Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,43
and breaks through the throngs. He does this far more easily—almost tactically—than most people might have. He’s a quarterback, I remember. No wonder. But the crowd gets thicker. More people are screaming. And we’re not any closer to the exit.
Gage finds a door and shoves us through it, slamming it behind us.
It’s dark in here. And the noise outside is suddenly muffled and quiet. It’s a tiny space, and narrow. The crack of light from around the door allows enough light in to see that it’s an equipment closet. There are a few microphone stands and some wound-up cords hanging from hooks. There’s an old-fashioned key in the door, which Gage turns, locking us in.
“I hope we don’t get stuck in here,” I whisper.
“We won’t. Are you all right, honey?”
“I think so. Do you think the band is okay?”
“They’ll be fine. They have plenty of security.”
My heart is racing.
Gage’s is too. I can feel it. He’s still holding me and he leans me against the wall. But he doesn’t back away. He’s pressed up hard against me, like his protective instincts won’t let him distance himself. His large, warm hand rests against my face, as though he’s feeling me for signs of distress or injury. The back of his knuckles graze my cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I’m breathing hard. “Yeah. Are you?”
He doesn’t answer. His chest rises and falls with his heavy breath. The scent of him, of leather and man-spiced adrenaline and a hint of whiskey, is … dizzying … intoxicating. Here, in this dark space like a calm, intimate haven inside the eye of a raging hurricane, I feel safe. From them.
Not from him.
Not from myself and the addictive, rushing urges coursing through my body.
He smells so good.
He feels so good.
Much, much too good.
He smooths a stray strand of my hair back, tucking it behind my ear with strong fingers. Despite the gentle gesture, his eyes are bright with lust.
Gage leans closer.
I place two fingers against his lips, to stop him.
If I kiss him, or give him any piece of myself … I don’t want him to be gone by morning. I can’t be casual. I care. I feel, too much.
“I want to taste you, sweet girl, so much. I’ve been dreaming of—”
“No,” I whisper. Oh God. The way we’re positioned, with my knees apart and his big body not allowing me to close them. The enormous bulk inside his jeans is right there—pressed hard against the thin layer of my hitched-up skirt and the thin silk of my saturated panties. These delicate barriers aren’t enough. My pussy feels soft. My clit pulses with tiny detonations of silky warmth, which throb lightly against his hard, colossal thickness. God help me.
“You want me.” His voice is gruff and I can’t help it: I love the sound of it. The deep gravel-edged tone of it seems to reach inside me, stoking the fire.
“No,” I lie, gripping his muscular arm. I need something to hold on to. I need him to anchor me.
“I can feel how much you want me,” he purrs. “How sweet and wet and ready you are.”
“I’m not,” I insist.
He nudges his cock harder against the cradling softness of my body. God, my pussy is so wet that his gargantuan length slides, displacing the ruined shred of my panties, so my sensitive flesh is rubbed directly against the rough texture of his jeans. “You’re going to give yourself to me, baby. Everything.”
“No,” I manage to breathe. “I can’t.”
“You can. You will. Let’s bet on it. You’re going to surrender to me and fall in love with me and give me everything I want, before the month is done. I’ll bet my half of the bar on it.”
“No.” Why would he do that? I gasp, because he presses against me again, rolling the tiny bud of my clit with his gigantic cock. I’m going to come if he keeps doing that. I try to squirm away from him but it only makes the pleasure spike, so much that I go still, because if either of us moves, I’m going to die of both ecstasy and embarrassment. I’m breathing hard and my heart is thumping in my chest. “I’m not betting you. That’s a terrible idea and you’re a terrible person for even suggesting it. I’m not giving you anything. Let me go.”
“It’s not safe for us to move yet.” Burning me with the fever in his eyes. Not caring at all that I just called him a terrible