Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

5. closest to heaven

[ 5 ]

CLOSEST TO HEAVEN

BAXTER

“IRIS” BY GOO GOO DOLLS

“ O h fuck , Baxter,” Lennon moans as I flick my tongue against her clit.

She’s sitting on the counter of the bar bathroom, her legs slung over my shoulders and my arms pinning them open as I go to town on her pussy. Her dress is pushed up by her curvy hips, and the tights she was wearing have been ripped for easy access—which I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about.

She slides her fingers into my hair as I slide one of mine into her opening. “Oh, my god,” she exclaims as I tip it up to hit that perfect spot inside of her, holding it there. I pull it back out slowly, watching her contract around it before repeating the motion, adding a second one. She’s dripping, and my cock grows harder in my jeans as I admire the view in front of me.

She whimpers as she leans back, pushing herself closer to me as I suck her clit into my mouth simultaneously. I continue the motions, appreciating the feeling of her—wet on my fingers and hot on my tongue—until her pussy begins to tighten. She claws her perfectly manicured nails into my scalp as my teeth graze her clit and she yelps, her core clenching as the orgasm hits her like a freight train.

Her legs shake as I slip my fingers out and look up at her. She meets my lust-filled gaze with one of her own, her chest rising and falling in an effort to catch her breath. Her eyes track my movements as I bring my fingers to my mouth, sucking them clean.

Her breath catches as I moan.

“Mmm, Lennon,” I start as I pull my finger out with a pop , a smirk tugging on my lips. “You taste so fucking good. Like trouble.” Moving between her legs, my eyes find hers. “You are trouble, aren’t you?”

Her expression falls, and she averts her gaze. “Not the fun kind,” she murmurs, barely audible.

My brows pull together. “I don’t know about that—I’d say what we just did was pretty fun.”

A pink blush creeps up her neck into her cheeks. “Yeah,” she says, her voice breathy. Steeling her expression, she adds, “But, you know, I really expected more.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

My face hovering inches from hers, I place a hand at the pulse point on her neck, pulling her lip free with my thumb. I shove it in between her teeth, and she closes her lips around it, teasing the pad with her tongue. I groan, imagining her mouth wrapped around my cock instead.

“And you really should know better than to insult a guitarist’s hands, Trouble .”

Her eyes lock on mine, and we stay like that, frozen for a moment. I knew she was beautiful when I saw her at the funeral from a distance, but up close? Fuck , she’s breathtaking. I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes framed by long, black eyelashes. The light freckles lining her cheeks. Her perfectly pouty lips.

I’m not the kind of man to fall to his knees for a woman, but she could make me .

Fuck, she already did.

I pull my thumb out of her mouth. Squeezing her throat a little, I fight the urge to kiss her. I feel her throat work as she swallows, her tongue darting out over her bottom lip.

She glances at my lips before looking back up at my eyes, and I know she’s fighting the urge to kiss me, too.

But that’s not going to happen. I never kiss the women I fuck.

Taking a step back, I clear my throat. Her face falls slightly, but I look away, bending to help her out of the tights I destroyed. I toss them in the garbage and then lean down to place her heels back on her feet—they must have fallen off when her legs were swung over my shoulders. Then I lift her off the bathroom counter and pull her dress back down.

“Thanks.” She brushes her hands over her dress and looks back up at me with her hazel eyes.

I take a step toward her. “Do you want to get out of here?” I ask, not ready to end our time together yet. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but something about the way she looks at me feels like she sees deep into my soul. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and it makes me want to know her for at least a little while longer.

She hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Did you drive yourself?” I ask, taking her hand and leading her out of the bar.

“No.” She shakes her head as we amble down the sidewalk back toward the courthouse. “I came with my siblings. They left when I did.”

I nod my head once, relieved that she’ll come with me.

As it comes into view, I unlock my cherry-red Porsche parked on the side of the road. Her brows furrow, and I know she’s recognizing my car from the day of her parents’ funeral.

After I left the church that day, I called my manager, Kevin, to ask where the reception was being held. He informed me it was for close friends and family only, and I told him I just wanted to stop by to pay my respects directly. It seemed like the right thing to do.

