***
Eric jerked on the scarves cutting into his wrists. Next time Rebekah wanted to tie him up, he’d insist on borrowing restraints from Jace. His skin was raw.
“Get your hands off me,” Rebekah shouted in the corridor.
“Rebekah?” Eric called.
“Oh f**k, baby. You aren’t wearing any panties,” Jon said.
“This is your final warning,” she said.
Eric yanked harder on the scarves. “You better not be touching her, Jon!”
“Watcha gonna do about it, Eric?”
There was a loud thud. “Rebekah?” Eric called, his heart thumping with panic.
She appeared a moment later carrying a huge chef’s knife. Eric’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you kill him?”
She closed the door and smiled. “Do you see any blood?” she asked, holding up her clean knife. She approached the bed and started sawing on one scarf. “Jon messed with the wrong girl. My brother taught me how to defend myself.”
As soon as she freed one arm, Eric grabbed Rebekah around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. He squirmed, trying to find her slick heat with his throbbing cock. He was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Her fault. All her fault. Had to be inside her. Had to.
“Just a minute, baby,” she said breathlessly. “Let me get your other arm loose.”
She hadn’t finished sawing through the scarf when he finally managed to slip inside her. With a groan, he wrapped his free arm around her waist to pull her down to engulf him. Oh yes.
The knife slipped from her grip and fell behind the headboard. Still tied to the headboard with one arm, Eric shifted her sideways across the bed and moved her onto her back beneath him. He thrust between her thighs, driving into her delightful warmth as hard as he could, needing her to feel how excited she’d made him. She clung to his back, meeting his thrusts and encouraging his mindless possession with excited vocalizations. He continued to pull at his trapped arm as he plunged into her. The need to wrap her securely in both arms overwhelmed him. Eric yanked repeatedly at the scarf until the fabric ripped, freeing him at last. He gathered Rebekah in his arms and held her close, his feelings for this woman so overpowering, he wasn’t quite sure how to express them. He trailed kisses along her neck, catching the necklace he’d given her between his lips and her heated skin. When she arched against him and cried out with release, he slowed the rate of his thrusts, letting her drift back to her senses. Eric brushed his lips against her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.
Before she could return the sentiment, the bedroom door opened. Eric glanced over his shoulder to find Jon standing there, fuming.
Rebekah trembled beneath him. “Oh baby,” she moaned, “fill me with your huge cock. Fuck me, Eric! Make me come.”
Eric looked at her, one eyebrow arched in question, wondering if she realized Jon was watching them. “Jon,” he whispered into her ear.
“I want him to see,” she whispered back.
“Why?”
“It makes me feel sexy.”
And he wanted that for her. Knew she needed it, though he’d never understand how she could possibly think she wasn’t sexy. Everything about her was sexy.
“Show him my tits,” she whispered.
He yanked the bodice of her French maid costume down to release her br**sts. Watching them bounce with each thrust obliterated his concentration for a long moment. He pounded into her harder to make them bounce more delightfully. Bending over her, he licked the taut nipple of one perfect breast with the flat of his tongue. She clung to his hair, vocalizing her excitement with so much enthusiasm, he feared she’d explode.
“Oh Eric. Eric!” And if she kept saying his name like that, he knew he would explode.
“Isn’t she sexy, Jon?” he murmured. “Sexy, beautiful Rebekah…”
“When I tried to show her I thought she was sexy, she flipped me over her back and onto the floor,” Jon said. “What is it about me that makes Sinners’ chicks kick my ass?”
“Look, don’t touch,” she said.
Jon snorted. “That’s more Eric’s thing.”
“Not with Rebekah,” he said, blowing a breath over her wet nipple. “I can’t get enough of this woman.”
Rebekah put a thumb under Eric’s chin and tilted his face upward so she could kiss him. “You can leave anytime, Jon,” she said, glancing out of the corner of her eye.
Eric heard Jon close the door behind him. “I thought you wanted him to watch.”
She smiled. “You’re enough for me. You always make me feel like the sexiest woman in the world.”
“Well, you are. It’s not like I have to work at it.”
Chapter 18
Waiting for the signal to go onstage, Eric stood behind his drum kit twirling his drumsticks. Rebekah’s soft, yet confident, voice filtered instructions through his earpiece and made him smile. The woman was too good to be true. It was as if she’d been made especially for him. Things were almost too perfect. He kept waiting for a meteor to fall from the sky and pulverize him to ash. His life had been one train wreck after another. Something this wonderful had to end badly. And when it did, he knew it would destroy him.
“Eric. Eric? Eric!” His name echoed through his head. Rebekah was shouting into his earpiece to gain his attention.
Eric realized the lights had come up, the band was onstage, and he was supposed to be tapping out the intro to “Sever,” but he wasn’t even seated yet. Shit! Daydreaming on the job. Eric rushed to sit on his throne, aka small stool, and tapped a beat on his snare.
A spotlight hit the surface of the white baby grand piano. The piano reflected various colors—blue to red to yellow to green—in time with Jace’s playing. The rest of the band entered the song, and Sed roared that first note over the shouts of a chaotic crowd. Eric got sucked into his zone, letting the music, the beat, sweep him into a place where nothing existed but sound. Arms flailing, legs pumping, he put everything he had into the rhythm. He almost forgot he was supposed to sing the chorus until the time was upon him. While Sed roared, “Sever,” in increasingly loud and lengthy tones, Eric entered with his softer melody. He concentrated on his breathing, his arms and legs carrying the beat with little thought. He loved this song, but it was a bitch to sing live and play the drums simultaneously. Not enough air. By the time the first chorus ended, he was panting and trying to regain his breath. He hoped he’d sounded okay and not like an obscene phone caller. He was glad Rebekah decreased the volume on his mic when he wasn’t actually singing. She did it so it didn’t pick up the drums, but he was gasping for air, and his mic was sure to pick it up.