Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Page 8

  Serge’s fingers in my hair tighten and I’m sure it’s coming, but then he yanks me back, pulling out of my mouth with a yell.

  “Fuck, Tori. Jesus,” he groans, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. I lick my lips, still salty from him, smiling.

  His hand disappears between my thighs and we both groan when his fingers find my wetness.

  “Guess I’m not the only one that liked that, huh?” he asks, bringing his hand up, glistening in the light with my desire, thin strands of it connecting his fingers when he brings them to his lips.

  “Are you done teasing me yet?” I whine, but he doesn’t answer. His hands settle on my hips and pull me to the very edge of the bed. Then he drags his hands down the backs of my thighs, settling behind my knees. He kneels down and puts one knee over each of his shoulders, so my pussy is right in front of his face. And he does all of it in one fluid movement so from the moment I ask the question to the moment I’m right in front of his face, it couldn’t have taken longer than two seconds.

  Then, without a word, his tongue plunges between my folds, finding my aching hole and dipping deep inside me. He licks up, flattening his tongue on my clit and my eyes roll back in my head. I want him — everything from him — so fucking much that it doesn’t take a lot. I’ve been waiting for this for too long, and watching his dark hair bob between my thighs sends another rush of pleasure through my veins.

  “Oh god,” I groan, his tongue circling and circling my clit, two of his thick callused fingers sliding inside my clenching channel, curling up to stroke that magnificent magical spot. And still, his tongue circles my clit, around and around, applying just enough pressure to put me on the edge without pushing me over it.

  “Serge,” I pant, my fingers in his hair, my hips moving against him on their own. “Serge, please,” I say, surprised I’m able to find words over the swirling mix of pleasure and want and need and desperation and oh my god this is so good I can’t even think. My mind is pure chaos, and when he pulls back, his face shining with my juices, I can’t help but whine.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, fishing a condom out of his discarded jeans, “you’ll get what you want, I promise.”

  “Please,” I pant, squirming on the bed. This isn’t like me. I’m not the squirming begging girl. I’m the one that takes what she wants, that isn’t afraid to jump on top and ride a guy into the morning. But Serge is so in control, so in charge here, that I’m frozen, just waiting for what he’s going to do with me. I reach out for him, grabbing his cock and pulling him toward me after he’s got the condom on.

  “Now,” I say, spreading my legs.

  “Now,” he agrees, climbing in the bed with me, bending down to kiss me. I can taste myself on his lips, his tongue, his whole face smelling like my sex, but it’s the hottest fucking thing in the world and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer.

  “Right now,” I say, the tip of his dick at my entrance, my whole body coiled and ready for it.

  “Right now,” he says. And he thrusts his hips forward, burying his whole cock inside me in one swift stroke. I try to scream and suck in a sharp breath at the same time and the strangled sound that comes isn’t like any I’ve ever made before, but it perfectly describes the way Serge suddenly filling me makes me feel.

  Because he is filling me. I can feel myself stretching around him, my muscles working to accommodate him. We’re both still for a moment, him buried all the way inside, just barely moving his hips, grinding forward without pulling out at all, hitting the places deep inside that make my eyes roll back in my head.

  Our eyes meet and I see the same ferocious need reflected back at me that I feel. And then he’s pulling out of me and slamming back in. There’s no room for words or thoughts or anything any more. Serge pulls back and slams in again. And again. Each time, all I can do is gasp while he grunts. That’s all there is, gasping and grunting and Serge pushing me higher and higher until I’m sure I’m never coming down again.

  I feel it building in me. I feel the wave rising higher and higher, every muscle in my body clenching in anticipation.

  He feels it too. Or he’s just as close. I can feel him swelling in me and he thrusts harder, rough and merciless. My muscles flutter and I close my eyes, blindly reaching until—

  “Serge!” I scream, everything breaking all at once, the pleasure too great, the sensations too overwhelming. He roars and I feel him swell inside me too, his whole body going still save for the subtle jerking of his hips as he finally comes.

