Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

Ohmigod!

I have to get out of here. Right now. I have to get home.

She wasn’t brave enough to face her joy ride in the light of day. At least not at that moment, not with her hands shaking and her heart racing a mile a minute. What on earth had she been thinking about?

That Emma was tired of being a good girl.

Well, guess what? She’s not a good girl anymore.

Thankful that the light hadn’t woken Marc, she slid carefully from the bed, got down on her knees, and felt around on the floor for her clothes. Silently pulling them on, she picked up her sandals and tiptoed out of the room toward the front of the house.

Purse. Where’s my purse?

Oh, yeah. Living room.

She had just unlocked the front door with a soft click, when she heard him behind her.

“Music Lady?” His voice was hoarse with the remnants of sleep.

She turned and nearly swallowed her tongue. He was standing not two feet away from her gloriously naked, his cock semi-erect, his hair in that sexy tangle. He pushed it back from his face and squinted at her.

“Where are you going?”

“I-I have to leave,” she stammered.

In seconds he was beside her, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t go. Please. We didn’t even get a chance to talk.”

“Talk?” she squeaked. All she could remember was the intense physical and emotional connection. There hadn’t been any room for words.

“Please,” he repeated. “I want to get to know you.”

“I-I-I….” She shook her head. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” Panic, guilt, embarrassment all swirled in a volatile emotional cocktail. She had to leave, to get some perspective on the very impulsive act of hers. Get away before he could start asking questions she didn’t want to answer. She trembled with an anxiety attack.

What have I done?

His hands slid up to cup her cheeks. “I want to see you again.”

“I don’t know.” She chewed her bottom lip. She wanted to stay but the intensity of her emotions and the reality of what she’d done frightened her. How could she care about someone so quickly? Someone so completely opposite everything else in her life?

“Then will you at least come to the club? Next week? We play Tuesday through Saturday.”

“Maybe. I…maybe.”

“Here’s something to remember while you’re trying to decide.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, rubbing his lips against hers very softly before pressing his tongue against the seam. She opened for him without thought and welcomed his intrusion into the hot well of her mouth. She melted, excited by his touch. Her own small tongue slipped past his lips and danced with his while her body quivered, and the throbbing in her sex reminded her of how he made her feel.

His thumbs caressed her cheekbones while he fed from her, the kiss invading her senses. Gasping she broke away.

“I-I really, really have to go. Now.”

Yanking the door open, she raced down the three steps to her car, pressing the fob to unlock it, and leapt into it as if she were in a footrace with the devil. She backed quickly out into the street, but then she glanced toward the house and saw him standing in the doorway, unabashedly naked, haloed by the street lamp next to the house.

Ohmigod.

He lifted his hand to wave and she pulled quickly away, her body sending her messages but her mind scattered to the winds.

How had she let herself do this?

Because she’d wanted a change. Excitement. She’d certainly gotten it. But she’d also gotten something else she hadn’t counted on—an emotional awakening that suddenly made Marc Malone very important to her.

So now what the hell did she do now?

Chapter Three

Marc stood on his back porch watching the blossoming sunrise and the lifting of the night, drinking a cup of strong instant coffee. He couldn’t believe she’d actually left, his Music Lady. Just…put on her clothes, got in her car, and drove away. One minute they were asleep, exhausted by the most incredibly fulfilling sex. The next, she was tiptoeing around his room, gathering her clothes, and trying to sneak away.

He’d already been entertaining thoughts of waking up with her wrapped in his arms. Showering with him. His cock hardened as he imagined all the things they could do in the shower.

Then he’d take her out to breakfast. Talk to her. See what kind of things she liked to eat. Find out what had brought her to Aftershock last night. Why she’d gone home with him. How he could convince her to do it again and again.

Well, that idea had run down the shithole in a hurry. She’d taken off like a cat with its tail on fire.

He carried his mug into the bedroom, shucked off the jeans he’d pulled on and sat on the bed. With the mug in one hand, he grabbed a fistful of sheet with the other and lifted it to his nose. Inhaled deeply. Her scent was still so strong on the fabric, a light floral essence that teased at his nostrils and jacked up his hormones.

Had he said or done something wrong? Frightened her in some way? He replayed every word they’d exchanged over and over, easy because they hadn’t talked all that much. He’d felt such an instant powerful connection at the club. He hadn’t been wrong about that. He was sure she sensed it, too, or she wouldn’t have come home with him.

But she was skittish, like a newborn colt going through the process of imprinting, eager for it but sidestepping as if afraid to like it too much. He’d already guessed her trip to Aftershock fell somewhere in that kind of thing. Where did she come from? What had brought her there?

He swallowed the rest of the coffee, set the mug on the bedside table, and leaned back on the pillows, still clutching the sheet. In his mind he went over every single thing they’d done, the memories scorching his skin. Being inside her was the closest