NicenEasy Read online

  So she did know who he was. All that pretense, not knowing him. He should have gone with his gut when he’d first seen her and she’d seemed to recognize him. He’d dismissed it, wanted to believe she liked him, Donovan, not the bassist with Murder City Ravens.

  Only that wasn’t true, was it? Right now she was extolling his virtues, trying to get her roommate to listen. Fucking groupie.

  But what they said next made it clear they wanted the celebrity, not the writer. That was the reason he’d used a pseudonym, refused to let his agent use his real name at all in connection with the book. That was why he’d waited for the sales figures to prove him a success before he’d decided to come out.

  So she’d fucked him to get closer, had she? That sweet, hot connection was all for snagging him for her publisher? He hadn’t realized that could hurt. After all, before his recent self-imposed sexual hiatus, he’d fucked a lot of women who wanted him because he was with a successful rock band. Rock musician equaled sexy in their book, and that was fine by him. Not this time. Something had happened last night, something he was still processing, and she’d got right through the exterior he usually kept firmly in place. More fool him.

  He spun around and walked away, changing his mind about taking her for lunch. Pausing at the elevators, ignoring the curious stares of the three people waiting with him, he forced his mind past his hurt and anger and thought.

  She’d known who she was from the get-go. Known Donovan Harvey, despite her protests. That incredible night was a big fucking setup. Why should he be the one to walk away?

  Anger burning, he pivoted and headed back to her room.

  “Someone called Cinderella in here?”

  Allie spun around at the sound of his voice, her cheeks flaming. Gainfully Employed had come on, one of the tracks that rocked hard from the pre-Zazz and Riku version of Murder City Ravens. He gazed at her, one brow raised, freezing her where she stood. He held a high-heeled sandal in one hand.

  Nancy leaped off the bed and paused before him, reaching for her shoe. “Thanks. Was it outside?”

  “It was wedged in the doorway.” He transferred his attention to her and he watched as her pupils widened. Donovan had captured Nancy’s interest. Long, flippy blonde hair, innocent blue eyes, gorgeous figure, but inside lurked a creature of guile and slime.

  Then Nancy stepped aside, sandal in hand. “Thanks. I’ll need that tonight. Cinderella, I ain’t. Neither am I going in fancy dress. Are you part of the convention?”

  Donovan’s lips tightened. Presumably because he didn’t want to admit anything yet.

  “Did you put that music on?” he asked. Which one would admit that she knew him?

  Maybe Nancy had introduced Allie to Murder City Ravens. That was what had made him turn around and come back. If Nancy had instigated everything, that left last night intact. Allie wanted him for himself, after all. His mood lightened slightly.

  Nobody answered. “Yes, I’m at the convention to sign. I have a book with Edsel.”

  Nancy exchanged a glance with Allie. “You didn’t tell me which publisher.”

  “I didn’t know how much he wanted others to know before the signing. He’s using a pseudonym.”

  One good strike in her favor. He spotted the speaker hooked up to the laptop on the desk. It was surrounded by clutter, piles of cards tumbling over, rolls of posters, teetering stacks of books. What would this room look like at the end of the convention?

  Likely he wouldn’t see it. And he thought he was untidy. “Whose laptop is that?” The one playing Murder City Ravens.

  Allie bit her lip. “Mine.”

  “You said you didn’t know me.”

  Nancy crossed the room toward the door. Wise girl. “Excuse me, guys, I’m due at a panel about now.” She grabbed a large tote whose straps strained as she picked it up and made a hasty exit, letting the door slam behind her.

  Donovan leaned against the wall, lifting one leg to rest the sole of his running shoe against it. “Will she tell?”

  “She might.” Then Allie shook her head. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t want people to know.”

  “Because she wants me for your publisher.” He shrugged. “Nice to be wanted, I guess. A shame it’s for the wrong reasons. So where’s your mythical Carl?”

  “It’s Carl Morano, and he’s not mythical.” She glanced at the digital clock set between the beds. “I’m meeting him in half an hour.”

  He raised a brow, surprised. “I’ve read his book. It’s very good. So you’re here to look after him?”