  He rolls over and we’re both panting, both covered in a sheen of sweat, our bodies hot and flushed. I don’t reach out for him right away. I need time to cool off, time to come down. But that works out because he gets up to toss the condom and comes back with a washcloth for me to clean up with. I thank him and kiss him, but get up to go to the bathroom anyway. I need a minute to myself after that.

  Holy shit, I think, the moment the door’s closed behind me. Holy fucking shit.

  I’m shaking the whole time I’m cleaning up and doing my business because holy shit that was good. Like, better than good. Amazing? Fantastic? Mind-blowing? It sounds cliche as fuck, but it’s how I’m feeling right now. Maybe it’s just that I’ve always had a little crush on Serge, even before I knew what he looked like or how much of a good guy he is. But now that I know him, now that I’ve spent some time with him, he’s even sexier than before and apparently that means incredible mind-blowing sex.

  When I come back out of my bathroom, he’s sprawled out on my bed, totally naked, his dick still semi-hard.

  There are certainly worse things to come out of a celebrity crush.

  Chapter 7

  Serge

  “All right, I want us to start again from page four and really put some feeling into it this time. Think about what these words mean,” I say to the class, standing by myself in front of them. Tori’s not here yet and I keep looking towards the door, waiting for her head of bright orange hair to come through.

  I play the chord and then conduct them through the rest of the song. They’ve got the whole thing down, the notes are perfect, their timing is great, it’s just the final finishing pieces to put on the performance before this weekend.

  “Wow, you guys sound amazing,” Tori says, coming through the door just as the song finishes.

  “I was waiting outside. I didn’t want to interrupt,” she says to me under her breath, putting her bag down on my desk. For a second, it looks like she’s going to kiss me in greeting, but then she seems to remember the kids all around watching us and thinks better of it.

  “Tori, you’re here!” some of the kids shout happily, breaking rank to lavish her with hugs.

  “I’m here,” she chuckles, hugging them back in turn. “But you better get back in your spots or Mr. Davenport’s going to get angry.”

  I growl to the delighted giggles of my class.

  “So, what’s the plan?” she asks, her eyes bright and excited. She’s not pouting that she has to be here for once, just happy to be in the moment.

  “I was hoping you could take the girls and really hammer in these harmonies while I work with the boys?”

  “Done,” she says grinning. “All right girls, you heard the man, let’s all gather around the piano.”

  “What if I wanted to use the piano?” I ask, my voice light.

  “Then you should learn how to play,” she teases back.

  “Oof,” I say, staggering back and clutching my chest while some of the older girls giggle.

  “Ooh, burn,” says Amanda.

  I just shake my head and gather the boys on the other side of the room. My eyes are constantly drawn to Tori and the way she has command over the group of twenty or so pre-teen and teenage girls. I’m so happy that she’s still able to laugh and joke with them while keeping them on task.

  Maybe Tori didn’t have a lot of experience with kids before she started volunteering here, but lately she seems like a natural. And when I hear a sharp note on th
e other side of the room, she’s not berating them or telling them to work harder. She’s helping them relax, practicing going higher, working on opening up their voices.

  With the competition this close, there’s not a lot left to do but practice, practice, practice. I know I could probably cut class short and tell them to rest up their voices before this weekend, but I know this place is more than just singing for a lot of these kids and I’m not just going to push them out.

  “Do you know Halsey?” I hear one of the kids ask Tori. She’s absently playing songs on the piano to entertain them, and I’ve also given up the pretense of working on the performance. It’s as good as it’s ever going to be. We accomplished a lot today.

  Tori shakes her head, laughing. “No, I don’t.”

  “What about Selena Gomez?” another kid asks.

  Tori shakes her head. “I’ve heard she’s really nice, but she doesn’t exactly hang out in the same places I do.”

