Devoured Book 1 - Page 30

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucas and I argue for what seems like an eternity before he clasps his hands together almost demurely and tells me to go pick up his dinner. By time I return from the part of town we’ve just came from, he’s already dressed to go out to Jessica’s parents’ bar.

I’ve got to give him credit—he’s managed to perfect his disguise. And I have a feeling that’s all thanks to the fact that in Los Angeles, he doesn’t get to enjoy the peace he’s found in Nashville. During the video shoot for “All Over You” there were daily incidents of fangirls (and fanboys) finding ways to sneak themselves on set to try and hook up with members of the band, not to mention the diehard Your Toxic Sequel fans who’d camped outside the studio every day to get a glimpse of Lucas and the rest of the guys.

Tonight, Lucas is wearing his usual jeans, but instead of boots, he’s got on old school Converse shoes. A black and white Henley covers every last one of his tattoos. His messy hair is covered by an oversized black beanie and he’s wearing . . . gla.s.ses. Nerdy ones at that.

I stand at the door to his office for a moment, taking in the sight of him. No man should look that s.e.xy in nerdy gla.s.ses.

“Borrowed from wardrobe?” I ask, making his head jerk up toward me. He bites his bottom lip and instinctively, I nibble mine too. “The gla.s.ses, I mean.”

He beckons me to come into the office and I comply, sitting the Styrofoam platter of food on the desk. Up close to him, I realize that those gla.s.ses have to be—hands down—the s.e.xiest thing I’ve ever seen him wear.

He laughs, “Not borrowed. A nearsighted b.i.t.c.h.”

“You look . . . rocker geek.”

Tilting his head to one side, he considers what I said for a moment then bites the tip of his tongue to suppress a grin. “You’re not going to take pics and send them to the paparazzi, are you?” he teases.

“Only if you’re doing this to humiliate my friend’s boyfriend,” I say. “You’re not, are you?”

He’s on his feet and towering over me an instant later, his eyes unreadable. “I’d never hurt my fans. There the reason I’m here and not in Atlanta strung out on something. But to answer your question . . . I’ve got a soft spot for cover bands.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Google’s your friend,” he says, winking at me. “Now go get dressed—your clothes are on your bed.”

I move to go and do what he’s asked me to, but then ice travels down my body, freezing me. What am I doing? This is the first time he’s issued me a command where my mind automatically compelled me to follow it, and that’s a realization that frightens me.

“You want to get me dressed, too, Mr. Wolfe?” I demand, forcing a sugary smile when I say his name.

He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, and then blows a stray strand of hair away from my neck. “G.o.d, if only. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? We’re only three days in, and you already want to give in to me.” Despite his words, there’s not the slightest hint of mockery behind his voice. It’s teasing—yes—but so full of promise. I back up until the desk hits my bottom. My fingers curl around the wood.

“If I did?” I whisper breathlessly.

He thinks for a moment and then grants me a look that’s so delicious it sends heat spiraling through me. “At this point I’m not sure if I’d f**k you or spank you with that drumstick over there.” He motions to a set of signed sticks on the opposite end of the desk. “Maybe both. Maybe just tie you to a chair and taste you ‘til you can’t move or think or breathe.”

“And after?”

“There are seven more days,” he reminds me. “There’s so much I can teach you, so much we can do, and after that . . .”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny that he’s affected me by what he’s said and the way he’s looking at me. It should be illegal for any man to have such a magnetic, irresistible effect. “I’m good,” I say.

“For now.”

“No, for—” In twenty years if you ask me who initiated the kiss, I still wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s that sudden, that breathtaking, and all-consuming. Lucas’s tongue glides across my lips, tracing the outline of them—once, twice, a third time and then once more. I cry out and my backside slumps onto the desk behind me because my legs are trembling so violently. He makes a noise that’s part curse, part moan, and enough to send me over the edge. I splay my hands out on either side of his chest, digging my fingertips into the soft fabric of s.h.i.+rt, into his skin, and pulling him to my body.

His hands are locked behind his head because he’s so determined to make me beg before he uses them on me.

My lips part easily the moment his tongue probes the s.p.a.ce between them. I’m wet. Wet and moaning and rubbing my body against his. Yet he still doesn’t move his hands.

Touch me. Touch me. But I can’t bring myself to give into him. Not yet.

When he drags his mouth away from mine, I catch his lower lip gently between my teeth. He winces as my teeth rake over the tender flesh before releasing it. Then a s.e.xy smile creeps across his face. “You a biter, Red?”

He knows I hate it when he calls me Red, just like he knows he’s gotten me too fl.u.s.tered to complain at the moment. “Lucas?” I murmur against the side of his mouth. Suddenly brave, I kiss his upper lip, his strong chin. I draw his lower lip between my own and suck it.

“Mmmhmm?”