Mattress Music (Rock Starz Book 1) Read online

  He roamed his hands over my body, squeezing my butt through my jeans and stroking up my spine. I let myself fall forward and felt his growing erection press through his jeans against my stomach. He moaned into my mouth as I squirmed against his length, then he slid his hand up inside my t-shirt, cupped my breast through my satin bra and tweaked my nipple to a hard point.

  Blood pulsed between my thighs and I braced my knees to stay upright. I wanted him, now. I wanted him inside me again so badly I thought I might actually combust. It was already hot in the bug house, but we were cranking the temperature to the boiling point.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Ian murmured as he kissed across my cheek to my ear. “No idea how much this means.”

  “Oh, I think I can tell,” I said, squeezing my hand between our bodies and pressing my palm against the strain in his jeans.

  His breath caught in his throat. He stopped kissing me, pulled his head back, and looked into my eyes. “But why do you want me?” he asked, his voice tight as a violin string.

  “What?” I asked, treating him to another long, firm stroke through his denim.

  His whole body tensed. “I need to know,” he said, frowning. “What do you see in me?”

  “Apart from your wit, humor and constant need to analyze?” I asked, massaging his cock. A naughty little voice on my shoulder was telling me to undo his fly and go down on him right here. There didn’t seem to be anyone around—perhaps we’d get away with it.

  “Yes.” He sounded as if he were struggling to control his breathing. “Apart from wit, humor and constant analysis, what else do you see?” A muscle jumped in his cheek.

  “Mmm…” I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I popped open the top button of his fly. “There is, of course, your charming smile, cute butt and…”

  “What?” he asked louder. “And what?”

  I raised my eyebrows as if deliberating my answer.

  “Goddamn it, Nina, stop playing with me.” He grabbed both my wrists and clamped them to his chest.

  “But…but I thought you were enjoying it.” I frowned up at him.

  “Fuck, of course I was…am…” He screwed up his face. “Nina, stop playing with my head. What else attracted you to me? I need to know, now.” There was a seriousness to his voice I hadn’t heard before.

  “I…” I started but paused. I didn’t want to scare him away. He was the first guy I’d had a sober conversation with in ages. The first one whose clothed company I’d enjoyed in a long time. The first man who’d filled in a piece of that hole. “I think maybe…”

  “Nina.” His voice sounded more like an animal growling than a human talking.

  “I think maybe you want the same thing I do.” There, I’d said it. I dropped my attention to the tight grip he had on my wrists, waiting for it to slacken before he walked away.

  “You mean—”

  “A relationship, intimacy, love, respect.” I shrugged as the words tumbled from my mouth of their own volition.

  Suddenly, like a marauder intent on plundering, his mouth was back on mine. He dropped my wrists and held my face in both hands, kissed me hard and fast and urgent. Consumed me like a starving man. “My place,” he panted into my mouth. “Now.”

  “Ian—”

  “I live alone.”

  Chapter Four

  We raced along the winding zoo pathways so fast I noticed several people watching us. I wondered if they’d guessed the reason for our haste. Ian ignored them, slipping on his shades and leather and tugging his cap lower. His hand was entwined with mine and I found myself having to take two steps to his one.

  We jumped into a waiting cab and Ian barked an address in Kensington at the driver.

  “Nice,” I said, pulling a suitably impressed face.

  “Yeah,” he said, “it is.” He scooped me up and set about kissing me again, long, slow and indulgent, but at the same time I sensed raw desire radiating from him. It matched mine—barely harnessed and carnal.

  He lives alone.

  A delighted flicker clenched my stomach muscles. Soon we’d have privacy. I was throbbing with the need to come, to come under Ian’s touch, to come with Ian. I just needed him so badly it was like needing to breathe. I couldn’t remember feeling anything like this before.

  The plastic girls ain’t got nothing I need

  Gimme real life, give me real skin, gimme real love—

  It was that song again, blasting through the cab and vibrating the sound system.