But as soon as I saw Lennon on the front steps, I couldn’t get out of the car.

She looked so sad, so cold, sitting there alone. I could tell she was desperate for a moment away from the chaos and apologies, and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I just sat there, watching her.

I watched as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I watched as she ran her delicate fingers through her chestnut-brown hair, pulling it into a ponytail. I watched as she buried her head in her hands, her shoulders beginning to shake.

I sat there and watched her as she cried for what seemed like the first time since her parents died a month earlier.

My heart cracked a little bit as I witnessed that moment. It felt like I was intruding, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. She was so vulnerable, looking devastatingly beautiful and absolutely broken all at once.

It was then I decided if I ever got the chance, I’d get to know her.

Which is how I ended up here, holding her hand as we leave the bar where I made a meal out of her, after witnessing the asshole who killed her parents plead not guilty.

Part of me feels like I should tell her what I know about him, but I can’t find it in me to make her day worse. At least not before I make it better.

When she doesn’t say anything about the car, I rush ahead to open the door for her, resting my arm on the top of the frame as she approaches.

“Who would’ve thought Baxter James could be such a gentleman?” she teases.

As she moves to get in, I grab her by the waist and pull her in close, our faces inches apart. “I can be anything you want me to be, Trouble,” I growl, my eyes moving to her lips.

Her eyes track mine before she shifts out of my grasp, smiling, and gets in the car. She buckles her seatbelt, and I shut the door, the stupid-ass grin on my face not fading for even a moment as I move around to the driver’s side.

I shift the car into drive, a comfortable yet tension-filled silence filling the air. I live on Lake Shore Boulevard, close enough to the courthouse that it isn’t long until we’re pulling into my driveway and I’m shifting the car back into park.

We make our way inside, and I appreciate the way Lennon so obviously admires my house.

The house is fairly modern and totally not what someone would expect when they think of me. It’s made of solid white stone with grey accents on the outside, lots of sharp edges and big windows to let in the natural light. It’s right on the water, and the view from any window, but specifically the master bedroom, is incredible. There were seven bedrooms when I bought it, but the one in the basement has been converted into a recording studio and another a home gym—I don’t let many people in my space, so I had no use for that many bedrooms.

It also has four bathrooms, two on the main floor, one upstairs, and then an ensuite in the master. The inside matches the outside—the living spaces are painted in shades of greys and blacks, but I’ve used different natural woods in my furniture and decor to give it a bit more of a “homey” feeling.

My walls are covered in abstract art and albums—my own and those of all the people whose music inspires me. I’m pretty sure I own at least one copy of every single one of Thorned Roses’ records.

“Your house is stunning,” Lennon states, looking up at the massive chandelier hanging in the living room. “Who decorated?”

A blush creeps up my cheeks. “I did, mostly.”

Her eyes widen. “Wow. You did a great job.” She makes her way over to the largest of my record walls, scanning all the different genres and people I have displayed.

As I move to stand beside her, I hear a sharp intake of breath, and I know her eyes have landed on one of her parents’ albums.

Not wanting to let it ruin the mood, I make quick work of distracting her. Leaning against the back of the couch, I ask, “So, tell me: who is Lennon Thorne?”

She opens her mouth to speak and then shuts it again, appearing unable to find the words to answer that question. She worries her bottom lip before she confesses, “Honestly? I don’t really know who I am. Not anymore.”

I swear I can feel my heart crack a little bit with those last two words. I know better than most how it feels to lose the person you love the most and begin to wonder what’s the point?

“That’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud since the accident,” she whispers, and that sentence shocks me.

How am I the first person she’s told this to? Does no one close to her realize how much she’s hurting?

“Then tell me about the old Lennon. What was she like?”

“There’s not much to share there, either,” she begins, leaning against the couch next to me. “But I can tell you that the old me never would’ve gotten into the car of the notorious Baxter James, nor would she have let him eat her out in a dirty bar bathroom.” She smiles softly, and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.

Sighing, she adds, “The old me liked to play by the rules. She never took any risks. She was nervous and cautious and spent six years with the same damn man no matter how bored she was, because she was too scared to leave behind the life she’d grown so comfortable with.”