  She nodded miserably. “I edited him because it was his first book, so they gave it to a junior. They never expected it to take off like it did.”

  His mouth twisted in a sneer when he worked out the next step. “So you thought you’d get me too? Clever move, darling. A shame you’re going to lose, because I’m not playing.” He kicked away from the wall and sauntered toward her, not stopping until they stood chest to chest. “But I might let you repeat the groupie action, this time with a bit of honesty. You knew who I was all the time, didn’t you?” He couldn’t remember being this angry in years. He was almost up to the red haze before the eyes stage. And this from the man supposed to be Murder City Ravens’ laid-back member. She was so sweet, so sexy—all an act.

  The player moved to the next track, Sailing Past the Ocean, a quiet, melancholy song. He smiled. “I’ll always think of this as our song.” Ironic, since the song was about fucking lots of women and finding nobody special. Did she know that? Oh yes, the pain in her eyes told him that she did. Good, he thought savagely. She’d fooled him enough to make him think he’d found someone new, someone special. Time for her to suffer for her deception. “Am I the first lucky recipient of this treatment, or do you fuck all your clients?” He gave the last word a particular emphasis, turning it into a sneer.

  “You didn’t want me at all, did you? You just wanted the bass player from Murder City Ravens. Or a new client for your books. Either way.” He pushed forward, letting her feel his erection because, yes, he’d gotten hard for her. Why should he hide it? It was what she wanted, after all. “You know how we treat groupies? Do you want some of that?” It hurt, more than it should. After one night she could do this to him? He felt betrayed and let down by her deception.

  Mutely she shook her head but he ignored that. He spread his legs, shoved his bulging jeans at her.

  “Down on your knees, darling. Go on, do it.” He kept his voice lethally soft.

  She stared at him, pain in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she looked down.

  To his shock, she did as he told her. Should he push her further? Hell, yeah. He wanted her, so why not? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a nameless woman giving him head. His mouth twisted in self-disgust. Thinking about her dark head bobbing up and down as she sucked him made his cock even harder, something he’d thought impossible a moment ago.

  “Open my fly.”

  He wasn’t commando today. A shame, it would have made the moment more dramatic.

  Fumbling a little, she unfastened his fly, button by button, then, without him telling her to, pushed his briefs out of the way and got out his cock. It reared up against the heat of her hand, hot and needy. Need pulsed through every pore of his body.

  “You know what to do.”

  She bent and took his cock in her mouth.

  Donovan shuddered, leaned against the desk behind him and widened his stance to keep his balance. She swept her tongue around the head, licking up the drops of his essence that had escaped from the opening at the top. Soft, so alluring, barely there, he loved the way she did it. Tender, almost.

  Then she sucked and he gave a strangled cry. “Fuck!”

  She didn’t stop, increasing her suction and working him like a pro. Taking his cock in one hand, she squeezed in time with her sucks, massaging his balls with her other hand.

  He had to see this. He stroked her hair aside, tucking it behind her ears. �
�Look at me.” Low, urgent and rough. Not surprising, really.

  She lifted her gaze to him. Christ, she looked so good with his cock in her mouth, her hands on his balls. “You’re doing good. Carry on. After I’ve done with you, you can do Zazz.” He suppressed his smile. Zazz hated using groupies even more than the rest of the band. Everyone had their reasons, except for Riku, who still used them when the mood took him.

  Donovan was enjoying the fantasy, his anger still strong but morphing into passion. “Don’t stop.”

  She carried on, but every time her eyelids drooped, he tugged on her hair, not hard, but enough to get her attention so she looked at him again. He never took his gaze away from hers. He was still angry and he wanted her to suffer some more for lying to him. “What if someone comes in? I don’t know if your roomie closed the door properly. Maybe your client will do it. Maybe I’ll make you do him too. It depends. If I think you need practice, I have to make sure you get it, don’t I? You won’t make a groupie if you can’t give head. Usually to all the members of the band, one after the other, then the crew too, if they want you. Do as you’re told. Suck.”

