Chapter 21: Rock Stars Don't Like To Share Their Body Count

Kat

He leads me silently into my room, but he hardly glances at the walls, newly painted a cheerful tangerine. He closes the door and swiftly traps me on the backside of it, his hands on either side of my head, one of his thighs pinning my hip.

"Oranges sparks creativity," I shout over the music, gesturing at the walls.

He smiles at me. "Very nice," he shouts back. Then he leans close, tickling my ear with his breath. "Can you change the music, babe? Something sexy."

I pull my phone out and turn the volume on the music down, fumbling a second to put on Hozier.

"Good choice," he says. Suddenly he's captivated by my lips. Christ, this is it. He's going to kiss me. And I'm pretty sure, he's not going to stop there.

Just as he moves in for the kiss, words fly from my mouth. "I thought the color was a good change, you know? TIme for me to get out of blue hell, and get my juices firing again. My orange juices." What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I babbling? My heart is determined to burrow out of my chest and ruin this moment. So I take a deep breath and try to quell its mutiny. I realize I'm turning my phone over and over in my hands.

He takes my phone from me and puts it on the dresser. He makes that same sushhing noise he made so long ago on New Year's Eve, like he's trying to calm me. It works a little. I start to melt beneath his warm breath.

"I mean, creative is good. especially in the bedroom..." I start again. Fuck, shut up Kat and let the man kiss you!

He backs off a little, his gaze curious. No, no, no! Kiss me!

"You want to get creative in bed?" he asks.

"You said your shit is ridiculous, right? I'm just saying, I'm up for it. I'm done with boring blue. I'm in the hot, orange creative zone..."

His beautiful nearly grey eyes are completely focused on my face, and his lips are parted but slightly turned down in concentration. "You seem nervous. What you said yesterday in the elevator...are you actually scared of me, Kat?" His voice is low and dangerous.

"Pyeh-sheeew. As if."

He snorts. "Mmm-hmmmm," his body weight releases and he pulls me off the door.

Just as he comes close again, I blurt, "Are we gonna do this what?"

A furrow of eyebrows. "I want it to be good for you," he murmurs, slightly irritated.

"Up-against-the-door isn't good?" I twist my head over my shoulder, casting a regretful look at the door. He pulls my head back toward him. He's gentle, but he's showing me he's in charge. I like it. I like Trace and his ridiculous rockstar shit very very much.

"We'll work up to that," he assures me, leaning closer.

"Not at the rate we are going," I scoff.

He's literally an inch from my lips. I can feel his heat.

"Stop running your mouth so I can make it mine," he growls.

"Fine, make it yours," I say, and then, just as his lips brush mine, I pull back and squeak, "Only in bed though. Otherwise my mouth belongs to me."

He sighs. He gives me a look that's not just desire now. Something...much much more tender. He kisses my forehead, and then presses his against it. "How about I just wait until you're ready, Sweetheart?"

I grab his shirt. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be ready any second."

He laughs. We sway slightly to the music, our foreheads pressed together. My heart starts to slow, my muscles start to relax, and my lips start to burn.

"Okay. Ready," I breathe.

"Thank fuck," he says softly.

He takes my mouth with no hesitation, lips and tongue in the same moment. His sweet and smoky taste invades me. I hadn't remembered the taste of him—how it flooded me with hunger. I awaken to him, wanting more. He gives it, working my mouth a long, long time. He plays me like his guitar, making me vibrate to life beneath his attention.

I thought I couldn't remember how long that New Year's kiss lasted because I was drunk. That wasn't why. This kiss is the same—epic. Free fall. I have no idea how long it lasts. Finally, he breaks the kiss, at the same moment my knees hit the back of my bed. I wobble and look around. I have no idea how we got from over there by the door to over here at the bed. Time, space, consequence all fail to have any meaning when Trace kisses me.

He drops down on the bed and pats the spot beside him. When I sit, he makes no move to put his ridiculousness all over me.

I'm somewhere between mildly relieved and pout-lip disappointed.

He laughs at me and pinches my pouting bottom lip. "What?"

"Enough messing around. Let's just...do this, okay?" I scoot back on the bed.

"Let's talk a minute."

"Enough talk."

"Kat..." he gives me that same look he gave me after we kissed on New Year's—like I'm something straight out of a horror film and he's both fascinated and repulsed by me. My nervous desire burns up in my irritation. "Don't!" I shout, pointing my finger in his face. He jerks back, the look of fear deepening as he tries go avoid a finger to the eye. "Don't look at me like that! I hate that look!"

