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“Y-yes.”
“Are your juices dripping down the insides of your thighs?”
“Almost.”
“Rub yourself until they do. I want that cunt hot and wet before I fuck it.”
“Brian?” she pleaded.
He tightened his hand in her hair. “Do it.”
The sounds of her fingers rapidly strokin
g her flesh had his balls aching in seconds.
“That’s it, baby. Get ready for me.”
He released her hair so he could move behind her. He unfastened his pants and jerked them down to his knees. His cock pulsed with excitement the instant he freed it.
Myrna crooned with impending release.
“Are you wet now?”
“Yes… Oh God, yes. I’m going to—”
He slapped her ass with a resounding smack.
“Did I say you could make yourself come? No coming unless I’m inside you. Understand?”
“Y-yes,” she gasped.
Fumbling in the dark, he gathered her hair in his fist again. With his other hand he sought her hand, which was still working between her legs. He captured her wrist and shifted her fingers from her pussy to her clit.
“Rub that greedy clit while I fuck you. Don’t stop rubbing until I come. I don’t care how many times you get off between now and then. Keep rubbing it.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Brian,” she said in a low voice.
He hesitated. Maybe he was being too bossy. He loosened his hold on her hair.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she repeated, “but I like it.”
He yanked her hair. “Do you want to be fucked?”
“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”
“Then you better rub your clit like I told you.”
“And if I don’t?”
He slid a hand over her ass and slapped it again. Her entire body tensed and she shuddered.
“I’ll paddle your ass raw.”
“Oh God,” she said breathlessly. “If we had more time, I’d resist more,” she whispered. “Next time.”
And there would be plenty of next times. A lifetime’s worth.
She groaned as she began to work her clit. “I’ll do whatever you say, Master Sinclair.”
“Good,” he murmured to her. “Rub it fast and hard—don’t tease it. Get yourself off.”
He used his hand to guide his cock into her hot, slick opening. He thrust into her with gentle, shallow strokes to wet himself with her juices. Intense pleasure coursed the entire length of his cock as he plunged deep with one driving thrust. Myrna cried out, her pussy gripping him in hard spasms as she came.
“Don’t stop rubbing yourself just because you came,” he said.
Her vocalizations grew so loud, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone opened the closet door to investigate. He didn’t want her to quiet down though. He wanted her to scream his name.
Brian possessed her with a relentless hard and fast rhythm, one hand tugging at her hair, the other gripping her hip to pull her against him with each thrust. He never imagined the first time he made love to his wife that he’d be fucking her hard and dirty in a supply closet backstage. He’d imagined rose petals floating in a warm bath. Gentle touches. Tender kisses that lasted for hours. But fucking her this way would bring him release quickly, and he needed that tonight. Needed to get his overwhelming desire for her out of his system before he went onstage. He’d treasure her, as she deserved, later that night. For now, he embraced the building urgency in his groin and relished the pleasure rippling through his body. He shouted in triumph as he found release. Bliss flooded every inch of him as his seed pulsed into her body.
He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her upright to hug her back against his chest. His lips brushed her silky hair. “You’re beautiful.”
She chuckled. “It’s too dark in here for you to know that.”
“I know it.”
“Do you think you can make it through your concert now?”
“Not really. No.”
He held her against him, thumbs stroking her bare nipples against the inside of her silk top, until his breath stilled. When he thought he might be able to live without being buried inside her, he slipped free of her body with a regretful wince.
She turned in his arms and drew him close—pressing her soft breasts into his chest.
“I’m going to go clean up.” She kissed his jaw. “And make a hotel reservation.” Kissed his chin. “Pack a suitcase, but no clothes.” Kissed his lips. “I don’t want to see you until after the show,” she said. “And then I want to see nothing but you for the next two days.”
She left him in the dark closet. He was too breathless to follow.
When Brian finally managed to find his way out of the supply closet and to the backstage area, someone thrust a guitar in his hands. He lifted its strap over his head and settled his guitar into place. The crowd was already roaring with excitement. His band looked a bit worse for wear after the events of last night, but they were ready to hit the stage. And he was too consumed by thoughts of his bride to suffer from his normal preconcert nerves. He just wanted to get on the stage, rock the roof off the arena, and return to his wife.
