Free European Tour (Rocking the Pop Star Book 1) by L. V. Lewis Page A

slick, wet flesh with a finger all the while nibbling at her clit with lips covering my teeth. When I circle her clit with the stiff tip of my tongue again, she shatters. Her entire body trembles and then shakes as if she’s detonating like a bomb.
    She cries my name in a staccato fashion as she simultaneous draws me closer and pushes me away. Orgasms will do that to you sometimes—make you want more when you can’t handle it. A knot of lust, envious of her release, has built up in my stomach and my cock throbs and my balls ache, eager to be inside Sky now.
    Her beauty is enhanced as she comes down from her orgasmic high. She grins up at me as I hover over her, then she scrambles up onto her knees as I reach out to bring her up to face me. We kneel on the bed sharing a kiss that mingles vestiges of her essence between us. I gasp and look down as she frees my cock from the constraints of my underwear.
    I hiss when her soft hand grips the base and squeezes. She deliberately slides her palm up and down my shaft, all the while watching, enraptured, and licking her gorgeous lips. Finally she sweeps her tongue out and licks the slit, then closes her lips around the bulbous head.
    Jerking involuntarily from contact, I bury my fingers in her hair as she draws me in deeper into her hot mouth. Once she gets going, it kind of goes downhill from there.
    It takes a couple of times of her fumbling through it and asking me how it feels every second or two, before I realize she has severe performance anxiety for some reason.
    I stop her mid-blow to get to the bottom of this—cock throbbing for release, blue balls and all.
    “Why do you question every move you make?” I ask gently.
    She ducks her head. “I’m afraid I’m doing it all wrong, and you’ll secretly think I’m horrible at fellatio, but won’t tell me, and you’ll be at a party or something without me, and a groupie or two will offer to blow you. And you’ll be like, sure why not, because my fuckbuddy-slash-boss sucks at giving head.” She takes a deep breath after that spontaneous outburst, and I laugh.
    She leaps off the bed and runs to the bathroom.
    “What the fuck?” I realize I’ve made light of something that is really bothering her, so I jump off the bed and follow her into the bathroom.
    “Don’t come in here, Brody,” she yells.
    I glimpse her sitting on the toilet before I quickly back out and close the door. When she doesn’t emerge for twenty minutes or so, I get dressed to leave. I’m at the threshold when I change my mind. Leaving things like this will probably make it as awkward as fuck on the plane tomorrow.
    I go back to the door and knock. Even if she is having digestive issues, it shouldn’t take her this long in the bathroom.
    There is no answer, so I try the door, but it’s locked. I find something to jimmy the lock and go in anyway. I figure, fuck, she’ll have to fire me if I’m out of line .
    She’s in the shower where I join her to find her huddled in the corner, crying. I get wet going in after her, but I have more clothes.
    I dry her with a towel and lead her back into the bedroom, still crying. That’s when she tells me about country Connor Weatherby, her ex-boyfriend. After her mother had mentioned him, I should’ve Googled his ass, but I felt as if I haven’t told Sky everything about my past, so I shouldn’t go snooping around in hers.
    I lay her on the bed and hold her. We’re getting her bedding as wet as fuck, but I have to get to the bottom of her meltdown.
    “What did that bastard do to you?” I ask after she calms down a little.
    “He was caught on tape having sex in a pool with two groupies,” she cries, “And when I confronted him about it, he said I could really blow on stage, but in bed, I couldn’t blow my way out of a paper bag.” Then she truly begins to sob.
    If I weren’t so mad at that stupid fucker for undermining her confidence in that way, I might laugh at what sounds like a clichéd