The puffs of his labored pants hit my lips. The smell of his mint gum mixed with the leather scent of his cologne fills my nose.

  Before I can even process my anger, the situation, his harsh words and accusations, Vince claims my mouth in a kiss laden with violent desire. It’s everything I thought I wanted but am now fighting against.

  I try to shake my head from side to side, try to fight the contact, but he just holds the side of my face as his scruff scrapes and his lips overwhelm.

  He pulls back, eyes the clearest I’ve ever seen them. “I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen years old. Every goddamn minute of every fucking day. I’ve been bargaining with myself all night why this can’t happen.” He drags his teeth over my collarbone. My body bucks in traitorous reflex. “But fuck, Shug, you’re a hard one to quit.”

  His words shock me. My body burns with an ache so sweet and a head so fucked up that I will myself to believe my words when I speak them. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Yeah, you do,” he murmurs seconds before he takes another greedy kiss that has me fisting his shirt—but I’m not sure if it’s to pull him closer or to push him away.

  His kiss is like a drug. A sharp hit. A wicked high. A gateway to wanting more. “You’re right,” I say. “I lied. I want you just as bad. Just you. Just tonight.”

  His eyes flash up to me, the warring emotions that have been in them ever since we left the restaurant are nowhere to be found. I only see lust. I only sense desire. “That’s all I can give you. I’m in a different city every night. A different bed. I’m not worthy of—”

  I press my finger to his lips to quiet his words. To prevent him from rejecting me. With our foreheads resting against each other and our bodies ready to react, I whisper, “Just give me tonight. Just give me this once. Just this.”

  “Shug.” The word sounds pained. Like a man on the edge of control. Like a man questioning his own resolve.

  “No strings. No promises we’ll have to break. Just one night of sweet regret.”

  He leans back, a lopsided grin on his handsome face. “That’s not much time to fulfill every goddamn fantasy I’ve had of you over the years.”

  “You’ve fantasized about me?”

  His chuckle is a low rumble that I can almost feel between my thighs. “More times than I can count.”

  The pressure in my chest eases. The panic abates. “Then I guess we better get started.”

  A feral groan echoes down the hallway as Vince launches himself at me right there against the door. The worry and anger from moments ago are quickly being erased from my head with each touch. After every kiss. With each fantasy about to be fulfilled.

  We kiss with a hunger I’ve never had before. We touch with a desperation at levels I never knew existed.

  It’s all so new yet familiar at the same time. The same angles, the same actions, but hell if the skill level hasn’t increased exponentially.

  The difference?

  At seventeen, the ache lighting every part of me on fire scared me. I was curious about the burn but afraid of what and who that made me.

  Now? I’m older. I’m more experienced. I know that Vince is about to turn all those things inside out, flip them upside down.

  Make the fantasy become a reality I fear I’ll never recover from.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bristol

  Seven Years Ago

  His hands are everywhere and not enough places at the same time. Fisting the back of my shirt when I want them on my skin. On my breasts when I want them between my thighs.

  More.

  It’s my only thought.

  More.

  His lips are on mine. On the slopes of my shoulders. His teeth scrape over my collarbone. His tongue wages an all-out war against my senses.

  More.

  Our shirts are over our heads the minute the door shuts at our backs. We don’t worry about finding the light switch because we are so consumed with each other and the fire that burns so goddamn bright between us.

  We bump into the wall of the suite, the bed to the side of us, and our laughs that are smothered with kisses turn to groans as we settle against it. As the full weight of Vince’s body presses against mine and hints at the dark promise of what’s next.

  My hands fist in his hair. My fingers scrape down his bare abdomen—long nails over corded muscles. My fingers undo his belt, then his zipper.

  “I need you with less clothes on,” I murmur before nipping his bottom lip and cupping the bulge pressing against the seam of his jeans.

  The groan he emits is feral as he pulls my head back to expose my neck. He scrapes his teeth over my skin and murmurs in my ear. “Do you want my cock, Shug? Will you take it like the good little girl you are? Will you let me fill you up until you can’t take any more of it and then let me push it in even farther? Will you scream my name when you come?”

  The warmth of his breath.

  His hard cock twitching in my hand.

  The seduction in his words.

  I arch my back to try and press my body against his, desperate for the connection with him.

  His chuckle rumbles through me. “Greedy girl. Already wanting more when you haven’t even gotten any yet.” His hands still grip my hair as he slants his mouth over mine and takes until I can’t catch my breath. “I like that. I reward greed.” Another searing kiss, but this time he releases my hair and slides his hands down to my ass, pressing my body against his cock.

  Teasing me.

  Taunting me.

  Warning me.

  His lips are a whisper from mine, our eyes locked on each other’s through the dim light. Anticipation builds as my breathing labors. Desire overwhelms as he grows harder, and I become wetter.

  And just as I think he’s going to kiss me again, he steps back, his gaze daring me. “Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to look at you.”

  I swallow over a nervous lump in my throat but do exactly as he says. My insecurities hide in the darkness of the room. The fear of not feeling like I’m enough for him dissipates.

