Kyrie

Kiss Me Deadly

I hold back a laugh as I watch what looks like my dad lecturing Crue about something. I want to move closer and find out, but I can't risk Crue thinking I'm interested in him. Just the opposite, I can't wait for him to back up and go. If that's true, then why does my heart hurt at the thought of never seeing him again?

Would it be so bad if we had a weekend fling?

We're both adults—we should be able to enjoy each other's bodies without feeling guilty.

No, stop—what am I thinking? Crue is only here waiting for his bandmates so they can discuss business with my dad. I can't be lusting after one of my dad's business acquaintances.

If I wanted that, I could have hooked up with any one of the numerous want-to-be rock stars who have come and gone in our lives—always doing whatever they could to get my dad's attention. Or use him for his fame. At least the girls who wanted to be my friends to get close to my mom weren't as obvious.

It's time I took what I wanted for a change, and what I want is Crue Jax. With my mind made up, I interrupt my dad and his lecturing to Crue, "Sorry, Dad, but I need to steal Crue for a few minutes."

The relief on Crue's face is almost comical as I drag him through the bar and out to the porch swing I had installed in a private corner of the deck.

"I'd tell you thanks for saving me from your dad, but from our earlier conversion, I'm not exactly sure what you want to do with me, especially here in the darkest corner of the porch."

"Relax, if I wanted to hurt you, I'd take you to the far side of the vineyard where no one could hear us." I push him down on the swing and take the spot next to him.

"So, what do you want from me?" I might not be able to see the smug look on his face, but I can definitely hear it in his voice.

"I've decided not to fight our attraction anymore. I want you in my bed all weekend or until your bandmates get here and you leave with what you came for."

"Would you be mad if I told you I came here to talk your dad into letting us re-record his song, Sweet Child?"

Just when I was beginning to think Crue wasn't such a bad guy after all, he proved me wrong by wanting to use my father's fame, "What makes you think he'll give you the rights to his song?" I scoot to the far end of the swing.

He runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I've always looked up to him and his band. They're just such an amazing group. I want my band to be like them."

"And it can be." I scoot closer to him and reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, "But you don't need to hide behind someone else's success when you can make your own using your own songs."

"You really think so?" He looks into my eyes, and I see the doubt shining back at me.

"My whole life, I've been given everything I've ever wanted—not that it's a bad thing. It's just that I never felt like I earned it—almost like I was a fraud and a phony." I take a deep breath, knowing this next part is going to be hard. "Three years ago, before I bought the vineyard, my mom's agent talked me into singing the National Anthem at a pro hockey game. I was excited to finally showcase my vocals to someone other than my parents and their friends."

"The only problem was I wasn't going to be singing live at the game. The production company handling the audio decided it would be best if I pre-recorded the song and then lip-sync along during the live performance. The recording malfunctioned somehow, and I was left standing in front of thousands of people with no live microphone to sing over the malfunctioning version. The gossip sites had a field day, saying I was a fraud and a phony for trying to capitalize on someone else's singing. They didn't care that it was my actual voice on the recording. So you see, if anyone knows what it feels like to be thought of as a fraud, it's me, and I don't want to see that happen to you."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, but it's not just me I'm doing this for. It's my band. We all share the same dream, and whether it's good or bad, that dream includes your father's song."

I might not agree with his decision, but I understand his predicament. I don't want to dwell on such a touchy subject, so I ask, "Then show me what your talents are."

He smiles and lowers his lips to mine. The kiss starts innocent enough, but once I part my lips, he slips his tongue in my mouth, and all I can think of is having this man's mouth on me for the rest of my life. My clit agrees as it throbs, needing release.

"Whoa, do you need some help?"

I don't realize I've crawled onto Crue's lab and straddled his hips, rubbing my pussy on him like I'm a cat in heat. "Sorry." Embarrassment fills me, and I make a move to get off his lap, only to have him grip my hips.

"Nothing to be sorry about. You can use me for your scratching post any day, but how about if I help you out this time?" His hand easily slides down the front of my stretchy black work pants and under my panties.

When I first decided on a uniform for the employees at Vine'yl Anthems, I never considered how accessible they would be; I only considered style and comfort. But right now, I'm glad Crue's hand has room to play with my soaking wet pussy.

"Is all this wetness for me, ?" He hums against my mouth.

"Yes." I moan into his mouth, clinging to his shoulders like my life depends on it.

He slips two large fingers inside me while his thumb strums across my clit like he's playing a guitar. His fingers pump in and out, and I squirm on his lap, needing relief from his torture.

I can feel his hard cock pressing into me through his leather pants, so I push down and rub my pussy across it, causing him to groan, "If you keep that up, I'm going to fuck you right here."

"Would that be so bad?" I pout.

He increases his speed, and I feel my resolve weaken as my toes begin to curl. I call out his name as I come around his fingers and collapse against his chest.

He holds me close through the aftershocks of my orgasm. Gently pulling his fingers out of my pussy he sticks them into his mouth, licking them clean. I can only stare at him in awe. I've never had anyone do that before. It seems too wicked, and I love it.

I reach for his zipper, wanting to return the favor, but he stops me, "Tonight was about you. Tomorrow, after our date, it will be about us."

Date? This was only supposed to have been a weekend fling. Now, we're only on a date.