29. Wren
Iwas sitting on Hawk Jameson’s bed.
I mean, it was the bed the band apparently shared—which I wasn’t going to think too hard about—and it was at the back of the tour bus, but as far as I was concerned, it was his.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself, taking a few deep breaths. “Be cool. Do not embarrass yourself. You are a confident, mature woman who can be on a rock star’s bed. You will not be awkward.”
Turning my head, I stared at the door, still hearing the low rumblings of the impromptu party going on outside and wondering what was keeping Hawk. Unfortunately, on the back of the door was a full-length mirror, and when I caught a glimpse of myself, sitting hunched over like a troll, I immediately stood, smoothing down my skirt.
Great, now I was standing next to the bed like some sort of crazy stalker, guitar clutched in one hand, just staring at the door. Looking around the small room, I noticed a chair in the one corner, covered in discarded clothes. Shoving the pile of shirts onto the floor, I attempted to kick them under the bed.
“Oh, fuck,” I hissed. Because it was apparently not my fucking night and I only managed to stub my toe on the bed frame, leaving me hopping around on one foot, cursing like a sailor when the door finally opened.
“You alright, Bird?” Hawk asked, one side of his mouth curved up in a grin.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face and trying to look cool. “Totally fine.” I placed one hand on my hip, then changed my mind and gripped the guitar by the neck with both hands, strangling it.
Like I wished someone would strangle me in this moment.
God, I was such a loser sometimes.
Setting the guitar on the bed carefully, I finally sat down in the chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I watched him watch me. I could feel my cheeks heating under his scrutiny, and I caved and looked away first.
“Nice room,” I offered up lamely. “It’s very, um, nice.”
“Sure is,” he agreed, leaning back against the mirrored door, one hand up under his shirt, dragging his fingers over his own abs, giving me a peek of the ridges there, his eyes never leaving me. “Very nice.”
The words rumbled out of him, low and dark, and I could feel them like a caress on my skin.
No one had ever made me feel this way before, and I was completely unprepared for how my body would respond to his presence. It was as though all my systems had gone completely haywire. I was too hot, but there were goosebumps all over my skin. I was numb, but I also felt like every one of my nerve endings were firing repeatedly.
It was crazy and addicting all at the same time.
Hawk stared at me for a few moments longer, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, before he moved forward, crawling up the bed slowly, his body moving like a hunter. When he reached the head of the bed, he set the bottle he’d been holding on the small shelf there before he flopped down, splaying out flat and then rolling onto his back and propping himself on the pillows.
“I believe you and I were in the middle of something, Bird,” he said, spreading his legs and patting one thigh. “Why don’t you come over here and we can pick up where we left off?”
Pause long enough to consider it. Sabrina’s words rolled around in my mind, and I totally paused.
Did I want this? Did I want to go over there and put myself in a position where I would very likely end up sleeping with Hawk Jameson?
Yes. Yes. Oh, fuck yes.
But as much as I may have wanted that to be the outcome, that didn’t mean I had the first fucking clue what I was doing.
Standing from the chair felt like leaving a safe house; once I moved to that bed, there would be no going back.
Logically, I knew I could stop at any time. There was a bus full of people on the other side of that door, and I was in no way feeling pressured to do something I didn’t want.
It was a metaphorical going back that I was referring to. If I chose to sleep with Hawk, there would be no going back to the girl I was before I entered this room. The girl who was an outcast in her own home, who had never quite fit in anywhere.
That girl was about to become a thing of the past.
Because from this moment on, I was going to be the girl who was chosen. The girl who was interesting and smart and maybe even a little talented. The one who could have a conversation about music with a fucking rock star and hold her own.
That girl would never willingly stand in the shadows again.
“Where do you want me?” I asked, surprised by the sound of my own voice. Gone were the unsure tones and weak words of a few minutes ago. Now, I was moving forward with confidence, and this was the first step.
“Between my legs, where you belong.”
Who was I to argue with that?
Making my way onto the bed, I settled myself between his thighs, exactly as we had been before, only now we were on the bed, pressed even closer together, our breaths matching as Hawk pulled my hair to the side, his fingers carding through it slowly as he slid his lips up and down my neck.
“Play for me, Bird,” he said, pulling the guitar across our laps and settling it into my hands.
I started with something classic, an old Beatles song that everyone knew, and Hawk hummed in satisfaction at my choice. While I played, he continued to touch me, his hands gliding everywhere they could find skin, not seeming content with touching me over my clothes. I tried to focus, tried to keep the time and rhythm of the song, but as his hands made their way to my inner thighs, I stumbled, the guitar strings squeaking obnoxiously as I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“You good, little Bird?” he asked, his words quiet.
“I’m good.”
“Then keep playing, baby. You work your fingers, and I’ll work mine.”
With that, Hawk dipped one hand under the hem of my skirt, his fingers finding the apex of my thighs and pressing there firmly. I froze, the sensation immediately becoming the entire focus of my brain. I let out a quiet moan, but when I did, Hawk suddenly pulled away.
“Ah, ah,” he scolded, his chest shaking in a laugh behind me. “That wasn’t the deal. You stop, I stop, remember? Keep those fingers moving and play for me, Bird.”
“Shit,” I whispered, blowing out a breath and resuming the song.
“That’s my girl,” he rumbled, his fingers once again making their way between my thighs. This time, when he made contact, I didn’t freeze, instead biting down on my lip and attempting to keep my fingers moving as Hawk pressed slow circles over my clit.
I had been under the impression that guys were terrible at finding it; every story that Bri had ever told me involved her having to finish herself off when the guy she’d been with had fumbled around like a blind man before getting what he wanted and getting gone.
But Hawk didn’t seem to have any trouble finding his way around. I sat there, his amazing guitar balanced on my lap while he continued to touch me in ways that no one ever had before.
It was fucking incredible.
When the song finished, I paused, not sure what it was he wanted to do next, just knowing I was disappointed that the delicious movement of his fingers also ended.
“Why’d you stop, Bird?”
“The song is over,” I answered with a shrug.
“So play a new one. I’m not finished with you yet.” With those words, Hawk moved his other hand, sliding it under my shirt and palming my breast while simultaneously wiggling his fingers between the wide diamonds of my fishnets and under my panties. When his bare skin touched the damp lips of my pussy, I gasped, then moaned softly when his fingers dipped lower and circled my entrance. “Oh, you like that, do you? Well, keep playing for me, Bird, and I’ll see if I can find something we’ll both like a whole fuck of a lot.”
“You—” I started, my tongue tangling as he rolled his thumb over my nipple for the first time. “You got a pick?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Hawk replied, reaching over to open the drawer beside the bed. When he pulled it out, I couldn’t help but notice that it was stuffed with condoms.
Like, more than a handful.
I tried to pretend that fact meant nothing to me and simply focused on the guitar pick he was handing me. It was black, the Black Kite logo emblazoned on it in silver, and on the other side, Hawk’s name was written in script.
It was beautiful.
Settling myself back against his chest, I waited for him to replace his hand under my shirt before I started playing, this time an old Tom Petty song I loved.
“Fuck, you have great taste in music,” he praised, and I preened a little at his words. Suddenly, Hawk removed his fingers from my pussy and brought them to his lips. Turning my head, I watched in shock as he placed the two fingers that had just been inside me into his mouth, sucking on them a few times before slowly drawing them out again. “And you taste fucking great, too.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed, my heart thundering in my chest. I had never been so turned on in my fucking life.
“Now, you keep playing for me, Bird, and we’ll see what else we can taste tonight.”