“Do I need to be completely naked to be your plate?” she asked.
He realized he was holding his sandwich in front of his open mouth, but hadn’t taken a bite.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen a plate in underwear before.”
She unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. She pushed her breasts up with her hands. “You know these things used to be perkier.” She looked down at the twin globes of flesh spil ing from her palms.
He didn’t understand why, but by not trying to act seductive, she was actual y turning him on more. “They’re perfect.”
Her panties joined her jeans on the floor. She glanced over her shoulder, straining her neck to try to see her butt. “I think my ass used to be perkier, too.”
Brian bit into his sandwich, chewing slowly.
“Gravity is a woman’s worst enemy.” She looked up at him uncertainly.
He swal owed. “You’re beautiful, Myrna.”
“Does it bother you that I’m older than you are?”
“Yeah, like, what, six months older?”
He hadn’t expected her to be seven years older than him, but frankly, he didn’t care how old she was. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. “You’re in your sexual prime, Myrna. And trust me, that doesn’t bother me at al .”
“You could have any hot young woman you want—”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s Master Sinclair!” Myrna squealed and trembled from head to foot with excitement. “Oh my God! Wil you sign my tits? Please. Please. You’re soooo hot!”
He tossed his sandwich aside, grabbed a handful of ketchup packets from the take-out bag, and tackled her to the bed. He straddled her hips to hold her down.
“Certainly, I’l sign your tits, miss. Anything for a fan.” He opened a ketchup packet with his teeth. She laughed uncontrol ably, squirming beneath him. “Hold stil .”
She stopped squirming and looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide. He began to write across her chest in ketchup.
“P-R,” he spel ed aloud. “O-P.” He tossed the empty packet on the floor and reached for another.
“I’m not finished.”
“That tickles.” She giggled.
“What are you writing?”
He opened another packet and wrote in the middle of her bel y. “O-F.” He moved to her lower bel y. “B-R.”
“Property of brrrrrrr?”
“Yeah, property of brrrrr. Exactly.” He opened another packet of ketchup and finished his name on her bel y. “Perfect. Property of Brian. I just need to dot this i.”
He dabbed a dot of ketchup in the center of her nipple. “Damn, I missed.”
He lowered his head and licked the misplaced ketchup off. She laughed, her fingers stealing into his hair.
“Let me try that again.” He dripped ketchup on her other nipple. “Damn my terrible aim.”
He sucked the tangy ketchup from her nipple, loving the way the rosy peak hardened against his tongue. He stroked the bud vigorously with the center of his tongue until she shuddered and made that maddeningly sexy sound in the back of her throat. His cock hardened instantly.
He was done for. Again.
He lifted his head and dribbled ketchup on her lower lip. Her tongue darted out between her lips.
“Hold it. It’s my mess. Only fair that I clean it up.” He leaned over her and kissed her deeply. Her lips tasted spicy, like sausage. Which reminded him. He hadn’t finished his breakfast. He broke away from her hungry kiss and looked down at her. “Do you want some hash browns?”
She chuckled. “You know what I want, Brian.”
“Hash browns.” He climbed from the bed and retrieved the bag of food from the surface of the dresser.
“I think maybe you are boring,” she teased, watching him from the bed.
He glanced at her, liking the way “Property of Brian” looked written across her body. He wondered if he could talk her into getting a tattoo to make his claim permanent. Climbing back onto the bed with her, he covered the ketchup with chains of smal potato rounds. When he had them spread to his satisfaction, he lowered his head and licked one off her body.
“Yeah, hash browns are definitely boring,” he said.
She grinned at him. “I think I like being your plate.”
He chewed and swal owed his ketchup-coated hash brown. “You don’t mind the mess?”
“I assume you’re going to clean up after yourself.”
“You have a lot of faith in my self-control.”
She traced the angle of his jaw with her finger. “I do. I bet you can resist making love to me for at least ten minutes.”
He licked another hash brown off her chest. “You have a lot more faith in me than I do.” He plucked a hash brown from her chest and popped it in her mouth before slurping several more into his mouth. Ten minutes? He wished he was buried inside her right now. He fed her several hash browns in quick succession and made a pig of himself by eating as fast as he could. Eagerness had gotten the better of him.
She giggled as he licked the food off her bel y. “I guess you are hungry.”
After they finished the hash browns, Brian lapped the remaining ketchup from her silky skin with broad strokes of his tongue. She shuddered beneath him and tugged at his hair.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she gasped, her head tossed back, her back arched.
Encouraged, his tongue moved to her breast, up her shoulder, along her neck to her ear. He traced the outer edge of her ear with his tongue. She groaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. He settled his body on top of hers, cursing the inventor of clothes, and suckled her earlobe, nibbled it, sucked it again. Her thighs spread for him and he sank between her long, shapely legs. His mouth moved to the pulse point under her ear near her delicate jaw. She shuddered. He brushed his hands along her arms and shoulders, delighting in the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest and the heat of her sex permeating the fabric of his jeans.
