Page 12 of Wild Infatuation (Rebel Rockstars #3)

Chapter Twelve

Terrance

I SPEND THE ENTIRE day wondering if that moment in my makeup chair actually happened. My aching cock says yes, and that it can’t wait for the sequel.

Unfortunately, I can’t hide in the hair and makeup trailer and wait.

I have to seem like part of the set, on hand if the director or photographer call for touchups.

That places me at the edges of the action, but doesn’t spare me an occasional scorching glance from Shawn.

His eyes keep catching me every time I think I can relax, turning the serene gardens rustled by a late summer breeze into a sweltering gauntlet.

It passes both slowly and in a blink. I never manage to settle before the photographer announces she got the shots they need and everyone can go home.

It’s a much smaller crew than for the video, so people disperse quickly.

I busy myself cleaning up makeup and hair supplies for longer than strictly necessary, delaying for as long as I can.

When I hop out of the hair and makeup trailer, I pause, scanning the gardens and pond of the arboretum.

The manicured trees and trimmed grass lay quiet.

A few people are heading toward their cars.

A few others mill about near the pond. No one seems to care what I’m up to when I head toward the wardrobe trailer while concentrating as hard as I can on walking normally.

I tap tentatively on the door, checking over my shoulder one more time—

And nearly scream as Shawn grabs me by the shirt and yanks me inside.

I hit the door with a thud. Shawn looms over me on the steps of the darkened trailer. He reaches past me to lock the door, then hauls me up the stairs and into the trailer.

That PA was right. He does care about discretion. As soon as I showed him I can keep this quiet, everything changed. I might not get it, but I’m definitely not going to question it as Shawn drags me through the car and toward the bedroom in the back.

He closes that door as well, throwing up an extra barrier between us and the outside world.

Blinds cover the lone window, casting the room into darkness.

Shawn pins me against the door the moment he gets me inside, crowding in close.

He pinches my jaw between his fingers and draws me roughly to his mouth.

All the time between this kiss and the last one disappears.

The rest of the day is a bad dream compared to the searing bliss of his mouth against mine.

Shawn kisses me hungrily, licking into my mouth and sucking on my tongue.

I tremble in his hold, leaning heavily against the door at my back as my knees turn to water.

He breaks away abruptly, still clasping my chin.

“This is just fun,” he says, voice low and raspy.

He pauses as though waiting for a response, like that was a question.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, breathless. He can call this whatever the hell he wants as long as he doesn’t stop.

I reach for the sides of his shirt so I can pull him closer.

Our bodies meet, his height leaving him towering over me when we’re hip to hip against the door.

Shawn chews on one of the rings piercing his bottom lip as his hand trails down my throat and chest. I let my hands sneak downward as well, until I’m tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

“You can keep it quiet?” Shawn says. “I can trust you?”

His dark eyes bore into me. For all that we’re pressed together picking at each other’s clothes, hesitation wavers in his gaze.

I get the sense he would actually leave right now if I gave the wrong answer, or if he didn’t believe my answer, but I can’t imagine why I scare him so much.

All I want is him. I’ll do whatever he needs if it means I can be this close.

“Of course,” I say.

For a moment, he gazes into my eyes as though searching them. I hold steady, fingers hooked in his pants.

He flinches as a war plays out behind those dark eyes, and I hang frozen, terrified he’s going to bolt.

But a second later he crashes back into my mouth so hard my head thunks against the door.

I throw my arms around his neck, holding him close, trying to squeeze reassurance into him.

His arms slide around my waist, fingers gripping the back of my shirt.

His cock presses urgently against my hip, and I groan, desperate for more.

I don’t know what tipped the balance. Perhaps nothing at all.

Shawn kisses me like he’s running away, frantic and sloppy.

When he breaks free with a gasp, his eyes are wild, almost terrified, but he doesn’t stop.

He goes for my pants, undoing them with fumbling fingers, clearly racing against whatever’s holding him back.

Picking up on his urgency, I grab at his pants as well. I’m not going to be content with this going one way. I get his jeans open even as he works on mine, reaching inside before he can stop this again, grabbing his hot, hard cock as he grabs mine.

Absurdly, we pause, panting at each other. Shawn braces an arm against the door at my back, digging through my eyes like he’s a detective at a crime scene. He isn’t going to find anything but desire, however. My goals here are as simple as can be, and I’m going to show him that while I still can.

I start stroking, not waiting for him, not caring if he follows.

He grunts and works his hand, however, his touch burning a little as we try to do this raw in the heat of the moment.

