Crash Into Me

Chapter Fifteen

He froze at the feel of her teeth sinking into his flesh. For one second, two, he was motionless, held in place by a desire so fierce it bordered on obsession. Then Jamison moaned and the spell was broken. And so was his resolve. He’d wanted to spend the night petting her, touching her, gentling her to orgasm after orgasm—she more than deserved that kind of care from him. But there was no way he was going to last all night, no way he was going to last more than a few more minutes before burying himself inside of her.

Determined to give her all that he could in those minutes—and to make her come at least once more before he slid inside of her—he let go of her wrist and crouched down. Brought both of his hands to rest on her bare thighs. Coaxed her into opening her legs before her innate reticence could kick in.

Trying to move slowly, to give her time to get used to him, he once again slid a finger along the edge of her purple lace panties. He never would have taken her for a lace girl—not cool, practical, reserved Jamison—but here was the proof. The sexy panties cupped her sex like a lover, nestling between the folds of her pussy as he was so desperate to do.

Leaning forward, this time he trailed his tongue along the edge of the lace, relishing each gasp and shiver his journey elicited. “Do you have more of these, baby?” He pulled at the waistband a little before allowing it to snap back against her bikini line with a satisfying smack.

“Yes.” It was a gasp, and barely a coherent one at that.

“I’m glad.” He smiled then, let her see the wicked promise in his eyes. Then leaned forward and with his teeth, ripped the things to shreds.

She gasped and his grin grew wider even as a powerful surge of need tore through him. This was what he’d been thinking about, dreaming about, for what felt like forever.

Jamison, hot and wet, her skin flushed a sexy pink.

Incoherent with need.

As desperate for him as he was for her.

“Please. Ryder.” She moved her hand to his chest. Played with his nipple ring. Stroked her way down his stomach until she got to the waistband of his jeans. “I want you,” she whispered, bringing her hands back up to his shoulders where she clutched at him, pulled him closer.

“Want isn’t enough,” he told her, determined to push her as close to insanity as he was. “You have to need me the way I need you.”

“I do!” It was nearly a wail, one that turned to a high, keening cry as he nipped at her inner thighs with his teeth. He loved the sounds she made, nipped and licked and kissed at her in an effort to get her to make them again. To make more. He was losing his mind, drowning in the fount of her sensuality and he wanted her to feel the same. Needed her to be as desperate, as crazy, for him as he was for her.

“Let’s see about that,” he told her, his tongue darting out to run the length of her sex in one slow, long sweep. She tasted like peaches and honey and sweet, rich cream. He delved deeper, wanting more of her. Wanting all of her.

“Ryder!” Her scream shattered the silence around them and pushed him up to the edge of the line he’d been riding. “Ryder, please. Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

He loved the pleading tone in Jamison’s voice, loved more the breathless words spilling out of her throat. But it wasn’t enough, wasn’t near enough. He had a fleeting thought that it never would be, that he would want her like this forever. But then she moaned, clutched at him, and the ability to think deserted him completely. All he could do was feel.

The need that had been building inside him for days exploded, turned white hot and dangerous. His breathing was shallow, his cock threatening to burst with one more touch from her. He pushed the desire down, fought it back. Jamison would come for him again, this time against his mouth. Only then, when she’d lost all control and inhibitions, would he give in to the lust driving him to the brink of madness. Only then would he take her.

Lifting her right leg, he draped it over his shoulder. She inhaled sharply in surprise, tangled her fingers in his hair. He gentled her, angling his shoulders so that he could support her weight. Whispered to her of everything he was going to do to her. Then leaned forward and thrust his tongue as deeply inside of her as he could reach.

She went wild, her body thrashing against him as she arched her hips and clutched at him. He held her still, stopped the bucking of her hips with a heavy hand on her stomach and continued to take her higher. She was delicious, intoxicating, the sweetest honey he had ever known, and in that moment he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

It scared him, this need he had for her. Had him pushing her higher, faster, in an effort to quiet the feelings raging inside of him. It almost worked, would have if she hadn’t cried out for him, grounding him in the middle of the maelstrom.

“Ryder!” It was a plea, a demand, a cry for surcease, but he couldn’t stop. He had to have her, had to taste every drop of her sweetness, had to take every shudder and cry she could give him. Stroking deep, he concentrated on finding her every sensitive spot and worked to take her higher than anyone ever had before.

When she was just about there, when she was sobbing and pleading and he sensed she couldn’t take any more, he pulled his tongue out of her luscious warmth. Then, slipping his hands beneath her ass, he lifted her up higher, opened her wider, and wrapped his lips gently around her clit.