  It’s his groan that I hear. The flare of heat in his eyes that I see. The, “Christ, you are gorgeous,” that has me standing taller under his praise. That has me feeling beautiful and fearless and desired.

  Just like Vince always has.

  “It’s your turn to watch, Shug. Don’t take your eyes off me. I love knowing how desperate you are to touch me. To taste me. To feel this inside you.” He sheds his pants on those last words and his cock springs free. The sight of it—thick and hard with a glisten of precome on its tip—has me swallowing forcibly.

  He stands there in the same swath of moonlight I’m in, but for him it looks like he’s onstage and the spotlight is highlighting his beauty. The dark ink of his tattoos. The lick of his tongue to wet his lips. The bob of his cock in response to my stare.

  “Is your pussy wet? Do your nipples ache for me to touch them? Is your clit swollen and ready to be played with?”

  “Vince.” His name is a plea.

  “Don’t worry, Shug, we’ve got all the time in the world.” He takes a step closer. “Time for us to use each other. The first round where we can finally pleasure each other.” Another step. “One where you can tell me what you want.” He reaches out and pats the V between my legs, causing shock waves to ricochet through me. “One where I can get mine.” This time he takes his hand, fists it around his cock so that we both watch as he pumps it slowly. “And then who knows what’ll come next.”

  “Yes. Please.” The words are panted.

  His chuckle is low and suggestive. “I don’t think you have any idea how much I like hearing those words come from your mouth.” He leans in and licks over the seam of my lips. My heart races. My nipples harden. The ache for him grows. “Get on the bed like a good girl and spread your legs so I can see what I want to fuck.”

  Jesus.

  I mean, my thoughts are as scrambled as my insides as I do exactly what Vince commands. This is a whole different side to him and I’m not complaining . . . nor did I ever think words like good girl would turn me on, but hell if arousal isn’t coating my inner thighs as I scoot back on the bed. Vince stands at the foot, his shoulders broad, the muscle in his jaw pulsing, and his fingers rolling a condom over his dick as he watches me open my thighs for him.

  “Mmm. You listen so well,” he murmurs. “I bet your pussy tastes as good as it looks.”

  I don’t even have time to squirm before he grabs my ankles, pulls me toward him, and he takes a long, wandering swipe of his tongue through my slit and closes his mouth over my clit and sucks.

  My yelp turns into a mewl as my hips buck and my hands fly to tangle in his hair as sensations swamp me. This whole foreplay dance has made me more ready than I’ve ever been, and all I want is him in me. On me. Working me over.

  “You are a greedy girl, aren’t you?” He presses a kiss to my abdomen while he tucks three fingers into me. “Knowing that makes me so fucking hard.” He closes his lips around my nipple and sucks. His fingers move in. Out. “Makes me want you so fucking bad.” He licks a line up my chest that connects with every nerve within. “Makes me want to show you how you taste for me.” He slants his lips over mine, his tongue slipping between, so I can taste the sweet tang of my own arousal.

  This man is doing things to me—physically, emotionally—and he hasn’t even pushed into me yet.

  “We’ll taste more of that later,” he murmurs against my lips and stands despite my hands trying to keep him against me.

  “Quit teasing me and just fuck me already,” I demand.

  He pats my clit with a bit more force this time. A reprimand I want to be punished for again. Anything for his touch. Anything to sate the sweet ache he keeps feeding.

  “I’ve waited a long damn time to fuck you, Shug. Years and years. I’ve thought about what it would be like. What it would feel like. What you would look like lying beneath me. Don’t mind me, but I think I’ll admire this pretty pussy of yours for a second more before I punish it to pleasure.”

  He runs the head of his cock up and down, spreading my wetness around. My muscles tense with anticipation and need and greed and a whole lot of want. With his tip resting just at my entrance, he runs his hand up and down the length of my inner thighs causing goosebumps to chase in their wake. His thumbs brush over my clit as every nerve ending begs for more friction. For more of him.

  He gives it to me. At a leisurely pace when I want fast. A press here followed by his chuckle. A rub there complemented by praise.

  Pressure builds, my body riding the high of the moment.

  He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and pushes his way into me ever so slowly. I swear his groan rattles the walls, but I can’t be sure because I’m too blinded by the pleasure washing over me.

  He goes slow. Inch by inch. The sweet burn of my muscles adjusting and accepting him.

  “You’re a strong girl. I know you can take me all in,” he coaxes when I reach my hands out to press on him to give me a second. And he gives me that time, but then he takes my hand pressed against his hip and moves it to where we’re now joined. “Wrap your fingers around the base of me. I want you to feel me. To feel us. To guide me in until you can’t take any more of my cock.”

  I encircle him. The hardened base. Note how I feel stretched around him. How wet I am. It’s a major turn-on. Even more so is the look in his eyes as he stares at me. As he watches when he bottoms himself out in me.

  I tense my muscles around him. A silent demand to give me what we both want. What we both need. What we’ve both waited years for.

  The tendons in his neck grow taut as his hands tighten on my thighs. His restraint’s being visibly tested, and I love that I’m the one doing it.

  I squeeze him again and watch his eyes roll back in his head.

