eyes, still lazy, and extended his hand toward mine, intertwining my fingers with his.

  “Sleep, Sunshine.” His voice was groggy,
tired.

  I turned toward him and inched over. The heat of his body radiated against mine. I breathed him in, and for a moment, I basked in the glow of amazing sex.

  I let what had just happened sink in. I was lying next to the man I had been drooling over since I was a teenager.

  After a few more minutes, my breathing slowed, and I closed my eyes.

  Tomorrow, I’d do the walk of shame, but tonight, I was going to sleep next to the sexiest rock star alive.

  Chapter 4

  I couldn’t sleep. Who could blame me? I was in an unfamiliar place with a very familiar stranger.

  I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and noted the time—three thirty in the morning. The noise of the partying had disappeared and been replaced by the hum of the air conditioner echoing through the room. I snuggled closer to Hawke, dimming the chill.

  Sighing, I stared, openly gaping at the beautiful man beside me. His long eyelashes fluttered with each soft exhale.

  I could pinch myself.

  Last night, I had been like every other woman at his concert, one of the twenty thousand people screaming his name. And, last night, I had screamed his name for a totally different reason—glorious, gratifying sex.

  I touched his cheek because I could and because I wouldn’t have any other chance to do so. Thoughts of Chloe filtered through my head, and I slowly extracted myself from Hawke’s hold to look for my phone. I snuck out of his bed and walked to the living area.

  My feet brushed against the Persian rug underneath the low coffee table, and my eyes stopped on the gossip magazine on the table. Hawke’s mother was on the front cover.

  BETRAYED AND HURT BY HER ONLY SON!

  Who knew what was real or what was used to sell papers?

  I only knew what he’d gone through from the tabloids, that his mother was suing him for money. At one time, his mother had been his manager, but then Hawke had fired her. Hawke had never come out with a statement.

  I glanced back at the bed where he was soundly sleeping. I guessed people with money weren’t without their own problems.

  I reached for my phone by the television and swiped at the keypad to read Chloe’s texts.

  I’m okay. Took a cab home. Don’t worry about me. :)

  Have fun and be safe, but most of all have fun!

  That eased my mind, and I dropped my cell in my purse and slipped back into bed.

  Automatically, warm hands encased my waist, bringing my internal temperature to rise.

  “Where did you go?” Hawke lifted his head and peered up at me through sleepy, sexy eyes.

  “I needed my phone.”

  He inched closer and buried his head into my neck, like a big, lean, toned teddy bear, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  I could get used to this.

  But I shouldn’t get used to this.

  He was a rock star, and I was a pastry sous chef. He traveled the world. I’d only ever been to Canada. It would never work.

  “Everything good?” His voice was rough, groggy.

  “Yeah,” I replied, all the while trying to talk myself down from my princess fairy tales, ones where I married the rock star.

  “Good.” His hand trailed lower until he cupped my sex.

  I pulled his hand up. “Wow. No lead-up? Just going for the gold there, huh, buddy?”

  He shrugged and started to draw kisses up and down my neck, which ignited a flame deep in my belly. There was no shame in his game. A game he knew very well.

  “I’m still…I’m still recovering from the first round of aftershocks.” It was hard to formulate a coherent thought in his vicinity.

  His lips were silky soft against my skin. He didn’t stop his advances. When his fingers entered my body, I grabbed his wrist, needing a time-out.

  “Let’s chat for a bit, shall we?” My husky voice didn’t sound too convincing, but I pulled him up to face me anyway.

  He groaned. I knew we had only a few more hours together, and I wanted him again—no doubt. But I also wanted to remember this morning for more than passionate sex. I wanted to talk to him because, soon, this night would only be a memory.

  He kissed my mouth and drew back to assess me, the sly, crooked smile heavy on his lips. “We can communicate without words.”

  When he pinched my nipple under the blanket, I let out a moan.

  “But I like using words. I’m an adult.” I tried to lift the sex fog from my brain, but it was hard when I very much wanted the same thing.

  He shook his head and inched closer to me, getting nose-to-nose.

  My goodness, he looked glorious while half-asleep and horny.

  “What do you want to talk about?” He propped his head on his hand while his other hand made circles across my ass.

  “Your songs. Your goals. Your life.” I wanted to know something deeper, something I couldn’t read in the magazines, something no one else knew.

