Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
GIA
Three rooms, two chaise lounges, one giant bed, and JC chooses the bathroom like it’s the only place that can hold what’s about to happen.
He shuts the door, clicks on the lights, and dims them until the walls of shimmering white marble glow like they’re alive.
The space is big enough to rehearse in, with a small audience.
Towels so thick, you could fall back on them and sigh.
“Slumming it again, huh?”
I joke to settle my racing heart. A stillness has come over JC. His shoulder muscles are locked, eyes unblinking in the low light, something dangerous in the air.
“Can you take your clothes off please?” he asks.
A small breathless sound escapes my lips. “What about you?”
“Ladies first.”
We’ve seen each other naked and done unspeakable things to each other’s bodies. This feels different. Like I’m trapped in a room with a starving bear.
I tug the zipper of my hoodie lower. “Everything?”
“Yes, Gia. Everything.”
He scratches the dark shadow of beard along his jaw, watching as my hoodie drops to the floor, my vintage Lilith Fair T-shirt with all the holes dumped on top.
When I unfasten my bra, the fancy one, I feel oddly self-conscious slipping it off.
All my natural stage exhibitionism is packed up and gone.
“Halfway there.” JC’s low, gruff voice is almost unrecognizable.
I fumble with the button on my jeans. It’s so warm in here. But tell that to my diamond-hard nipples that JC’s gaze tracks, his pupils huge and black, like my favorite rare vinyls. The hungry possession deep within them sends a ripple of anticipation down my spine.
I toe my sneakers off, wriggling my jeans down. Kick them aside with my socks. Nothing left but my red satin panties and an uncertain smile.
“Why in here?” I ask.
“I didn’t shower last night. I’m feeling dirty.”
Whoa. Did not expect that. And the bathroom makes sense now. A room built for purity, about to be defiled.
He chose it on purpose.
And, oh man, his voice.
Thick and musical, the sound of gorgeous disaster.
JC tips his head to the last scrap of fabric protecting my modesty. “Go ahead,” he says, his teeth so pretty and white within that subtle smile.
I inch my panties lower and wonder where the hell this version of JC came from. Anchored in a very specific mission, with no vulnerability anywhere. Possibly dangerous. I can smell his masculinity, the promise of it.
JC closes the distance between us. He’s lost in my face, scraping his thumb pad along my lower lip. “So much beauty spills out of here. The sweetest sounds that shatter me.”
His touch unravels me, but I force myself to stand in place. If I get closer and touch him, kiss him, I’ll never stop.
“My voice with yours is even better.”
A deep, dark laugh. Borderline wicked. “Flattery will get you nowhere in here,” he says. “A certain someone needs her fire tamed. Are you okay with that?”
Before I can answer, he sucks his index finger into his mouth. The glistening skin when it slides out makes my knees weak. The destination is crystal clear.
“Yes,” I whisper like I’ve just agreed to another piece of pie and not what is certainly sensual terrorism.
JC nudges me backward until my spine presses onto the cloud of towels then kicks my legs wider with one knee. He skims his mouth over mine, maddeningly letting me chase until my teeth sink into his lower lip. If this is the game, bring it on. I’m ready to spar, ravage, and play.
“Oh, Gia.” His rumbling laugh hums in the air between us. “You will not be in control this time.”
And then he’s kissing me roughly. Taking more than giving. He works his finger over me, then pushes inside me, all the way, knuckle-deep. I gasp, the sensation so intense, I can't even kiss him back.
Nothing but pure sparkle dancing all over my skin.
“JC.” It spills from my lips in a desperate-sounding whimper. I clutch at his shirt, flexing my hips to somehow find another inch of space for him to go deeper.
“Fuck, Gia,” he groans. “You make me think of all these dirty things.”
He slides another finger inside to join the first, every pump of them driving a little deeper as I moan and writhe, my heartbeat racing until it’s one endless throb.
His free hand wraps around my waist, pulling me into him and his hot wall of muscles.
Then he dips his head to my neck, his mouth nuzzling the curve of my ear, hovering until my body tingles and tightens.
I can’t see a thing through the dark curtain of his hair.
But I can feel everything about him.
“Why did you do it?” he asks in a rough whisper.
The world narrows to his voice, and then it explodes. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Why did you sing my song?”
My brain tries to file his words somewhere sensible and fails. I already told him why, sort of, but JC has that musician's instinct. He knows the layers that run deep beneath surface meanings.
His hand travels across my belly, sliding up and up until his palm flattens on my chest, holding my heartbeat. His dark irises flare as they find mine.
