Never had he talked this much during sex, but this was Molly and there were no rules. “Hmm, good start,” he said, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of her breastbone, “but I don’t know if you really mean it.”

 “Maybe I don’t want your mouth.” Her hand gripping his hair, tugging him up with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

Smoldering heat in his blood. “Oh, you’ll be doing that one day soon. In front of me.” It would be an erotic fantasy come to life. “But since you’re being so uncooperative today”—he stroked his hand down one silken thigh, to her restless movement—“maybe you don’t deserve an orgasm.”

Chest heaving, she wrapped both legs around his hips to hold him to her, the denim of his jeans scraping against the cream of her skin. “You are a bad man and I adore you.”

Ah fuck, but she knew how to cut him off at the knees. Totally hers, he kissed her, one hand at her throat, the other on the plump curve of her breast. When she broke the kiss to gasp in air, he took his hand off her throat to run his mouth over the slope of it, continuing downward until he reached her breasts. It only took a second to push down the cups, bare her to him, her nipples lush berries in his mouth.

“Fox.” A husky moan, her hands on his shoulders. “I want you.”

That did it. The leash snapped. “Be a good girl for my cock”—he reached down to push aside the gusset of her panties, undo his jeans—“and I’ll use my mouth on you later.”

Molly’s skin tinged hot pink, but his smart, sexy librarian didn’t back down. “I always am for you.”

Pretty damn sure he’d spill then and there, he shoved up her thigh and pushed into her in a single thick thrust, both of them sprawled out on the hood.

 “Fox!”

“I have you.” Bracing his hands palms down on either side of her head, he looked into brown eyes drenched in pleasure, the pupils dilated, and found he wanted to hear the words Molly gave him, the ones that made him feel ten feet tall. But he didn’t know how to ask for them, how to tell her how important those words were to his soul.

Then she raised her fingers to his lips, tracing the shape of his mouth. “My gorgeous, talented Fox. I’m so glad I wake up next to you every morning.”

Shuddering, he stroked her thigh and found the patience to rock her slow and easy, his Molly who didn’t only fight for him, but who gave him what he needed with a generosity that tore him to pieces. As the world splintered around them, he could only hope he gave her the same, hope that she saw no lack in her life.

He couldn’t lose her. Not his Molly.

Three weeks later and Molly felt as if she was living in a dream world. The band was now officially on tour and had been for the past five days. Though they were surrounded by crew, and had—until an hour ago—been accompanied by a reporter from the most iconic magazine in the industry, Molly was the only one who was attached on a strictly personal basis.

She’d expected to be cornered by the reporter sometime during the fourteen days he shadowed the band, beginning with Schoolboy Choir’s pre-tour preparations. She’d even worked out strategies to answer what she’d guessed would be intrusive questions, but the man had treated her with a kind of absent politeness, otherwise ignoring her existence. Molly had been delighted but mystified.

It was Maxwell who cleared things up for her.

“He thought you were flavor of the month,” the crew boss said with his customary bluntness. “Since he’s planning to write the definitive article on the band at this point in their career, he’s not going to bother to include what he thinks is a bit of pussy.”

Molly could feel herself turning bright red. Booming with laughter, Maxwell hugged her close to his bulk. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll kick himself later when he realizes his ‘definitive article’ has a hole the size of Alaska because he couldn’t see what was right in front of his face.”

“Damn straight,” Molly said, tugging on her Schoolboy Choir cap when Maxwell released her.

“Good girl.” His grin could’ve been of a proud father. “Boys don’t have a concert tomorrow and we’re not on the road, so get ready to paint the town red after tonight’s show.”

Molly might’ve been surprised at how circumspect the entire band had been the past five days, if she hadn’t understood the demanding physicality of the concerts. Dedicated to their music as all four men were, giving a mediocre performance simply wasn’t acceptable—it wouldn’t only disappoint their fans, it would mean letting down the other members of the band.

As a result, they were more than ready to blow off some serious steam. “Wear the red skirt,” Fox said, patting her on the butt after he’d showered off the sweat from the show. “With the sparkly top.”

The “sparkly top” was a low-cut sequined halter in shimmering gold he’d bought her two days ago after spotting it in a boutique window across from their last hotel. Trying it on with a strapless push-up bra and the skirt she’d fixed after Fox tore it in New York, Molly whistled at her own reflection. She looked hot. Feeling confident and happy, she spent time straightening her hair before pulling it back into a sleek ponytail. A bit of careful makeup, with the focus on knockout red lips, and she was done.

“Oh holy hell.” It was a harsh groan from the open bedroom doorway, Fox having slipped out to the living area of the hotel suite to raid the room service cart while she dressed.

Turning around on skinny black heels, she propped a hand on her hip, her stomach flipping at the heat in the smoky green of his eyes. “I love this outfit.”

Fox, dressed in camo-green cargo pants and a white T-shirt that hugged his biceps, began to prowl closer. “Not as much as I do.”

Molly held out a hand. “No way. I didn’t go to all this trouble for you to mess me up.”

Fox’s eyes gleamed. “Bet I could change your mind.”

“No bet. We both know I’m easy where you’re concerned,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing in the clean bite of his aftershave. “You’re all smooth.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “Not that I don’t like you rough.”

Fox cupped her butt with possessive hands. “I know just how rough you like it, Miss Molly.” Squeezing her curves, he ground his aroused body against her. “I’m absolutely going to mess you up.”

“No, you don’t.” It took serious effort to break out of his hold, the flesh between her thighs already damp. “I want to see what you guys get up to on a night out.”

“I sure as hell won’t be getting up to the same things now that I have you in my bed. Which is where I’d like to be right now.” Despite his frustrated growl, he held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go watch the other guys’ eyes pop out.”

The smug satisfaction in his tone made her want to drag him to the sheets. “Wait,” she said, fighting the temptation, “I have something for you.”

He watched curiously as she picked up a little bag emblazoned with a shop logo and pulled out a black leather cuff. “I thought this wouldn’t break rock star fashion protocol,” she said and closed the cuff around his left wrist, the studded design an echo of the belt hidden beneath his T-shirt.

“When did you get this?” he asked, admiring the workmanship.

“Secret.” Sliding her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, she kissed his jaw. Her glossy lipstick left a red imprint, but liking her mark on him, she didn’t immediately wipe it away. “I get to spoil you, too, you know.”

He echoed her position, his hands on her lower curves and his smile deep. “I’m already spoiled, but I could get used to this kind of a surprise.” Eyes dropping to her lips, he went to kiss her, sighed. “Damn it. I’ll ruin your pretty makeup.”

“Come here.” Lipstick or Fox’s kiss? No contest.

Noah wolf-whistled when he saw her ten minutes and a quick touch-up later, and suddenly she was being hauled to his side, one muscular arm around her waist. Startled, she landed with her hand on his T-shirt, the fabric black with silver detailing. The guitarist, she thought, could’ve stood in as a model for a fallen angel—beautiful and with an aristocratic look to him, his eyes holding a sardonic edge he made no effort to hide with people he didn’t like.