#Kissing (Rock and Romance #1) by Ellie Brixton Page B
Authors: Ellie Brixton
for forty-eight hours again."
I'd love to go to sleep for forty-eight hours, but Niko unzips my pants, sliding his fingers into the soft place between my legs. His breath is stale when he kisses me. Then we fuck. We don't make love or even have sex. The thing we do is fast and hard and passionate, full of fire as though we're trying to burn the other. Then again, I wouldn't really know the difference.
Forty-five minutes later, he has a beer in his hand, and I learn that contempt has a metallic taste.
The thing about me is I do everything big. I'm not from Texas, but Rhode Island. So maybe the tiniest of states makes me crave what I am not—I'm also not particularly tall, but I like to think that my personality makes up for that.
I tip the top of a bottle of tequila against his bottle. We haven't even had breakfast. If this is how it's going to be, go big or go fucking home.
Or downtown. Apparently, he has a meeting. Swept into his world, I follow. I expect a car or SUV to be waiting outside the hotel, but he directs me to the nearest subway station.
The train is crowded, a local line, and again, I question his choice not to use a driver and my decision to have several shots of tequila. I hold onto the pole with one hand, and Niko with the other. He grips the rail overhead.
We jolt and jerk and my stomach objects with each stop. His lips intermittently meeting mine whenever we brush close enough. Commuters and exhausted workers shuffle on and off, eyeing us surreptitiously. I glance over Niko's shoulder at a familiar face with dirty blond hair. He only stands two heads away. Our eyes meet. His are blue. The perfect color blue. JQ.
My heart stutters. It's him. Neither of us says a word in greeting, but holds each other's gaze until he gets off at the next stop. I part my lips, but Niko leans in, planting his mouth on mine possessively as though threatened by the proximity of so many other bodies so close to mine.
Little does he know, the one who was the greatest threat, just walked away hardly acknowledging me. I don't close my eyes, afraid to lose him in the crowd, as the subway pulls away. Just before he disappears behind a tiled wall, he glances back, his expression, shattered into a thousand pieces.
I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let him go.
Chapter 23
Niko meets a guy in a crappy apartment and after a few minutes of chatter, they go to check out a guitar in a back room. My foot taps impatiently on the dirty floor. I can't stop thinking about the subway ride. JQ's blue eyes and his expression haunt me, reminding me of all that I left behind.
Afterward, we meet up with the others at a club Jill insists we have to check out. I want a bath, bubbles, maybe some champagne, a movie and popcorn. I'm getting tired, more tired than I've ever been. Maybe everyone living this lifestyle feels that way and that's why they resort to drugs, merely to keep up.
Kat slinks up and down the stripper pole in the VIP area. I sit next to Mitty while Slade has a word with Niko.
"Polerina," I mutter. "She could stand to leave something to the imagination."
"Then again, we're both watching," Mitty says smartly.
"Yeah, curiosity? She's totally not our type."
Mitty laughs. "She was a stripper before. That's where Niko met her. Belgium or maybe Berlin. I forget now. Before we came to America."
"They were together before?" I ask hesitantly. I'm not sure I really want to know more, but the devil is in the details, as they say.
"Kinda. See those nails?"
They're long, pointy, and purple as she flexes them around the metal pole.
"They're actually talons." He claws the air. "Once she gets them in—" He shakes his head. "It's over."
Mitty and I chat late into the night until Niko coaxes me away from a story about a jam band he was in and how they braided tinsel into their hair, saying they were too cheap to buy wigs.
"Thank goodness this guy—" Mitty draws a line in the air between Niko and himself, "rescued me from a life
I'd love to go to sleep for forty-eight hours, but Niko unzips my pants, sliding his fingers into the soft place between my legs. His breath is stale when he kisses me. Then we fuck. We don't make love or even have sex. The thing we do is fast and hard and passionate, full of fire as though we're trying to burn the other. Then again, I wouldn't really know the difference.
Forty-five minutes later, he has a beer in his hand, and I learn that contempt has a metallic taste.
The thing about me is I do everything big. I'm not from Texas, but Rhode Island. So maybe the tiniest of states makes me crave what I am not—I'm also not particularly tall, but I like to think that my personality makes up for that.
I tip the top of a bottle of tequila against his bottle. We haven't even had breakfast. If this is how it's going to be, go big or go fucking home.
Or downtown. Apparently, he has a meeting. Swept into his world, I follow. I expect a car or SUV to be waiting outside the hotel, but he directs me to the nearest subway station.
The train is crowded, a local line, and again, I question his choice not to use a driver and my decision to have several shots of tequila. I hold onto the pole with one hand, and Niko with the other. He grips the rail overhead.
We jolt and jerk and my stomach objects with each stop. His lips intermittently meeting mine whenever we brush close enough. Commuters and exhausted workers shuffle on and off, eyeing us surreptitiously. I glance over Niko's shoulder at a familiar face with dirty blond hair. He only stands two heads away. Our eyes meet. His are blue. The perfect color blue. JQ.
My heart stutters. It's him. Neither of us says a word in greeting, but holds each other's gaze until he gets off at the next stop. I part my lips, but Niko leans in, planting his mouth on mine possessively as though threatened by the proximity of so many other bodies so close to mine.
Little does he know, the one who was the greatest threat, just walked away hardly acknowledging me. I don't close my eyes, afraid to lose him in the crowd, as the subway pulls away. Just before he disappears behind a tiled wall, he glances back, his expression, shattered into a thousand pieces.
I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let him go.
Chapter 23
Niko meets a guy in a crappy apartment and after a few minutes of chatter, they go to check out a guitar in a back room. My foot taps impatiently on the dirty floor. I can't stop thinking about the subway ride. JQ's blue eyes and his expression haunt me, reminding me of all that I left behind.
Afterward, we meet up with the others at a club Jill insists we have to check out. I want a bath, bubbles, maybe some champagne, a movie and popcorn. I'm getting tired, more tired than I've ever been. Maybe everyone living this lifestyle feels that way and that's why they resort to drugs, merely to keep up.
Kat slinks up and down the stripper pole in the VIP area. I sit next to Mitty while Slade has a word with Niko.
"Polerina," I mutter. "She could stand to leave something to the imagination."
"Then again, we're both watching," Mitty says smartly.
"Yeah, curiosity? She's totally not our type."
Mitty laughs. "She was a stripper before. That's where Niko met her. Belgium or maybe Berlin. I forget now. Before we came to America."
"They were together before?" I ask hesitantly. I'm not sure I really want to know more, but the devil is in the details, as they say.
"Kinda. See those nails?"
They're long, pointy, and purple as she flexes them around the metal pole.
"They're actually talons." He claws the air. "Once she gets them in—" He shakes his head. "It's over."
Mitty and I chat late into the night until Niko coaxes me away from a story about a jam band he was in and how they braided tinsel into their hair, saying they were too cheap to buy wigs.
"Thank goodness this guy—" Mitty draws a line in the air between Niko and himself, "rescued me from a life