Page 31 of Dedicated
“Les, you pretty much push your women and men out the door when you’re through with them. Also, where are her legs?”
“I think that’s them behind… no fucking shit, is that New Kids on the Block? Oh wait, maybe it’s One Direction? Hurry up! Phone. Now. I need this.”
He shoved his phone in my hand as I tried to shush him, but it was too late; a shaft of light pierced our stupid hidey-hole and backlit the photographer like something out of a horror B movie.
“Evening, fellas. Having yourselves a private tour?” The perky insouciance in her smile tempted me to snatch the camera out of her hands and break it against Arnold’s mountainous bicep.
“Yeah, actually, so if you don’t mind, I’m pretty sure you got what you needed at the restaurant.” I did my best to affect a casual air, like we weren’t cowering behind a curtain. Well, mostly me. Les still appeared enraptured by the discovery of Joey McIntyre. He had a lifelong obsession with boy bands that he’d told me about in great detail one night in Denver when he’d been out-of-his-mind stoned, and his depth of knowledge was frightening.
She shrugged lightly, completely unmoved. The wax museum was proving to be another stupid idea on my part. We should have just kept walking.
“I got some boring, lukewarm displays of affection, but nothing that’ll sell covers and, therefore, make my trip here and my paycheck worthwhile, so…” Her smile sweetened. “I thought I might stick around for a while. See what’s for dessert. By the way, you’ve been spotted.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “The sidewalk out front is filled with adoring fans and a few not-so-adoring ones. Seems your relationship has stirred up quite a vat of emotion.”
I glowered at her, gritting my teeth, but Les touched my elbow lightly, then slid his hand up along my bicep and wrapped his arm around my shoulder affectionately. He plastered on his charming smile, the one that lit up his eyes and melted panties and boxers alike. Even if it wasn’t aimed in my direction, it was still stunning. An unwanted heat spread over me as his fingers drifted over my sleeve.
“How about a deal?” he suggested.
The photographer cocked her hip, lifting an expectant brow.
“We’ll give you something good and you prance yourself back out there and tell them we’re not here.”
“Les.” That was me, trying to tell him we weren’t going to bargain with fucking paparazzi.
“How good?” That was her, ignoring me.
“You’ll have to change your panties afterwards, sweetheart.” His voice oozed sex like syrup, and that did the trick. She swung her camera up, fingers flying as she adjusted the settings.
I didn’t have even a second to formulate a protest before Les plowed into me, shoving me up against the wall. The flail of my hand sent one of Arnold’s forearms flying off, and something in the wall lodged uncomfortably against my spine. A light switch, maybe?
But then Les’s mouth hit mine like a shot of whiskey. Rich and dark, with the afterburn of his teeth scraping over my lower lip. One of his hands twined over my shoulder, sinking into the loose curls at the nape of my neck, and I grunted when he tugged and pressed harder against me. The heat of his body against mine, and the tongue that barreled into my mouth overwhelmed me with sensation. I stopped thinking. Stopped thinking about the photographer and Arnold’s broken arm and the people outside. My lips parted on a groan, and Les deepened the kiss as I fisted the side of his shirt, low near his waist, balling up the fabric until my knuckles brushed his bare skin, and he shivered.
Les wedged his thigh between mine and forced my legs wider, his erection hard and forceful against me, the roll of his hips subtle but demanding in pressure. I couldn’t help it; I reacted to the friction, felt my stomach contract as I rocked into him and he let out a soft moan, the pleasure in it transmuting and rolling through me like sound waves. God, was I still breathing? I knew that if I felt his dick like a steel rod, he had to be feeling mine and would know without a doubt how turned on I was. His tongue all but fucked my mouth, and then his teeth dragged over my lower lip, and just as I was about to give myself fully over to it, it was gone.
Cool air rushed the space between us as Les wrenched himself away and tousled my hair playfully before turning back to the reporter. I was left gasping and panting for breath in the vacuum.
“Better put on the brakes, because once this guy gets started”—he thumbed at me—“he can go all fucking night. He’s seriously insatiable.”
“Likely to fuck him right through this wall,” I agreed, somehow managing a sober expression despite my aroused half-fugue state where the sensation of Les’s mouth and weight against me pinged off every nerve ending in my body. I’d gone from zero to uncomfortably hard in a span of seconds.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Les pressing his lips together to suppress a grin as the photographer smirked, then waved a hand at us. “All right, all right. I’ve got enough.”
“Sure you don’t want to stick around and watch how I can make him speak in tongues?”
Oh God, I wished he’d stop talking.
The photographer arched a brow. “I’d be tempted to insert myself.”
Les shrugged. “We’ve done it before.”
“I don’t like being third wheel.”
I grabbed Les by the nape of his neck and squeezed before he could dig us deeper, ignoring how imagining what his mouth could do made my dick throb. “That’s enough. Jesus.”
The photographer winked smugly at us and vanished back through the curtain with a little farewell wave. From my new vantage point, I caught a beckoning sliver of red light beyond Demi Moore’s legless torso. I started toward it and had just pushed through the doorway into another storage room with more wax figures when Les hauled me back by my waistband. “Not so fast, Romeo.”
Chapter 23
“What? Let’s go!” Evan was practically shouting, and he tried to jerk away to continue forward, but I kept my fingers fastened to his waistband, holding him in place as I stepped around to face him.