He kissed his way along her jaw to her chin and final y her mouth. She sucked at his lips, her tongue eager against them. His cock throbbed. He leaned his hips away from hers slightly and unfastened his pants. The Beast, as she cal ed it, sprang free, craving her moist heat. He knew he should take his time with her, work her into a frenzy, make her beg him to possess her, but he could only concentrate on the memory of how it felt to be buried inside her without a rubber. He took his cock in his hand and probed the hot, moist entrance to heaven. She relaxed beneath him with a sigh. He looked into her eyes as he entered her—languidly fil ing her with one achingly slow thrust. Her back arched with pleasure, but she didn’t look away. They stared at each other, relishing the connection between them. He slid in and out of her slowly, not wanting to find release, just wanting to experience her. To become a physical part of her. To feel her. To know her.
“Myrna,” he whispered.
Yeah, Brian. Not Master Sinclair. Brian.
He had everything he wanted. He needed. Right here. This woman. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate his sentimental thoughts. She didn’t want to hear that he loved her, no matter how clearly he felt it. So he just stared into her eyes while their bodies came together, apart, together, and swal owed his words where they settled as a lump in his throat.
Myrna rol ed over, her arm landing on Brian’s flat stomach. Sheets of paper crinkled beneath her. She smiled. He’d had a very productive day of song writing and she’d be bow-legged for life. His arm moved to wrap around her back, drawing her closer to his side.
“At this rate, I’l have the entire new album written by next week.” He paused. “Except you’re leaving in two days.”
He didn’t sound very happy about the idea. He frowned. She smiled. She hoped the band accepted her as their tag-along. She real y did want to spend more time with Brian. He rocked her world in more than one way.
“Do you think the guys are up yet?” she asked.
He tilted his head back to look at a digital clock on the side table. “It’s two already?” He sat up. “Yeah, I’d say they’re up.”
From the bed, he col ected the sheets of music he’d composed, peeling one off Myrna’s sticky back when she rol ed over for him. She needed a shower. And about a liter of water. She’d gotten quite a workout in the past five hours. Treadmil s had nothing on this man.
“I can’t wait to show this to Trey.” Brian held up one of the scores. The one he’d written while fucking her hard on the floor. “He’s going to flip.”
“I can’t wait to hear it. It sounded fantastic when you were screaming it at me.”
He beamed like a kid at Christmas. “Yeah, it’s good, I think.”
Myrna crawled from the bed, unsteady on her feet. “I stil need to talk to the band. Should I wait until after you’ve gone through al your new music with them?”
“What do you want to talk to them about?”
“You’re included in this,” she said.
“I want the entire band to make the decision. So when we’re talking this over, I don’t want you to think of me as your lover.”
“Yeah, that’s possible.” He laughed. “Not!”
He set the sheets of music on the dresser near the door and wandered around the bed. He drew her naked body against his, hand sliding over the curve of her ass. “So tel me what this is about.”
She kissed his jaw. “I have to talk to al of you at once,” she insisted.
He pouted. “I’m not special?”
“In this case, no.”
He sighed. “Al right, I’l cal this band meeting for you.” He found his discarded pants and slid into them, fastening them around his slim hips. “Get dressed. I’l be back.”
He picked up his sheets of music and left the room shirtless and barefoot.
Myrna found the bags of items she’d purchased that morning and dressed in her new clothes. Cheap, but functional. Better than a suit. But a suit would have made her seem more professional when she asked the band for this favor. She searched the floor for her discarded suit and held it up, deciding if she should change into it. It was a wrinkly mess. The door opened. Brian peeked in.
“I’ve got the guys al together. You ready to talk to us?”
She smiled, tossing her suit on the bed. She slipped on the sandals she’d bought and searched for her purse to retrieve her grant acceptance letter. “Have you seen my purse?”
“I think it’s by the door.”
She walked past him, dropping a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. He closed the bedroom door and fol owed her. Locating her purse on a counter, she pul ed the letter from inside. “Where are they?”
Brian stared at her bare throat above the flowing, green tank she wore. “You look hot.” A glazed look came to his eyes.
“Earth to Brian,” she said. “Your band members. Where are they?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “On the other bus.”
Guitar music and boisterous conversation came from the open door of the second bus. Myrna climbed the stairs, nervous for some strange reason, and entered the vehicle. A large group of men stood, sat, or perched in a circle around the main room. She saw al the band members and several familiar faces from the show in Chicago. Roadies. Trey had an acoustic guitar in his hands and was strumming notes written across a piece of paper splattered with chocolate syrup. Trey stil ed his guitar strings. Heads turned and al eyes fel on Myrna. She flushed. “Hel o.”
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