Molly shook her head. “No. I hate it when other women touch you.” He couldn’t totally stop that, but at least this way, they wouldn’t be touching his skin beyond the arm.
Leaning down, one hand on her breast, he suckled her upper lip into his mouth, his smile unhidden. “Then you’d better have spares backstage for me,” Fox said, luxuriating in her possessiveness.
“I will.” A firm statement, Molly watching him rise back up to his full height, her eyes following his movements as he dropped his hands to the studded black leather belt that held up his faded and ripped jeans.
“You want me, Molly?” he asked, sliding out the belt to drop it to the garage floor.
“No.” Her fingers curled into her palms. “I think you need to come here and rev me up.”
Nudging her thighs farther apart, he undid the button on her jeans, tugged down the zipper. “Want to take back what you said?”
Chapter 33
Molly stubbornly shook her head.
Stripping off her jeans, he settled between her legs again, so damn pleased with her that he’d play with her all night if she wanted. “Maybe it’s the car,” he said, undoing the buttons of the cardigan she wore as a top. “That’s what has you so hot.”
The fact she’d run into his arms, her need for him open and unhidden, it meant everything, his passion for her about far more than lust. He wanted to pet her, pleasure her, cherish her. “Seems like you’re getting me to do this under false pretenses.”
“It is,” Molly said, tone breathy, “a very nice car.”
“Just for that, I’m not going to put my mouth on you.”
Molly flexed her fingers against the flawless red paintwork. “What if I ask nicely?”
“It’d have to be very, very nice indeed.” God but he f**king loved that she trusted him enough to let her body be his favorite instrument.
Shivering as he peeled apart the sides of the cardigan to bare the lace-covered mounds of her br**sts, his lover said, “Please, Fox.” A feminine whisper that wrapped him in silken chains tinged blush pink with the color on her cheekbones. “Please put your mouth on me.”
Never had he talked this much during sex, but this was Molly and there were no rules. “Hmm, good start,” he said, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of her breastbone, “but I don’t know if you really mean it.”
“Maybe I don’t want your mouth.” Her hand gripping his hair, tugging him up with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”
Smoldering heat in his blood. “Oh, you’ll be doing that one day soon. In front of me.” It would be an erotic fantasy come to life. “But since you’re being so uncooperative today”—he stroked his hand down one silken thigh, to her restless movement—“maybe you don’t deserve an orgasm.”
Chest heaving, she wrapped both legs around his h*ps to hold him to her, the denim of his jeans scraping against the cream of her skin. “You are a bad man and I adore you.”
Ah f**k, but she knew how to cut him off at the knees. Totally hers, he kissed her, one hand at her throat, the other on the plump curve of her breast. When she broke the kiss to gasp in air, he took his hand off her throat to run his mouth over the slope of it, continuing downward until he reached her br**sts. It only took a second to push down the cups, bare her to him, her ni**les lush berries in his mouth.
“Fox.” A husky moan, her hands on his shoulders. “I want you.”
That did it. The leash snapped. “Be a good girl for my cock”—he reached down to push aside the gusset of her panties, undo his jeans—“and I’ll use my mouth on you later.”
Molly’s skin tinged hot pink, but his smart, sexy librarian didn’t back down. “I always am for you.”
Pretty damn sure he’d spill then and there, he shoved up her thigh and pushed into her in a single thick thrust, both of them sprawled out on the hood.
“Fox!”
“I have you.” Bracing his hands palms down on either side of her head, he looked into brown eyes drenched in pleasure, the pupils dilated, and found he wanted to hear the words Molly gave him, the ones that made him feel ten feet tall. But he didn’t know how to ask for them, how to tell her how important those words were to his soul.
Then she raised her fingers to his lips, tracing the shape of his mouth. “My gorgeous, talented Fox. I’m so glad I wake up next to you every morning.”
Shuddering, he stroked her thigh and found the patience to rock her slow and easy, his Molly who didn’t only fight for him, but who gave him what he needed with a generosity that tore him to pieces. As the world splintered around them, he could only hope he gave her the same, hope that she saw no lack in her life.
He couldn’t lose her. Not his Molly.
Three weeks later and Molly felt as if she was living in a dream world. The band was now officially on tour and had been for the past five days. Though they were surrounded by crew, and had—until an hour ago—been accompanied by a reporter from the most iconic magazine in the industry, Molly was the only one who was attached on a strictly personal basis.
She’d expected to be cornered by the reporter sometime during the fourteen days he shadowed the band, beginning with Schoolboy Choir’s pre-tour preparations. She’d even worked out strategies to answer what she’d guessed would be intrusive questions, but the man had treated her with a kind of absent politeness, otherwise ignoring her existence. Molly had been delighted but mystified.