I’m too turned on to care about the friction.

I stroke him, careful not to squeeze too hard, and Shawn groans between his teeth and returns the favor.

He squeezes me at the base, and I wither in his hold, squirming against the door at my back.

When he returns to my tip, he finds it beaded with pre-cum.

He thumbs over it, but doesn’t go back down, toying with me, leaving me in torment as he teases me.

“Shawn,” I rasp, savoring the taste of his name on my tongue.

The door at my back isn’t enough to hold me.

I grab the front of his shirt, clinging to him as my thighs tremble and threaten to give.

The more I pull, the closer he tips, until his mouth is against mine, hotter and messier now that he’s preoccupied from my hand on his cock.

Our tongues prod at each other. Our lips slide off each other.

Our hands work as much as they can in the cramped space between our bodies.

Shawn breaks away with a curse, and for a second worry streaks through me, but then he simply licks his palm and grabs me again.

I follow his lead, but the second I catch him watching me, an idea strikes me.

I sneak my fingers into my mouth, pumping them, pulling them out so he can watch my tongue glide between them, spitting in my palm with my eyes fixed on him.

He groans the moment I touch him again. I keep watching him as I stroke, going harder and faster, soaking up the way his face tenses with pleasure.

He makes a noise low in the back of his throat, as though urging himself on, and strokes me in return.

My free hand is still gripping his shirt, keeping him close as pressure builds between us.

Every stroke adds another stone to an increasingly rickety tower, and when it falls, it’s going to take both of us down with it.

I move my hips, shamelessly pushing myself into his hand.

My body tingles from his every touch. He could have undone me with those searing kisses alone, but his sure, steady, strong hand shoves me toward the edge with brutal intensity.

I have a passing thought for our clothes, but we’re way past the point where we can worry about something like that.

This needs to happen now or it’s never going to happen at all, and I’m not sure I can live without it anymore.

Shawn bends toward me, but this time he leans past me, his forehead against the door as he slouches into the pleasure. His breaths blow hot against my neck, scratchy and urgent and ugly. Between every rasping gasp, he expels ecstatic expletives.

“ Fuck ,” he grunts, the word tickling my neck like raking fingernails.

I jerk myself into his grasp, not caring about the burn.

He does the same, cock hot in my hold. The door rattles as we crash our bodies together, but even if the flimsy barrier shattered I don’t think we could stop.

The end rushes up to greet us, the groans puffing against my neck revealing that he’s every bit as close as I am.

I close my eyes and give in, letting the pleasure thunder through me, letting every beat batter and bully me.

I could snap any moment, but I hold myself back as long as I can, yearning to bring him with me.

I concentrate on what I’m doing to him, delaying my own pleasure with gritted teeth.

My free hand claws at his shirt, threatening to tear the material as tension turns every muscle in my body rigid with anticipation.

“Fuck,” Shawn bites out, harsher than before.

For a dizzying moment, I feel like he’s going to bite my shoulder to hang on, but while his lips graze my skin, he simply sinks his head against my neck and moans through his release. I catch it in my hand, letting him gush into my fist and sag against me.

He manages to keep pumping through it, and I follow an instant later, but I hardly notice my own pleasure, too wrapped up in his. I made the man of my dreams come in my hand. I brought him this release. It’s me he’s leaning against as he gasps through waves of bone-melting relief.

We lean against the door and each other, panting, clutching each other’s spend in our fists, not daring to move. Eventually, Shawn picks up his head, dark eyes shining with lust when he gazes down at me.

“No one,” he says. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“Not your parents, not your friends, no one.”

I don’t understand his urgent and immediate need for secrecy, but I agree regardless. Maybe it’s like that PA said. Maybe things are different for rockstars and famous people. He must have a good reason to need this to stay so hush-hush, but his eyes reveal only fear.

“I promise,” I say after the third time he asks. “Shawn, I didn’t do this so I could brag. I did it because I want you.”

Something flinches across his face. His lips press harder together, as though he’s clenching his jaw.

“Alright,” he says after a moment.

He pushes himself away, and I scoot awkwardly aside so he can open the bedroom door.

The water runs, and when he returns, I hurry to follow his lead and clean myself up.

Once I’m somewhat back in order, I go right for the door, wanting to show him I can be as casual about this as he apparently needs me to be.

“You still have my number,” I say when I reach the door, “if you need some help trimming your hair or something.”

He blinks. He pats the back of his jeans, as though he forgot about the card I gave him earlier. Then he nods, and I take my cue, leaving the wardrobe trailer before I manage to scare him.