Her body arched violently as she came, bucking so wildly that she almost dislodged him. But he held on, used his tongue and teeth and lips to ride her through one climax and into another.

He was a man possessed, utterly enchanted by, completely addicted to the exquisite feeling he got from giving her pleasure. He could stay like this forever, his cock throbbing, his mouth buried in her incredibly sweet, incredibly responsive sex. Making her come would be his new obsession.

He’d had a lot of women in his life, had used his fame and charm and looks to take whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Had used sex to keep his demons, and his failures, at bay.

But sex with Jamison was different. Because Jamison is different, a primitive voice in the back of his head warned even as it urged him on. Thrusting his tongue inside of her, he sent her over the edge to one final climax before skimming his mouth across the curve of her hip to the flat plane of her stomach. Unable to resist, he sucked on the soft flesh of her waist until he marked her, relished the high-pitched cry she didn’t even try to hold back. Then he soothed the small hurt with his tongue and lips before pulling back.

“What—” she asked, dazed. Confused. She was trembling, but he knew it was from pleasure instead of cold. Her skin was nearly feverish.

As was he. His balls were on fire, his cock burning with the need to bury itself in the wet, silky heat of her. Lowering her to the ground, he turned her so that she was facing the trailer. Part of him wanted to see her face when they made love, to see her eyes go all cloudy and unfocused. But he didn’t make love that way. He never had. It was too personal, made him feel too vulnerable. And while he wanted to know everything about Jamison, wanted to get as personal with her as he possibly could, he was afraid to let her see what was inside him. Afraid she wouldn’t let him touch her if she knew just how fucked up he was.

“Ryder!” Her high keening cry dragged him out of his head and back to the present, where he so obviously wanted to be.

Determined to get inside her—to stay inside her-- he pressed on her upper back so that she was leaning forward, her ass thrusting back for him. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the obligatory condom. Unbuttoned his pants, rolled it on. And then, intertwining his fingers with hers, he thrust into her from behind.

She cried out, arched wildly, tugged as if to free her hands from his grip. But he held on, covering her with his body. He couldn’t let go now if she begged. The moment he’d slid into her, the music had started in his head. A sweeping, electric number that lit him up even as Jamison destroyed him with pleasure.

He was rough, rougher than he’d intended, but he’d lost control. Any gentleness he’d had in him had been used up in the long, sexy moments of going down on her. But even as the music swamped him, he made sure that every cry he pulled from her was of pleasure, made sure that every slam of his body into hers took her one step higher.

He wrapped an arm around her to make sure she was protected from the cool metal of the trailer, and then he rode her hard and fast. Each thrust was a frenzy of raging need, each stroke a declaration of control and ownership and vicious, violent need.

And Jamison was taking it. No, she was begging for more, her muscles clenching tightly around him. He reached down, pulled her legs further apart. He needed to go deeper, needed to drive his cock so hard and deep inside of her that he’d never forget the feel of her. Never forget the music pouring through him.

Sobbing, Jamison dug her fingernails into his hands, hanging on for dear life as his thrusts moved her onto her tip-toes. “Do it!” she gasped, her body shaking uncontrollably as her sex clenched tightly around his dick. “Please. You have to.”

The music got louder. His body screamed for relief. But he refused to give in—not now, not when she was so close to coming again. He was desperate to feel her orgasm, to feel her body as it spasmed wildly around him.

Easing back a little, he brought his hand down, gently stroked her clit in rhythm to the music in his head. “No, baby, you have to,” he whispered, following the words with a desperate lunge inside of her. “Come on, Jamison, baby. Let it take you. Let it—”

She screamed, her back arching beneath him like a bow as the waves exploded through her. Gritting his teeth, he kept up the hard, steady strokes until sweat streamed down his body. Until his muscles cried out for relief. Until yet another orgasm whipped through Jamison and she cried his name while she came.

Only then—as the music reached a shattering crescendo—did he give himself up to a release so violent, so powerful, it was like rock and roll itself.

…

When it was over, when she could finally think again, Jamison laid her head back against the cool metal of the trailer and just breathed. She’d had sex before, even made love before, but nothing and no one could have prepared her for this. For Ryder.

He made love like he sang—darkly, dangerously, and with an incredible attention to detail that left her a quivering, boneless mess. For the first time in a long time she felt satisfied. Even more, she felt soft. Like everything inside of her had melted into a puddle of goo.

Which wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t felt her heart—and the barriers she’d very deliberately erected between herself and Ryder—melt right along with everything else.