  “This is Manic Machines’ best one yet, mate,” the driver shouted over his shoulder. “I love it.” His buggy, bespectacled eyes stared through the rearview mirror at us.

  “Yep,” Ian said scooting forward. He slid the glass partition across with a click— instantly silencing both the music and the driver.

  “I thought you liked that one?” I said, curling my arm back around the solid muscles of his waist.

  “I do. I just don’t want to be disturbed by his music critique. I’m very busy, in case you hadn’t noticed.” His mouth pressed on mine again and I forgot all about the backseat music as his tongue traced the outline of my lips.

  We alighted hastily and I looked up at the imposing building Ian was scurrying me into. It was a high-rise constructed mainly of black glass and steel. It was out of place amongst the period Georgian houses, but it looked sleek and elegant just the same.

  With his palm pressed at the small of my back, Ian urged me into the minimalist marble lobby. “Hey,” he said to an older guy in a navy uniform sitting behind a high desk.

  The older guy, “Ted”, it said on his brass name badge, grinned and touched his finger to his hat. “Good day, sir.”

  Ian called the elevator and I shifted my feet. Heart racing, I looked up at the high ceiling. “This is a bit posh,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

  “I came into a few quid,” he said, staring straight ahead as the elevator doors opened. We stepped in and as soon as the door shut he was kissing me again, hard and desperate. I returned his passion, slipping my hands up the inside of his t-shirt and absorbing the heat and power of his gorgeous back into my palms. He did the same to me and managed to undo my bra. I moaned as my breasts sprang free and we pressed closer.

  The door pinged open and we tumbled out into the deserted, thickly carpeted corridor, hands roaming under clothes. Our lust was hot and liquid, swirling around us like another physical presence. Ian stopped at the first door we came to, tore his lips from mine, rammed in a key and dragged me into a dark hallway.

  The door slammed shut. Our mouths smashed together and our tongues began an even more frantic game of chase. The only sounds were our heavy breathing and the dragging of material over frenzied limbs. We were like wild animals suddenly set free. He was working on my jeans, tugging the button and dropping my zipper. He shoved his hand down the tight denim and cupped my mound through my knickers. We stilled and looked at each other.

  My knees turned watery. Having him touch me where I needed it so badly was like having my legs taken from under me. I must have begun to sink downward because he stepped me backward so I had the cool wood of the door to support me. He began to kiss down my neck as his fingers created a rocking motion against my clit. “Oh God,” I said, feeling a tug of pleasure. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

  “Yes,” he said, yanking my jeans and knickers to my thighs with his other hand. “Completely alone, be as loud as you want, this place is soundproof.”

  He shoved at my feet so my legs spread apart as far as my jeans would allow, then slid his fingers through my hot, slick folds, exploring and teasing.

  I groaned and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  He circled my clit with the pads of his fingers, applying the perfect amount of pressure.

  “I don’t know if I can stand up,” I whimpered as my head fell back against the door and my spine weakened.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, wrapping his forearm around my body and pinni
ng me to him. “Let go, Nina, I’ve got you. Let me take you where you need to go.”

  He slid one long finger high up inside me.

  I shut my eyes and shivered out a breath as my pelvis seemed to clamp around him.

  “Are you thinking of me?” he asked breathily into my ear.

  “Yes. Oh God, yes.” I sank down onto him and he treated me to another finger, stretching and filling me deliciously. “Just you, only you.” My whole world narrowed. There was only Ian and the wonderful things he was doing. His thumb caught my clit and as his fingers pumped in and out, he stroked and caressed my needy bud. My flesh tingled, I opened my mouth to tell him to stop—I was going to come without him.

  “Come, Nina,” he said, picking up the pace, shoving into me harder and grinding that wicked thumb against me with devastating expertise. “Come for me here, now.”

