As for Dex? He holds the mic with two hands, his eyes closed, his thick thighs parted. One leg bounces in time to the beat. Tatted and bearded, muscles flexing, he’s so damn hot, the women in the crowd scream for him.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

Then his eyes snap open, and he zeroes in on me. That smug bastard grins as he belts out the lyrics, telling us all it’s all right if we want to steal from him, that there’s no guard in his house. But I know he’s talking to me. Waiting for my answer.

I grin back, my body swaying, my hips snapping. I’ve been to countless parties, clubs, and concerts. I’ve had boyfriends and one-night stands. I’ve grown up around fame. And it isn’t until now that I truly realize how bored I’ve been, going through the motions. Maybe that’s how life is; you kind of just plod along, fall into a nice little rut until something comes along to shake things up.

Dex doesn’t bore me. Not even close. Life is never a slogging road when he’s around.

He ends the song with a sweeping bow, tosses the mic to the operator, then hops down, headed straight for me.

Sweat gleams on his brow, plasters his shirt to his chest. People slap his shoulders and back, try to give him high-fives, including Gray, who is beside himself with glee. Dex doesn’t slow, doesn’t break his stare.

Every cell in my body seems to zing, making me twitchy with want and joy.

When he’s a couple of steps away, I launch myself at him, and he catches me. My legs wrap around his waist as I cling to him, find his mouth, and take it.

Cupping my ass, he holds me tight against him as his tongue slides deep.

We’re both breathless when we part.

“I knew you were playing me,” I say against his mouth.

He’s laughs, low and unrepentant. “I never said I sucked, just that I didn’t like the attention. Told you I wouldn’t fight fair, Cherry.”

I nip his lower lip. “Take me home, and let’s get to popping yours, Big Guy.” He stills, and I lean back to look up at him. “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

Dex shakes himself as if waking up. His grip on me tightens. “Not sure. Is that a yes to my question?”

My fingers thread through his hair, still knotted at the back of his head. “I won’t lie to you either, Ethan. Despite my…er…outspoken ways, I don’t actually like being in the public eye. I had too much of that growing up.”

His gaze is steady on mine. “I won’t put you in the public eye, Fi. Ever.”

I nod, because I know he’ll protect me. That’s his nature. Unfortunately, I know my nature too. “And I don’t know if I’ll be satisfied with a long-distance relationship.” He opens his mouth to talk. I kiss it, quieting him before speaking again. “But I’ll try, Ethan. For you.”

His response is to walk us straight out of the club.

Chapter Thirteen

Dex

Despite wanting to leave the club as fast as humanly possible and find a bed where I can take my time with Fi, we drive home with Gray and Ivy, sitting in the backseat of Ivy’s cavernous SUV.

Gray is a bundle of effusive energy. “Dude, you were like a rock star up there,” he shouts over his shoulder as he drives, making Ivy wince.

“Inside voice, Cupcake.”

He ignores Ivy’s request and keeps on. “You never told me you could sing like that! Jesus, I don’t know what to think about anymore. My honey knows she’s the worst dancer in the world, and Dex is like a fucking rock god.”

That earns him a slap on the head from Ivy and an eye roll from me.

“I’m not that good.”

I’m all too aware of Fi at my side. She’s warm and soft and leaning against my shoulder in total trust.

I’m going to fuck her. The thought is a stark declaration splashed across my mind. It’s all I can do not to burst out of my skin. My heart is beating a frantic, anxious pace, and my dick is throbbing against my leg with impatient need. He wants out and in. I take a breath, ignore his demands.

“I’m just a mimic.”

“A mimic?” Fi asks. Her face flashes in and out of view as we speed past light posts.

“Yeah. I can sing all right, but I basically pretended to be Dan Auerbach up there, used his style and intonations.” I shrug. It was no big deal. So I sounded a bit like the lead singer of The Black Keys. It was fun. “It’s easy being someone else up there.”

Fi looks me over, her gaze penetrating. “And yet you loved it, didn’t you?”

I find myself grinning, remembering the powerful surge of energy and joy that had gone through me, knowing I was entertaining her. “Yeah,” I say quietly, “I did.”

And because I suddenly feel exposed, the car too quiet, I call up to Ivy, “Hey, what happened to the Fiat?”

Ivy and Gray met when Gray borrowed her tiny pink Fiat. The guys had gotten a lot of laughs and given him endless shit when he squeezed his ass into that car.

Ivy’s nose wrinkles with her grin. “Still have her. I don’t think I’ll ever let her go.”

“You’d better not,” Gray says. “That’s our car of love.”

Beside me, Fi makes a gagging face, sticking her finger in her mouth as if she wants to vomit. I chuckle and settle down closer to her, taking her slim hand in mine.

“Anyway,” Ivy drawls, her smile still in place. “When Leo was born I thought it better to have a family car.”

“And I told her it would be over my left nut that we’d get a minivan.” Gray makes a face.

Ivy pats his knee. “And because I like his nuts—”

“Aaand we’re done,” Fi cuts in. Thank God. The word “nuts” calls attention to my own. They’re aching now.

The car’s gone quiet again. Gray turns up the stereo and drives. Which leaves me cocooned in darkness next to Fi. The lazy tones of Flunk drift over us, and my awareness becomes the soft breaths she takes. Her faint scent grows stronger—girly shampoo and a faint musk I realize, with a kick to the gut, is arousal.

I’m going to fuck her. I probably should phrase it nicer—make love to her or worship her body with my dick. Something like that. But I’m fairly certain my first time will be straight-up hard and frantic fucking. I just pray I can last more than a minute. That I can satisfy her.

The fear that I won’t makes my chest clench. I want to please Fi. More than please her. I want her to forget every guy who came before me. But aside from watching porn and reading up on certain techniques, I have all but zero applied experience, which vastly lowers my chances of giving her maximum satisfaction.

Why did I wait all this time? I know full well how important it is to practice. I should have just stopped overthinking and done it in college. Fucked my way past ignorance and accumulated some skills to do her right.

Fi’s thumb glides over my palm, barely a touch, but every nerve in my body seems to be tracking it. That tiny caress feels better than anything I’ve known. I turn into that touch, burrow my nose in her hair. No one on Earth smells like Fi. No one else makes that particular sound when she breathes. And the fact is, I’m glad I haven’t been with anyone else. I don’t want to touch anyone but her.

The tips of her fingers wander up my inner arm. Up and down. I feel the stroke like a phantom touch along the shaft of my cock. The weight of her stare has me realizing I’ve had my eyes squeezed shut, my teeth clenched so I don’t grab her here and now, haul her onto my hard dick.

Releasing a breath, I meet her gaze. In the darkness of the car, her wide eyes gleam. My breaths slow until I’m aware of every inhale, the way it stretches the muscles along my chest, how every measured exhale tightens my lower abs.

And still she strokes me, her touch feather light over my biceps, lingering at the knobby bone of my wrist. Jesus. She gives my index finger a little tug and it’s like she’s grabbed my dick. I grunt, swallow a louder moan.