Panic began to set in with that realization, obliterating the post-orgasmic glow that made her want to stay right where she was—even if that place was backed up against an equipment trailer—forever. Heart racing, hands trembling, fear vibrating through every nerve ending she had, she waited for Ryder to put her down. To move away. To slide the defenses he wore so seamlessly back into place.

But he didn’t. Didn’t do anything but rest against her, his face pressed into the curve of her neck, his body pressed into her own. She could still feel him there, inside of her, was desperately afraid that she always would. In the last few minutes, Ryder had done more than fucked her. He’d taken her over completely.

Panic became full-blown terror. Suddenly she wanted to struggle against him. To demand that he put her down so that she could find that distance again. She needed to breathe, to think, to be by herself if only for a few minutes so that she could rebuild the defenses he had shattered so completely.

She’d spent years of her life lusting after Ryder, wanting him beyond all good sense and comprehension, but now that she’d had him she was only more confused.

What did this mean for them? For her? For him? Were they together? Or was she a moron for even thinking like that? Of course you are, she told herself as she fought the urge to shove him away. It was stupid, ridiculous really, to imagined she was anything special when she thought about how many women Ryder slept with in a year or a month or even a typical week.

She wanted to be different, wanted this moment between them to be more than that, but how could it be when she’d thrown herself at him like just another groupie? Twice now he’d touched her and twice she’d gone up in flames without him taking her for so much as a cup of coffee. It was preposterous to think she was anything more to him than a quick lay. A good time.

And yet even as the thoughts formed, she knew she was being unfair to Ryder. Knew she was letting the hysteria get the better of her. He was her friend, had been her friend and her champion and her hero for more than a decade. Just because they’d slept together—just because they’d scratched the itch that had been building between them for days now—didn’t mean that she was suddenly nothing to him. Of course she meant more to him than some groupie whose name he didn’t know.

So did that mean they were going to be friends with benefits now? she wondered. And if they were, how did she feel about that? Could she keep her feelings for him at bay long enough to indulge in that kind of relationship? Or would the fact that she was crazy about him—or just plain crazy—preclude them from being anything more than what they were at this very moment?

“Hey.” Ryder lifted his head. “I can practically see the wheels spinning in your head. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forced a breezy tone she was far from feeling. “Are you kidding? That was fabulous.”

“It really was.” Jamison heard the smile in his voice, and smiled in return despite her misgivings. It was hard to stay freaked out when Ryder laid on the charm.

She waited for him to pull out, to move away, to make some excuse about needing to get back to the bus. He did none of those things. Instead, he put a hand under her chin and tilted her head back and to the side until she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

It was hard, harder than she would have imagined possible considering he was still inside her. Somehow, though, these quiet moments with him felt more intimate, more frightening, than letting him into her body had.

But she wasn’t a wimp, wasn’t some little girl to run away from her fears or the consequences of her actions. So, instead of shrugging him off or wallowing in her own insecurities, she put on her big girl panties and forced all the conflicting emotions down deep inside of herself. Chose instead to focus on the practical. “We should probably get back to the bus soon.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” He shifted a little, angled his hips so that he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of her. “What if I want to make love to you again?”

Jamison gasped, arched back against him as she felt her body respond. She couldn’t help it. Despite the fears and doubts that had taken up residence inside of her, she knew she wouldn’t turn Ryder away. Not when he was in this playful mood. And not when he wanted her. It might not be the same way she wanted him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did at that moment but him and the pleasure they could bring each other.

“God, you feel good.” He thrust against her, groaned when her still sensitive sex clenched around him. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“So don’t.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

He laughed and she felt the vibration of it deep inside of herself, in her heart as well as her body. Ryder didn’t laugh nearly enough. “I’m sure that would go over well. I could just see Jared’s face if I walked onto the bus with you riding me like this.”

“It’s not Jared’s business what we do.” She tightened herself around him, stroked him from the inside.

“Do that again.” His voice was deeper, huskier than it had been even a moment before.

She did and his head fell forward until his forehead rested on her shoulder. “God, you feel good, Jamison.”

She lit up a little, thrilled deep inside that he’d used her name. That he hadn’t called her baby. “So do you, Ryder.”

He didn’t say anything more, just reached between their bodies and stroked a soft thumb over her clit. She was still sensitive from all her previous orgasms—not to mention the hard, driving rhythm he’d set while he’d fucked her—and still she responded to him. She couldn’t help it. There was a part of her that believed she would respond to him forever. That wherever or whenever he wanted her, she would come running.

