Free The Diva Diaries by Karen Anders

warning?”
    She realized it was. A warning that no matter what happened, music would have to come first. She knew when she was very young that she had to choose. Her gran had chosen love, but her mother had chosen music. Jenna would, too. It made her squirm inside to realize in that respect she was just like her mother. But the difference between them was that Jenna wouldn’t use people. Her mother was a user. She manipulated and cajoled. Jenna preferred to take the straight tack. Even if it meant a head-on collision.
    â€œWhen I have sex with a man, I like for him to know what I’m about.”
    â€œAre we going to have sex?”
    â€œEvery time you look at me, Sam, I feel ravished.”
    He groaned softly, leaning closer to her. He lowered his head. She lifted her chin. His mouth found hers, soft and willing.
    She didn’t mean for him to kiss her, not when she was strung-out with too little sleep and too much postconcert adrenaline jazzing up her insides, not when her guard was down and her hunger so powerful.
    She kissed him back, tasting the answering hunger that had him driving her fast into passion, yet not fast enough for the hunger spiraling inside her.
    Slanting his mouth across hers, he tugged at her lower lip, opening her mouth and deepening the kiss, tongue to tongue, stroking the innermost places.
    She opened for him, his mouth warm and welcoming, inviting the sweep of his tongue.
    She’d thought she’d only whimper with need.
    Instead, his touch made her twist restlessly against him, one knee sliding up the side of his thigh, and he cupped her, pulling her into his rhythm, pulse to pulse in urgent, tearing need in the night.
    And she found that this, after all, was what she wanted.
    Him, against her, pushing her with each light touch of his hand. Her tucking her fingers into his waistband and dislodging his shirt as she brushed her knuckles against him, drowning in mindless dangerous sensation.
    Jenna clung to him as if the world ended and began with Sam Winchester, exploded and recreated itself in his touch on her, hers on him.
    She sighed in delight as Sam impatiently hooked his thumb into the silky material covering her breast and pulled the material away from her throbbing nipple.
    Pushing her against the truck, he used his otherhand to shift the material up her legs until he could cradle himself in the vee of her legs, flush against her groin. He rocked his hips at the same time his hot, wet mouth engulfed her straining nipple. And he made her ache to have his touch on her, in her. Where he thrust, she yielded; where she retreated, he followed in a dance as old as time, as new as innocence.
    Running her fingertips up the thick, well-defined muscles of his ribs, she flattened her hand against his skin. He buried his groan in the curve of her breast, his breath hot against her as he nipped the tip and held it between his teeth, the delicate pain trembling through her in an unending wave of shivers.
    â€œOh God, Jenna,” he muttered against her breast, pulling her tight against him, taking her shivers and blending them with his shuddering response to the feel of her fingers. “I want you. God help me, but I want you so much it’s killing me. Every time I touch you…”
    And he took her mouth, gripping the sides of her head between his hands while the rough material of his jacket shot ripples of pleasure through her charged system. She lost all sense of anything except the drumming of her body against his, or his against hers—she no longer knew which. His flesh, hers, intertwined, humming with shared energy, both of them captive to that strumming beat.
    She pulled her hand from his shirt and cupped him through the trousers he wore. He gasped against her, losing the measured rhythm of the kiss. She loved knowing his control was unraveling.
    With his breath harsh and his lungs pumping, hepushed against her hand in a mindless slide. Another low groan rumbled