One Wicked Lick from the Drummer (The One Book 3)

was clear as a kick in the nuts.
They had cameras in the rooms and corridors to check that no one was freaking out. Their make-out session in the linen press would’ve been recorded but it would’ve been impossible to identify them in the dark. But if he kissed her now, here, if he took her on the bed, they’d be making a sex tape for the ages.
“We can’t.”
She nodded, eyes skating away, her cheeks pinking. “I’m sorry. You. It was, I.” She gave up and reached for her bag.
“I mean here. We can’t here. Cameras, and all the lights are on. I need you to tell me exactly what you want and what it means. This can’t be something you regret later. It can’t wreck your career or screw up our business with each other.”
Her face was still carved from concern. “There are consequences but right now I don’t want to deal with them. I want to forget the rules. I want this thing between us.”
Holy shit. “I want to find out what happens when we’re both naked.”
“I want that too.”
“I’m gonna need all your fancy words.”
“I want to get on my knees and take you in my mouth and watch you throw you head back in ecstasy as I deep throat you. I want to make you come so hard you can’t speak for an hour. I want to ride your cock till my cum drips on you and you make me see stars as I orgasm.”
His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. Fucking joy to the world.
“And if that’s not explicit enough for you, I have more.”
“Say any more right now and I’ll stop caring about cameras. We do this together, no regrets. Need you to say it, Mena.”
“I have a crush on you, and I trust you. I’ve been fantasizing about you since we met. There is no way I’ll regret what we do together.”
He laughed. Fucking A. “Are you real, Mena Grady, or are you some dream girl I’ve conjured because I’ve been fucking lonely since we made it big?”
“You don’t need to be lonely tonight.”
Cameras be fucked, he kissed her in the shambles of a bedroom and then pulled her through the wardrobe and out onto the street. She insulted his car, his old car, from before, which there was nothing wrong with, but sure, yeah, he didn’t need to be driving about in a ten-year-old Honda except he could park it anywhere without worrying about it.
“I’m going to recommend you buy a new car.”
He crowded her into the passenger door. Linen press close, hands molding her hips. “I’m going to recommend the only advice you give me for the rest of the night is how you like to be touched.”
“A little bit hard, a little bit soft, a little bit wet.”
“Jesus Christ. You’re perfect.”
She tilted her pelvis so it slammed against his. “A little bit wild.”
He could fucking come in his pants because his cool financial advisor was a prick tease of the best kind and the shock of that was a rush of heat and blood through his body.
“My place,” she said, as he fumbled to open the door with the key, the remote long since having quit the band.
She did not help by kissing his neck, laughing when he dropped the keys, hands roving over his chest and arse as he scooped to pick them up.
He couldn’t name a single street they drove down. He went whatever direction she prompted and when he parked outside her terrace, they spent a long time kissing with a kind of desperation that belonged to being fifteen and worried this wasn’t allowed and they were about to get caught by an outraged parent.
He messed up her hair. She got her hands up under his shirt. The steering wheel got in the way and so did the console between the seats. Twice they blasted the horn. He whacked his elbow on the window hard enough to break contact with her lips and groan. It was uncomfortable and so much fucking fun, and they were both laughing when they fell into the street, making it as far as her front door before they were all over each other again.
A parcel left on her doorstep made him sober up enough to remember he hadn’t expected this. “I don’t have a condom.” As if one was going to do. He’d need a jumbo pack before he was done here.
She put her back to the door as though to bar him. “What kind of a rock star are you?”
“One who is hard-core into you and regretting being such a boy scout.”
She laughed. “I thought the whole boy scout schtick was always be prepared.”
“For tying knots and surviving in the bush and shit.” Not for being tied up in them by a woman he wanted so badly he’d give up royalty percentage points.
She picked up the parcel and opened the door. “I’ve got you.”
Green light. Presto. They made it just inside her place before they were at each other. He undid her zip. She went for his belt. Then they quit pawing at each other and worked on themselves. He got rid of his boots and socks and shirt. Her dress pooled on the floor.
He gawped at her like he’d never seen a woman in heels and sexy lingerie, but he’d never seen a woman look like a 1940s pinup in the flesh before. She had curves to ache for. She wore a creamy satin corset, nipping her waist, lifting her breasts, under it silk and lace briefs and stockings with suspenders. There was more of her covered up than uncovered, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, because she hadn’t done it for him. She dressed like that for herself. She