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A song.
When she shuddered and slid down to him, he clasped the back of her head and brought it to his shoulder. Feeling her curl against him, relaxed and boneless, made the rigid shaft in his pants jerk. This wasn’t about him. He knew it, even embraced it because he’d spent too little time really focusing on someone else. But his body was a hell of a lot greedier.
“God.” Her mouth brushed the side of his neck. “Is there a handbook?”
“The Guide to Chloe’s O? No, but give me time and I’ll write it.”
Her laughter washed over him, dialing down the throb in his cock to a pulse. He wanted her—so much—but he wanted this even more. This connection he’d never had a taste of with anyone else.
“Usually they’re rarely seen in the wild, especially the last couple years. I haven’t even managed to—” There was a commotion on the stoop, and she raised her head just as the front door burst open and a man with graying red hair flung himself into the small living room.
“What the hell is all that out there, Chloe?”
At that point, a few things happened at once. None of them good.
Chloe screeched and fumbled for her bra and her shirt. Michael scrambled to cover her with his arms. And Chloe’s father’s eyes grew wide before they rolled back in his head.
Actually, that might have been Michael’s. He couldn’t really be sure because he was looking away and begging the universe to finally do him a karma solid.
For God’s sake, his wife didn’t even remember marrying him. He’d just solely focused on her pleasure without considering his own. Couldn’t he catch a break, ever?
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“Daddy, you’re early,” she panted as she struggled with unforgiven cotton.
“No, I’m obviously too late.” Her father scrubbed a hand through his already disordered hair. “Chloe, who is this guy? Who are you?” he demanded, staring at Michael when Chloe was too busy putting on her shirt to reply.
Her bra ended up balled up in her pocket with the straps sticking out.
“Hi, Sir, um, I’m Michael Shawcross, Chloe’s—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Chloe’s what? Chloe Bear, you better start talking fast. I want to know who this strange man is and why you’re half naked with him. And why a red Dodge Viper getting towed away is being filmed by a camera crew on the corner.”
“What?” Michael bobbled Chloe in his lap, grabbing her arm to right her as she finally got her shirt back on. “My car is getting towed?”
“That’s your ride?”
“Hell yes it is. I mean, Sir.” He threw a glance at Chloe. “Fuck, I gotta get out there and get my car. I parked in the right spot, dammit.”
“Guess not. Chloe, start talking.”
“This is Michael. He’s in a band. He’s friends with Nicky.”
“Oh Nicky?” Mr. Adams brightened for a second then his mouth turned down as he studied Michael. “You’re not in his band. What band are you in?”
“Nick isn’t my friend, he’s my kind of stepfather.” Yet another way his life was a Jerry Springer episode in the making. “Anyway, I’m in Warning Sign. I’d love to stay and chat but my freaking car is going to end up in an impound lot somewhere.” Michael glanced at Chloe’s dad. “Are the paps still on the lawn too or are they all down the street?”
“I don’t know what ‘paps’ are, but if you mean the reporters, yes, they’re still on the lawn. Pushy bastards. They asked me about Chloe’s husband. Imagine them dredging up that Snake business again. Did the lawsuit get brought back up in the papers or something?”
Chloe flashed Michael a pleading look as she shoved up her sleeves. “Daddy, I’ll explain in a few minutes, I promise. Michael has to go now.”
Okay then. Talk about a boot out the door. Yes, his car was being towed and he needed to leave, but she could at least pretend not to want to toss him out on his dick.
Not on his ear, because his ear wasn’t in pain like his cock, that was for sure.
“Yeah, time for me to go. I only have one purpose it seems.” Michael got stiffly to his feet and held out a hand to Mr. Adams. “Sir, nice to meet you. I’m sorry the circumstances weren’t better.”
