Bad Moon (BBW Paranormal Romance) (6 page)

I laughed, and was going to exchange a glance
with Trent, when I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach
that he and Nick were being chatted up by a couple of "hot" chicks
in matching miniskirts.

"Whatever," I mumbled to myself, taking a sip
of my cranberry vodka and walking out into the living room. I had
my own hottie to hit up.

Nerves bubbled to the surface as I faced a
slew of unknown faces, and I took another, deep swig of my tart
drink, reminding myself that I belonged. It wasn't more than a few
seconds, however, before I was approached by a guy with sandy
blonde hair and an undeniably adorable grin.

"Hey," he said. "What's your name?"

I almost wanted to laugh at the cliché line,
but part of me was thrilled to hear it be spoken to me for once
instead of any other one of my hot friends lined up next to me at
the bar. "I'm Bailey." I took another deep swig, allowing the
alcohol to smother up my wired nerves.

The guys face screwed up in concentration for
a moment, the groves on his face deepening as he searched for some
information in his undoubtedly altered brain. "Are you the only
Aamir sang that song for? God, he won't shut up about you."

"Uh," I paused, completely shocked to my core
by the confirmation of my suspicion. It was something I had really
not wanted to accept because it set me up for so much
disappointment if it wasn't true. But there it was, the
confirmation before me, and my heart swelled with giddy excitement
and hope.

"I'm not sure," I lied.

"You're Bad Moon's manager, right?"

"Yeah," I said, wetting my parched mouth with
another drink. There was no way I was going to be able to make my
move sober—plus I need to quiet the nagging voice inside of me that
kept asking about Jason.

'Fuck Jason
,' I
thought bitterly.

"Right. Yeah, I'm Zac, his drummer. Let me go
get that annoying son of a—" he turned away into the crowd before I
could catch the rest of his sentence, but it didn't take much of an
imagination to finish his it. Still, it was thrilling to think he
had actually annoyed his bandmates with how much he talked about me
in such a short period of time. For the first time in a long time I
felt wanted. It was a feeling I could get used to.

My phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out,
thinking it was probably a text from Brandon.

"What? Let's talk this out."

It was Jason. Shit. A cold shiver of guilt
seized my body as I realized I really should give him a chance. To
him, this all probably came out of the blue.
I was debating whether or not I should call him when another
message popped up, the buzz of the vibration tickling my open
palm.

"Did you find out about Veronica? I can
explain."

My heart went cold and dropped like a stone
to the pit of my stomach. Of all the terrible things I thought
Jason was in my worst moments, a cheater wasn't one of them.

"Screw you." I typed, an angry heat boiling
in my veins. I hit send without hesitation and shoved my phone into
my purse, half tempted to throw it across the room. He didn't need
to explain. I didn't need to hear about what he was doing with his
study buddy from France. I have a pretty active imagination.

"Everything okay?"

I looked up to meet Aamir’s dark eyes, full
of soul and empathy. His gorgeous dark hair was disheveled, hanging
over his penetrating gaze, and he smelled like aftershave and
sweat.

I wanted him.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I said, forcing a
smile.

"Well," he picked up my hand, his calloused
skin tantalizing against my soft ones. "You're shaking." I looked
down to see that he was right: I was indeed shaking, like a small
dog after a cold bath. I looked up to his face, filled with genuine
concern, and a small hint of something else, round yet
piercing...

'Lust
,' I told
myself, a desire growing between my legs.

I bit my lip and took in a deep breath,
steadying myself as I made a bold decision in a sea of strangers,
before one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. Fueled by
anger, and sick to my stomach with all of the years of self-doubt
and hatred, of being treated like a second-class woman, of
repression, not getting what I wanted, and telling myself I wasn't
worth it, I committed an unthinkable sin for those of my kind, the
alleged undesirables.

I threw my arms around Aamir's thick neck and
pulled him aggressively towards me, clashing my mouth against his
with the passion of a caged animal, finally set free.

After a moment of tense-lipped surprise, he
melted into me, pulling his hands up the swell of my hips to rest
on my waist, his fingers like liquid fire through the cotton
bodice.

