Page 10 of Wild Stars (Rock His World #2)

CHAPTER 10

Dare

Fuck. I’m hungover. Again.

I grab for my pillow to shield my eyes. It’s way too fucking bright in here. I need to seriously tell Penny to knock it off with the curtains.

My fingers slide along something velvet, and immediately, I tense. I don’t own fucking velvet anything .

I open my eyes, and panic hits me instantly. The room I’m in is enormous, and full of windows. Like, floor to ceiling windows, and all I can see for miles is forest.

I look up, seeing the ceiling is also replaced by windows.

It’s like a human terrarium.

Or an observatory.

With a really, really lux bed.

Like, I think you could easily fit five people in this damn thing.

I rub my eyes, trying to remember what happened. One look under the deep blue velvet covers lets me know my get fucked mission was a failure, because I’m still in my fucking underwear.

I fall back against the pillows, looking straight up through the window ceiling at the cloud-filled sky.

I clutch the soft covers to me. They smell masculine and woodsy, and the whole place feels moody, but somehow comforting.

I look to the nightstand, and suddenly I’m tense once more. I see a note card with my name on it, next to a tall glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen, set in one of those trays people serve drinks on.

I reach over and gingerly take the note card with my name on it, flipping it open with fear.

I swear if this is my Squid Game letter, I’m fucked.

Inside is the fanciest writing I’ve ever seen.

Take two ibuprofen and drink the entire glass of water.

Towels and clean clothes are on the counter in the en suite bathroom.

Shower is not negotiable.

Your presence is required in the kitchen immediately following your shower.

It’s signed with just an M, and of course, included on the bottom of the card is fucking directions to the kitchen.

I twist my lips as heat floods my entire being and my stomach flips, and suddenly, I am assaulted by my blurred memories of the prior night.

Of Matty, loading me into his limo, and telling me we were going somewhere “safe.”

No wonder the card of instructions sounds so damn bossy.

I look at the tall glass of water and contemplate not doing what he says.

But my stomach growls, my head aches, and I feel hot and gross.

So I shove down the need to defy this asshole’s orders, take my damn ibuprofen, and find the glass of water tastes really good.

And I’m fucking parched.

I don’t get up immediately, though, because this bed is really fucking warm and soft, and I want to commit the feeling to memory.

I’m gonna shoot across the sky like a beam of light

Gonna ricochet off the walls of the night

The words come to me easily, but fuck...

Panic floods me as I realize I don’t know where my clothes are, or my phone.

I throw myself out of bed, regrettably. This guest room is huge, but it isn’t messy by any means, and I don’t see my clothes or my phone anywhere.

Shit.

I make my way to the en suite bathroom, and I swear it’s bigger than my bedroom.

Decked out in black marble with gold etchings, the floor, wall, and shower all look like something out of one of those old epic movies. Like Cleopatra or some shit.

It’s still moody as fuck, but pretty.

Like Matty.

True to the card, there are dark blue towels—four to be exact—piled atop the black marble counter, next to what looks like a pair of gray sweatpants, a white shirt, and a pair of black boxer briefs. There’s even a pair of slides that look like they might actually fit my size thirteen feet.

It’s kind of weird, but also kind of comforting, and I hope he didn’t go too out of his way to find this stuff.

Who am I kidding, he probably has staff for this sort of thing.

I doubt Matty actually went to the trouble, given the fact he’s probably hungover as shit, too.

I don’t waste time as I climb into the shower, my headache already starting to ease up.

Guess the ibuprofen wasn’t such a bad idea.

Thankfully, the shower doesn’t take me too long to figure out, though it’s a little space age for my liking. After about five minutes of fumbling with the settings, I get it to a warm temperature, and the steam starts to build. The Eucalyptus hanging around the faucet makes the place smell like a spa, and I can’t help but close my eyes and relax for a moment as the hot water sluices over my skin.

There’s barely anything stocked in the shower, and I have no idea what dispenser is shampoo, conditioner, or body wash, so I eeny-meeny-miny-mo it and hope for the best.

Whatever the case, the stuff smells like fucking heaven.

It smells like Matty.

Instantly, my memories burst through at the thought of his name, as everything comes crawling back.

The drinks, the dancing, the angels.

The kiss.

I fucking kissed Matty.

My muscles tighten as I curse in the small space.

And he kissed me back. I can’t have imagined that.

Or his fucking dick grinding against me.

My cock remembers, too, apparently, because the moment that particular memory fills my psyche, the appendage twitches and hardens.

I swallow harshly as I remember his groans, his tongue in my fucking mouth.

The hot water runs down my skin and I close my eyes, letting my forehead fall against the black tile.

I take my cock in my hand, and I let out a deep sigh as I stroke myself.

It’s always been part of my morning routine while I shower, and I have a feeling if I don’t take care of this right now, it’s going to make the morning a lot more awkward than it already is.

Because last night I fucking kissed the man of my teenage dreams, and he opened his fucking mouth.

For me.

