Boiling Point (Feverish #1.5) Page 3

  She dropped the ebook she was reading, because it paled in comparison to the man touching her, and she let out a sigh as his lips brushed her neck. She could already feel his hardened cock pressing into her leg as he moved closer. She wound her fingers into his hair while pushing her pelvis against him. It didn’t take her long to get revved up with Clay touching her—whether it was his lips, his tongue, his fingers, or something else. Just his masculine scent could make her wet.

  He felt more aggressive than usual, though, like he was pumped up from his show. She knew a lot of the guys were tired too, but Clay had told her lots of times in the past that playing for a live audience energized him, made him feel more alive than anything else on the planet. And she suspected that was what was happening right now. The way his hands and tongue were roaming her body, he felt like a man who’d been denied sex for years and was getting his first taste.

  “I love that you were already ready for me, babe,” he said, squeezing her ass cheeks in his hands while his tongue plunged down her cleavage again. His damp hair brushed across her collarbone and made her shiver, but the way he was moving was making her pelvis grind into his side, and she couldn’t help the gasp that hissed out of her mouth. She felt his hand roaming up her side once more, cupping the side of her breast, the same one his tongue now lapped at, and Emily could sense how wet she’d grown in just the space of seconds. This driving behavior from Clay, the sense that he wouldn’t let up until they were both satisfied, was more arousing than she ever would have thought.

  His hands wouldn’t stop, and part of what had her teetering on the edge was wondering where he was going next. She had no control over the proceedings—she couldn’t move her hands without getting in his way, so she just kept her hands cupping his neck, and she was going to let him lead the way.

  Another second and his fingers were touching her below, eliciting another gasp from her lips. “Mmm, girl, I love that.” His frenetic pace slowed then, and he moved his finger down then up her clit again as if relishing the feel of her slickness against his rough skin. Her breathing was ragged then, and she bit down on her lip, once more aware of the fact that the two of them were essentially not alone. Whether the others in the bus were actually watching or not, Emily knew there was a crowd of people there—maybe not just outside the curtain, but they could be if they wanted. Clay dragged his finger back down her clit, drawing her attention to that throbbing spot, the one area that begged for more.

  And she decided at that second that she didn’t care if the whole damn bus was on the other side of that thick fabric, the only thing separating her naked lovemaking from all those people. She felt rather than heard Clay growl his approval at how her whole world seemed to stop at his finger, and she tried to ease her legs apart for him instead of clamp them around him…because she was so close already.

  And then he stopped, kissing her hard, and turned her around so she faced the curtain. It was mere seconds until she felt his entire girth pressing against her from behind, and he found her, entering her and filling her up. He was the largest guy she’d ever been with, and sometimes he felt like he pressed her body to its limits, but never more than when he fucked her from behind. For some reason, he felt almost like more than she could handle that way.

  But he felt good, too.

  He rocked in and out slowly, his lips touching her neck before he said, “I told you no one would give a shit what we were doing in here.” His words brought her back to reality, and for a moment, she almost panicked. She felt her body grow tense and cold until Clay’s fingers began kneading one of her nipples. She heard Debbie’s raucous laugh as the woman stomped past their bunk, and Emily imagined the woman watching Clay fuck her. Somehow, she knew Debbie would be jealous. The woman was obviously unhappy and angry anyway, and seeing the way Clay was pleasuring her would make her furious—or maybe even turned on. As much as Debbie complained about her boyfriend’s supposed dalliances, Emily got the feeling that Debbie enjoyed it just as much as she liked complaining.

  And then Emily imagined Debbie doing what she did best—gossiping, telling everyone what Clay and Emily were doing. The whole band was partying, celebrating their first night with all the people who’d helped it happen, but there was Clay, unable to contain himself, having to expend his energy on his girlfriend.

  It made Emily feel loved. Desired. Wanted. Needed.

