Page 66 of One More Bad Boy

He’s so serious,I thought, fascinated by this side of him. Gently, I pried his hands from my shoulders. I outlined his temples, his jawline, then wrapped my fingers in his shirt with a smile. “Was I the first person you shared your songs with?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“What was it like to hear me sing the words you poured your heart into?”

His fingers coiled around my wrists firmly, letting me know neither of us was going anywhere. “Like my heart was getting too big for my body. Like... what you said before, that I might break apart at the corners. It was overwhelming.”

I touched my nose to his. “The second I opened that little book of yours... I knew you were different than my exes. I was just scared to admit it to myself.”

Raw emotion spread through his grimace, then onto my lips as he finally kissed me. Pulling my arms over my head, he pawed his way down my ribs, then undid the top button and zipper of my jeans with skill.

Lightning targeted my clit when he dipped his hands into my pants. “You know how else I’m different?” he asked thickly. His fingers rubbed across my pussy where it was soaking through my panties. “I make you come like no other man has. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” I moaned. It was true. So fucking true.

“Your voice is intoxicating.” Bach pulled my panties into my crevice, tugging gently as I rolled my hips. “Not just when you sing. When you laugh, when you moan, when you shout at me... when youbreathe.”He massaged my cunt with my saturated underwear. “I’ve never met anyone with a voice like yours, Amina.”

Closing my eyes, I arched into his delicious touch. His compliments were sinking past my defenses. I couldn’t wave away his kind words, hide behind modesty, or deflect in any way. Bach had me melting literally in his palms. “Oh my god,” I whispered.

“Feels good, yeah?”

“Yes,” I managed to say.

“Come in my hands.” Bach grazed his lips on my chin, then my earlobe; his teeth brought beautiful pain. “I need to hear you sing my name as you cream your panties. Do it, now.”

Pleasure welled up in a rush. It was hot and heavy, my weight settling on his fingers while he pet my clit. Fuck, I was close. The approach of my release brought sweat down my spine, juices down my thighs. My jeans were ruined, and I did. Not. Fucking. Care.

“Ah!” I knew the orgasm was inevitable, but my body still shook wildly, like it wasn’t prepared for the delightful tingles. His fingers found their way inside of me. The thin panties couldn’t block him out. I came hard, clenching around his knuckles, all while he pressed himself against me. He was more solid than the wall at my back.

“Good, so good,” he whispered. I was soft in the middle; he held me up, one of his powerful legs gliding between mine. The shape of his erection ground hard on my jeans.

I went to reach down. Bach pushed my hands above my head with one of his—the one not buried in my cunt. “Take my pants off,” I begged. “I want to fuck you. Please, I’m dying here.”

“Dying?” he chuckled wickedly. “I’ll help you get naked, you don’t have to ask me twice. But are you okay with me taking my fingers out of your sweet pussy?” He crooked his fingers for emphasis.

Groaning thickly, I wriggled my hips. “It’s fine, hurry up!”

He laughed harder that time. “Yes, Ma’am.” His hands let go of me at both ends. I was depressingly empty, but I knew the sooner my jeans were off, I’d get something even better.

Bach tugged my pants over my thighs, helping me step out of them. I had to kick my shoes off before the jeans got stuck around my ankles. Grinning, I balanced myself on his shoulders. He caught my eye as he crouched, my jeans bundled in his arms. “You look hyper,” he said.

“Hyper?” I giggled.

“Yeah, like you just ate a pound of candy. Or took drugs. Are you on something, Amina?”

Cupping his cheeks, I gave him a lingering kiss. “You make me feel like I’m high. Blame yourself if I start acting silly.”

I tasted his teeth as he smirked to full capacity. Bach balled my jeans up, ready to toss them aside. Before he could, my wallet toppled out of the pocket. He glanced down at the mess; I pushed my nails into his hair. “Leave it,” I insisted. “I’ll get it after.” What was the point in trying to be organized when we were about to throw more of our clothes off?

Bach had stopped kissing me. He was staring down at the floor, his attention fading from me. Confused, I let go of him and backed up. “Bach?”

He didn’t pick up my wallet or my jeans. He picked up something that turned my heart’s core into solid ice. “Why the hell do you have this?” he asked, staring at me like I’d just stabbed him in the back. In his hands was a red rectangle with rounded corners.

Sherman’s business card.

---