“Finally done boning Myrna?” Trey asked.
Brian grinned. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”
Trey stumbled over the bottom step as he headed onstage. Brian wished he would just go to the fucking hospital and get it over with, but he knew why Trey hated hospitals—he’d spent too many hours in them when his father had been a resident. But that didn’t excuse him from seeking medical attention when he needed it.
Brian took him by one arm to help him climb the stairs. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”
“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm out of Brian’s grasp and trotted over to his spot stage right.
Brian shook his head. “Serve him right if it turned out to be something serious,” he grumbled to himself.
Chapter Eight
The opulent lobby of the Venetian couldn’t compete for Myrna’s attention; her husband had it all. He had a smudge of eyeliner under his left eye, which was still horribly bruised. His black T-shirt was damp with sweat. Clumps of hair clung to his neck and face. Yeah... hot. Even though he’d assured her that his concert that night had been the worst Sinners had ever performed, she wished she’d seen him onstage. Nothing turned her on more than watching this man delight fifteen thousand fans with his talented fingers. Except when those talented fingers were delighting her alone.
“Your Prima Suite is on the thirty-fifth floor,” the clerk said and slid a set of keycards across the counter.
“I want to make sure we understand each other,” Brian said to him. “Do not disturb us under any circumstances. I don’t care if the hotel is on fire. I don’t care if the fuckin’ President of the United States needs to speak to me. Do. Not. Disturb. Got it?”
Eyes wide, the attractive olive-skinned man swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Has our room service order been sent up to our room already?” Myrna asked. “I placed it when I made the reservation.”
“I’ll check to make sure.” The clerk reached for the phone.
Brian didn’t wait for confirmation. He grabbed the keycards off the counter and took Myrna’s hand to lead her to the elevator. “I don’t need room service,” he said. “I need my wife.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Uninterrupted for hours.”
“We have all night,” she said. “And all day tomorrow.”
“I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping.”
She grinned and shook her head.
Because the hotel was so massive, it took them a while to find the right elevator. Myrna could tell Brian was frustrated with the delay. “Sweetheart, relax.”
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured my wedding day to go. I wanted it to be special for you, and it’s just been one interruption after another.”
“It has been special for me.”
She smiled at him, but he didn’t look convinced. When the elevator slid open, she was very happy to find it empty. Brian ushered her inside and set their suitcase down before tapping the button to their floor.
He needed to loosen up and quit stressing over stuff he had no control over. And luckily
for him, she knew exactly how to get his mind off his worries.
She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and kissed him. Hard. “You make me so fucking hot, Master Sinclair,” she said, staring up into his intense brown eyes. She knew he didn’t like her to call him by his stage name, but she absolutely wanted to live the fantasy with her rock star husband before she lived another fantasy with the amazing man beneath the stage persona. “Can I do something for you, my personal sex god? Anything. I’m your number one fan.”
Brian chuckled and wrapped both arms around her. “Don’t call me Master Sinclair, that’s what you can do for me.”
He hadn’t seemed to mind the title when he’d been pounding her hard and pulling her hair in a dark closet backstage.
“Is that all I can do for you?” Myrna circled his body to stand behind him. Sliding her hands over his lower belly, her pinkies dipped into the waistband of the jeans riding low on his narrow hips. “Because I really want to please you, Master Sinclair.”
She forced one hand deeper into his pants and carefully arranged his cock so it was pointing up toward his belly. The head of his half-hard dick peeked out just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. As she stroked it with her thumb, it rose to attention, revealing itself an inch at a time as it grew harder and harder. His head dropped back to rest against hers.
“I want to suck your balls while you jack off,” she whispered into his ear. “I brought your butt plug and a cock ring in the suitcase.”
“A vibrating one?”
“Yeah. I want to ride you hard. Come over and over again until my juices drip down your sac.”
“Oh God, Myrna. I love it when you talk dirty to me in elevators. Or anywhere else.”
“Someone might come in and see me playing with The Beast. Does that excite you?”
“Yeah, I hope someone sees how fucking hard you make me.”