  “Look at you.” His chuckle is strained, his breath becoming labored.

  “Mm-hmm. Look at me,” I murmur as his eyes meet mine. “I’ve been a good girl, Vince, now make me yours.”

  Restraint snapped. Desire unleashed. Feral groan emitted.

  When he begins to move, we both know there is no turning back. He drives us toward the edge, calling out my name over and over like an oath he’ll forever keep.

  I know there’s no way in hell one night with Vince will ever be enough.

  I lied. To him. To me.

  I lied, and I know never having him again will be the price I’ll pay for it. But it’s a price worth paying.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Vince

  Seven Years Ago

  I grab my jeans off the floor and pull them on. Each button on the fly harder than the last one to fasten. Every button done means another second closer to walking away from her again.

  She deserves better.

  She deserves more.

  A man who can be there every night for her. A man who is worthy of her love. A man who won’t disappoint her.

  I pull my shirt over my head and then touch the bracelet I still wear. The piece of her I’ve kept with me all these years.

  Four years is a long fucking time to wonder if what we had was real.

  Now I know.

  It was.

  And as I stand here and stare at her, every reason I ran before comes back with a vengeance and then some.

  I have to go.

  It’s for the best.

  I lean over and press a kiss to her temple. It’s her lips I really want—one last taste of the only real thing I’ve ever had in my life—but I can’t risk waking her. If I do, the next steps I have to make will be even harder.

  “Goodbye, Shug,” I murmur against her skin and breathe her in one last time.

  My throat feels like it’s collapsing as I walk the few feet to the door. One last look over my shoulder at my teenage fantasy and my adult downfall.

  It’s her.

  Hasn’t it always been her?

  I left before because I loved her and thought I wasn’t enough for her.

  I leave now because I know I love her, and I’m still not good enough for her.

  “I love you. I always have.”

  The pain hits the second I shut the door at my back.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Vince

  The beat courses through my veins. My fingers manipulate the frets as I close my eyes and get lost in the only thing I’ve ever been able to control—music.

  My fingers fly. Fast and furious. Full tones emphasized with a touch of treble. The house band switches it up, and I welcome the challenge to adjust, to improvise, and to contribute to the fucking killer music they’re making.

  The Viper Room is packed. It always is. But I don’t feel any pressure from the audience’s stares. I don’t feel the heat of the stage lights beating down on me. I don’t feel the burden of having to produce an album that will succeed.

  It’s just me. It’s just my guitar. It’s just an off-the-cuff invite to jump onstage and play a little with the house band.

  To remember how hungry I used to be for this feeling. For this freedom. For the lack of expectation from anonymity and the adrenaline hit when you know you’re absolutely fucking killing it.

  No vocals required.

  No front man shit expected.

  Just me and my instrument and a fuck ton of inspiration.

  I open my eyes and almost expect to see Hawkin at the mic, Rocket beside me, and Giz behind me on the drums like the old days.

  Like how I want them to be.

  I pour my anger into my playing. I add the hurt onto it. It’s the only way I know how to cope.

  The only way I know how to sort through my confusion.

  The only way I know how to survive.

  • • •

  “That was fucking awesome, man.” The lead singer of the house band fist-bumps me and then pats my back. “Honor of my life to get to share the stage with you.”

  “I appreciate the invite.”

  “Normally I’d play it cool, but, dude, it’s fucking you. I mean, me and the guys saw you walk in. We wanted to ask you to play with us but were so fucking nervous we had to play Rock, Paper, Scissors over who was going to do the asking.” He chuckles and gives a flick of his cigarette.

  “I’m glad you did. It felt good to just jam without expectations.”

  “Isn’t that the fucking best?”

  I lift my bottle of beer to my lips and peer into the crowd around us. Women are everywhere—tight tops, short skirts—making come fuck me eyes each time I connect with them. Then again, they are always everywhere when you live my life.

  Typically, I’d pick one for the night. Use them to help chase the high performing onstage gave me. But no one piques my interest tonight.

  The one I’m looking for isn’t here.

  “It is.” Let’s see how fast word spreads on the Internet. I give it twenty minutes until Xavier calls.

  He won’t be pissed that I did it. He’ll be pissed that it wasn’t his idea. That he wasn’t in control of it.

  And I need to leave while I can before word spreads and people flock here.

  “I’m out.” I shake his hand again.

  “Come back any time.”

  I jostle my way through the crowd. In an attempt to not be a complete asshole, I stop every few feet and give a half-assed smile for someone’s selfie or picture. I’m ushered to the backstage area and out the back door.

  The paps are there. Fucking knew they would be. Flashes go off like fireworks in the dark alley. My sunglasses help save my eyes.

  But with the flashes come the barrage of rapid-fire questions. One after another as I try to push through the crowd to get to my car.

  “Vince. Over here.”

  “Is it true you broke up Bent?”

  “When does the next single drop?”

  “Did you sleep with Hawke’s wife? Is that why they kicked you out of the band?”

  My hands fist as I use every ounce of restraint to be on my best behavior.

  “Get the fuck out of the way,” I say and wave my hands at them as I struggle to get my door open against the rush.