“Tell me the truth.”
I blink, fighting through the resistance. The hardest swallow of my life dislodges the barren truth. “Because I wanted her to know you picked me.”
He holds still. It’s quiet, the silence oversized. Nothing but a barely audible pop when his fingers slide out in a smooth, unbroken gesture. He presses his forehead to mine for the barest second, then he pulls away.
“Thank you,” he says. “I needed to hear that.”
I breathe in his warmth, the citrus musk that will haunt me every night we’re apart. My heart twists with inexpressible want. How can I not love this man? Even in dominance, he’s unafraid to be emotionally raw. And maybe that’s worth the humbling exposure.
“Okay,” JC says softly, bringing me back. “Now it’s your turn to undress me.”
That flicker of a smile again, still not a whole one. I like the sweet version of him, but something tells me JC with a point to prove is next-level. I pull the T-shirt over his head. Unzip and maneuver denim over his hardness. His steady gaze melts into me, warming my bones.
And his almost nude body is fire.
“Good to know you’re not above branded swag,” I tease.
He smiles down at me, clearly proud of his very tented Fender monogrammed boxers. “I’m just a lowly guitar player waiting for Chanel to discover me.”
I press my palm against him, huge and hot, beneath the cotton. All mine. “You’re an idiot.”
“As long as I’m your idiot.”
He strokes my hair, slowly, lovingly, now that it’s confirmed love goes both ways. Then, very casually, he tugs a towel from the silver dowel it hangs from. He folds it into thirds lengthwise and lays it between us on the glittering mosaic tiles.
“Get on your knees, please.”
I try to laugh it off. “Are you serious?”
“Gia.” His voice holds a warning in it, so I follow his order only somewhat reluctantly. He’s said please and thank you. If this is a one-off lesson administered with respect, I can play ball. It’s not in his nature to be cruel.
“I’ll walk you through it,” he adds. “Safely.”
My pulse skitters, feeling it all—locked in the domain of his gaze and tight-jawed restraint. With unsteady hands, I release him from the boxers. His satin fullness stares me in the face, and I need a moment.
I need to be honest.
“I’ve never done this,” I whisper.
He smooths hair off my forehead with the gentlest touch. “Good. I want to be your first everything. You know what’s going to happen, right?”
“I think I have an idea.”
“Beyond the physical, Gia.”
Hard to come up with a snappy reply when his physical blocks out all light from the universe, so I let him win. “I’m a lousy guesser. Just tell me.”
He looks down at me with a strange, serene calm that doesn’t match the glint in his eyes. It feels like another day in detention hall for me, waiting for the other shoe to drop. God, the endless state of me. Forever in trouble.
Then he says, “I’m going to make you ache trying to contain me,” and my entire body starts to shake.
Now he has my attention.
“Is that okay?” His deep voice vibrates off the tiles, like the lowest E string strummed on his Les Paul.
What am I supposed to say? Of course it’s okay. Within five minutes of meeting him, I wanted this. I might not be on my knees on my own terms, but there’s a reason for that.
I incline my head in silent agreement, a bit of my natural swagger fading. There’s so much real estate. I need to figure out how this geometry will work.
“Start slow,” JC suggests. “I’ll guide you.”
If that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve heard.
And, seriously, if I can make it in the music industry, this is doable.
Leaning in, I tongue him from shaft to crown.
His musky scent and saltiness flood my senses, the pulse of his hips encouraging more.
My fingers curl around his hard-on, and nothing feels familiar as I guide the length of him into my mouth.
For two heartbeats, I force myself to breathe. To just feel.
Then JC’s fingers dig into my scalp. “Yes,” he moans. “Keep going.”
So I do. I try my best.
And I feel so powerful absorbing his power. His grip on my head tightens as he builds toward a crescendo, bitten-off grunts becoming low growling animal sounds.
It lasts a minute, maybe two, then he hisses, “Jesus, fuck,” and explodes, his features twisted in a kind of rapture that borders on pain.
He rasps my name, but I can’t find my voice at all, muted by one hard thrust after another. He’s everywhere, filling space, time, and eternity, his breath catching between garbled groans.
Me? I’m in awe, a glow of pride flooding me.
I did that.
JC clings to me through the aftershocks, quivering and quiet.
I’m not sure what expression is on my face, but I’ve never felt so thunderous before.
His eyes slowly flutter open, attempting to focus on mine.
I’m waiting for him to say anything other than heaving pants when he mutters “shit,” staggers back, and then, boom—collapses onto the tiles.