Page 90 of Bound to Burn


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“Did you forget that you ripped them?” I laugh as he leads me back over to the bed and we fall against the mattress.

“I didn’t forget.” He smiles against my lips before kissing me.

We kiss slow and deep, like we have all the time in the world; his tongue tasting every part of my mouth, and I love the heavy weight of his body pinning mine to the bed.

I wrap my leg around him, placing my hand on his cheek and giggling as he breaks the kiss to look down at me. All I can think about is his hands trailing down my body, ripping the panties right off me, all while showing me the difference between two guitars.

“You’re very good at the guitar.” I smile up at him, feeling my cheeks heat.

“I know,” he says cockily, but he has every right to be.

I lift my head to capture his lips, stroking his neck with my hand and pulling him further into me.

“What is the difference between aLes Pauland aStrat?” he asks me.

I smile against his lips. “I have no idea.”

The incredulous look on his face causes me to laugh.

“You are a very bad student,” he teases.

“You’re just going to have to give me another lesson.”

“You drive me fucking crazy, Sasha,” he groans against my lips as I press my body into his, our legs tangled together. His hand moves under my shirt, lifting it higher. Dipping his head, he gently drawing my nipple into his mouth, teasing me until the fire in my belly grows hot.

We fuck slow and lazily with my leg resting on his hip, our bodies finding the perfect rhythm. We kiss with the sheets tangled around us, the scent of sex and coffee filling the space. He treats my body like a dessert he can’t get enough of. My teeth graze against his ear as I pull him into me, and his groan vibrates against my neck.

The album I put on earlier mixes with our soft moans, and a cover to a familiar song comes on. I sing along toDream Onwhile he fucks me, softly suckling on my breasts while his hand roams between our joined bodies.

It’s a slow build, a burning ember, and he slowly brings me up and over the edge. He swallows my cries, bringing a whole new meaning to the term lazy Sunday. Sated and sleepy, I lay wrapped up in his arms.

My fingers roam over his shoulder and down his arm, tracing the tattoo depicting a forest with mountains and a lake.

“It’s beautiful.”

His bicep flexes as he turns his arm over between us. “I got this shortly after the band started making some money,” he says as he looks down at it. “It reminds me of where I came from.”

“Do you miss it?” I ask. “Home?”

When I was in Austin I was constantly homesick, but I found ways to distract myself. Some, regrettably, were not the best of choices.

“I’ve been here so long that this feels like my home now,” he explains.

“And you don’t surf.” I shake my head. “It’s such a sin,” I tease.

“We can’t all beGidget.” He taps my nose with his finger. “Maybe you’ll teach me sometime.”

I scrunch up my nose in confusion. “Gidget?”

“You never watchedGidgetwith your grandma?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Never mind.”

“I think you’d like surfing. It’s very Zen.”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to chill?” he asks, offended. “It’s only because you drove me crazy with your pink fucking Converse, that bikini top, and those short skirts.”

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