I scowl, caught off guard by that little tidbit of information. “Wait, yo—” I start to ask, but she holds up a hand, cutting me off.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I broke up with him back in November, right after the accident. Don’t worry. ”

I sigh in relief. I may not be big on relationships for the simple fact that I don’t believe in love, but I respect people who are. Cheating is one line I refuse to cross.

“What changed?” It might be a stupid question, but I get the sense she hasn’t talked to anybody about anything going on in her mind for a long while, if at all.

“My parents died .” Her voice cracks. “Wouldn’t that change you?” She glances at me, tears in her eyes, but there’s no snark in her voice—she’s genuinely wondering. As if she believes her feelings about what happened are inappropriate.

“Yeah, it would,” I tell her, contemplating whether I should go on. She’s opened up to me, so I figure why the fuck not do the same. “It did .”

Now it’s her turn to scowl at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

This evening just got a whole lot deeper than I was anticipating, and not in the way I was hoping. I run my hand through my hair, avoiding her gaze. “My mom died in a drunk driving accident, too. Just over eleven years ago.”

She gasps. “Oh, wow.” She pauses, rolling her lips together. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” I grunt. I look back up, our eyes connecting. “So, trust me, I know better than most what you’re going through. I get what it’s like to lose the person you love most in the world.” My hand moves to cover hers. “And I really am sorry about your parents, too.”

She nods solemnly, a single tear escaping her eye. I reach up and wipe it away with my thumb.

“I appreciate you telling me,” she whispers. “It makes me feel a bit less alone.”

My brows furrow, and I pull her closer, shifting her so she’s standing directly in front of me. “What about your siblings? Can’t you talk to them?”

Her hands connect behind my neck as she shakes her head. “ I could, but I don’t. It’s partially my fault our parents are gone, and I know my siblings must blame me for that. I don’t want to burden them.”

I swallow thickly as I watch her, my heart breaking for the woman standing in front of me. It makes me even angrier at the man who did this, knowing he caused this incredible woman to build her walls so high she won’t even let those closest to her know how badly she’s hurting.

I wish more than anything that I could take away some of her pain, yet instead, I’ll likely be the one who causes her more. Like I do with everyone who crosses my path.

But I can at least try to help her forget, even if it is just for tonight.

“You’re not a burden, Lennon.”

She glances up and our gazes connect. She’s wedged between my legs, and my hands rest on her hips. She smiles softly as her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck.

As inappropriate as it may be during a conversation like this, I feel myself growing hard against her. I can’t help the effect she seems to have on me, or the chemistry dancing between us.

Trying to remain the gentleman she believes me to be and also trying to lighten the mood, I change the subject.

“So, I’m definitely not complaining about the new Lennon or her letting me go down on her in a bar bathroom, but out of curiosity, why did the old you play things so safe? There must be a story there.”

She nods. “There is. But”—she brings one of her hands down between my legs, feeling my rock-hard cock through my jeans and smirking—“it was for reasons that would definitely kill your hard-on, so let’s just enjoy the new me for now, ’kay?”

I groan, gritting my teeth. I want both to know everything about this girl and to shut her the fuck up with my cock.

Seeing as it’s what we came back here for, I opt for the latter. “I can work with that. ”

She leans her face closer to mine, but I hesitate.

“I don’t kiss the women I fuck,” I tell her, though my voice lacks conviction. There’s nothing I want more than to taste her pretty mouth right now.

She freezes, her hand still on my dick and a smirk still on her face. “Fine by me,” she quips, though she doesn’t look up from my lips. “Keeps things from getting messy, right?”

“Right,” I rasp. I swear, I may barely know this girl, but at this point, I would do just about anything she wanted. She’s got me wrapped around her finger, and I’m not even sorry about it.

I’ll never see her again after tonight anyway. One night and she’ll be out of my system.

Her tongue peaks out, sliding slowly across her lips. I grit my teeth, watching her movements, and when she catches her lower lip between her teeth, I lose all control.

It’s just one night, right?

“Fuck it.”