  She did it. Could he see a flare of emotion in her eyes? He couldn’t tell, but right now he didn’t care. If she wanted to fuck him for any other reason than just wanting him, he’d show her what it meant.

  “I want you to swallow. No spitting. And don’t spill a drop, or you’ll miss your appointment with your next client. I’ll make you do it again until you get it right.” He allowed himself a slow smile until she drew again, her cheeks hollowing, and then it was Donovan who broke contact.

  His head went back as she turned his nerves to needle-sharp points of pleasure. She worked him, wrung him dry.

  With a shout, he spurted into her. He watched her throat as she swallowed. No gagging, no hesitation. He shot straight down.

  Donovan took a few deep breaths, gripping the edge of the table so hard he thought he’d mark it. Barely in control, he gave another order. “Lick me clean. Then put it away neatly.”

  He watched that sweet pink tongue wash his cock, then she did as he’d told her. Obedient, ready for the next guy. That thought didn’t sit well with him. He wanted to keep that talent to himself.

  He managed an insouciant shrug. “Not bad. Anyone else you want to do this to? Maybe I know them and I could get you the gig. How about it?” He pushed away from the desk, forcing her back on her haunches. She stared at him dumbly. He tilted his head on one side. “No? I thought you wanted this.”

  She still stared at him, but with astonishment in her gaze. Not shock, not hatred, not the emotions he expected to see in her. Heat blossomed anew between them.

  “Let me see you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Take off your clothes.

  To his amazement, she didn’t argue. He’d expected her to throw him out, but fuck, if she wasn’t stopping, neither would he.

  Grabbing her T-shirt, she almost ripped it over her head and tossed it aside defiantly. Then her bra, unclipped and as carelessly discarded. She filled her hands with her breasts, pushing them at him, daring him to take hold. He clenched his fists at his sides to stop himself doing just that. Shit, he wanted her now. Already he’d hardened again. Shame filled him, almost immediately pushed out by searing heat.

  Jesus, this was hot. “Finish it. Get naked.”

  Maybe he’d walk away once she was stark and wanting him.

  Like fuck he would. He watched her slide out of her pants, taking her underwear with them and kicking them away. Already rock-hard, he watched her resume her previous position, kneeling at his feet, silently watching him.

  “Lie on the bed. Open your legs so I can see how wet you are. Some groupies like to be looked at. I like to see it before I go in.”

  Licking her lips, she went to the bed. With a convulsive motion, she dragged off the cover. The stacked postcards and other detritus went with it, clattering to the floor. She climbed on the bed, giving him a great view of her pert backside and a glimpse of her sweet little rosebud. His taste didn’t generally run to anal but it tempted him. So sweet, so sensitive. He thought about it, but decided no. He didn’t want to hurt her physically, even now.

  His anger ebbed, forced out by sheer sexual want. His cock throbbed now, on the verge of pain.

  She lay on the bed and opened her legs, showing him everything he wanted. The bare cleft gleamed at him, her pussy wet and needy. That didn’t lie. If he hadn’t seen it, if she’d been dry, he’d have stopped. Not now.

  He undid the first button on his fly. “How about I send in Jace after I’ve done with you?” He watched her expression flare, her knees twitch as she reflexively lifted them a fraction off the bed and then lowered them again. “No, you can do that. Lift your legs, it makes it easier to get inside you.”

  Lucky he’d brought a condom. He’d hoped for lunch followed by some afternoon delight but his plans had changed. Lunch later.

  He unfastened the last button and shoved his jeans and underwear down his legs, but only enough to free his cock. He hardly paused to sheathe himself. Maybe he should’ve made her do that too.

  With her mouth.

  The thought did its work and he gritted his teeth against the urge to plunge in and please himself. He stepped toward the bed and lifted one leg, putting his knee between hers. “Move down. Bring your cunt right to the edge of the bed.”

  He bent his legs, held his cock and waited for her to come to him. “We’ll make you come so much, you’ll soak the bed. Stay there when I’ve done and I’ll send someone else. Whoever wants you. Crew, manager, band, you’ll never know until they get here. Lift your feet, put them on the bed.”

