As he lifted his mouth from her breast she remembered for a second, just one second, where she was. Remembered what she was there for and all the reasons why this was a really bad idea.
But then his thumb was on her clit, his fingers stroking along her sex, and the only thing she could think about was how good it felt. How good he felt.
She’d been so focused on her career—on proving herself—that it had been too long since she’d made love, too long since she’d had any part of a man inside of her. And the men she had had through the years—all three of them—had never made her feel like this. Had never even come close.
“Where’d you go?” he asked, pressing his mouth against her navel.
She opened her mouth to answer, to tell him she was right there, but before the words could form he was tugging her jeans down her hips, spreading her legs as far as the tight fabric would let him. And then he was leaning forward, burying his face in her sex, delivering one long, slow lick to her clit.
She whimpered, her body arching against him. Her fingers clutching at—tangling in—the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Her knees trembling.
He laughed a little at the breathless sounds she couldn’t stop herself from making, his tongue running back and forth against her slit over and over again, dipping inside just enough to make her crazy, licking her labia just firmly enough to have her gasping for breath and arching her hips against his face.
“Please,” she pleaded, and any other time she’d be embarrassed by how desperate she sounded. How needy. Right now, though, all she could think about was his tongue—his wicked, wild, wonderful tongue—and how good it felt. How good he was making her feel. And how close she was. “Please, please, please—”
“You want to come, baby?” he asked, his voice nothing but gravel.
“Yes. Oh God, yes. Please.”
He shifted a little so that he could slide first one finger and then a second deep inside her. At the same time, his tongue darted out, caressed her inner folds again and again. She spread her legs wider, made a desperate sound deep in her throat as she opened herself to everything—anything—he wanted to give her.
It must have been what he was waiting for, because it was his turn to groan. His turn to clutch at her.
He circled her clit, flicked at it with the tip of his tongue even as he hooked his fingers deep inside of her and found her G-spot. He started to stroke at the same time he sucked at her clit and she came, screaming and bucking wildly against him. His free hand tightened on her hip, and he held her in place, his thumb digging into her skin in the best possible way as he licked and kissed and fingered her through one climax and into another.
When it was over, when she was panting and shaking and trying desperately to pull herself together, he pressed soft kisses to her abdomen before pulling her jeans back up her hips.
“Can I—” She reached for him, slid a hand down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. She wanted to give him at least a little of the pleasure he’d given her. But before she could so much as undo the top button, the door from the club into the alley swung open.
As light poured out of the club and into the darkness, she turned her head and found herself staring into the amused eyes of Jared Matthews, lead guitarist for Shaken Dirty. He smirked at her a little before glancing down at the man still kneeling between her thighs.
“Shake a leg, Wyatt,” he said after a second. “We go on in five.”
“Be right there, man.”
Panic tore through her as the truth hit her like a freight train, obliterating the last, lingering shocks of pleasure and making her feel as if her head was going to explode.
Jared nodded before stepping back into the club and closing the door behind him. And then she was alone with him again. Alone with Wyatt Jennings—Wyatt Jennings—who had just tenderly kissed her abdomen before zipping her jeans back up.
While she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that the man who had just made her come—twice—was no other than the bad-boy drummer of Shaken Dirty and the man she was in Austin to babysit and lie to, he pushed himself to his feet.
Then he was dropping a kiss on her cheek and murmuring, “Thank you, sweetheart,” before disappearing back into the club.
Poppy stared after him, mouth open and pants unbuttoned, as she wondered what the fuck she was supposed to do now.
Chapter Three
“All right, people. Listen up! You ready to have your socks knocked the fuck off?”