  Before I could utter a syllable in reply, the first burning wave of an almighty orgasm hit me, the first in weeks. I called out his name, cried out loud and free to let him know how fabulous he was doing. My knees buckled, my back slid, but he caught me and continued to hand-fuck me as wave after wave of ecstasy rushed through my veins. “Yes, yes…” I gasped, grinding against him. “That’s it, that’s it.” My pulse pounded in my ears, my skin prickled feverishly—the moment seemed to go on forever.

  I gripped Ian for support as the pulsations finally eased. Opening my eyes, I found him staring at me with burning intensity. “But you…you didn’t…” I said. His erection strained against my stomach through his jeans and I remembered how painfully engorged he’d been that morning.

  “One all,” he said with a grin. “Now we’re even, next time we’ll come together.”

  “That happened so fast,” I said, blinking long and slow. “I’m dizzy.”

  He kissed me and wiggled his fingers inside me. Aftershocks hit my body and I trembled against him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulders all the tighter.

  “Mmm,” he said, as he leaned backward and looked down at his hand nestled between my legs. “It’s reassuring to know I can get a bona fide orgasm out of your delectable little body.”

  “That was definitely real,” I said, dragging in a breath and pulling off my cap to release my mop of hair.

  “Good, now I have a baseline.” He slipped his fingers from me and pulled up my knickers and jeans. “Come on,” he said, taking off his own hat and tossing it on the floor. “I’ll get us a drink.”

  He walked forward several paces and threw open a door. Instantly I was hit by the brilliant daylight flooding the room. The entire far wall was made of glass and the summer sun poured in. “Wow,” I said. “What a great view.” I could make out St. Paul’s Cathedral and the London Eye in the distance.

  “Glad you like it.” Ian moved swiftly ahead of me and disappeared into another room. “Champagne?”

  “Er, yes, that would be great.” I glanced at his long, low corner sofa. It was black leather, distressed like his jacket and scattered with plump gray cushions. Resting against the arm was a shiny black electric guitar. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Meeting each other,” he called, from what I guessed must be the kitchen.

  I turned and looked behind me. The electric guitar on the sofa wasn’t the only one Ian owned. Balanced on stands were another six of different shapes and colors.

  The sudden pop of a cork echoed from the kitchen.

  “I take it you like to play,” I called.

  He didn’t answer so I wandered in to find him, admiring a huge black stereo system as I went. The corridor to the kitchen was lined with the same floor to ceiling windows as the living room, and the opposite wall was covered in frames, many of them holding silver discs.

  I paused to study them. “Manic Machines”, they all read. My gaze slid to the frames holding photos. They were, without exception, of the same four guys—Ian was one of them.

  “What’s all this?” I asked quietly, though I didn’t need an answer. My brain had suddenly clicked onto exactly who my one-night stand was.

  “Just a few mementos of the last five years,” Ian said, standing next to me, his arm brushing my shoulder. He handed me a thin-stemmed champagne flute, the fizzing bubbles popped over the rim and dampened my hand.

  I took a long sip and peered forward. In one photo, Ian was standing with his arm flung around a man I recognized as Robbie Harding, lead singer of Manic Machines. There were two more blokes in the picture, one of whom was holding up a gold trophy and punching the air. I scanned another of Manic Machines performing to a packed stadium. Lights splintered through the picture, waving hands pierced the foreground, there was movement and action. I could almost hear the music they were playing. I reached out and touched a long black frame holding a shiny silver disc.

  “We went platinum on our last album,” Ian said quietly. He took a deep slug of his drink.

  I turned to him, my brow furrowed, head tilted.

  He stepped closer. His eyes had darkened and a dart of uncertainty flashed through them. “You asked me what I did,” he said. “I told you I was in the music industry. You didn’t ask anything else so I didn’t elaborate.”

  My mind was spinning. Ian was in one of the biggest bands of the last five years and I hadn’t known, hadn’t recognized him—he hadn’t bothered to tell me!