  He scrunched his face. “This early in the morning?”

  I counted down the hours until sunlight. Before I knew it, our moment together would be gone. “Yes.”

  “We play your game, but then you have to play mine.” His devilish smile awakened every nerve in my body.

  “Okay,” I said nonchalantly, as though his games consisted of Scrabble and checkers.

  “Go. Shoot. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you write all your own songs?” I didn’t know why, but I assumed he wrote all his music.

  “I did.” He averted his eyes, staring above me. He was masking something that he didn’t want me to see.

  “What do you mean, you did?”

  “I used to, but I stopped a long time ago. I haven’t written anything in years. Now, Cofi is the writer in our group. He’s insanely talented.”

  “‘Beautiful Girl’?”

  “That’s Cofi’s.”

  “‘Tuned Out’?” I started spitting out songs currently on the radio.

  “No.”

  Disappointment seeped into my skin, the kind where you found out that the chocolate cake you’d been eating wasn’t made from pure chocolate.

  My smile faltered. “Oh.”

  There was an internal satisfaction to being an artist and being in charge of everything you produced and sent out into the world. It seemed wrong in a way, as though the songs he sang didn’t really belong to him.

  “Why did you stop?” I asked.

  He shrugged, as if it didn’t bother him at all. “Because Cofi…he’s better at it, and it’s kind of a habit now.”

  “Do you write at all anymore?”

  He cocked his head, assessing my reaction. “Is this a deal-breaker for you?”

  Deal-breaker for what?

  I was afraid for him to elaborate, so I just said, “No, I’m just curious.”

  “Yes, I do still write my own songs.” His fingers rested on my hip, the tips drawing circles. “Mostly when I’m depressed and need to let go of my feelings, but those songs will never be published.”

  Though his tone was casual, his words caused a pinch in my chest.

  Was he depressed often? .

  “Why not?” I had always been the annoying little girl who asked, Why? I guessed that part of me hadn’t changed because I was still curious.

  “Because I don’t want them to.”

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “It’s like he’s the brains, and you’re the brawn. It seems unfair that he doesn’t get the credit.” I bit my tongue, wishing I hadn’t just insulted the biggest rock star to ever grace the planet.

  Blunt honesty—another fault of mine.

  “I’m not just the brawn, Sunshine. I choose not to write the songs. He writes the music, and I choreograph every tour. I approve everything—from the marketing to our clothes to every tiny detail when it comes to our brand. I’m the one who got us together.” He raised his chin a tad, a fatherlike pride heavy in his eyes. “I’m the one who got our first gig. I’m the one who harassed every record company.”

>   “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know their day-to-day. “But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just release your work.”

  His jaw tightened, and he shifted uneasily from my one-too-many questions. “It’s too personal.”

  “The stuff you write?” The question of why was on the end of my tongue, but I swallowed it back.

  “Yes.” Now, it was his turn to look away. He pulled back, and one hand ruffled through his hair. “I write for release. No one else needs to hear it.”

  “Is it about your mom?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I bit my tongue before another question could fly out.

  His lips pressed together, his demeanor flipping like a light switch turning off. “Wow, Sunshine. You’ve got balls.” He tipped back his head, his eyes hard. “That’s a bad word around here. Everyone wants me to talk about it, but all I want to do is pretend that she isn’t my mother. She checked out on me. Picked her dealers over her son and never looked back.”

  Though his voice was bitter, I sensed the hurt in his eyes, the vulnerability of his younger self. That pinch in my stomach heightened to unbelievable heights.

  In that instant, I wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to let him know I knew where he was coming from.

  “I’m sorry.” I was. And, of all people, I understood.

  “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong. People should stop apologizing for that kind of scum.” Anger seethed from his tone, and he glanced out the window, into the night sky.

  “I can imagine.” I knew what it was like to feel the burn from someone who had just checked out on your life.

  His mouth slackened, and for a brief second, his eyes were unguarded, exposed again. Then, the moment was gone, fizzled into the air like smoke.

  “No, you can’t possibly understand,” he said bitterly, jerking up into a sitting position. “You don’t know how she is. She isn’t a mother. She used me, and I’m still paying her off.” He pushed his legs to the side of the bed, and without glancing in my direction, he said, “I’ll tell Tilton to drop you off. You need to go.”