  So when Clay’s fingers drifted down her side, his rough skin lightly scratching her flesh, she felt her body rev up again, ready for release as he rhythmically moved in and out of her. “You feel amazing, Em,” he said, so softly she could barely feel him, and inside she gave herself to him. She belonged to him—all of her—and she would let him love her anywhere he chose, so long as he was with her. His fingers made their way back down to her throbbing clit and he stroked her again. She gasped once more and lifted her knee to give him easier access, and in seconds, she felt her pelvis moving slightly, both to meet his cock from behind as well as to relish the feeling of his finger moving against her. The two in conjunction were more than she could take, and she felt her thighs tremble as she sucked in a deep breath before her brain collapsed under a chemical explosion. In spite of how she’d let go of the anxiety, she stifled the moans that wanted to pour out of her mouth, claiming Clay as her lover for now and all time.

  But as she reached behind her, digging her fingers into his hair, she turned her head to face him. Even in the darkness, she knew he could sense it as strongly as she. If there were ever doubts, they dissipated whenever the two of them joined, because then there was no denying the emotions they both felt.

  They belonged to each other, now and forever.

  * * *

  Emily might have hesitated at first, but once he’d begun tasting her and easing—okay, rushing—into foreplay, she’d relented and given herself over to him, just as she always did. He loved that she was so easy for him to read, more so than when they’d first gotten together. This tour was making them both feel a little strange, their relationship strained, but there was never any doubt in his mind when they made love.

  It was a language that spoke without hesitation, without fear, and it was easy to understand.

  And he fell asleep holding her close, easing his flaccid cock out of her body but otherwise not moving. He didn’t drift off before he whispered in her ear that he loved her.

  So it sucked waking up the next morning without her in the bed. He heard a few of the roadies in the living area and realized those guys must have crashed in the main bus because they’d been partying with the band. It didn’t matter—there was plenty of furniture on the bus, not to mention a couple of extra beds, and they could have slept comfortably.

  But Clay was straining, because he thought he’d heard one of them say his girlfriend’s name.

  “She’s got one of the finest asses I have ever seen.” And then, as if the guy was getting ready to eat his mama’s homemade pot pie, he said, “Mmm-mmm.” Clay could almost see the redneck rubbing his belly and licking his lips.

  Was that motherfucker talking about his woman?

  Clay could almost feel the Cro-Magnon inside rearing his wide head down deep inside, and he was ready to jump out of his bunk, naked and all, so he could whoop some ass…all for those guys admiring some ass.

  He could barely hear the other guy say, “Yeah, I’d like to tap that.”

  Guy One guffawed and added, “You’d keep comin’ back for more.”

  Clay was seething in that little bunk, ready to jump out and whoop ass, but a couple of things stopped him. First, he was completely naked—and even though he’d considered it, trying to pick a fight while exposed was a damn stupid idea. On top of that, the damp towel he’d covered himself with the night before he’d thrown on the hallway floor—outside the bunk—so there was no guarantee it would be there now. He had nothing else, other than a sheet and thin blanket. Emily’s robe wasn’t even in there. So good luck delivering an ass-whooping with a sheet tied around your wai
st, Clay. Add to it, he wasn’t truly a fighter. Fighting didn’t do for him what it did for most guys. All a nasty fight did for him was hurt his knuckles and make it difficult to play. If he couldn’t shred that night, the concert would be a disaster. But the worst part of it was that he didn’t even know if those guys were talking about Emily, so if he went out there and beat the shit out of one of them—simply for admiring some woman’s nice ass, something he’d done a million times over himself—and he was wrong, he’d look like a supreme asshole.

  So he lay stewing as the two guys continued chatting…while he said nothing.

  Guy Two piped in, “Man, imagine the prime pussy we could get if we were like that. Rich and famous dudes get all the chicks. Doesn’t matter if they’re good lookin’ or not.”

  Clay felt his brows furrow as his veins surged once more, and he tried to suppress the irritation he felt. But he started thinking—was Emily with him only because he was rich and famous? Oh, and, in her case, also because he was a guitar player? He didn’t think so. Their love and passion had seemed to develop naturally.