  “Who do you know?” Amanda asks.

  Tori stops playing for a minute, then looks at me.

  “I’m pretty sure you should be asking Mr. Davenport who he knows, not me.”

  They laugh at her and I grin too, trying to play it off as a joke.

  “He’s just a teacher,” Tati, one of the younger girls laughs.

  “Is that what he told you?” Tori says, her eyes sparkling when she looks my way.

  A knock on the door gets everyone’s attention and saves me.

  “Wonder who that could be,” Tori says smirking and I shoot her a questioning look. She just looks at me, the picture of innocence despite the piercings and tattoos.

  Suspicious as hell, I walk over to the door and find some scruffy-looking teenager with a heavy hot bag in his hand. He shoves a pen and wad of papers at me, the smell of fresh bread and melty cheese overwhelming already.

  “I’ll sign,” Tori says, pushing past me to scribble on the receipt. “Thank you so much!”

  The guy starts unloading the hot bag and produces box, after box, after box. We have to start a chain with the kids, passing the pizza boxes down to the desk because there’s so many of them. When all’s said and done, there’s probably twenty pizzas for the room and I look at Tori like she’s lost her mind.

  “What?” she says, shrugging. “I thought a pizza party before the competition would be fun.” Her green-gold eyes glitter at me with that word, throwing my own words back at me. I was the one who told Tori things shouldn’t be so serious in here, that I wanted the kids to remember to have fun.

  But she’s not wrong, because the kids are already all over the pizzas.

  “Guys, no pushing. Make sure everyone gets a piece before you get another,” I say, wading through the crowd of kids to impose some kind of order on the chaos.

  “There should be plenty for everyone,” Tori says brightly, pulling out spare chairs to set up more pizzas. I think she got every variety that on offer.

  “I’ll say,” I mutter, fishing out an industrial-sized roll of paper towels from one of the cupboards. I tear off pieces for everyone to use as makeshift plates and then another for napkins. “What made you think twenty pizzas was the right amount for thirty-five kids?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve been around musicians?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. Everyone’s got pizza, everyone’s got napkins, so I sit behind the desk and swipe a slice for myself.

  “Besides,” she says under her breath, “you told me a lot of these kids don’t have much waiting for them at home. If they wanna take leftovers back…”

  I’m surprisingly touched by how much thought she’s put into this. I didn’t expect it out of her, but I’m starting to think there’s more to Tori than the hard-partying girl I see. I’m starting to think she’s maybe more than what her image portrays her as. And if anyone knows how different an image can be to the reality, it’s me. I’ve seen my fair share of it first hand with my own rep, but even more so with my buddy Ian’s. He really went through the wringer trying to rehab his image. Of course, that’s how he met his lovely wife, so I don’t think there’s any complaints from him.

  The kids finish up their pizza and are all talking excitedly amongst themselves as they get ready to leave.

  “Don’t forget, the bus is picking us up right outside here, Friday afternoon at six. We won’t be able to wait for anyone, so make sure you’re there on time. And if you need help getting to the bus or anything like that, just let me or Joey know and we’ll help you out,” I shout after them, making them stop by the door until I’m done.

  I turn to Tori. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” she says, nodding. “And don’t forget, our next performance is Saturday night.”

  “Next Saturday, you mean?”

  She shakes her head. “No, this Saturday. It’s after the comp.”

  “I’m still going to be chaperoning though. I can’t just leave the kids and drive back down here for a show.”

  She frowns, all the easy happiness draining from her expression. “But you said you were down. It’s already booked, you can’t back out now.” Her arms are crossed and it pushes her cleavage up, her chest flushed with anger drawing my eyes down.

  “I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding—”

  “I can’t believe you’re just changing your mind like this,” she spits.

  “—but I can do it another night if you don’t have a drummer by then,” I finish, irritation rising up in me that she’s being such a brat about it. She has to know that these kids come first.

