Rock Me Slower (Licks of Leather #3) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,2

shoved microphones in our faces and pelted us with questions.

Quinn, Ava, Sofia, and Tori waited patiently on the sidelines, observing the chaos.

“Breathe, man,” Burk instructed without his lips even twitching.

“I’m trying,” I mumbled through a fake-assed smile.

“I know this is a total clusterfuck but try to relax. We got your back, bro.”

His reassurance sent a sliver of relief wending through my taut nerves, but it was short-lived. As a flashy pink limo pulled to the curb, the crowd went wild again. Some innate sense implored me to turn and walk away, but I couldn’t. My feet had suddenly turned to cement, refusing to move. Standing like a statue, I watched a beefy bodyguard climb from the vehicle and extend his hand to…

Mia.

The air in my lungs turned to sand.

My heart hammered like a piston against my ribs.

There she was, as dazzling and beautiful as ever.

Flashing a blinding smile, Mia slid her hand in the man’s palm and extended her sexy legs from the vehicle. Legs she’d once wrapped around my waist, neck, and head as her screams of ecstasy resonated in my ears.

Gut clenching and heart still chugging, I stamped every inch of the beautiful viper to memory again as she stepped out of the limo.

Her blonde hair, now adorned with purple streaks, spilled over her shoulders like an amethyst waterfall and shimmered in the afternoon LA sun. Her full, lush lips—that I’d religiously wrecked…that had equally destroyed me when she’d wrapped them around my swollen cock—were stained a glossy plum color and stretched wide with an elated smile. Her green eyes glistened like diamonds beneath the glittery shadow dusting her lids. As I dragged my stare over the scraps of black leather and lace clinging to Mia’s wicked body, a flood of ancient emotions tore through me like a cat-five hurricane. Bittersweet memories of love and laughter crowded my brain, causing my all-too-forgiving cock to roar and claw from self-imposed hibernation.

I hated how devastatingly gorgeous she still looked. But what I hated worse was wishing I’d never let her go. The amalgam of conflict churning within made me want to howl.

“Come on, man.” Burk clapped me on the back. “Let’s give the carpet to dragon lady and find a drink. If I need one, I know you do.”

“There’s not enough booze on the planet,” I groused.

As if sensing my presence, Mia turned and locked her hazel pools on me. And just like the first time our stares clapped together, I felt our souls collide again. The force rocked the ground under my feet and momentarily erased the war that had annihilated our once blissful world.

A flash of love and longing softened her expression, but Mia quickly banked it and sent me a brittle, arctic smile.

There’s my little cutthroat, fame-and-fortune junkie.

I knew Mia couldn’t hide her true colors for long. At least I’d been smart—unlike the dipshit still inside the pussy-pink limo, probably guzzling C?roc—and cut all ties with Mia before she could sink her opportunistic claws into my flesh.

As if on cue, the crowd stared expectantly at the limo’s open door and began chanting “Iron.”

Mia’s smile faltered slightly, but like a well-trained actress, she recovered quickly, forcing her lips to spread even wider. But instead of Nigel “Iron”—Mia’s bad-boy British lover—emerging and flashing his usual cocky smile, the bodyguard shut the door and the limo pulled away.

Interesting.

Why the hell was Mia attending her first Grammy Awards alone?

The bottom-feeding tabloids would stroke out if they couldn’t gorge on Mia and Iron’s high-profile relationship.

Maybe there was trouble in paradise. Or maybe Nigel had finally pulled his dick out of her pussy and figured out Mia was only using him as a springboard to launch her own career. Or maybe after soaring to the top of the charts and tapping out all of Nigel’s connections and influence, she’d got rid of all her excess baggage and kicked his ass to the curb.

I’d soon find out. Keeping secrets in this industry was like owning unicorns.

Burk nudged me again, mutely urging me toward the entrance of the Staples Center, but I shook my head.

The reporters had turned on Mia, rabidly hounding her with questions regarding Iron’s whereabouts. To the pouncing paparazzi, her fake-as-fuck smile appeared as if she were cool as a cucumber. But I knew Mia inside and out. Panic was swirling like a tornado beneath her carefully crafted fa?ade.

The few shards of my heart she hadn’t crushed beneath her signature stilettos begged me to intervene and save her from the merciless onslaught.