  Hadn’t it?

  After processing that a little while, the two guys in the other room were completely out of his thoughts as he began thinking about Abby, his ex-wife, the woman who’d cheated on him and left him for another man—before he’d become famous. Would she have done that now?

  And then, after mulling over that shit, he started wondering…if Emily really was just with him because he was a bit of a celebrity, would she leave someday when she realized there was no love there?

  What a fucking way to greet the day.

  He was pissed off, upset, and ready to beat the shit out of those guys, all for appreciating a cute butt. And he really wanted to take a piss. Clay actually smiled when he thought that women might appreciate him for his money and fame, but they also appreciated him for something else. He pulled the bunk curtain aside and stepped out. Those guys could trash talk him all they wanted—but they’d do it knowing Clay Smith had the biggest fucking cock on the bus…and so he sauntered down the hall to the bathroom first and then he’d peek in the shower and see if his girlfriend was in there wanting a little company…

  Chapter Five

  EMILY WAS BITING her tongue and fighting herself so she wouldn’t roll her eyes. Why the hell had she allowed herself to be roped into yet another coffee date with Debbie? The woman was not only a train wreck waiting to happen, but she also was a downer—and she was making Emily paranoid.

  This time, Debbie was going on and on about what Sam was going to want to do in the near future, and Emily was trying to tune her out. She was still marveling in her head at the lovemaking session she and Clay had engaged in last night. She felt a little dirty now, but she was also glad she’d been with Clay and not some other guy. If anyone was open sexually, it was her man, and she knew she was safe with him.

  She just had to ignore Debbie, and she was doing okay…until Debbie changed her tune. “But don’t take it personally, Emmy. They take those kinds of potshots at everyone. They’re just jealous.”

  Oh, shit. She’d missed something—something that sounded halfway important. She could just nod and pretend like she knew what Debbie was saying, but she was afraid she might regret it later. Might as well fess up and admit that she’d been daydreaming. “I’m sorry. What? I’m still halfway asleep.”

  Debbie grinned out of one side of her mouth. “Clay keep you busy last night?”

  Emily blushed, something she didn’t usually do, but she’d just been thinking about it. “Not all night.”

  The other woman lowered her voice and leaned in. “Is he really as big as they say he is?”

  Emily pursed her lips. God, why would she even ask that? It was rude and nosy…but why not tell the truth? She knew that Debbie was, for some dumb reason, jealous deep down, so why not give her something to feel a little green over? She grinned before saying, “Huge.” She almost sighed too but wanted this part of the conversation to be over already. “So what were you saying a second ago?” She sipped at her coffee, hoping Debbie would answer her question instead of asking more about what Clay looked like underneath his jeans.

  Besides, Emily was pretty sure there was a picture or two online somewhere if Debbie really wanted to know. Emily hadn’t confirmed it for certain, but she’d heard the rumor, and where there was smoke…

  “Oh, I was just talking about all the assholes who work for the band.”

  “The assholes?”

  “Yeah…the ones who think we’re pathetic and needy—like we’re going on tour just because we don’t trust our boyfriends.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah…and lots of girlfriends and wives do tag along for that reason. But you know I’m here for the adventure.”

  The adventure. Emily didn’t even want to ask what she meant by that, although she was pretty damned sure she understood. “I don’t know, Debbie. I mean…I’m here as Clay’s PA, but I really don’t know if I’m actually doing anything. I can see where they get that idea.”

  “What?! Do you not value yourself at all, girl?”

  Well, she did, but she was also a realist. And, truth be told, she’d been hearing those whispers since before the actual tour. “Really, Debbie, what do you honestly—honestly—think Clay needs me for?” She couldn’t help adding a touch of snark. “Aside from the occasional blowjob.”

  Debbie didn’t miss a beat. “Moral support.”

  Oh. Well, that was a good, albeit unexpected, answer. “Okay, yeah, sure, Debbie, but I’m not doing anything as a PA. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t.”