With the scent of his shampoo and body wash mixing with the eucalyptus, and the steamy thoughts filling my brain of Matty’s tongue against mine, of his fucking hardness against mine, his hands around my throat... it doesn’t take me long.

I suck in a breath as I rock my hips, stroking my cock with steady, fast rhythm.

The drag of my cock through my warm, wet fist is a welcome relief, and I come hard and fast with a deep groan and Matty’s name escaping my lips in a whispered hiss.

The water sprays around me, washing my guilt and my cum down the drain.

My shoulders sink as I pump some more of what I hope is body wash and not shampoo into my hands, cleansing myself once more to make sure I’ve washed all the evidence away.

When I’m done, I flip off the water, get out, and towel off, noting the towels themselves are softer than anything I’ve ever felt.

A part of me wishes I could stay here. In this nest of soft beds and towels, surrounded by the forest.

It’s a sort of comfort and peace I never knew existed, but now that I do...

I’m more than surprised the boxer briefs fit perfectly. I’ve never been much of a briefs guy in general, mostly because I like things a bit looser, but I can’t deny that when I put them on, they make my junk look huge, and that itself makes me feel pretty good.

I grab the note card, if only to follow the directions to the kitchen, and surprisingly, it’s a lot easier than I thought. I marvel at the black walls and exquisite paintings and photographs lining the walls as I make my way down the hallways to the kitchen.

I have to remember to breathe, because as I come up to the crisp, white room, Matty looks like a fucking god.

His slender, black-fitted frame stands out against all the white. He’s fully dressed in his usual gothic-looking attire; a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to showcase his badass constellation tattoos, black pants, and shoes.

He’s always dressed like he’s going to a fucking funeral, and I’ve always kind of dug that about him.

“Sit.” He says the words solidly, like a command.

Part of me wants to argue with him on principle, but another part of me... the part that is connected to my fucking cock, kind of likes when he’s being bossy Batman.

God, what is wrong with me?

I don’t make any comment, though, and instead, do as he demands.

I take the seat next to him, swiveling on the bar stool, and he gets up immediately, leaving me alone.

I frown as I realize he’s probably pissed at me because of what happened last night.

God, I’m such an idiot.

I watch as he opens his refrigerator, and pulls out a bowl and a tall glass of green liquid.

He slides both in front of me, grabbing a spoon and setting it beside the bowl as he watches me intently. He doesn’t sit down, though, nor does he say anything. I peek at the bowl, which looks like cold oatmeal, and I sniff the glass of green gunk. It smells good, like pineapple, but it looks gross as hell.

“Is breakfast negotiable?” I ask casually.

“No.” Matty says matter of factly, turning away from me to head toward what looks like a Keurig on steroids.

“How do you know I’m not allergic to any of this shit?” I bite, crossing my arms.

“I spoke with your manager this morning.”

My eyes widen. “What?” I nearly choke on my cold oatmeal. “Shit! I totally forgot, Penny?—”

“Well, I had to inform her of your... late arrival,” he says, crossing his arms. “Besides, I take the health of my... guests seriously.”

Oh. Right.

Stupid Dare! Of course...

I poke at the oatmeal sludge with a spoon. It jiggles and I’m certain it’s not supposed to do that.

“When you are finished, we will head to the studio.”

I look back and forth, as if he could be talking to someone else, but it feels like we are the only two people here.

“What? Like... together?”

Matty’s jaw tenses.

“Unless you’re hiding a micro-machine in your brand new sweatpants, Dare, yes. We are both going to the same place, are we not?”

I take another bite of the cold oatmeal, and it isn’t that bad. It’s strangely tasty, actually, once you get over the texture thing.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Good.” He nods as he pours himself a cup of coffee, watching me intently.

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask, feeling strangely on the spot.

“Did you drink the water?” he asks, deadpan.

I half-contemplate telling him no , just to see his eye twitch, but the weird tension in the air tells me that honesty is probably a good policy right now.

“Yes,” I say as I finish my bowl of oatmeal.

Matty nods again, sipping his coffee. “Hydration is key for surviving a hangover.”

“Thanks,” I say as he brushes me off.

“No matter. The car will be here in five minutes.”

I slide off my seat, carefully approaching him.

“My phone? Do you, uh... know where it is? Or where my clothes are? I mean, these are nice, but, uh?—”

“You don’t like them?” he asks, and I almost swear I see a look of disappointment.

“No, I like them. I just...”

Matty slides his hands into his pocket, procuring my phone.

“Keep them,” he says cooly.

“Thanks,” I say, blinking, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Of course.” He hands me my phone, and for a moment, I look at it like it is so much more than a phone.

It feels like it is, anyway.

My fingers brush against his as I take it, and I remember how they felt against my skin. Gripping my throat, stroking my back. My pesky cock remembers, too, stiffening from the memory, and I have to shift my position not to draw attention. With these briefs and sweatpants, it would be far too noticeable.

He pulls away, nodding. “I will have your things delivered to your residence,” he says coldly as he heads toward the door.

He turns, his voice softening just a hair. “The car is here.”