The thought terrified her all over again. So that even as she teetered on the brink of a brand new orgasm, she reached a hand behind her, pushed at his hip. “Stop.”

She sounded so turned on, so breathless, that she wouldn’t have blamed him had he ignored her. It wasn’t like she could disguise how much she wanted him, after all.

But she’d underestimated Ryder. He stopped immediately, not just the stroking of his thumb but everything else as well. “Sensitive?” he whispered against her damp skin as he pulled out of her in a warm rush that left her feeling immediately bereft.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fought back the tears as she nodded against the trailer. If only he knew just how much.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that.”

“I wanted you to. It was—” She turned her head so that her eyes met his for the first time since he’d slipped inside of her. “Wonderful.”

He smiled then and her heart stuttered a little in her chest. Because it wasn’t the smile he gave the hoards of screaming fans, wasn’t the smile he gave the other guys or his friends or even the women he slept with. She’d seen all those smiles a hundred—a thousand—times through the years. No, this was his Jamison smile. The one he kept just for her, and the fact that he was giving it to her now helped settle her like nothing else could.

After all, who was she to complain about the way things had played out? Wasn’t this what she’d wanted all along? For Ryder to see her like a woman? For him to hold her and love her, if only for a little while? When they’d first started making love, she’d sworn to herself that she would take whatever he had to offer without strings or complaints. She wasn’t planning to go back on that promise to herself within minutes of fulfilling it, was she?

Because it wasn’t like she was looking for happily ever after with him—hell, she was smart enough to know that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Ryder. Not with his background and not when he didn’t believe he had a happily ever after in him.

She disagreed, thought he would one day make a woman a fabulous husband—once he came to understand that a lot of the shit in his life really wasn’t his fault. She’d spent years trying to prove it to him—as had Jared—but neither of them had ever gotten through to him.

And then Carrie had come along and he’d been better. For a while. Right up until she’d been attacked at one of the band’s shows. Ryder had been onstage singing while she’d been raped in the dressing room, and the guilt and rage had nearly killed him. How could it not, when Carrie had constantly blamed him for what had happened to her? Even her suicide note had been a fuck-you to him, a cacophony of hatred and pain that blamed him for everything bad that had happened to her.

And Ryder had believed her. No matter what Jamison or Jared or any of the other guys had said, he’d never again been able to see past the villainous view of himself.

Blinking back the tears that came every time she thought of what he’d suffered, Jamison traced the art on his left arm. Like the phoenix he’d had tattooed on himself, he’d risen from the ashes of his nightmare of a family. Had reinvented himself. But was still so locked inside his own perceptions of himself, still such a victim of the damage his family—and Carrie—had dealt him, that he couldn’t see past the bars.

That didn’t mean she was going to quit trying to convince him of his worth. Ryder was too wonderful of a person—strong, talented, protective, not to mention deep down good. He didn’t deserve to suffer for the sins of those who had failed him.

And neither did he deserve her condemning him for what he couldn’t change. Here she was, still glowing from the most incredible sex of her life, and she was doing everything she could to put distance between them. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

So why couldn’t she have him—even if it was just for a little while? She’d taken a leap of faith when she’d jumped on the tour bus and fled San Diego and the mess her life had become. Had given up control of her destiny while she struggled to write a cookbook she had no guarantee would ever go anywhere.If she could do that in her professional life, why couldn’t she do it in her personal life as well? Not forever, but for the duration of this tour? Why couldn’t she just say to hell with love and responsibility and happily ever afters and just enjoy being with Ryder as long as he wanted to be with her? It wouldn’t last forever—it might not even last the week—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy every second, and every orgasm, he was willing to give her.

Decision made, she slipped away from Ryder. Felt a tug deep in her heart at the loss of his warmth around her, inside her. But she shut that down quickly, determined to make the next few minutes about what he needed.

Turning to face Ryder, she threw her arms around him. Hugged him to her as tightly as he’d allow. And tried not to notice the way he stiffened against her. It was a subtle thing, but she’d had a lot of years to get used to it. Ryder could fuck her brains out, could go down on her until she screamed and then do it all over again, but he couldn’t handle the simple affection of a hug.

She held on an extra second anyway—if she could give him nothing else in their time together, then she wanted to give him this. The ability to touch and be touched in a way that wasn’t only sexual. He deserved it. Then again, so did she.

But the tension continued to build in him, so she pulled away and shot him a casual smile as she bent down and retrieved her shorts and underwear from where he’d dropped them on the ground. Then did her best not to tremble as she pulled them up her legs. The only way this was going to work was if she acted completely nonchalant.