I moaned against his mouth before sucking his
top lip into my mouth like a delicacy, taking his firm jut of skin
into my own soft folds. I greeted his thick tendrils with my
fingers, threading them through the maze of his wonderful
locks.

I wanted him so badly it hurt. So that was
why I whined when he pulled away, nearly oblivious to the cat calls
and stares around us.

He grinned sheepishly at me, his hands still
cradling my waist. "Why don't we talk in another room?"

"Okay," I said without hesitation, and I
pulled away from his grasp, ready to take his lead. He nodded and
took my hand, snaking his fingers down my wrist to lace between my
own. A few guys, who I assumed were his friends, cheered as we
walked away, and Aamir shook his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry about them."

"Don't worry about it." Out of the corner of
my eye I caught a glimpse of Trent, and I could sense his gaze was
on us. For a moment I felt self-conscious about what he might
think. Maybe this was getting out of hand.

Then I thought about Jacob, and my blood
boiled. No boy was going to control me tonight.

I kept my gaze forward as we snaked through
the sea of bodies, my heart thundering against my chest. We reached
a bedroom door and I suddenly wondered whose bedroom we were going
in. He lead me inside and flicked on the lights, revealing a quaint
set-up with off-white walls and instruments strewn about
everywhere.

"What do you think?" He said, cocking an
eyebrow up at me as he locked the door behind us. I got the
impression that it was his room, but a final swig of alcohol
reminded me that I didn't care who it belonged to.

"I think it's time for you to take that shirt
off," I growled with a voice that burst out of me, raw and laced
with danger. I could tell from his face he was as shocked as I was,
but pleased by my aggression at the same time. I closed the gap
between us and pressed my fingers just above his belt, teasing up
the cotton shirt to feel a taut bulge of muscle beneath my
fingers.

"You are so hot," he murmured, and I clamped
my mouth over his, buzzing with the weight of the compliment. I
realized then that Jason had never called me that. He called me
“responsible” and “put together.”

I pressed my palms flat against his stomach
and inched them upwards, delighting in the roll of his body, its
peeks and valleys gracing my curious hands. I met the skin just
below his pecs, and he gave in, pulling the shirt up over his head.
I stepped back to see him, strong and cut with a dangerous promise
of a V slicing into his brown skin, disappearing into his
jeans.

Hey, I can't pretend like I don't want this,
but we've both been drinking and maybe this is all moving to
fast—"

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I was
hungry for his hunger, I wanted him to want me and nothing else,
even if it was only for tonight. I pulled at the halter strings of
my dress, releasing them from my neck to reveal my pink, strapless
push-up bra and my generous cleavage. He shut up, his eyes widening
in that exact way I wanted. He moved forward, reaching his arms
around my back to unzip the rest of my dress. I shimmied out of the
fabric, kicking it off my feet along with my heels to reveal my
body, clad in hip-hugging pink underwear and a matching bra that
left little to the imagination.

"Jesus," he said, and the look in his eyes
said the rest for me. For once, I wasn't embarrassed or
apprehensive to stand before someone nearly naked. I was
exhilarated. His downward sweeping gaze, resting at the spot where
my ample hips narrowed into waist, only kindled the greedy fire
setting in my loins. It was the first time a man had looked at me
with those eyes, burning with desire, wanting every curve, every
inch of me. He wasn't looking at me with dead eyes, seeing me as a
pair of tits on legs. I new he wasn’t after me because he thought I
was easy. He thought I was a catch; it was all there, in the way he
was devouring me with his eyes.

"Are you sure that you want this?" he said,
expelling a long, steady breath, his gaze stuck on my chest. I
reached a hand behind me and squeezed the clasp of my bra together,
releasing it on to the floor with one hand.

"You're making this hard," he said, sighing,
his greedy eyes fixated on my bare breasts. I looked down at his
crotch, noting the large swell of denim below his belt.

