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

he is. The board doesn’t seem to care.
    I’m happy for him. I know the damage living a lie does to your heart.
    I snap my cello case shut and stretch my calves before standing.
    “Rachel, I’m going to insist you get into this booth right the fuck now.” Dylan’s voice filters through the speakers, snapping my head up.
    The band members behind him are glowing, but their huge smiles pale in comparison to the one he’s giving me. I head for the door, and he meets me right outside it, wrapping me in a hug.
    I’ve missed these arms. “I thought you weren’t back until tonight!” I snuggle closer, breathing him in.
    “We decided to come home after the concert, drive straight through, and sleep on the bus instead of staying over in Dallas.”
    It’s only been two weeks, but it’s the longest we’ve been apart since I moved into his mansion—ours now.
    “I missed you.” I used to be more embarrassed about public displays of emotion, but when you find the one you love more than breathing, you don’t give a shit who sees you hugging. Besides, the band members look even more impressed now that Dylan St. John has crashed the end of their recording session and can’t keep his hands off their cellist.
    “I missed you too.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear his next words. “Have you been a good girl while I was gone?”
    “Of course.” I’m pretty sure the night his bandmates busted us naked Skyping doesn’t count since he was an accessory to those sexy shenanigans.
    His wicked grin makes me belly flutter. “Then let’s get you home and remedy that.” He grabs my cello, and we speed walk to his truck after saying goodbye to everyone.
    The drive home in his Jeep Wrangler takes forty-three minutes but feels like hours. By the time we pull into the driveway, I’m drunk with anticipation and uncomfortably wet. The fact his hand’s been between my legs teasing me into a frenzy with no release for the last ten minutes hasn’t helped.
    He kills the engine, and I crawl over to his lap, crushing my lips to his, straddling him, grinding against his stiff cock as fast as I can, desperate for relief from the extended teasing he’s subjected me to. I nip his lip, dragging my teeth when he tries to pull away.
    “You’re such an asshole,” I murmur against his lips. “You think it’s nice to torture your sex-deprived girlfriend?”
    “I was just warming you up, baby. I need you nice and wet for how hard I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy.” He sucks my tongue into his mouth and reminds me very quickly that in a battle like this, he’s the one who always wins. Not like there are any losers when it comes to pleasure. He’s a very generous winner.
    He grabs me and opens his truck door, thwarting my grinding efforts when I’m forced to wrap my thighs around him while he walks us to the door, unlocking and opening it while I do my best to get revenge by nibbling on his earlobe and sliding down his waist so every step reminds his cock of what’s only a couple scraps of fabric away. Unfortunately, his dick nudging my crotch only turns me on more as well.
    His hands slide down to cup my ass, his fingertips prodding at my slit through my pants, stimulating my pussy but unable to press inside me. I’ve never hated fabric as much as I do right now.
    He carries me up the staircase and down the hall to our bedroom, kicking the door open. “I’ve dreamed of being inside you a hundred times a goddamn day.”
    Lust roars through me. I missed this filthy mouth. “Me too.”
    He tosses me to the bed and strips me with shaking hands. “Cold showers and jerking off doesn’t cut it. I’ve got to get balls deep inside your tight little cunt.”
    The thought of him touching himself in the little bathroom or when lying in his bunk on the tour bus while the rest of the band was only feet away drives me nuts. We skyped and had phone sex twice, and it wasn’t enough to take the edge off—for either of us,