She wasn’t ready to give him up. Not yet, not when she’d just gotten him. If that meant she was going to end up heartbroken later, she’d take it. For once, the woman who tried to control everything was saying to hell with that and giving herself up to the chaos. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

…

As he shepherded Jamison back toward the bus, Ryder wasn’t sure what to think or how to act. Part of him was happier than he could ever remember being—which was crazy, he knew. After all, he hadn’t been in a real relationship since Carrie, hadn’t been looking for one now. But Jamison wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl, wasn’t even what he’d call a one-week- or one-month-stand kind of girl. Not just because she was going to be on the road with him for the next few weeks, thus making a one-night stand impossible, but also because she meant more than that to him. A lot more.

When Jared had asked him to, he’d promised he would stay away from Jamison. And when he’d made that promise, he’d had every intention of keeping it. After all, she was sweet and smart and funny and innocent—or maybe not so innocent if he considered all of the things they’d spent the last hour doing. Still, she was too good for the likes of him—way too good.

He knew she had a whole life to get back to anyway, one that didn’t involve fucked-up rock stars and fucking up against an equipment trailer. Trying to change her future, to weigh her down with all his bullshit baggage, wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Least of all her.

And maybe it was the really great sex or maybe it was the way she’d hugged him afterward—like he mattered as something more than bragging rights to her friends—but either way, he wasn’t ready for it to stop. Wasn’t ready for the pleasure, any of it, to end. Before Jamison, sex had always been just a means to get out of his head. Even with Carrie, he’d used it for the momentary pleasure instead of the emotional connection. That had never bothered him before, because he hadn’t let it.

But now Jamison mattered more than the pleasure and the surcease. She mattered more than all the shit that haunted him from his past. And while he knew he wasn’t good enough for her, knew he couldn’t keep her, he wasn’t ready to give her up. Not yet. Not when the need for her was still a fire torching him from the inside out.

Reaching over, he grasped her hand. Laced her fingers with his own. And stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

She started a little, looked up through her lashes. Then smiled at him shyly. In that moment she looked as different from the woman who had begged him to fuck her as he was sure he looked from the clean cut guys she was used to dating. Alarm bells went off in his head.

There was a part of him that wanted to ignore them. He wanted her, more badly than he could ever remember wanting anything or anyone. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to make love to her, to feel her arms and legs wrapped around him, to see her smile at him just like that over and over. But he didn’t want to lead her on. He couldn’t let her build castles in the air about the two of them and what they could mean to each other. Even though she meant more to him—even though the sex had meant more to him—than anything had for a long, long time, he couldn’t let her think there was more to them than what he was able to give.

“Jamison.” He said her name softly.

“Yes?”

He started to speak, to tell her everything he’d just figured out. That he wanted her but didn’t want to hurt her. That he wanted to keep making love to her but didn’t want her to fall in love with him. But when she looked at him like that, eyes wide and bright and curious, he couldn’t get his tongue around the words.

“That was…”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand before bringing it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. Heat spread through him where her lips touched and for a second he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking her again, right there in the middle of the back parking lot. Only the fact that he didn’t have a condom stopped him. That and being within sight of the band buses.

“You know it’s okay, right?” she said as she slowly lowered their joined hands.

Actually, he wasn’t sure anything was okay. He felt unsettled, topsy-turvy in a way he usually avoided like the plague.

When he didn’t answer right away, she continued, “You don’t need to worry about me falling in love with you. I know what we’re doing here.”

He was glad one of them did, because he was in uncharted territory. But that was what he loved about Jamison. She’d always understood things without him having to tell her.

“You know I care about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, don’t get all sappy on me, Montgomery. Let’s just relax. Enjoy ourselves. And when it’s done, it’s done.”

He felt his mouth drop open. “Who are you and what did you do with Jamison?”

“I’m sick of being the good girl and want to have fun for a while.” She kissed his shoulder, ran her tongue over the top curve of his tattoo. “I can take care of myself.”

The last of the tension in his stomach dissolved. If she knew what he was offering and wanted it anyway, who was he to argue? Besides, maybe he’d been nuts to think a girl like Jamison would want anything else from a guy like him.

He pulled her in close, licked a slow path across her collarbone. Enjoyed the salty-sweet taste of her, especially when she moaned a little. Lifting his head to look at her, he teased, “And here I thought you enjoyed the way I took care of you.”

“Oh, I do,” she answered, arching into him so that her breasts brushed against his bare chest. “And I look forward to you taking care of me again soon.”

God, so did he.