Chapter 11
Allegra
My eyes are still puffy when I wake the next morning. My lips feel swollen.
Running my fingertips over my mouth, excitement travels through my body. My awareness is on high alert, taking stock of every moment of my exchange with Derek last night.
The golden flecks that danced in his chocolate eyes. The firm press of his mouth, demanding, that soon turned soft, sipping from mine. He smelled like whiskey and cologne. He tasted like smoked apples and salvation. His hands knew how to hold me, his grip strong and committed.
It’s been four years since Derek Reiner kissed me and right now, my mind recalls every second of that long-ago night. My body craves another encounter with the edgy rockstar.
“Eek!” I squeal, giddy and wide awake now that I confirmed last night wasn’t a dream. Last night, Derek offered me comfort and concern after his ugly words gutted me. After Levi’s dismissal stung. After Mom and Dad’s actions reminded me just how alone and adrift I am.
But, just like last time, when all seemed hopeless, Derek appeared. He reminded me I’m enough; I’m okay. And he kissed my pain away, giving me something a million times better to hold on to.
His mouth. His eyes. His mysterious vibe I can’t pin down but want to wrap myself up in. Until we’re both lost, together. Wandering, with direction. Kissing, with abandon.
I shiver, a shimmy dancing up my spine as I snuggle deeper under the covers.
I freeze for a moment, listening intently to ensure that Mav isn’t sleeping in the bunk below mine. Without his light snore rattling the air, I know I’m alone.
Blissfully alone with my delicious thoughts and achy body. I bite my bottom lip, my fingertips tapping against my lower abdomen, as I close my eyes and remember last night.
The bewildered anger in his eyes when he first spotted me in the kitchen. The tormented agony that bled from his expression when he stepped into me, saying words that lit me up, brighter than the New York City skyline.
Do you know that every woman I looked at tonight, I saw you?
Stellina.
Fuck, you’re sweet.
My fingers slide beneath the waistband of the pajama bottoms I slept in, toy with the lacy edge of my pastel panties.
He hovered over me, tall and hard and imposing. My fingers swept along his shoulders, my thumb pressing against the tattoos along his collarbone. A flock of ravens, a burning heart. Derek stole my breath with one dark glance, his smirk twisted, his expression pleading.
For what? I wanted to ask.
But his kiss responded instead.
I slip my hand farther south, my fingers lightly tracing the outline of my lips, light and delicate. Imagining it’s Derek’s touch, his caress, instead.
His tongue invaded my mouth as my lower back cut into the lip of the countertop. His desire overwhelmed my senses, debasing reason and plunging me into the vortex that he is. All-consuming, omniscient, everything.
The pad of my index finger glides through my slick folds, and I gasp, a needy groan falling from my lips.
I do it again, with two fingers this time, and my lower abdomen clenches, the ache between my thighs growing.
Gathering my arousal on my fingertips, I press on the bud of nerves, smearing my want over my clit, and moan again.
Derek’s hand flexed on my hip. My fingers grasped his shirt. He kissed me hard, his mouth pouring a drug down my throat. One that made me wanton and desperate. One that made me feel and desire and crave.
I rub circles over my clit, increasing the pace. My hips buck once, searching for friction.
The feel of his arousal, sheathed in denim, pressed into my stomach. God, how I wanted him to lift me up, sit me on the edge of the counter, and spread my thighs.
His hand grazed my ribs, one whisper-light touch across my breast. Fuck, if only he’d palmed it, dragged his thumb over my nipple until it pebbled and peaked, a hard nub counteracting his calloused finger.
Using the pads of my fingers, I continue to massage my clit. I’ve had sex before but I’m the only person who’s ever been able to get myself off. To bring myself to a crest that promises to break. A thread that snaps, a spool that unravels.
Derek’s rough cheek, his stubble scratchy, coarse against my soft skin. The sound grated the air, making the particles around us buzz to life. I melted into him. I melted for him.
Please. Please. Please. A silent chant.
You taste like whiskey.
You taste like want, my little star.
My hips pulse upward on their own accord, meeting my fingers in a natural rhythm that curls the tension in my body, pulls it tight, manipulates it expertly. My eyes squeeze closed.
The sound of the bunk bed swaying fills my ears. I sigh loudly, half a gasp, half a moan. I keep the pace, my touches in time with the rhythm of my movements.
I wish it was you, Derek. Banging this bunk bed against the wall. Entering me with abandon. Taking me to peaks I’ve yet to reach, need you to climb, want you to free-fall from. Beside me. Alone, together.
My fingers are dripping with my arousal. The scent of my want wafts around me and I breathe it in, wishing his scent mingled with it.
Then, he closed his eyes. He angled my head. His thumb swiped over my cheekbone, and he pressed the softest, sweetest kiss against my lips. Intention and promise and care poured from him into me and—
I press my fingertip against my clit one final time and my body detonates.