He snatches my finger out of his face. I try to snatch it back, but he keeps hold of my hand. "What the hell are you talking about? What look?"

"The look like I'm your wet dream and your worst nightmare at the same time. Like I'm some scary-hot-child-succubus-dripping-in-sex-and-slime. Like you can't figure out if you want to fuck me or fight me."

He chuckles. "Oh, that look. I have to say, you nailed it—that's exactly how I feel."

His admission kind of takes the wind out of my righteous indignation sail. "You do?"

He shrugs. "Course. You think this is easy on me? It's like you are still fifteen. Except more freaked."

"I'm not freaked!" I hiss. "And I'm not fifteen. I'm a legal adult."

The rock star is back. He rubs his sexy mouth with two fingers, and then he cocks his head. "I know that. You're grown-up, and smart, and hot as hell. But am I right in thinking you are also a virgin?"

I narrow my eyes at him. Now I understand the concept of the hate-fuck. Never got that before. Because right now, as much as I want Trace Gallant, I also want to strangle him for embarrassing me like this. Or drive a stake into his rock star heart. I think rock stars and vampires both have the same kind of dark and sexy immortality, right?

Why is he making me admit it?

"Kat," he says gently. "You want to be lovers, right?"

I swallow his word. Lovers. Not just friends. Or friends with benefits. Not even boyfriend-girlfriend. Not just some juvenile thing. Lovers, he says.

Lovers sounds adult and a little scary and maybe kinda hard. Being Trace's lover sounds worth it.

I nod. He nods back.

"I want that, too. So... talk to me. Lovers talk about their histories and shit."

I stare at my hands. Talking about my sexual stuff is hard for me. That New Year's Eve was so humiliating for me—between Trace's rejection and then the Chaz thing, and Trace witnessing the Chaz thing—that I sort of shut-down, sexually, before I even got to sex. It's only been very recently that Colin and I started to advance beyond anything beyond fully clothed making out—and the things we did, we didn't talk much about.

"Kat," he says again, and I take a deep breath. This is Trace. I'll be goddamned if I'll act like a shy little girl. He's a bigger kid than me—always has been.

I meet his eyes squarely. "Yes. I'm a virgin, okay? Is that a problem for you?"

His mouth twerks slightly and his eyes go icy. After a moment he says, "No, it's not a problem. Not at all. But, it will be a new thing for us both, because I've never been with a virgin."

"Oh," I'm not sure how I feel about that. I guess I imagined Trace would be an expert at deflowering girls. "Are you sure?"

He gives me a wry look. "Yeah, Kat, I'm sure."

"Okay then, how many non-virgins have you been with?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "Pass. Next question."

Irritation flares again. I cross my arms. "I thought lovers talk about their histories and shit." I mimic his stupid sexy rock star voice.

He sighs. "You really want my body count, Kat? Because once I tell you, there's no erasing it."

"It's that bad?" I whisper.

He just stares at me, his face impassive. Do I really want to know? "Dozens?" I ask.

He bites his lip.

"Just round it to the nearest hundred," I groan.

He holds up one finger.

I nod, trying not to let my face show much about the fact that the guy I want more than anything has slept with a hundred girls and most of them probably in the last two and half years.  Shouldn't I have more self-respect than to lust after a man-whore? He sat on that porch on New Year's, and said I was his girl. Then he walked away, and forgot about me, and fucked more than a hundred other girls.

"Kat--"

I hold up a hand. "Just hang on. I'm processing."

We sit in silence for a while. Finally, Trace takes my hand. I let him.

"Kat, I have never had a...real romantic relationship. Not one where I cared deeply for the person I was sleeping with. It will be totally different, being with you. It's why I have that look, you know? The terrified one? I want the real deal with you, and it's scary for me, too." His voice is low, and earnest. "Tell me the truth, are you totally disgusted by me, now that you know about all the fangirls? Is my lifestyle a deal breaker?" He can't even look at me, now.

Am I? I take a moment to consider.  I demanded his body count. Am I really going to be that girl, and  hold it against him? The truth is, I'm pretty sure Trace would never have slept with me when I was underage. He might be a bad boy, but when it comes to me, he's always had a decent streak. And as much as the Disney Princess in me wants to believe he should have waited on me to level up to his playing field, I know that's not fair. What gorgeous, rich, talented, twenty-something rock star is going to be celibate on the off-chance he might one day reconnect with his childhood best friend, when women are fighting to get under him every night? I sigh.