  “I can’t just change the show. It’s already set up, people have already bought tickets. So now what, we’re supposed to cancel on them?”

  I shrug. “If you have to. I thought you were chaperoning with me. Were you just planning on bailing as soon as they’re off-stage?”

  Her mouth opens, but before any kind of retort can come from it, the door opens again.

  “Joey, not now,” I growl without looking.

  “Bad time?” comes a familiar voice. It’s not Joey; it’s Ian.

  “Not for you,” I turn, grinning, crossing the room to embrace him in a big hug.

  “What about me?” Chelsea says from behind him, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You too,” I say, giving her a hug, albeit a shorter one.

  They’re both smiling, but then Chelsea’s eyes drift over to Tori and her brows go up.

  “Right, sorry. Ian, Chelsea, this is Tori. She’s helping me out at the center. Tori, this is—”

  “Ian Monroe and Chelsea Garten, like I wouldn’t recognize them,” she says, practically tripping over herself to shake hands.

  “It’s Monroe now, actually,” Chelsea says, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. I know they talked at length about whether or not she was going to take his name. He didn’t want her to hurt her career, but she wanted to keep with tradition. So guess who won.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask, still grinning so much my face hurts. Last I talked to Ian he was in Rome or something. “When did you get back?”

  “Last night,” says Chelsea. “We thought about saying hi then, but…”

  “We wanted to relax at home,” Ian finishes, a warm look to his wife.

  “Relax, sure,” I tease, making Chelsea go scarlet.

  “We’re done touring for a while, so we’ll be in town. Wondered if you wanted to grab a bite, catch up, the usual?” Ian asks, his eyes flicking over to Tori. “Your friend can come too if you want.”

  I look back at her, not sure if she’ll want to since we were fighting just seconds before Ian and Chelsea walked in. But Tori’s star-struck and she nods mutely, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

  “Sounds good,” I say, turning back to my friends. “Got plans already?”

  Ian nods. “Robiero’s. I’ll have them add a seat. My treat, don’t even worry about it.”

  Tori’s eyes go wide and she looks down at what she’s wearing — a tight fitting tank top and cut-o
ff shorts, the same outfit that got my blood roaring the first time I saw her, all that ink up and down her creamy smooth legs. Even though I’m still annoyed with her about this weekend, I can’t help but remember how those legs felt wrapped around me, her gasping cries echoing off the walls.

  “Robiero’s? I have to change. You too,” she says, looking at me like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

  I look at Ian and Chelsea and notice for the first time that they’re looking pretty glam. Ian’s wearing a blazer and suit pants, a crisp button-down shirt tucked in and unbuttoned at the top. Chelsea’s in a simple curve-hugging red dress that stops right above the knee, her hair piled up in some fancy curled ‘do on her head.

  “Reservation’s not until seven-thirty. We’ll meet you there?” Ian asks and I nod, not entirely sure what’s just happened other than my best friend is back in town and I won’t be so miserable without him anymore.

  “Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it!” Tori says, her voice so chipper it goes up to an octave I didn’t know she could reach.

  The moment they’re gone, I turn to her, my brows high.

  “Ohmigod,” she sighs. “That was really…” She blows out a heavy breath.

  “You’re famous too, you know,” I tease, but she just rolls her eyes.

  “No one I know is that kind of famous.”

  I lift one brow. “I seem to remember seeing an award show performance with you and Britney Spears on stage together.”

  Her eyes go wide, her mouth opens, and then the penny drops and she narrows her eyes, her cheeks turning red. “I thought you said you didn’t Google me.”

  I laugh. “I didn’t… until after that.”

  “Oh god,” she groans. “What else did you see?”

  I shrug. “I really liked that phase where you were wearing clothes made out of safety pins.”

  She buries her face in her hand. “Kill me now.”

  I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her close to me, our earlier fight all but forgotten. “Why would I do that? I still need you.”

  Tori freezes and looks up at me.