"I know," I said, taking a step forward and
gently pressing my hand against his groin. He moaned, rolling his
eyes back in his head in a way that thrilled me to my core. I
reached for his belt buckle, but he swept me up into his arms,
holding me up against his chest.

I gasped, shocked stupid as if someone had
slapped me with a bucket of cold water. In my wildest, wettest
dreams I had never imagined someone carrying me. It just didn't
happen. Me, the size sixteen hippo.

‘I can’t believe this is
happening, I don’t do this, I don’t hook up
,’ I thought,
suddenly consumed by fear. I was responsible. I didn’t have
impulsive rebound sex.

He carried me over to the bed, a determined
look in his eye as he laid me out on my back and stretched his body
over mine, stroking a hand against my cheek as his eyes bored into
mine.

"You're incredible," he murmured. No man had
ever treated me like this, not even either of my exes. I tried to
steady the fluttering in my stomach, but to no avail.

"You don't even know me," I said, searching
his eyes for whatever he saw in me.

"I could just tell by looking at you. The way
you talk, how you look...you're perfect."

"Shut up," I said, biting my bottom lip as a
bunch of nerves burst forth, questioning why I was laid out half
dressed before this gorgeous man.

"Okay," he said, bringing his mouth over mine
and exploring every corner of it with his tongue. I forgot to
breathe as he kissed me furiously, and after several intense
moments I pulled back, gasping for breath. He moved his mouth down
my neck, giving me hot, wet kisses down to my breast. I shuddered,
completely consumed with desire. He moved his tongue over my left
nipple, moving in slow soft circles before sucking on it, bringing
his other hand to cup my right breasts, moving it tenderly between
his fingers.

And let me tell you, if that had been all he
done that night, it might have been enough to sustain my sexual
appetite for the rest of my life. Or at least, that's how I felt
right then. I didn't realize he could take it to a whole other
level.
But he did. Oh by all that is holy, he did.

He continued to move lower down my body,
pausing at the top of my hip, hovering his lips over them and
gracing my skin with his hot breath. My eyes snapped open in shock.
Was he really about to do what my own boyfriend complained about
doing?

'Ex
,' I reminded
myself. And why shouldn't I expect this treatment? I closed my eyes
and braced myself, digging my nails into the plush mattress beneath
me, curling the sheets into my balled up hands.

With a single stroke of his finger down
against the inside of my thigh, a hot rush exploded inside of me,
begging for more, stretching out to fill my entire body with the
ache. He moved his strong hands over the fabric of my underwear,
tugging it down over my thighs.

"I want you," I managed between ragged gasps.
He responded with a delicious, gruff groan, and dropped his head to
meet my swollen nub of desire, enrapturing it with slow swivels of
his tongue.

"Oh God!" I cried out, arching my back so
that I pressed hard against his wet mouth. I took a peek between my
legs, and his bobbing head only drove me wilder, forcing me to toss
my head back again and close my eyes as a fever consumed me.

Then he ran a finger underneath my chin,
dancing along the slick folds with a dangerous suggestion.

"Yes!" I called out, the only encouragement I
could manage before he plunged inside of me, filling my throbbing
chasm with a sharp thrust, forcing a gasp out of my trembling lips.
He pulled in and out, diligently matching the speed of his moving
hand with his mouth, offering me no hope.

I was gone. Completely overtaken by a shock
of electricity, unrelenting and in complete control of all my
senses. Aamir had committed, and every muscle, every fiber of my
being, was pulsing with bliss, racing to the moment when they
hugged me with tremendous force, seizing me in nirvana, releasing
me only after I convulsed and begged for mercy.

"Holy shit!" I cried out, too far gone to
hate myself for being so tacky as I came. I was kind of tipsy,
after all.

Aamir looked up at me and grinned, crawling
up over my body to embrace me in a strong, warm hug, my tight
nipples thrilled at the touch of his smooth chest against them.

"That was amazing," I panted, curling a hand
around the back of his neck.

"That's just the beginning," he said,
twisting a piece of my chestnut hair around his finger. "But only
if I can get you to go on date with me."

"Kind of hard to go on a date when you're on
tour."