"Not disgusted. Not as long as it's a lifestyle you modify while we are together. I don't want to date you if you're still planning on sleeping around."

His head bobs up, his eyes meet mine, and he says immediately. "Fuck no. Only you. Of course. And only me," he adds, a note of warning in his voice.

I smile. "I don't want anybody else, Trace. I think that's pretty obvious." He nods, catching my meaning. I dated Colin for a year and couldn't bring myself to sleep with him, with Trace still in my heart.

He straightens up, and pulls out his phone, rifling through his email. "Here. I want to show you this. I did it two weeks ago. Not to be presumptuous, but you know...just in case. I haven't been with anyone, since."

It's an email from a doctor—lab results—a long list of tests some with names I recognize and some I don't. "You got tested? For me?"

"Yeah. I mean, I have always been safe, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I'm clean."

"Wow," I say, the butterflies are stirring. Hell, who am I kidding? It's like a flock of seagulls taking flight in the pit of my stomach.

This shit is going down for real. All signs are go for launching my first sexual experience.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay, what?" he looks at me curiously.

I pull the straps down from my overalls. I have a moment of regret that I haven't showered in about twenty-four hours and that there are splatters of paint on my arms, but oh well...dirty is sexy, right?

I raise my gaze to Trace, going for willing-but-confident virgin.

"Okay, let's do this."

The horrified look flashes at the back of his eyes.

"Goddammit, Trace. I'm supposed to be the scared shitless one," I groan.

"Sorry, sorry." He closes his eyes. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. When he opens his eyes, he's got on the rock star face. He drapes his arms across the pillows and leers at me. Christ, what a face it is. Eyes dark, jaw tense, mouth begging to be kissed and on the verge of commanding me at the same time. He is the ultimate bad boy.

"So, it's the rock star that wants me, not the boy next next door?" I joke nervously.

"All of me wants you," he assures me. "The rock star part wants you right the fuck now, the boy next door is embarrassed to admit he's caught short. I left my wallet in the car."

"Why do you need your wallet?" I ask, suddenly puzzled.

He looks at me patiently and says softly, "I need the condom that's inside my wallet, Sweetheart."

"Oh.Right." I bite my lip and fish around inside my nightstand drawer. Somewhere in the back I find the box that Colin bought a while ago, "just in case."

I hand them to Trace.

"Will these...uhmmm...work for you?" I ask.

He smiles as I blush. "All pretty much the same," he says mildly and lays the box aside. "Kat, this isn't exactly the sweetest start to your first time..."

My overalls dropping to my feet somehow stops his speech. I'm standing in front of him in a white tube top and rather plain white panties. Romantic or not, I'm tired of the awkwardness. I want this issue settled. Now.

He looks me up and down. His eyes are nearly black now. "Come here," he says huskily, leaning back against my headboard. I climb on his lap and straddle him.

He pushes my long hair back from my shoulders, tracing his fingers gently down my arms. I shiver. He smiles. "Like you on my lap, Kat. A lot. You're beautiful," he says, sitting up and pulling me close, trailing slow kisses across my shoulder and up my neck, while his hands slide down my sides.

"I love being with you. Laughing with you, fake-fighting with you," he murmurs. "I want get in trouble with you, just like we used to," he's worrying my earlobe with his teeth. "I know you, Kat. Even though we've been apart, I still know you."

I murmur my agreement as he tucks my hair behind my ear. "I want to know you in every way," he says.

"I want that too." He kisses my neck again and his hands slide over my tube top and lightly cup my breasts. My body's response is immediate. I have to fight the urge to grind against him.

He's removed his hands to my waist, and his hips apparently don't have a mind of their own like mine, because he's chill, beneath me. His soft kisses turn urgent as our mouths meet, and suddenly I can't control my hips. They start to buck, sliding me up and down his lap. He groans and grabs my hips tightly, smoothing out my movement, and settling me firmly against him. I realize he's not nearly as chill as I thought he was.

I laugh mid-kiss and even to my own ears, I sound nervous. He stills my hips with his hands and whispers,

"Not a lot of time here, Kat. Say you'll come with me to New Orleans."

"Huh?" I ask, not sure I heard him right. I can't really concentrate on anything except, you know, the flock of birds in my stomach, and his hot mouth, and the fact that he's holding me still against him. Alot fluttering and a little shaking going on here, Rockstar. Less words, more action.

He lays back against the headboard again and looks at me, twirling a strand of my long hair in his finger. "I want you so bad, but I don't think either one of us really wants me walking out right after your first time. Need you to come with, after this. At least to New Orleans. Beyond, if you want."