  Staring at him, she planted her heels on the edge of the bed, opened her legs wide. The view was even better now. Her pussy lay open and ready to him. Just to make sure, he thrust a couple of fingers inside her. Soaking heat surrounded him. If she were any more ready, she’d melt. He wanted that around him. Needed it.

  Taking his cock in one hand, he guided it to her, watching as he sank slowly inside. He let out a soft groan. Fuck, that felt good, as good as anything they did last night. “You’re tight,” he murmured. He met her avid gaze, burning him up as she watched him. If he had any doubts, that expression took it away. After all, she hadn’t said anything. Nothing at all.

  He worked himself deep inside her, then pulled out. Completely. His cock glistened with her juices. Smiling, he pushed inside her again, watching as he powered in and out, feeling her increased wetness, hearing the evidence of their mutual desire. Because he had no doubt that this was mutual.

  The wet sound of his entry, the slap of flesh against flesh, the hit when his balls made contact with her buttocks. She made a sound, guttural and needy. He lifted his gaze to her face. “You can shout, yell, scream if you want to. But don’t use my name. You’re an anonymous lay and I want it to stay that way. I won’t remember you, I won’t come after you. This is it, all you get.”

  She cried out then, wordless.

  “Good.” Deliberately concentrating on his own needs, he worked her, watching her, until he gritted his teeth as he felt everything inside him building to a peak. She hadn’t come.

  It shouldn’t be important, but it was. Moving his attention back to her pussy, he saw her clit, red and prominent between the folds of skin. He lifted one hand, pinched it, then rubbed it, giving no quarter. “I want you to come. I like it when my women come.”

  He thrusted, tweaked, held on for a total of six more strokes. He counted them grimly, holding back until he felt the first pulse of her climax and she arched her back, her shoulders pushing against the bed. “Yeah. Okay.” Unable to manage any more, he released, and for the second time in half an hour, came hard, his cock pulsing inside her. Without that condom, he’d have drenched them both. So much, so hard, he barely registered her scream and then her helpless gasping.

  He didn’t wait but pulled out the minute he’d emptied himself and got straight to his feet, heading for the bathroo
m.

  After slamming the door, he dragged off the condom and dropped it in the toilet, leaning against the wall behind in a moment of helplessness. What had he done? At least he hadn’t taken her against her will, he was sure of that. Anonymous sex so wasn’t his thing. He preferred a name and a face to go with the cunts he fucked, enjoying communication in and out of bed. He’d meant to teach Allie a lesson, show her what groupies did and then walk away without any kind of sexual contact. Just fake it, giving her a scare.

  Then she’d gone along with it. She’d kneeled, sucked him, lay on the bed with her legs shamelessly splayed for him. His talk of sending others had rocketed her arousal, and his too, in a weird way, because the thought of sharing her for real repulsed him. He wanted this sweetness all to himself.

  But how could he, after what she’d done? Lied to him, told him she didn’t know who he was, when she’d taken him for a sucker all the time, fucked the star, not the man?

  He couldn’t think straight now. Couldn’t. Needed to get away.

  He used the toilet, flushed and washed his hands. He’d go to his room and take a nice, long shower. He couldn’t do it here. He might be tempted to take her in with him, wash her tenderly, show her he didn’t mean any of it—fuck, not yet, not now. She turned him inside out. He needed to think.

  So he did the only thing he could think of. He continued the game. He left the bathroom and turned to face her. She was still lying on the bed, her breasts rising and falling with the shallow breaths she was taking. “You can get dressed, but for the duration of this conference, you belong to me. I say I want to fuck you, you drop your panties. I want to fuck your arse, even if we’re in the bar with all those crazies around us, you bend over and prepare yourself for me. I want a blowjob, you say how hard and you take me deeper each time. I say fuck that man over there and you go and offer him anything he wants. Either that or you stay away from me. Your choice, darling.”

  That should keep her at a distance. He spun around and left the room, making sure the door closed properly behind him. He didn’t want anyone else seeing her like this. Not that he’d tell her.