“Yes. Oh God, yes. Please.”
He shifted a little so that he could slide first one finger and then a second deep inside her. At the same time, his tongue darted out, caressed her inner folds again and again. She spread her legs wider, made a desperate sound deep in her throat as she opened herself to everything—anything—he wanted to give her.
It must have been what he was waiting for, because it was his turn to groan. His turn to clutch at her.
He circled her clit, flicked at it with th
e tip of his tongue even as he hooked his fingers deep inside of her and found her G-spot. He started to stroke at the same time he sucked at her clit and she came, screaming and bucking wildly against him. His free hand tightened on her hip, and he held her in place, his thumb digging into her skin in the best possible way as he licked and kissed and fingered her through one climax and into another.
When it was over, when she was panting and shaking and trying desperately to pull herself together, he pressed soft kisses to her abdomen before pulling her jeans back up her hips.
“Can I—” She reached for him, slid a hand down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. She wanted to give him at least a little of the pleasure he’d given her. But before she could so much as undo the top button, the door from the club into the alley swung open.
As light poured out of the club and into the darkness, she turned her head and found herself staring into the amused eyes of Jared Matthews, lead guitarist for Shaken Dirty. He smirked at her a little before glancing down at the man still kneeling between her thighs.
“Shake a leg, Wyatt,” he said after a second. “We go on in five.”
“Be right there, man.”
Panic tore through her as the truth hit her like a freight train, obliterating the last, lingering shocks of pleasure and making her feel as if her head was going to explode.
Jared nodded before stepping back into the club and closing the door behind him. And then she was alone with him again. Alone with Wyatt Jennings—Wyatt Jennings—who had just tenderly kissed her abdomen before zipping her jeans back up.
While she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that the man who had just made her come—twice—was no other than the bad-boy drummer of Shaken Dirty and the man she was in Austin to babysit and lie to, he pushed himself to his feet.
Then he was dropping a kiss on her cheek and murmuring, “Thank you, sweetheart,” before disappearing back into the club.
Poppy stared after him, mouth open and pants unbuttoned, as she wondered what the fuck she was supposed to do now.
Chapter Three
“All right, people. Listen up! You ready to have your socks knocked the fuck off?”
Wyatt lined up behind Quinn as Sam, the bar’s manager, started their introduction. When Ryder had booked the gig, he’d chosen Antone’s because it was live music in Austin—and had been for as long as Shaken Dirty had been playing. When they were young and green, they would have done anything for a gig here, and now that they were kicking off a whole new chapter, it seemed fitting that it start here, too.
The manager had been more than happy to book them under a fake name as long as he was able to reveal who they were at the beginning of their set—with time for the news to go out on social media and get people flocking to his club. They’d gone with it, largely because it would be stupid to try to hide their identities once they got under the spotlight anyway. It wasn’t like they were a band on the brink of breaking out anymore. They’d already broken out, and Ryder and Jared’s faces were recognizable to anyone who followed the rock—or gossip—scenes. Plus, making sure everyone knew it was Shaken Dirty that was playing was also a good way to gauge the mood of their fans, to see how they felt about the band after the disastrous canceling of their last tour.
“Because I’m about to let you in on a little secret,” Sam continued. “One nobody else in the whole world knows but the people in this club. Are you ready to hear it?”
The crowd murmured an assent, the sound starting low but swelling by the end. Wyatt could feel the electricity building in the air, could feel it running along his arms and the back of his neck. The crowd was waking up, looking around as if they knew something big was about to happen.
He closed his eyes, stretched out his neck, licked his lips. And tasted her on them.
Fuck. She tasted good.
He licked his lips again, savoring the taste of her even as he did his best to ignore the fact that his dick was rock hard and aching. Fuck Jared. If he’d waited five more minutes, Wyatt would have been buried balls deep in her as she made those strangled little sounds that drove him crazy. Fifteen minutes more, and they both would have been coming and he would have been thinking about that right now instead of how much he still wanted a fix.
“I asked, are you motherfuckers ready to hear it?” Sam yelled into the mic. “Are. You. Ready?”
The crowd grew louder, shouts ringing through the small space, bouncing off the walls and the relatively low ceiling.
For a second, just a second, he regretted not getting her name. Or her number. They could have ended the night the way they’d started it off—with his tongue deep inside of her as she came and came and came all around him.
But that wasn’t what he was here for, he reminded himself as he tried to get his dick under control. To keep the demons at bay, he could fuck himself raw after the set. But right now it was about the music. About the show. He’d screwed up enough to last a lifetime—he needed to make this gig count. Needed to show the others that he could still do the job they needed him to do.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Sam screeched. “Now, get ready to scream, people, because the truth is, Fly by Night is just a cover name so tonight’s band could sneak in here under the radar and surprise you guys with the best fucking show you’ve ever seen down here. Are you ready for that?”
The crowd got even louder, their screams echoing across the still empty stage and bouncing off the walls. The familiar nerves had his stomach clenching up.