I am so crazed with anxiety and lust in this moment, I probably would have agreed to go to the seventh circle of hell with Trace if he would just get this show on the road. New Orleans seems like a no brainer. After all, I'm an adult, and I have no place else I have to be for a couple of weeks. Hell, I don't even have to explain to my parents, if I don't want to—though I probably will. I'm not Ashlynn—old or new version.

"New Orleans sounds like a great idea," I agree.

"So that's a definite yes?" he presses.

"Yes."

Suddenly, he's whipped me on my back. The flock of birds is screeching and flapping madly now.

"Okay, let's go," he says.

Okay, here we go. It's obviously gonna be a quickie. That's okay, it's probably better. Get the uncomfortable first time out of the way. I'm sure I'll be okay to have a more enjoyable experience in New Orleans, in a day or so...

I breathe deeply and nod at him, trying to relax. I try to pull his shirt off. He drops his head to my shoulder, groaning and laughing at the same time.

"No babe, really, we got to go. Wheels up, remember?" Trace says in my ear. Then he jumps off the bed. "Throw some shit in a bag, KitKat. Maybe a sun dress for an actual date. We have a night off tomorrow in New Orleans, and it's a romantic place."

I raise up on my elbows. "You bastard! Did you just psuedo-seduce me into running away with you and now you're not even going to follow through?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You really think I'm going to rush your first time? Sex you up quick and dirty in a room filled with paint fumes, and Riley drinking tea downstairs, waiting on us? C'mon, Kat, I thought you knew me better than this. Remember the summer we climbed trees?"

"Oh god," I flop back down on the bed. "No. That was torture."

"It was not," he said indignantly. "It was fun."

"You were such a chauvinist. You thought since you had already fallen out of the tree and broken your collarbone, that there was no way a little girl like me could climb it by myself. You told me if I didn't climb your way, you were going to tell Ashlynn what I was up to and she would have mom lock me in the house."

"I wasn't a chauvinist. You were eight years old. I didn't want you to get hurt," he says, looking at me tenderly.

"Yeah, but it took days and days to get to the top. We only climbed a little higher each day. It was too slow, and annoying." I raise my eyebrows, hoping I'm making my point clear.

"I needed to go slow too. My arm was in a sling— I had to figure out how to climb one handed." He pulls me to my feet and puts his hands on my shoulders. His thumbs slowly traces my collarbone. "Tell me this...how did you feel the day we made it to the top?"

I roll my eyes. "Invincible. Amazing."

"Not scared at all? It was pretty fucking high." He sways me gently, like he's coaxing an answer.

I smile at the memory. "It was high, but I wasn't scared."

"Why not?"

"Because we worked up to it."

He looks at me smugly. "I think I've made my point. We're climbing the Love Tree, babe. One branch at a time." He tugs up my tube top, making sure it's in place. "Hmmm...there might be a song there," he murmurs with a smile.

"The Love Tree? Really? That's the best you got? Rolling Stone called you a metaphorical genius."

"Okay Love Tree is not my best lyric, but you get my point. I'm not doing this rushed, with you nearly shaking."

"I was not shaking," I scoff. "I was totally willing."

His hand trails my spine. "When we make love for the first time, I want your body way past willing. I want you so needy for us to come together that your nervousness falls away. Because I don't want to make you feel anything but rapture in bed."

Ahhh, what he said just then is way better poetry than the Love Tree. Trace has always been a poet, but these new intimate things he's saying to me heat me inside and out. Every part of me feels flushed at his description of what it will be like between us. I stretch up and run my fingers through his hair.

He sighs heavily. "Christ, I've fucking missed you. I'm so glad you are my girl again."

We kiss. I start to melt and pull him towards the bed. Knowing that sex is on hold, I would kill to make out for a few minutes with my sexy rockstar. He hauls me back up by the elbows, laughing slightly. "We cannot get back on that bed, Kat. We are so fucking late. Dawes is going to have my ass for delaying the flight. You've got to pack in a hurry, babe."

I head to my closet while my own personal rockstar cleans up my painting mess. We might be rushing to catch a flight, but I already feel like I'm flying.

So, it seems like Trace is being super careful with his budding relationship with Kat. Why do you think that is? Is he totally invested in building it the right way....or just feeling guilty about Ashlynn? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please consider voting, sharing, adding to your library. I've finished writing Hooked, my other WIP, so updates on EPIC will become more regular!