  “So who gives a shit what they think?” Emily thought about it for a few more seconds before continuing, answering her own question. “It’s not necessarily that I care. But I suppose I do get tired of hearing the whispers, seeing the looks and sneers.” She supposed, on some level, she wanted some respect, but had she done anything to earn it?

  Debbie shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. I know—it sounds dumb, but it’s true. Just ignore those assholes. I’m going as nothing more than Sam’s girlfriend. Is it because I’m jealous? No, but I know he’ll cheat on me while I’m not here, so why not just be a part of the action and not worry about it? Should I care what the crew thinks? Hell, no. They’re just jealous, too. They’re jealous of me and they’re jealous of the band. They want to be the guy who scores whatever girl he wants. It’s not enough that they get plenty of action just by being around the band. They want to be the band. But guess what? They haven’t put in the hard work. They don’t deserve it.”

  Emily didn’t know how she felt about hanging around Debbie, but one thing was certain—the woman had the right attitude. Emily really shouldn’t let the crew influence her emotions…she just didn’t know how to take that idea from realization to reality. After talking about it with Debbie, she knew she had a long way to go.

  * * *

  Clay wasn’t about to ask what Emily and Debbie had been doing hanging out together, because he knew the woman was nothing more than her friend on tour. He supposed his girl needed someone to spend time with. The trouble was he knew how Debbie was. She liked to stir up trouble, and she loved imagining her faithful boyfriend was a player, and no amount of coaxing would convince her otherwise.

  But fuck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this insecure about a woman.

  Actually, he could. It had been Abby…and the woman had earned every frantic thought he’d ever had about her. Actually, her actions were likely the reason why he was such a goddamned pussy nowadays. Wearing his Jet cloak had helped him escape from most situations that would make him feel and act like a whiny boyfriend, but he’d dropped that shit with Emily months ago. She’d asked for it—the real him—and wanted it. She wanted to be around the sensitive guy, the one who cared and the one who was vulnerable. But all it was doing was making him a fucking mess.

  That meant Jet needed to come out to play. It was better—for hi
m, for her, for the band.

  So when they all met for a late lunch before heading to the venue and he asked how her morning had gone, he pretended like her hanging with Debbie was no big deal. “Have a good time?” Jet asked, cool as a fucking cucumber.

  Emily shrugged. “I suppose.”

  Was she just saying that or were she and Debbie bonding? Was Emily hiding something? Jesus…he was killing himself. Be fucking Jet. Be Jet. He closed his eyes and sucked down a deep breath, channeling that part of himself—and then he slipped his hand on her thigh just above her knee, reminding them both how much Jet loved his woman.

  Emily looked over at him and gave him a small smile, but it slowly turned into a frown proportionally as his hand slid up her leg. He raised his eyebrows, unable to stop the amused look from taking over his face, and he mouthed, What?

  She whispered, “You know what, Clay. Not here…in front of everyone.” He saw her let out a small sigh. “Last night was bad enough.”

  Even though Emily frowned, he wasn’t going to remove his hand. He stopped sliding it up her leg, but removing it would feel like defeat. Clay was once again dominating, the simpering, lovesick pussy, but Jet needed to take over again—and Jet would only remove his hand if Emily told him to. She hadn’t said a word about that; she only wanted him to end the journey.

  He could do that.

  He was growing tired of the internal war, though, the constant struggle, because Jet was his armor to stop him from being hurt…and he’d removed it, thinking he was safe—but he clearly was not. Jet didn’t give a shit, and that was where his mind needed to be. Worrying about Emily and what guys thought of her, in addition to all the crazy ideas Debbie was probably implanting in her head, would make him a shitty guitar player, and he needed to get it together for the tour. The fans wouldn’t care if Clay was struggling internally—they came to see him shred the shit out of his guitar. So he had to get his head on straight—not just for his heart, but for his fans.

  He had to be Jet. There was no other option.