Play (Stage Dive 2)
Page 42“On top,” he grunted.
“’Kay.”
His hands slid over my skin, trying to keep hold. “Fuck, you’re slippery.”
The man knew how to use his body. All I could do was hold on, my hands tangled in his long hair. His mouth traveled over my collarbone, up my neck, finishing with his teeth at my jaw. Every inch of my skin broke out in goose bumps. My tummy tensed. A large hand palmed my ass, squeezing. Wet denim wasn’t so bad after all. Grinding my pu**y against the ridge his hard-on made felt rather nice. Not as nice as he’d feel bare, but still.
“You hear that?” he asked.
“What? No.” The only thing I could hear was my heart pounding. And anyway, who cared? Now wasn’t the time for listening. It was the time to feel and I felt f**king fantastic sitting astride him. Luckily I knew how to prioritize. I fit my lips to his, kissing him deep and wet.
He broke away, turning his head aside. “Wait,” he said, followed shortly by, “shit.”
Distantly, from ever so far away (like the next room), there it was.
“Malcolm? Honey?” It was a woman’s voice, accompanied by several sets of feet. We had company.
What on earth?
“Mom?” he answered, his face skewed with disbelief.
Oh shit, he’d left the front door open.
“We got an earlier flight,” his mom called. And for the record, she sounded like a very nice woman. But shit, I didn’t want to meet her like this. What a wonderful first impression.
“You did?” asked Mal.
“That’s not a problem, is it?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered back, “Did I forget to mention that?”
“Mal? Honey?” his Mom called. “Everything okay?”
“No, no. Not a problem at all, Mom. Everything’s good.”
“We were just so excited when you told us about Anne.”
“She is pretty damn exciting.” He gave my br**sts a long look. “Got to agree with you there.”
“We really wanted to just get here and meet her. I guess we should have warned you.”
His grin was pure evil. Hell itself would have been jealous. “Oh, you want to meet Anne? Because she’s right–”
I slapped my hand over his mouth. “Don’t you f**king dare,” I hissed.
Crap, the things he thought were amusing might just get one of us killed. In this situation, it was most definitely his life on the line. Despite the laughter in his eyes, he nodded, pressing a kiss to the palm of my hand. Slowly, I removed it, my eyes narrowed on him.
“What was that?” asked his mom.
“I was just saying she’ll be home from work soon, Mom.”
“Wonderful.”
“Sorry,” he mouthed to me, laughing silently.
“Asshole,” I mouthed back.
“Son,” a deep voice said from the other room.
“Hi, Dad.” Mal rested his forehead on my shoulder. “Don’t come in.”
“No, no. We won’t do that.”
“There’s a lot of water on the floor,” his mom said, matter-of-factly. “Aren’t you a bit old to be splashing around like this? What on earth were you doing? Where does Anne keep her mop?”
“Kitchen cabinet,” I whispered.
“Ah, kitchen cabinet, Mom. Thanks. Guess I got carried away.” Mal rested his head against the back of the tub. He rolled his eyes to the side, checking out the floor. “Look what you did, young lady.”
“You’re the one that climbed into my tub,” I replied quietly. Sure enough, the bathroom was pretty much flooded. Water had spread across the floor, a stream of it leading out beneath the door and into the living room. “What a mess. We better clean this up.”
“Sorry, pumpkin. I don’t mind picking up my shit and all, but I’m a rock star. Rock stars don’t mop. It’s just not done.”
“You help make the mess, you help clean it up. Boundaries, Mal.”
“You don’t understand.” He shut his eyes, face tight with fake despair. “These are the hands of an artist. Would you expect Bonham to mop?”
“Who?” I asked in confusion.
“John Bonham.”
“Right. Well … if John Bonham got water on the floor, yes, I would expect him to mop.”
“Well, he can’t. He’s dead.”
“You don’t know who John Bonham is?” Mal asked, his voice rising.
“Shh. Your parents are going to hear us.”
“Sorry. But c’mon, pumpkin, you have to know who Bonham is. You’re f**king with me, right?”
“Sorry.”
“Ah, man,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly, mournfully. “I’m not sure I can stick my dick in a woman who doesn’t even know who John Bonham is.”
“‘Stick your dick in’?” I asked, my brows probably touching. “Did you actually just say that?”
“Make love. I meant make love … of course. I would never just stick my dick in you. I would make mad, passionate love to this sweet, sweet body of yours for days, no, weeks. It would be beautiful, pumpkin. There’d be little angels, and birdies, and you know … all just hanging around, watching. Perverts.”
“Right. You are so full of shit.” I smiled, cautiously, climbing to my feet.
“What about Kerslake, you know him? How about Wilk, never heard of Wilk?”
“I know Grohl. He’s great.”
“Oh, no. Fuck, honey. Not Dave Grohl. I mean, he’s a good guy and there were flashes of definite genius back in the Nirvana days, sure.” His hands slid from my waist down the sides of my thighs, holding me steady. “Whoa, where’d they go?”
“Hmm? Mal, stop.”
He stared straight at my sex, studying it. A little line sat between his brows. Deep down inside, I could live without him doing that right now. The man’s parents were on the other side of the door. The woman who’d given birth to him was busy cleaning up the mess we’d made. So not the time to be getting familiar with me. Quizzing me on famous drummers could probably also wait.
“Can you not, please? And where’d what go?” I threw a leg over the side of the bath, stepping down carefully onto the slippery floor. Getting the hell away from his overly intrusive eyes. My robe hung on the back of the bathroom door, fortunately. I hadn’t thought to bring in a change of clothes and my work wear sat in a soggy heap in the corner.