Free Badass In My Bed 3 (Badass #3) by Rae Lynn Blaise

can live with that. Talking is my second favorite thing you do with your mouth.”
    I slap his shoulder and blush. “You’re so bad.”
    “And you love it.” He pulls out of me, and another parade of exclamation marks flutter through my brain.
    He rolls to his back and pulls me to him.
    I sigh happily and settle against his body. “I love this.”
    “What? Floor sex?”
    “No. Well, yes. But…” Shyness overcomes me.
    His fingertip presses under my chin, angling my face up to meet his gaze. “What do you love, Rachel?” His lips graze mine.
    In this tender kiss, I find my words. “I love how after, you pull me close without a thought. Like it’s a given and you need me snuggled in just as much as I do. Like you tuck me against you so you know I’m there, like you’re reminding me I’m yours, even when you’re not inside me.”
    “You are mine. In case it escaped your attention, we belong together. In bed and out of it.”
    I prop myself on my elbow. “Did you mean it when you said I could move in? I’m a teensy bit homeless right now and my schedule’s wide open.”
    He laughs, eyes filling with dark promises that make heat pool in my core as he trails a hand lazily up my thigh. “Baby, I’m taking you home and you’re not leaving my bed for a very long time.”
    I melt into his arms. “Promise?”
     

 
    My bow glides across the strings of my cello, pulling long, sensual tones out. I remember the way Dylan’s fingers ran through my hair when we said goodbye two weeks ago and inject some of that feeling into the music I play.
    This band wanted something a little deeper to make their sophomoric rock fusion resonate, but keep it on the sexy side, so I’m laying down string tracks. Their first album went triple platinum, so to say this is a career coup for me is an understatement.
    I know I nail it because the producer, Nick, goes very still in the booth. When he hates what you’re playing, he fidgets terribly. I continue playing it through one more time, making the chords arch like my body beneath Dylan’s when he’s fucking me just right, cock hitting me at that perfect angle. Music and Dylan are intertwined for me now; they both fill me with the same powerful emotions. I play the best when I channel my feelings for him into my instrument.
    Love is the purest emotion in the world; music is the purest language. It’s no wonder the two come together and transcend.
    Behind the glass, Nick gives me a thumbs up and speaks through the intercom when the last notes fade. “Good job, Rachel. We’ve got it. That’s a wrap, guys.”
    I try not to look too pleased with myself, but this is the third job he’s hired me for in the last two months and from the look on his face, it won’t be the last. Nick heard me live one night—I’d been traveling with Fallen Angels, and they’d invited me onstage to play a few songs with the new arrangements that now included strings. Traveling with Dylan and making music together is amazing, but when Nick offered me the job recording for this band, I accepted immediately. I love playing with Dylan, but I still want my own career as well.
    One job has led to another, and a few newer jobs have been lined up for me, including a solo piece on a movie soundtrack.
    It’s kept me busy while Dylan’s on a mini tour of the south.
    But he’s back today.
    I pack up my cello, smiling thanks at the compliments coming from the band in the booth and their manager. This glowing happiness about my new life hasn’t faded after three months; I really made the right decision when I left the orchestra.
    It didn’t hurt Blaine, my leaving. He’s still the director, and under his ministrations, they’re having their most lucrative season to date. I’m not surprised—he cares too much to allow them to be anything but the best. Even better than that, a little birdie told me he’s been seen a few times with the same man, out on the town with him, no longer in the closet about who