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“You’re fucking tight,” he growled, leaning his forehead against mine. “I know I wasn’t your first.”
“Second,” I whispered, not wanting to think about my first. Not ever.
“Every time I’m inside you, I’ll replace those memories,” he promised, as though he could sense my pain.
It was Xoan Keneddy. Rock star and sex god. Maybe he could.
I nodded, letting his promises and words wash over me in a sweet sweep of pleasure. His movement slowed, no longer as frantic as they had been the first time in his dressing room. Where our skin touched, dark shadows inked into his body pressed to the pale flesh of mine in a contract of light and dark.
Shadow and starbright.
His fingers dug into my hip as he pushed in a little harder. For every touch of mine discovering his body, the scars and hard muscle where he let me see him, he reciprocated with a hard thrust. What started slow and exploratory became a frenzied need of hands and tongues and broken promises as he fucked me into the bed. Tiny nips became harder bites until he covered me in his marks.
I unravelled around him, crying out my shock as one orgasm devolved into the next like a living thing that took control of me.
Rising up onto his knuckles, Xoan stared down at me, dark satisfaction adorning his face as he threw his head back and roared his pleasure to the night.
I fell with him, and bought into the promise I wouldn’t run, because I needed what he gave a lonely girl with a scarred heart.
Perfect. Imperfect.
It doesn't matter.
Some part of me almost believed the lie I told myself as I wound my arms around his shoulders and let him carry me into the bathroom, breathing in his salty man sweat and leather scent.
CHAPTER FIVE
XOAN
Indi made a featherlightpackage in my arms as I kicked the water off in the shower, taking the initial icy water on my back in lieu of torturing her with it. Before heat filtered through the icy shards, my mind woke enough to question my own sanity, and my heart to beg my brain if we could keep her.
But Indi wasn’t a pet, and a rock star addicted to too many sorts of highs made for a shitty boyfriend.
I barely went to classes, and I didn’t use the room on campus I had because I was rarely there anyway. My fees ensured I passed and got decent grades even if I never attended tests. Rippton wanted to claim me, and I needed a backup plan for if thisIt Boybullshit failed. If I couldn’t make it off my music.
Of course, my father’s influence that I refused to recognise might have had a solid hand in that. Or maybe by the grace of a muse I'd never met, my talent was simply enough.
