Chapter 2 #2
My'khail hit the music scene three years ago and blew it up. Not many know that Crue choreographed most of the tour that put him on the map. I don't think many know that Crue's one of the best dancers around, period. It's just one more piece of the puzzle that is this man.
He eyes me silently for a moment. "You going to dance on the elevator all day, or are you coming with me?"
"I'm coming."
"Not yet," he mutters and then shakes his head as if to dispel a thought. "After you, éire."
I duck under his arm, grazing his body on my way out of the elevator. My entire system sings. Lord have mercy. He smells like bad decisions. You know, the kind you want to make over and over again.
"You changed," I murmur, a little disappointed the gray sweats are gone. I liked those sweats. It's not even gray sweats season and he's winning all the awards.
"Believe me, it was necessary," he growls, something hungry in his gaze.
I shiver, not sure what to say to that. Sorry? Yay me? Do dirty, dirty things to me, please? I settle on, "Oh." It seems safest.
He takes my laptop bag from me, hanging the strap over his shoulder.
We stroll down the hall side by side, not speaking for several moments. He keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eye, which makes my stomach turn somersaults.
"You're staring," I finally whisper.
His lips twitch again. "So are you."
"Only because you are."
"You're far more interesting to stare at than this fucking carpet, Ireland."
"Well, it's rude."
"Is it? Then you should definitely stop doing it."
"Can't. I'm very interesting," I say, purposefully missing his point, which makes him laugh.
A second later, he places his hand on the small of my back, steering me down the hallway to the left. The doors are further apart here. Probably because the rooms are bigger.
"You didn't deny being rude."
"I'm not rude," I manage to choke out.
"Neither am I. I'm direct. There's a difference."
"You're also bossy. Funny how that's always left out of the write ups on you."
"I've got friends in high places, éire." His smirk does things to me it shouldn't. Especially paired with the tattoos crawling up his neck.
"You mean your brother, Cortez?" I ask, genuinely curious. It's not every day you meet someone related to a legitimate billionaire.
"You've done your homework." He draws to a stop in front of a door, pulling a keycard from his back pocket. "I'm impressed."
"I may not look the part, but I am a professional, Crue." I place my hand on his arm, earnest. "I just finished an internship with Apollo Press, and I have well over two million followers on social media. I post about music exclusively."
"Damn, baby," he whistles. "You've been working your ass off, haven't you?"
"I have, but it's worth it."
He meets my gaze, smiling like he's proud of me. My stomach turns another somersault and I get lost in his eyes. I kind of want to stay there, lost. It seems heavenly.
He slowly lifts his hand toward my face. I don't move. I barely breathe. He gently cups my cheek, his palm rough against my skin. "You're going to fucking own me, aren't you, Ireland?"
I don't know where the response comes from. I certainly don't give my mouth permission to speak it. But my lips part anyway.
"Yes," I say, my voice clear and firm. "That's the plan, Crue."
He groans, his mouth crashing down on mine. I gasp as he pulls me up against him, trapping me against the door and his body at the same time. I feel every inch of him pressed against me as his mouth moves over mine, annihilating any defense I had against him…if I ever had one at all.
He kisses me as if he's never tasted anything sweeter than my lips, growling like he's mad about it.
But he can't seem to stop coming back for more.
He nips and licks, doing things with his tongue that have my entire body aching.
I twist my fingers up in his shirt, pulling him closer, moving with him.
I have no idea if I'm doing it right, but he isn't complaining, and his erection is wedged against my lower belly so I'm guessing I don't suck at it.
"Crue," I whisper, not sure what I'm trying to ask him. For more? For him to get me in his room before I combust? I have no idea. But as soon as I say his name, he growls, dragging his mouth from mine.
"Fuck," he groans, burying his face in my hair. "You can't do that in public. I have no self-control around you."
"I didn't do anything," I mumble. "You're the one who kissed me."
"You just told me you plan to own my ass. You're damn right I kissed you," he growls, brushing my hair aside to press his lips to my throat. "Don't say sexy shit like that if you don't want me fucking you up against the door next time, éire."
"I'm not doing it for the first time against a door."
He freezes, pulling back slowly to look at me. "What'd you say, baby?"
"What?" Oh. Crap.
"What did you just say?"
"N-nothin'," I lie, peeking around. "Did you hear something? Maybe you heard the neighbors. I bet the walls are paper thin here."
"Ireland." His lips twitch. "As fucking cute as you're being right now, I need you to be serious, sweet girl. Are you a virgin?"
"I'm not having this conversation in the hall of a hotel," I hiss, my cheeks burning hot.
He eyes me for a moment and then shifts me forward an inch. A second later, the door clicks open behind me. Before I can even move, he's shuffling me through it. It slams behind him, and then I'm pressed against it, my laptop bag still dangling from his arm.
"Now," he says, "we're not in the hall. Tell me the truth. Are you a virgin?"
"Yes." I lift my chin, meeting his gaze.
"And I'm not ashamed of it either." I'm not…
exactly. I'm just tired of being judged for it.
In a world where we're now allowed to be as sexual as we want with no judgments, sometimes, it feels as if we're not allowed to make a different decision for ourselves.
We can have all the sex we want, but as soon as we decide that we want to wait for the right one, everyone has something to say about it.
They assume we're either crazy, religious or just na?ve.
I'm none of those things. Well, I mean, I'm a little crazy.
And maybe a little na?ve. But I believe in romance and soulmates.
I want my first time to mean something. Most of my friends who had sex in high school or college didn't last through the end of the year with their partners.
I made a different choice for myself, and I don't regret it.
"Good girl." He brushes his lips against mine in a sweet kiss and then runs a single finger down the center of my body, all the way to my hips. His gaze tangles with mine as he cups my sex through my dress.
I gasp, caught between the urge to squeeze my thighs together and trap his hand…and the urge to beg him to slip my panties aside and touch me. For the love of all that's holy, just touch me.
"You've taken good care of my pussy for me," he says, his voice like sandpaper. "But it's mine to take care of now, Ireland."
"I…" I have no idea how to respond to that, so I simply nod.
He rewards me with another of those panty-melting grins before slipping his hand from between my legs. "Come on, baby. Let's get this fucking interview out of the way so we can get to the important shit."
"W-wh…" I lick my lips, trying to work moisture back into my mouth. "What important stuff?"
"For every question you ask me now, I get to ask one of my own later," he says, smirking like the devil.
"That…is not how this works, Crue."
"It is now, éire. It is now."