“Yes,” I groan, satisfied. Relieved. Grateful.
My toes curl, my heels digging into the mattress, as the sweetest satisfaction pours through my limbs, rushing like the warmth of sunshine, with the strength of a natural disaster.
“Fuck,” I swear, tapping my head back against my pillow.
I remove my hand from my panties, damp with arousal and sweat and a want that threatens to consume me.
“Derek,” I say, half wishing he’d hear me.
Half wishing he’d enter my bedroom, pull off his shirt, and climb on top.
My throat is dry, and my inner thighs shake as I regulate my breathing.
None of those girls hold a fucking candle to a little star like you.
My perfect morning crashes down the second I enter the kitchen. For a heartbeat, I hover in the doorway, trying to process what I’m seeing.
Derek, shirtless, seated at the kitchen table. His hand is casually gripping a navy mug, the name of the band’s last tour stamped on the front. The other guys are milling around.
Mav is across the table, his feet propped up on an empty chair. His blond hair is disheveled, and a hickey mars his neck.
My brother is hungover, his forehead resting on the butcher block as he tries not to slide off the barstool. Beside him, a redhead nibbles on burnt toast.
But it’s the woman perched on Derek’s lap that steals the breath from my lungs. Her presence, casual and familiar and perfect, plunges an icy fist into the center of my stomach and nails my feet to the spot.
I gasp, shock rocking me to my core.
She’s gorgeous. Of course, she is. Long, dark hair that hangs to her waist. It’s mussed and twirled, sexy bedhead.
Her toenails are polished red, her legs are tanned and bare.
She’s dressed in an oversized T-shirt, another piece of band merchandise and the collar is shapeless, slipping off one rounded shoulder as she turns into Derek’s frame.
She giggles at something he mutters in her ear and presses a palm, with long, slender fingers and the same red polish, against his chest.
She looks at him with moonbeams in her eyes.
Is that how I looked at him last night? With hope? Trust?
I avert my gaze. Study my plain, unpolished, chipped nail beds that haven’t had a manicure in months. Not since Nova last polished them.
“Morning, my beauty,” Mav greets me.
My head snaps up. I manage a watery smile, careful to avoid Derek’s gaze. Oh, but I feel it. He watches me intently, waiting for my reaction. Gauging to see how I respond to the beautiful, half-naked woman perched on his knee like a delicate bird.
Will she fly away? Or make a nest, right here, in the kitchen?
“Morning,” I clear my throat.
My brother grunts but doesn’t look up. Figures.
I force my feet to move, one foot in front of the other, as I relocate to the French press. I make a mug of coffee. I inhale the rich scent, close my eyes, drop my shoulders.
I’m enough; I’m okay.
“What’d you do last night?” Mav tries again.
“Nothing worth mentioning,” I reply, keeping my back to the room, my gaze trained out the window.
Derek snorts but I don’t take the bait.
Instead, I turn around calmly, a smile pasted on my face.
I tip my head toward the redhead and then the brunette.
“My name’s Allegra and Levi’s my brother.
” I gesture toward the disappointing lump on the barstool with my mug.
“If you need shampoo or anything, help yourself to whatever’s in the bathroom. ”
The redhead grins. “Thanks, babe.”
“Yeah,” the brunette, I’m guessing her friend, adds. “That’s real sweet of you. I’m Jenn and this is Kate.” She points at the redhead.
“Nice to meet you. Hope you had a great night.” My gaze quickly rolls around the three guys. “And that they let you finish first,” I tack on as I move toward the stairs.
Mav chuckles, his hands tapping out a drumbeat on the edge of the table. “Damn, A! Don’t call us out like that.”
The girls’ laughter fills the kitchen as I plant my foot on the first step.
Derek doesn’t say anything, but I feel his gaze.
Curious and dark. Frustrated and confused.
I don’t turn around, even though I want to.
I don’t meet his eyes, even though they hold the answers I seek.
I force myself to keep going, one step in front of the other, until I’m locked in the bathroom. With the shower on and the hot water cascading over me, I scrub my skin with a frustrated fury.
Derek Reiner isn’t the same guy from four years ago. He’s changed.
Has he?
Maybe he’s always been Reign and I just wanted to see him as Derek.
None of those girls hold a fucking candle to a little star like you.
What a fucking liar.
I rinse conditioner from my hair and wash my face.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurt me. Again.
Instead, I hold my head high. I towel off and conceal my misery with makeup. I dress quickly and don’t bother calling out a good-bye as I head to work.
The door slams behind me. I breathe in the blue sky and sunshine. Put one foot in front of the other.
Go to work to discover my calling. My purpose.
Because it sure as hell isn’t being a plaything for Derek “Reign” Reiner.