  “I don’t get it…” I shook my head. “Why…” I took a step away from him. It was all falling into place. Why he’d been skulking quietly at the back of the bar when I’d found him last night, not making eye contact and with his head in New Music Express. Why all day he’d been attracting lingering looks, odd comments. Hell, he was even asked for an autograph and I hadn’t figured out what was going on.

  “I’m sorry, Nina,” he said, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “I probably should have said something.”

  “It’s a fairly important detail about yourself, don’t you think?”

  “Is it?”

  I looked meaningfully at the wall of fame. “Yes.”

  He sighed, walked through to the living room and placed his champagne on a low glass table.

  I followed and stood studying him, hand on my hip, waiting for an explanation.

  “Can you imagine how I felt last night, when you sat down and started chatting to me like I was a regular guy?” he said. “I’d just had a meeting with my manager and stopped in for a drink and a read and there you were. Hell, you even asked me my name. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to tell anyone.” He reached for my champagne and placed it down next to his. “Last night was awesome and so was today. Being with you, being with someone who liked me for me—not the guy in the band or the bloke with a ton of songwriting awards—was the biggest high I’ve had in a long time.”

  He shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it on the sofa. I studied the lean lines of his broad shoulders and tried to concentrate on what he was telling me.

  “You chatted me up because you liked the look of me,” he said. “We got on great, laughing, sharing a few drinks. Then you invited me to your place because you wanted to…” He frowned slightly and shook his head. “I’m sure you’ll agree, there’s a ton of issues going on there, but even so, I held you in my arms all night, listening to you breathing and feeling your tiny legs twisting with mine like you’d never let go.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked down at me. “And we had fun at the zoo, didn’t we?”

  “We only went in the bug house.”

  “Best damn bug house I’ve ever seen.” He pulled in a shaky breath. “And you, in the hall, now.” His thumb softly brushed my cheek. “You just came so fast for me, so hard, and it was me, Ian, not lead guitarist of the Manic Machines, not the guy with the wall of platinum discs, just Ian Driver who did that to you. It felt every bit as good for me as it did for you, Nina, perhaps even better because for once someone was with me because they wanted to, you know, just be with me.”

  I gazed into his eyes. There was vulnerability there, uncertainty. My
heart swelled. What he was saying sort of made sense, although never having had a day of fame I couldn’t really be sure.

  “You not recognizing me but still wanting me was amazing,” he said quietly and pressed a gentle, hesitant kiss on my lips. “It made me feel special.”

  I sighed and stepped away, needing a moment to think. “So play me something,” I said, pointing at the shiny guitar on the sofa.

  He hesitated for a second then rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat. “Okay.” He sat and picked up his guitar. The room filled with the sweet strum of strings.

  I walked to the enormous window, dealing with the new information I had about my date, about the man to whom I’d confessed what I really wanted. He was still Ian, still the slightly scruffy guy I’d poured my heart out to and fancied like crazy—nothing had changed. I still wanted him and he still wanted me, and it seemed we were looking for the same thing.

  “Why do you have so much glass if you enjoy anonymity?” I asked, staring out at the blue sky.

  “It’s one-way glass,” he said, picking out a soft rock tune that echoed lazily around the walls.

  I turned to him, chest tight and body buzzing with the need to touch him again, with the need to have him touch me again. I reached for the bottom of my t-shirt. “So no one will see if I do this.” I peeled it off and dropped it to the floor, along with my undone bra.

  “I guess not.” His gaze lifted from his strings and settled on my breasts. He licked his lips and the tune he’d been playing picked up a notch. “Skin like cream,” he sang throatily.

  “She tastes like a dream, mounds topped with strawberries, I wanna make her scream.”

  He gave a mischievous grin.

  “I like it.” I twitched my eyebrows and sashayed over to him.

  “It needs some work.” He set the guitar to one side, looked up into my eyes and reached once again for the button on my jeans.

  “So you gonna put some decent mattress music on?” I asked, assisting my trousers and panties on their descent and toeing off my shoes. “Or perhaps we should call it sofa music.”